#back in heavensward era

[wtf-amiru]

After days of despondency and illness, she finally emerged from her sorrow, if only to hide from her memories within his arms. At least she was home.

#ffxiv #aymeric de borel #aymeric #miqo'te #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv #gpose #gposers #no longer canon #oh god i'm in my feels again and crying #help #old a'miru #vintage a'miru #if you will #back in heavensward era #when she was getting clean #i know i talk about this a lot in spurts #but i wasn't on tumblr to ramble about it when i was actually playing it #retroactive blorbo rambling #a'miru #catpix

[elizabethrobertajones]

ranking my past lives on a scale from Haldrath to Tenzen

#idk maybe in his wandering era Haldrath had whimsical creature spirit friends who he helped people with #but we only got the grim bit where he did atrocities that helped start a 1000 year war then renounced his throne in anguish #don't mind me just amused at going back to NG+ Heavensward right after the new Tataru quest #they're much more direct about Tenzen having been a past life of the WoL's #but I still think if you do the dragoon quests it does also imply it like you accidentally got the same job stone in two lives #and it trips a switch XD #.... what if you accidentally get a soul stone from every past life #and you get your MCH jobstone and that's your first new one and you're setting that up for your future self :') #anyway I also think Estinien is descended from Haldrath so that makes a hilarious dynamic #this is also something Frog experiences in canon #although I think she's more told what Alberic saw than experiencing it herself #it's what made her believe in past lives long before they were truly confirmed to her and how she rolled with that info #like yeah sure of course this is true I have the same job stone I had 1000 years ago for Dragoon tell me something new #it's nice that there's ONE thing I have convoluted theories for that Frog gets to know about though #she's so oblivious to the worldbuilding XD #but she did feel a shade responsible (literally) for starting the Dragonsong War even though she wasn't Ishgardian #it explained why Halone was her patron despite growing up in Rhalgr territory #ffxiv #bounding frog

[bnuuywol]

From the Life and Journals of Phoenyx Eldritch

Heyooo here’s the next part of his story that I actually have written. This is currently the second and final chapter that I have for ARR as I haven’t gotten around to going back and writing things from that era yet. But this is actually the first piece I wrote about him while playing! It’s also the first “journal” piece, so it’s in first person, so have fun with that. Enjoy!

PART I: A REALM REBORN

Chapter Two / Journal Entry #1

As the Ultima fell, collapsing into nothingness, I watched the inferno of its destruction burn around me. The group of adventurers who so honorably aided me in this plight made their escape while they could. I remained, the feeling that things were not yet finished gnawing at me. The reappearance of Lahabrea confirmed my suspicions. It had been but a fool's hope to believe that he would leave his enemy to simply walk out after the defeat of Ultima. As was inevitable, his attention tore away from the unconscious body of Gaius van Baelsar and focused upon me. 

My heart ached as he spoke to me. Not because of his words, but because of the vessel he puppeteered to deliver them. Thancred, who wanted naught but to do his duty to the Scions, and whose pressure upon himself led to such a cruel fate. To see such a kind, honorable man have his will and power stripped from him... A man that, admittedly, I love. Hard as I try, I cannot deny the feelings I have for him. Feelings that only grew stronger in his absence. All the time spent worrying over his fate after the attack at the Waking Sands, only to find he suffered a fate worse than death or capture.

I should have known. He'd grown distant, refused to speak with me while I was away dealing with primal threats in Limsa Lominsa. Had I not been running rampant slaying beasts and proving my worth to those who know me not, perhaps I could have caught it sooner. Perhaps he would be fighting alongside us, Noraxia and the others still living. But alas, we were afforded no such fortune. However, this was no time to dwell on what could have been. Now I finally had the chance to free him from this fate. 

"You will not leave this place alive." Lahabrea threatened.

Those words filled me with an uncanny strength. I would not die by this entity's hand. Determination fueled my every move. I felled Ifrit, Titan, Rhitahtyn sas Arvina. I've all but mastered the dark art passed down by the Black Mages of old. Before the sun rose upon Mor Dohna, Lahabrea would be banished from Thancred, with Rhalgr as my witness.

Yet even with all my power it seemed I was outmatched. I grew weaker whilst my most powerful spells hardly appeared to even scathe him. Dread flooded my core when he summoned four arcane spheres from which to draw power. I could do naught to stop them. I wasn't strong enough. His power increased tenfold and he cast a spell with such power... I've never felt more pain in my twenty four years upon this star. I felt my life slipping from me, and as I fell and the darkness claimed my vision I thought for certain I had met my end. I had failed Eorzea, failed the Scions, failed Thancred.

And then there was that light. She who has guided me since my arrival in Ul'dah. Guided me much longer than I'm presently conscious of, I daresay. The blackness grew brighter and brighter. It felt as though a fire had been set in my very bones and I snapped back to consciousness with a sharp breath. Though my every muscle still ached and begged me to give in and fall once more, I did not. I could not. The gift of a second chance shone brightly around me and I would not forsake it. I looked Lahabrea in his stolen eyes, my breath burning my lungs, and I made my decision then and there. It mattered not if I fell, if Eorzea lost he who they would call their Warrior of Light... all that mattered to me was to see Thancred freed. And so I thought: The realm be damned, I will save you even if it kills me.

I hardly recognize the man I was in those moments. I know not whether Lahabrea grew weaker or if I grew stronger but finally my magic began to have an effect upon him. I couldn't tell you how long I fought, I ran purely on instinct and adrenaline. I would die if I must, but not until I saw Thancred safe. I dug into my deepest depths to summon every onze of power I possessed thanks to the guidance of Kazagg, Dozol, and Da Za. It felt as though both seconds and eternity had passed before this encounter came to its inevitable end. I called upon Flare one last time, and with that final blow, the dark crystal around Thancred's neck shattered. I watched the form of Lahabrea separate from him before vanishing into the darkness. 

Ignoring the trembling that overtook me, I rushed to Thancred's side, falling to my knees. The possibility that in banishing the Ascian I had harmed or killed him suddenly formed a pit in my stomach. I felt like I couldn't breathe as I searched for his pulse. Though very weak, it was there. I pressed my forehead to his, letting his presence calm my nerves before rising again. Although the battles were won, I could not see a path of escape from the destruction Ultima had wrought upon the Garlean outpost. My chest grew heavy with this reality. Perhaps this was it. I could save his soul but not his life. And despite all the power that I possess it seemed I would go down with the foes I felled after all. Sure, I could manage a solution on my own, but none of my options would work unless I chose to leave Thancred behind... and this, I could not do. I would not. 

The Twelve must have heard my struggle and sent in their aid. Just as I were about to give in to our fate, that wonderful machine whom I'd believed fought her last battle some time ago came charging back to us through the fire: Maggie, Wedge's magitek creation. A final spark ignited in me the will to keep going. I ran to Thancred, using what little strength I had left to haul his body onto the back of Maggie before piloting the suit of armor as fast as I could through the only path left available to me just as it went up in flames. We outran the explosions, this truly being the very last chance of escape. Upon finally finding the rendezvous with the rest of the Scions my heart swelled with relief. We'd done it. I'd done it. Thancred was safe, we all were for the time being.

#ffxiv #ffxiv fanfiction #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy xiv fanfiction #warrior of light oc #ffxiv oc #ffxiv wol #phoenyx eldritch #my writing #oh he was so sweet and optimistic back then #then heavensward BREAKS him #wolcred #thancred x wol #he's so in love with him #a realm reborn era

[autumnslance]

Viewing FFXIV's Opening Cutscenes

When you open the Unending Journey to rewatch cutscenes, you'll notice the Seventh Umbral Era MSQ, the default pane it opens on, starts at the level 5 quest, when WoL first meets their starter city's Scions.

It may seem like the introductory cutscenes upon first making a character, with the vision of facing Lahabrea before waking in the carriage/ship with your starter city merchant triplet and the silent Leveilleur twins are lost, right?

Not so! For whatever reason, the opening cutscenes and title card for ARR as WoL arrives in Eorzea are in Sidequests.

In the Unending Journey navigate to the fourth icon, a silvery Q on a light blue backing; in the image below there's a big red arrow pointing at it.

This defaults to "Chronicles of Light" but open the dropdown menu and find the starter city sidequests: Lominsan Sidequests Gridanian Sidequests Ul'dahn Sidequests They're partway down the list. In the screenshot below, I have them boxed in red with another red arrow on the menu's right side pointing at them.

Since Dark's start city was Gridania, I'm going to select the "Gridanian Sidequests". The very first option is "Coming to Gridania" and describes meeting Bertennant at the Blue Badger Gate.

Here's the first five scenes in the game; the first time we hear Crystal Mom's voice (when that was Mary Elizabeth McGlynn, under her "Lucy Todd" credit) and get the vision of our future faceoff with Lahabrea, then the carriage sequence, Louisoix's voiceover intro and title card, meeting your city greeter, and then meeting your city's Adventurer's Guild Representative.

One more note about this opening cutscene!

If viewing as one of the original ARR classes, the initial scene shows them changing into the level 50 Artifact gear and wielding their weapon of choice; in this example, that's a Bard with a Bow of Light.

But swapping to any job introduced in Heavensward or later, it defaults the job selection to Paladin; below Dark is in healer gear as an Astrologian, but ARR doesn't know how to parse that so defaults to the Gallant Armor with a Sword & Shield of Light. We see this "Gladiator Default" with NPCs who don't have their "real jobs" implemented yet (Thancred in base ARR, Alisaie just before Stormblood, etc) and also when a WoL draws their Crafting or Gathering tools.

And there you have it! How to rewatch the very first cutscenes in the game that we see upon making our WoLs and starting the MSQ.

#final fantasy xiv #a realm reborn #unending journey #cutscenes #MSQ #lore #it came up in FC chat so I figured others would want to know #tutorial

[miqotepotatoe]

All of my Ninjago AUs because I am insane & autistic + it's fun

(disclaimer, a vast majority of these focus on cole brookstone because favouritism bias)

My Nonexistant Friend - Ghost!Cole AU where Day of the Departed...did not end so well. He's trapped in the Airjitzu Temple and is effectivly erased from existance. He suffers in nonexistant puragtory for 300 years until Lloyd's future students move in and the Master of Earth of this new era befriends the ghost. Fluff, feels & the power of friendship ensue

Perma Ghost - Ninjago but Cole remains a ghost. To prevent him from fading he anchors himself to friendship bracelets all the ninja + Wu & Pixal wear. He can't stray to far from anyone wearing a friendship bracelet but he doesn't mind he's always with a friend.

Curseworlds - Possession bad end, heavily inspired by The Star from Fionna & Cake. The Preeminent has won and has cursed all the realms and ghosts torment the remaining living souls. A small faction of survivors is fighting to take out the Queen of the Cursed, but it's very difficult with her two princes causing havoc. Anyone order evil Sandstorm?

Reverse - An alt Ninjago where Wu was bit by the Great Devourer instead of Garmadon. Wu becomes an evil dictator, Ninjago is in a lawless era, the og ninja are all traumatised child soldiers made to do Wu's bidding, Garmadon and a few familiar faces are fighting back.

Genderswap - As it says, everyone is genderswapped. But it's like Fionna & Cake where some stuff is different because of the swapped genders.

Elemental Anacondrai - Chen decides to be extra twisted and mark all the loosers of the Tournament with the Anacondrai Mark as a sign of ownership. When the cult is transformed into Anacondrai, they too. So for the last two episodes of ToE, Skylor, Karlof, Gravis, Bolobo, Ash, Cole, Jacob, Chamile & Tox are turned into Anacondrai.

Constrictai!Cole - Cole isn't dehypnotised at the end of Home and is taken prisoner by the Hypnobrai. When the Fangpyre are free and team up with the Hypnobrai, Skales has them turn Cole into a Serpentine. He ends up a Constrictai. The ninja end up rescueing him durring Can of Worms, remove the hypnotism with some anti-venom tea, and now Cole must adjust to his new reptilian body. Lots of Glacier

Lost But Never Found - AU where Cole ends up in the Land of Lost things after running away from his school. He becomes a Finder and is living his best life with his new found family. Sora also ends up there after running away and Cole adopts her

Vampire!Cole - Cole ends up becoming a vampire after getting attacked by one. Lots of hyjinks & vampire hunting (hunting other vampires, not Cole)

Wu Adopts Cole - Wu finds Cole a lot earlier then canon, at 10 years old. He's an orphan, his mum passed from illness and his dad drank himself to death. Wu raises Cole, trains him in his Elemental Power, very wholesome Dad Wu stuff.

Amphibijago - Ninjago + Amphibia crossover. Cole, Kai and Jay take the places of the Calamity Girls and end up in Amphibia. Cole ends up with the frogs, Kai ends up with the toads, Jay ends up with the newts. What could go wrong

The Oni House - Ninjago + The Owl House, basically the Owl House but with Ninjago characters. Cole is a troubled teen about to be sent off to a performing arts boarding school when he ends up in a realm of witches, demons and magic after wandering through a portal. There he meets Lord Garmadon, the most powerful witch on the Boiling Isles and his baby dragon demon Rocky. Lava time

Ninja in Eorzea - Ninjago + FFXIV. The ninja play the criticly acclaimed MMORPG Final Fantasy XIV with an extended free trail with unlimited playtime that allows them to play the award winning expansions Heavensward and Stormblood, and they get suckef in...litterally like Prime Empire.

Miraculous: Tales of Firefly & Charcole Cat - Ninjago + Miraculous. Ninjago City is being ravaged by supervillains created by someone known as the Dark Lord. But new heros have arisen, known as Firefly & Charcole Cat, ready to protect the city from the Dark Lord while trying to balance school & dating. HONEYCOMB MY OTP

Age of Elements - My original Ninjago story set 300 years after canon. Lloyd is training 7 new ninja, the Elemental Masters of Fire, Earth, Wind, Nature, Water, Lightning and Ice to protect the world because a prophetic vision of the furure said so. He's trying his best to make sure they aren't super traumatised by having them keep their ninja identity a secret, not keeping secrets about the FSM family lore, having them go to school, but trauma as a Ninja is a canon event. Got 18 seasons planned and counting

#ninjago #ninjago au #kai jiang-smith #jay walker #zane julien #cole brookstone #lloyd garmadon #nya jiang-smith #amphibia #the owl housw #ff14 #miraculous ladybug #my nonexistant friend #perma ghost #curseworlds #reverse au #genderswap au #elemental anacondrai #constrictai cole #lost but never found #vampire cole #wu adopts cole #amphibijago #the oni house #ninja in eorzea #miraculous: tales of firefly & charcole cat #honeycombshiping #lavashipping #glaciershipping #sandstorm shipping

[myreia]

Divergence of the Heart

CHAPTER FIVE: THOSE OF NOBLE STOCK

Chapter Rating: Teen (full story rating is Explicit) Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 7,127 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3

Aureia lingers in the shadows, huddled in her coat, breath misting in the night air as she stares up at the building looming before her. Like all the estates befitting the Ishgardian nobility, the Borel Manor is an imposing display of high arches and ornate decorations. Elegant spires reach for the heavens, black against a sea of twinkling stars, and stained-glass windows glow with a welcoming and lively warmth from within. A handful of steadfast guards patrol the gate, attentively surveying the street for signs of trouble. Though this part of the Pillars is hardly prone to bustling activity, there is good reason for the Lord Commander’s residence to have tighter security than most.

Though Aymeric himself may be keen to forget it, the attempted assassination is fresh in many of his inner circle’s minds. Ishgard may be more acclimatized to its new state now the Dragonsong War is well and truly over, but swift and drastic political changes do not come without a price. The chances of some disgruntled adversary trying again are too great to ignore.

She sighs, shivering in the cold, and tucks her hands into her armpits. The thick leather sits oddly on her shoulders, suffocatingly heavy and offering little warmth. She is beginning to regret wearing the damn thing. The more she thinks on it, the more she feels as though strolling up to his manor armed and in her combat gear will turn what was supposed to be a relaxing dinner between friends into a glorified business meeting.

And maybe this is all that it is, she thinks, knowing full-well it is not.

What is her personal relationship to Aymeric anyway? They have circled each other for more than a year, true, but it was always within the context of greater—yet impersonal—events. Politics, battle, the birth of a nation’s new era… How does one become friends through events as momentous as that? This is not like her bond with Estinien, informed by weeks of reluctant travel and time spent snapping at and figuratively stepping on one another’s toes until begrudging respect set in.

This is different. This is…

Stop it. Stop fooling yourself. You practically proposed this dinner as much as he did and you want to back out now? So what if he might be in love with you? Is that truly such an awful thing? What in the seven hells is wrong with you?  

“Can I help you, mistress?”

Aureia jerks back and instinctively reaches for her rapier, eyes wide as she stares the young Elezen guard in the face. “No, I—I’m fine, thank you.”

He glances at her weapon. “Then I must ask that you move along,” he warns sternly. “This is no place for idle loitering.”

Her surprise evaporates in an instant. “I am here to see Ser Aymeric.”

“Is that so? The Lord Commander does not accept audiences in his private home, and certainly not from wandering adventurers.” The tone of dismissal is impossible to ignore as his gaze lands on her rapier. “I must ask again that you move along.”

She flushes. Most times she would be pleased that her face has gone unrecognized, however in this case it is both amusing and mortifying that she will have to leverage her name to simply get through the gate. “Tell me, what is your name, ser?” she asks, hand still on the hilt.

“Gillesoireaux, mistress. Now, you must—”

“Move along, yes, I heard you the first time.” She raises her chin, calmly brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, exposing the point. “I would be very interested to hear what Aymeric has to say when he discovers you prevented the Warrior of Light from attending a much long awaited for dinner.”

The guard blanches. His gaze passes from her face to her rapier and back again, noting her mixed Hyur and Elezen features. Her image has been passed around Ishgard long enough now most citizens have some idea of what she looks like even if they haven’t seen her at official events.

“I’m sorry, mistress,” he says. “Even if you are the Warrior of Light, as you claim, I cannot allow you to pass without verification of your identity—”

She folds her arms, annoyed. “What verification? What else do I need to do to prove I am myself?”

“I—”

“That is quite enough, Gillesoireaux, thank you.”

Aymeric’s voice resounds from beyond the gate. Peering past the young guard, Aureia finds him on the threshold to the manor, a slightly perplexed look in his eye and an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. For once he is not dressed in his uniform, but the refined doublet and hose common among the Ishgardian nobility.

Gillesoireaux’s mouth opens in shock. “But, ser, I must protest—Lucia—”

“I commend you for fulfilling your duty so thoroughly, Gillesoireaux, but I believe I know the identity of my guest well enough to recognize her. Now, if you please. Allow her to pass. It is quite cold out tonight.”

The young man’s cheeks turn red. Swallowing his pride, he nods in respect and stands aside, gesturing for Aureia to proceed. She walks quickly through the gate and up the stone path, a strange flush on her cheeks and a queasy feeling in her stomach. Though she suspects she and Aymeric will both find this incident amusing to reflect on in a few days time, for now she can’t determine whether she is embarrassed about it or simple anxious for the dinner that lies ahead. She was filled with giddy happiness several nights ago at the prospect of spending time with him. But now she is here, on the doorstep of his estate…

Where is the confidence she had that evening outside Estinien’s room? It takes more willpower than she would like to admit not to excuse herself and run straight to the Brume.

Do me a favour and go with him for once. Give it a chance, for Fury’s sake. He will never shut up about you otherwise.

“I apologize for the trouble,” Aymeric says, ushering her through the door. “Gillesoireaux is young and takes his duties very seriously. I suspect fear of being tricked into letting unsavoury personages through overcame his good sense—though I fail to see how any Ishgardian citizen would fail to recognize you on sight.”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that. For all he knows, I might have been Hilda in disguise masquerading as the Warrior of Light in a bid to further ingrain lowborn citizens into your ever-expanding social circle.”

He sighs soberly and closes the door behind her. “Though I would hope none of my staff share those proclivities, it is a sentiment often echoed in the Pillars—”

She lays a hand on his arm. “It was a joke, Aymeric. And not a very good one.”

Aymeric coughs, covering his embarrassment, and glances at her. The corners of his eyes crinkle with a wry smile as he notes her rapier. “You came fit for battle, I see,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

She frowns, folding her arms defensively across her chest. “The last Ishgardian dinner I attended ended with me drugged and on the floor. You never know what will happen—” Gods, Aureia, did you really just say that? “—besides, you’re not one to talk! Not once, in all this time I have known you, have you graced my presence without your greatsword. Or your armour.”

He stares at her, taken aback by the sudden deluge of words. “I…” A small chuckle escapes him. “I suppose you speak the truth. Lucia has said as much before. Routine is no small comfort, one that I perhaps rely upon too often and unthinkingly. One could say it is fortuitous that tonight I have finally relinquished some of my habits that are consequences of profession and position.”

“Are you sure? You have done away with the armour, but I’m not entirely convinced you’re not hiding Naegling behind your back.”

He laughs again and takes a step back, spreading his hands in a very un-Aymeric-like way. “Then perhaps you will have to examine me for yourself,” he says. He turns out to one side, then to the other—to call it a twirl would be too much—and sinks into a low bow. As he gazes up at her from behind long, dark lashes, the coy smirk on his lips feels private. Personal. Just for her. ���No hidden weapons, greatswords or otherwise.”

She smiles, buoyed by his gentle humour, her mind reaching for a witty remark—and pauses. A shadow moves in her peripheral vision. She blinks, ripping her gaze away from Aymeric to dart around the foyer. A butler—tall, Elezen, genteel in the way of the Ishgardian upper crust, with all the quiet confidence and experience that Gillesoireaux lacked—enters the foyer and glides effortlessly across the room, stopping only to bow politely to them both. His piercing eyes linger on her in a way she does not like, taking in her tunic’s deep neckline and the tips of her ears poking through her hair.

Only then does she realize that the hall is far from empty. Behind Aymeric it unfolds in a kaleidoscope of marble floors and blue-trimmed walls, floor-length windows framed by sweeping velvet curtains, the crystal chandelier that is somehow gilded yet not gaudy, a magnificent staircase ascending to the second floor. It’s exactly the kind of staircase the demure little protagonist of those romance chapbooks Tataru stockpiled from the Jeweled Crozier would use to make her grand entrance. The butler is not the only servant here; a handful of others are going about their evening tasks while furtively glancing in her direction and eyeing her up.

She doubts she meets their expectations.

Aureia glances back to Aymeric, catching him still in his bow. Heat sears her cheeks—damn damn damn it—and she ruthlessly hopes the colour doesn’t show on her pale face. Maybe she can brush it off as a result of the brisk evening air.

Wind burn. Right. Is that where we’re at? I’m not blushing, it’s wind burn.

The butler appears a foot behind Aymeric, thick grey brows drawn together in an obvious frown, and clears his throat.

Aymeric jolts out of his bow and straightens, reverting seamlessly into the posture of the Lord Commander. Professional. Polite. Adroit. The picture of knighthood and chivalry. She knows him well enough know it is a role as much as the Warrior of Light. But the way he inhabits it every day, fully and resolutely, as fulfillment of his duty to his country… Sometimes she worries he is more the façade than the man.

“Marcel!” he says. “My apologies, I did not expect—”

“Merely here to receive your honoured guest, my lord, but I see there was no need,” Marcel interrupts smoothly. “I did not realize that you had departed your private office so early before dinner. Is there a change in your schedule I was not made aware of? I can amend my timetables—”

“No, that is quite all right, I assure you.” Aymeric lowers his head, almost as if he has been scolded like a schoolboy. “I was happy to greet Mistress Malathar myself.”

“Did you wish to return to the study? Mistress Malathar is early. I am happy to escort her to the sitting room in the meantime. Or perhaps the library. Your parents’ collection on Ishgardian cultural and religious history may be of particular interest to her.”

“That won’t be necessary, Marcel, thank you.”

The butler nods and places a hand over his heart, bowing deeply. “I am ever but your humble servant, my lord.”

Giving Aureia a calculated look, he excuses himself and departs briskly down the hall.

Aymeric coughs, a flush on his cheeks, and awkwardly links his hands behind his back. “Shall we?” he says hesitantly. “It seems we have some time before dinner is served. No sense in standing in the threshold, I wager. Unless you have a preference for waiting here, of course…?”

“Hm. You know, I do love a good foyer. And you have a particularly beautiful entrance hall.”

His eyes brighten. “Is it not? My parents did find much enjoyment in their taste and style…” He trails off, noting her expression, and sighs and shakes his head. “That was a jest, I see.”

“It was.”

“I am making a fool of myself once again.”

Aureia cocks her head and sweeps across the foyer. “Not a fool,” she says affectionately, taking his arm in hers. She’s uncertain where the impulse came from, but it feels appropriate in a hall like this. Maybe Tataru’s chapbooks had a more lasting impression on her than she thought. He doesn’t seem to mind or find it odd, at any rate. “Just incredibly easy to tease.”

“Incredibly easy? Well then, I shall take note. Perhaps I can put up more resistance next time.” He guides her down the hall, strolling towards a pair of arched glass doors. Count Edmont would never have the like in his manor. “But your remark did remind me that this is still very much my foster parents’ home. Their vision, their tastes, an inarguable inspiration to their peers. Perhaps they expected me to make changes once I inherited the estate, but I never could bring myself to overturn their memory. This house is as much theirs as it is mine. I count my blessings and my fortunes every day for the life they provided me.”

“I see.”

He eyes her, glancing down from his towering height. “You must forgive Marcel,” he continues. “He was the former viscount’s butler and he has been with the house since before I was born. He may be curt and fiercely protective of the Borel name—and, if you will allow me a moment of honesty, perhaps a little too protective—but his intentions are well-meaning.”

He pushes the doors open. They swing outwards to welcome them into a sitting room decorated in soft blues and periwinkles. A warm fire crackles merrily in the hearth, casting its dancing light around it.

“Protective?” Aureia asks as he shuts the doors behind them. Though any servant passing could spot them through the glass, at least the sound will be muffled, affording them some privacy. “How so?”

Aymeric gestures to the nearby settee. “There is a particular sense of Ishgardian propriety about House Borel’s old guard, so to speak,” he says carefully, waiting for her to sit down.

She sinks into the cushions, fingers plucking unconsciously at the frilled edges of a nearby pillow. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I hold Marcel and his staff in nothing but the highest regards,” he continues, seating himself opposite her. A strange stab of disappointment pangs in her heart. Almost as if she wishes that he had joined her on the couch, close enough to touch. Close enough for her to lay a hand in his, to thread her fingers with his in imitation of that night in the infirmary. “But their enduring devotion to my foster parents’ and their reputation does blind them. My adoption caused a stir among the high and minor houses alike, one that was not easily mitigated. Gossip behind closed doors can be as brutal a warfare as any battlefield. Marcel does not intend any disrespect, but I believe he wishes I carry on my parents’ good name without subjecting it to further slander.”

Her gut tightens into a familiar knot, an unwanted prickle creeping down the back of her neck. “Why should inviting me to dinner be the cause of slander for your House?” she says flatly. “I thought we were friends.”

“And we are, are we not? Aureia, there is no person on this world whom I am prouder or happier or honoured to call friend—”

“You staff seems to think differently. Where would they get that impression, I wonder?”

He coughs, covering an awkward smile. “They are an imaginative lot, it is true, but—”

“Marcel’s concerned, isn’t he. He is Ishgardian through and through. The old kind, that is. Warrior of Light or not, he sees a half-Elezen woman appear on your doorstep and there is only one thought in his mind.”

A pause. He closes his eyes, wincing with pain as if she had stabbed him in the gut. “Yes. You see it plainly.”

Aureia exhales a long breath and folds her hands, resting them on her knees. This is not the conversation she imagined she would have upon entering his house, but it seems it has raised its ugly head regardless. “I’m sorry,” she says slowly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He opens his eyes, relief flickering across his face. “You have not. Far from it. If apologies are required, it should be from me to you. On behalf of certain ancient gentlemen who are far too entrenched in their ways to avoid jumping to conclusions.”

There is a part of her—a niggling part, deep down, thrashing around in her mind that she must stamp out lest she let it slip across her tongue—that wants nothing more than to ask him point-blank what Marcel would do if they were more than friends. If he loves her the way she thinks he does it must be on his mind. She can imagine the horror on Marcel’s part, the conclusions he would race to while watching the son of his beloved viscount fall for a woman of mixed heritage. Bastard Elezen children are one thing in Ishgard. But bastard children with Hyur blood in their veins…

Her heart hammers, rising panic creeping across her skin. That would require so many elements to fall into place, so many variables to go both right and wrong. Besides, it’s not like she could ever… she can…

Not this again.  

“Aureia?”

His voice resounds quietly in her ears, a blanket of calm and warmth. The sound of him so close yet so far away cuts through her panic, dispersing it as easily as the sun melts mists in its morning glow.

She raises her head, meeting his eyes, and instinctively pushes a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ve never told anyone this,” she says quietly. “Not even Hilda. But Haurchefant warned me near a year ago that Ishgard may judge me harshly not for who I am, but what I am. He believed I could win them over easily, that the nobility’s contempt for me would melt as soon as I gave them something to talk about other than exile, refugee or half-Elezen. He had more faith in the goodness of his peers than anyone. Perhaps a little too much. He hoped my association with his father would count for something, but I’m not certain if this city is prepared to judge me for anything other than who my parents may have been. And I’m not even Ishgardian.”

Aymeric nods and leans across to take her hand. “It should not be this way. And I do not wish for it to continue this way.”

She smiles faintly, running her thumb across the back of his hand. “I don’t care what they say about me,” she says firmly. “I’m a hero to some, a villain to others. I can live with it.”

“You should not have to. If there was a way—”

“Please, Aymeric, I’m begging you not to draft a new statute on my behalf. You can’t decree change and expect centuries-old beliefs to change overnight.” She pauses, her teeth scraping her lower lip as she considers her next words. An admission, one she hasn’t shared with anyone. “You know, when I first came here, I thought it would be easier to pretend to be Hyur. Even now, it’s easier to keep them hidden. But something in the city is changing. You’ve changed it. Hilda is changing it. And perhaps I am, too. In a few years, who knows? It could be different.”

“It could. It is my most fervent hope that it is. But Aureia, you should not have to hide who you are to placate the misguided few.”

She shrugs. “It’s fine. It is what it is.”

“It is not to me.”

Her heart stutters. There is such genuine warmth in his voice and in the way he is looking at her, she can barely breathe. He has quite literally knocked her speechless. She shifts her weight, pulling herself to the very edge of the settee so she can have a firmer grasp of his hand without straining her reach. If it weren’t for those glass doors, she may have very well thrown herself down next to him. Or into his arms.

Either feels appropriately impulsive. Like the protagonists of Tataru’s chapbooks.

Hells, why do you keep thinking of those? This isn’t some fairy tale.  

“Aureia,” Aymeric says gently, his fingers still entwined with hers. “If it’s not too presumptuous of me… may I ask you a personal question? Where in Eorzea do you call home?”

“I’m not Eorzean.”

The words are out of her mouth before she has time to think about them. She bites her lower lip, silently cursing her slip of the tongue. Aymeric, thankfully, has not noticed. He simply waits for her reply, patient and understanding. If anything, judging from his expression he seems to regret his curiosity out of fear of prying into a sensitive topic.

“I apologize,” he says quickly. “Please, do not feel imposed to tell me more than you wish—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupts. “It’s not something I often want to talk about.”

And not for the reasons you’re thinking.  

Where is home? Rolling meadows, babbling brooks, the scent of loamy earth and the rush of the sea. The bones of metal streets, wires above and below thrumming with magitek, air so freezing she can’t feel her nose, the metallic tang of blood industry in the air. These are the two sides of Garlemald—temperate Locus Amoenus, where she was born, and the glacial Imperial capital, where she was honed into a killer. Spy. Agent. Operative.

She had no home after she defected, not until Ul’dah. And though the scars of the bloody banquet have now healed, she can never see it the same again.

Two homes. One she rejected. And one who rejected her.

Secrets upon secrets. A different person then, under a different name, a name she never wants someone like Aymeric to hear. She has told no one her origins, not even the Scions. How would they react, knowing their dearest friend was secretly the very thing they were fighting against? It would be reasonable to admit the truth to Lucia, who as a Garlean defector and Aymeric’s left hand would be most likely to understand.

But she is anything but reasonable. She killed her former self the day she left. Better to let Kira decay for good then let her history be exhumed.

“Corvos,” Aureia says finally, careful not to use the Garlean name for the region. “I was born in Corvos. It doesn’t have much meaning to me now. I have no interest in seeing my parents ever again.”

“Corvos?” He raises an eyebrow. He has noted her tone and sagely avoids the topic of her parents. She’s thankful—she’s not sure if she could undergo another incident similar to Hilda’s blunt scrutiny when she asked which Elezen parent had a dalliance with a Hyur. “You are very far from home.”

“The world’s a big place, Aymeric. There’s a lot that goes on outside your own borders. I never could stay still for long.”

“A thirst for adventure?”

A faint smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “For a better version of myself.”

The glass doors open, throwing streaming light into the room. Aureia jerks back and pulls her hand from Aymeric’s, situating herself deep into the settee’s cushions. Aymeric is not so fast. He remains hunched over, his hand hovering in the air, still grasping at where her retreating fingers had once been.

Shit. Dinner. Right.

Marcel clears his throat. “Dinner is served, my lord,” he announces, observing the scene before him with commendable detachment. If he disapproves of her, he will not let it show. “My lady.”

Aymeric rises to his feet, offering his hand to her. She pauses, mind flooded with question—should she take it? Should she not? Will Marcel see it as burgeoning romance if she does? Will he see it as burgeoning romance she is trying to hide if she doesn’t?—and stands up, hands falling straight to her sides, gripping a fistful of her leather coat.

Down the hall to the foyer, through a set of heavy double doors and into a hallway lined with windows. She almost has time to appreciate the view of the square outside before Marcel is ushering her through another set of doors and into a room whose purpose is utterly baffling to her and seems to be nothing but a square-shaped entry hall of some kind. Finally, he throws open the doors to the dining room and steps aside, bowing them in with the grace of an expert butler.

Aureia’s eyes widen. She slows her pace, boots scraping against the polished wood floors as she stares gobsmacked. The dining room is softly inviting with its familiar blues and warm hearth, the long table is outfitted for more than a single guest. Candlelit and with more cutlery and plates than she knows what to do with. Surely there has to be a purpose for the three separate wine glasses at each setting. And that is to say nothing of the mouth-watering smells coming from the feast laid out before her.

All of this? For us? Aymeric, what in the hells?  

Her stomach growls. He had to have heard it. Both him and Marcel.

Aymeric smiles, nodding for her to sit even as he strides around to the other side. She smiles tentatively in return and draws out her chair. For some reason, sitting at this table feels… important? Momentous? Decisive? As if the full House of Lords and House of Commons should be here in attendance and they are calling upon her to make yet another decision about the fate of their nation.

A dinner invitation should be a simple night at a tavern with good ale and good meat, not something amounting to a full fucking wedding feast. But then this is Aymeric. She should have realized what she was getting herself into the moment he sent that letter. It’s why she panicked dressing for this event. Because he always has to make it an event.

Aymeric is a man of extremes. Although he may come across as quiet and steadfast, there is a recklessness in his dependability. Fervour in his resolve. He has never been one do things halfway, he commits hard and fast with every fibre of his being or not at all. This dinner has been denied to them too many times, of course he is giving it his all. Whether he is in love with her or not is a moot point. This is a declaration of sorts, one made grander by how long it has been put aside.

He is Ishgardian through and through.

Genteel. Proper. Lavish. He is giving her so much, showering her with so much, his affection is as suffocating as it is heart-warming. A part of her is desperate to retreat into the shadows and flee. Maybe even crack a window open and dive over the balcony like Estinien.  

If only they could have stayed in that sitting room. All she wants is to spend time with him, talk with him, without all of this…

“Wine, my lady?” Marcel’s voice sounds above her shoulder.

Aureia blinks. Somewhere between seeing the table and her thought crisis, she has removed her rapier and stashed it on a nearby chair, sat down and pulled hers in as far as it will go. “Uh yes, thank you,” she says, shifting in her seat. The chair creaks beneath her. An inelegant and unladylike sound. The butler must be appalled. She coughs. Desperate to put her restless hands to use, she fidgets with her coat’s collar as he fills her glass.

Marcel sets the decanter expertly on a tray and takes a step back. “Shall I take your coat, Mistress Malathar?” he asks.

She drops her hand, the question cutting through her distracted mind. “I’m fine as I am, thank you,” she replies curtly. “Though admittedly I am not well versed on current Ishgardian dinner protocol, the Lord Speaker may have changed something without me noticing. Should I be giving you my coat or have I committed an abominable faux-pas?”

Aymeric snorts with laughter. The sound is faint and not very like him. It makes her smile.

The butler is not impressed. “I was merely inquiring as you seemed uncomfortably warm at the dinner table and your coat, mademoiselle, could be at fault,” he says, migrating around the table to serve Aymeric. “Though I will take this opportunity to inform you that it is not customary for lords and ladies to dine in their overclothes.”

“Good thing I’m not a lady.”

“All is well and good, my lady, and I thank you for it. I fear you would be inappropriately dressed should you remove your coat.”

Aureia flushes, her skin prickling, too embarrassed to be angry. “I—”

“Thank you for your service tonight, Marcel,” Aymeric interrupts. There’s a cold look in his eye. He holds out his hand, gesturing for him to stop pouring. “Protocol or not, custom or not, she can keep her coat and wear what she pleases. I think it fits her well.”

The tone in his voice communicates far more than his words. This will be addressed—firmly and without question. The manor’s staff will all no doubt hear of it.  

The butler’s mouth tightens. “Very good, my lord. Shall I send Timothien?”

“No,” Aymeric replies. “I believe the Warrior of Light and the Lord Commander are more than capable of handling this ourselves. We will not be needing anything else tonight. Please inform the staff that I wish to spend this evening with a cherished friend.” He glances across the table, his gaze finding hers. “Nothing would give me greater happiness.”

Marcel sets the wine and tray on the table, bows stiffly—once to Aymeric, once to Aureia—then turns on a heel and vanishes through a set of side doors. In the silence that follows, she can hear nothing but the crackle of the hearth and the steady, forced rhythm of Aymeric’s breath.

“I am as horrified as I am disappointed. He should never have—”

“I should have worn the dress,” she blurts.

He blinks. “The dress?”

She scrunches up her face. “Dress. Gown. Maybe that would have been appropriate attire. Maybe I should have done more with my face. Changed my mind. Last minute. It’s why I was late.”

“You weren’t late.”

“Wasn’t I? I missed our agreed upon time by almost a bell—”

“And dinner was not ready, so there was nothing to waste. If anything, I asked you to arrive earlier than necessary because I selfishly coveted time for us to converse alone. These moments with you are precious to me. But experience tells me there is never enough time, and sooner or later duty will call for one or both of us.”

Warmth floods her chest. Ignoring the blush on her cheeks, she sweeps a lock of hair behind her ear and reaches for her glass. “That doesn’t sound selfish to me. You are allowed to live, Aymeric. There has to be a day you can live for yourself. Not the House of Lords or the House of Commons. Or Ishgard.”

“Have you conversed with Lucia of late? I am certain she has said similar words once. Or twice.”

“She’s observant. You should listen to her.”

“I am listening to you.”

The lilt of his voice sends an excited shiver curling down her spine. Certain she will become tongue-tied if she answers him now, she grips her glass and takes a sip, the luxurious red wine sitting headily on her tongue. It is the most exquisite thing she has ever drunk. She may not be an expert in Eorzean vintages, but she’s spent enough time around Gibrillont to identify the signs of luxury wine. For all she knows, this wine could be a hundred years old and costs tens of thousands of gil.  

And he thought to serve this tonight? To her?

You’re being an idiot. Don’t read so much into it. You’ve dined with Count Edmont, you know this is how the aristocracy does this sort of thing. This is nothing special.  

She glances over the table, taking in the sumptuous food. Soups and meats and roasted vegetables. Pastries piled on a platter. There is risotto in front of her, mixed with something she thinks may be black truffles. Truffles. Aymeric is either trying desperately to impress her—unlikely, he’s not the sycophantic sort—or he really is…

What did I tell you about reading too much into it?

“Forgive me if this is strange to say,” Aymeric continues, reaching for the decanter and finishes filling his glass. “But I would rather you come as you are, not what you think you should be.”

She pauses. “What do you mean?”

“The dress you spoke of. Frankly, I do not care what you see fit to dress yourself in, nor how closely you choose to follow Ishgardian customs. It would make my heart heavy indeed to see you forgo the very essence of yourself and trade it for traditions that are not your own. I would not argue we besmirch custom and culture wholly and throw them to the wolves, but rather I do not believe their sanctity should go unquestioned. One must take part in tradition out of choice, not obligation. Traditions are precious and deserve to be celebrated, but to embrace them blindly does not equate respect in my eyes. There will always be those for whom tradition fails, and those who tradition forgot.”

He exhales a long breath and lays a hand on the table near his glass. “Perhaps you count yourself among them, more at home amongst the good people of the Brume then the lords and ladies of the nobility. I can lay no blame at your feet for preferring Foundation to the Pillars when some here see your very existence as an affront to the fantasy they deem a civilized society. Regardless, you have notoriety and grand stories of your accomplishments precede you. To some, you are as much a fixture of this era of restoration as the House of Lords and the House of Commons, or the efforts of the good overseers and caretakers of the Firmament. But as wont as the people are to place the Warrior of the Light upon a pedestal, so too are they to forget there is a very real woman at the heart of those tales. I shall not. You cannot be anything other than yourself, and I will not ask it of you.”  

She raises her head and meets his eyes, her heart throbbing in her chest. Gods, why must he be like this? What has she done to deserve a friendship like his?

“Perhaps it is something we share, then,” she suggests, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

He blinks, startled, and chortles to cover his surprise. “We do?” he asks.

“Aymeric, consider what you have accomplished. My hand may have brought an end to Nidhogg’s wrath, but it is you who had the conviction to pull Ishgard out of this war. Break down the walls this country encased itself in for centuries. Bring an end to the cycle—”

“It was not I who should be accredited with such deeds, but rather men and women far greater than myself. Lord Haurchefant and Estinien and Ysayle, to say nothing of yourself. I can still see you there on the Steps of Faith, striding fearlessly towards the wyrm. It is not a moment I will soon forget.”

“You place too much importance on it—”

“You think I say that as a commander commending his greatest general for feats in battle. It is not so rote as that. Ishgard held its breath that day and you—”

She exhales sharply. “Would you let me finish?”

He bows his head. “Of course,” he says, unable to hide his smile. “Consider me suitably chastised.”

Aureia pauses, twisting her hands together beneath the table. What can she say to get her point across? Whenever she pushes the importance of his political maneuvers, he seems keen on derailing the point to praise her actions in combat. Perhaps that is the soldier in him or the rhetoric of Halone, though in Ishgard, they are often one and the same. The fast and dazzling heroism of victory in battle will always trump the slow, tedious work of reform.

She turns her head, her gaze wandering the dining room as she gives herself time to think. Lights dance on the opposite wall, drawing her eye to the hearth and its crackling flames. A set of portraits hang above the mantlepiece, depicting a wise Elezen noble and his wife. Grey-haired, strong features, kind eyes… These must be his adoptive parents. The former viscount and viscountess. By all accounts they loved him dearly, placing no blame on him for his accident of birth.

He has spoken little of them. Considering her difficulties with her own family, she would never want to press the matter. But she can’t help to wonder how much of him came from them. He may have called Thordan “Father” in those final days, but his true father—the man who raised him—is remembered here, his memory hanging proudly upon the wall.

If there is anything she knows all too well, it is that family is a very different thing from blood.

“When the whole nation looks to you, what do they see?” Aureia says finally. “On one hand, the commander who did not come from noble stock. The bastard who stood in the face of bloody tradition and sought another path. The reckless fool who defies century of tradition. On the other, the viscount who has nothing but love for his country. A noble man and a man of righteous faith, for whom there is no sacrifice too great if it means bringing Ishgard to the dawn of a new day. Aymeric, you are as much an enigma to your nation as I am. If they forget the Warrior of Light is a living, breathing person with blood in her veins, then so it is true for the Lord Commander. You are an ideal to them, at once a traditionalist to be trusted and a maverick to be praised. A visionary.”

She takes a breath and forges ahead. “But the problem with ideals is that they are just that. Ideals. The work ahead of you will be longer and more gruelling than fighting any dragon. My duty is done the moment my enemy is felled, but yours is just beginning. There will come a time when your people will see you not as the ideal they believe, but the man you are. And, in my experience, there are not many who like to see their fantasies broken.”   

His gaze passes over her, blue eyes piercing and stern. For a moment, she wonders whether she has upset him, but then his expression breaks into a blinding smile. “Eloquently put,” he says, running a thumb across the stem of his glass. “Are you certain you are not fit for public speaking?”

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck, no.”

He snorts with laughter, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I think I only had one of those in me for tonight,” she continues. “Best let Alphinaud write my speeches from now on.”

“I suspect he would jump elatedly at the chance.”

“Though—and I mean this quite seriously, Aymeric—please don’t ask me to make a speech. I’ll stand impressively in the back with impressive armour and an impressive weapon to make the right impressive impression, but I can’t promise anything more than that.”

His expression falls.

She cocks her head, brows drawn together in confusion, tongue pressed against the back of her teeth. Did she come off too strongly? He’s accustomed to her sense of humour by now, surely, but from the look on his face he seems almost… upset. “I’m sorry,” she says. “If I’ve made a fool of myself and put my foot in my mouth—”

“You did not,” he interrupts. “If truth be told, you simply reminded me of Estinien. I’m certain he has told me as much the same, more than once.”

A strange discomfort twists in her gut, a raw sense of loss. Not for her own friendship with the wayward dragoon—she is certain she will see him again someday, and if anything she understands all too keenly his desire to vanish into thin air after the torment he has suffered—but rather for Aymeric’s. He lost something greater than she did the day Estinien left. A decade of unconditional love and comradeship abandoned, and here he is, but a few days later, spending an evening with her rather than searching for his dearest friend.

“I suspect he has rubbed off on me,” she says carefully.

He laughs. “And I fear the disasters we must need circumvent if he had remained. I trust you both dearly, but together? Ishgard would never be the same.”

She snorts, grinning at his gently teasing tone, the knot in her gut relaxing.

Aymeric clears his throat. “But enough talk,” he says keenly. “Our dinner awaits and Marcel would be well and truly disappointed should our food grow cold.”

“We wouldn’t want to disappoint Marcel.”

“No. We would not.”

He catches her eye. Something passes between them—a shared moment, a private joke, something just for the two of them. It makes her feel light, buoyant with joy. Heart thrumming with happiness, she reaches for her glass, gripping the stem in unpracticed hands. Too used to Gibrillont’s flasks and tankards. With the right pressure and speed, she could snap the delicate crystal in two.

Maybe that’s why there’s three glasses at each setting… Gods, you really won’t let that one go, will you? Just ask him.

“A toast, perhaps?” she says, raising her glass.

He smiles and raises his own. “A fine idea,” he replies. “To friendship?”

“To friendship.”

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv fic #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv wol #aymeric de borel #aureia malathar #oc tag #writing tag #long post #in case the read more breaks there's +7000 words in here ahhhhhhhh

[coldshrugs]

wip whenever

@lavampira tagged me in wip wednesday this week and i'm very slowly chipping away at a late heavensward era piece so. here's a bit of that!

tagging with no pressure: @scionshtola, @lilas, @thevikingwoman, @galadae, @roguelioness, and some newer mutuals whose writing i'd like to get to know 👀 @ahollowgrave, @ooeygooeyghoul, @jigschosai

Strange, the way grief turns one into a shadow. Io steps into a room and the occupants move around her, pressing in close to the walls; space enough for her and the dead, she supposes. If they look at her at all, it is with an insufferable, simpering pity, and every exchange of words ends the same: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. The performative prayer, always a whisper, as if speaking it any louder might disrupt death. Even the knights manning the lower floor of the Congregation pay her no mind as she enters. Only Handeloup, the most gentle of soldiers, spares a quick glance, but his face tells her even a greeting would require more delicacy than he has to spare today. He nods solemnly and turns back to the stack of documents sprawled across the table in front of him. No matter. She is not here to talk–she came to hide.

#i am still untangling the exact nature of the relationship i envision for io and haurchefant #it's changing a bit. i think it's another 'almost' thing for her tbh #that's what's making this so difficult to write. #i think haurche isn't the exact loss she feels at this point. but a catalyst to the sharp anger she feels over losing her family #much to think about. much to explore #wip

[starrysnowdrop]

Wolmeric Week 2023

#3: AU Alternate Timeline

((Hope y’all don’t mind, but instead of an alternate universe, I’ll be writing this from the 8th Umbral Calamity Timeline, as I typically am not able to stick with AUs at all, and this is something I’ve been wanting to write for a while anyways. Hope you enjoy!!))

Content Warning: Character Death

~**~

2nd Sun of the 4th Astral Moon, Year 196 of the 8th Umbral Era

Today, Biggs and I went to the ruins of Ishgard, and as soon as we reached what remained of Fortemps Manor, two rival forces had begun to attack the city, so we had to act cautiously, but quickly.

It wasn’t long before I found what I was initially searching for: Heavensward, Count Edmont de Fortemps’ memoirs of the end of the Dragonsong War, but I also had found a selection of other documents that looked promising. I gathered all of the materials and took it back to the Ironworks’ encampment.

Upon further study, I discovered something that I had not expected, but ‘tis a welcome find nonetheless. I now have a first hand account of the demise of one of the Warriors of Light, my childhood friend, Hali Aloke.

It was long known that Hali had not been killed along with her fellow Scions and Warriors of Light, and though it was proven that she had died around the same time period as the others, the details of her death were not clear.

What was found in Count Edmont’s personal effects was a short missive from the frontline in Ghimlyt, which details the retreat of the alliance forces after the Empire released Black Rose onto the field of battle. Edmont’s son Count Artoirel was able to escape with the majority of the Ishgardian knights, but the Lord Commander, Ser Aymeric de Borel, remained behind to allow his people to retreat. However, once Hali had learned that Ser Aymeric was still in danger, it is said that no one was able to stop her from running after the Lord Commander, knowing that it was too late, and not only his death but hers as well, was all but assured.

After the battle, once the gas had dissipated enough to collect the dead, Hali’s body had been found lying next to Ser Aymeric, her hand resting on top of his.

Though I am happy in knowing what happened to my friend at long last, I am filled with sorrow at how she had passed. To run headlong straight into danger in order to save another with no thought to her own wellbeing, that is just who Hali was. That is no surprise to me. However… I still cannot help but wonder if there was more to it than that.

Just what did Ser Aymeric mean to you, Hali? What was in your heart and mind in those last moments?

Perhaps one day I can ask you that in person. Or perhaps I may never know the truth. But I know that I will find you again. You will live again, I promise you that.

~ G’raha Tia

#wolmericweek #wolmericweek2023 #prompt 3 AU #shadowbringers spoilers #cw character death #wolaymeric #aymeric x wol #wol x aymeric #g’raha tia #hali aloke #oc: drops of jupiter #hali x aymeric #ship: hold me closer

[unbreakable-oaths]

My OCs

Just a little intro post for the two ocs most often talked about on this blog :)

Ibakha Malqir

My main WoL. She’s a tank with a strong preference for paladin but will bring dragoon or monk if the situation calls for fewer tanks. Ibakha originally hails from a small, semi-isolated tribe on the western Azim Steppe. She lived a traditionally nomadic warrior life until she traveled to Eorzea after listening to the giant crystal in her dreams repeatedly tell her she needed to and her story very closely follows the MSQ from there. Her best friend is a hawk named Ajanga who made the journey to Eorzea with her and is both much too old and too smart to be a regular hawk (despite his claims otherwise). She was viewed as quiet and perhaps not too bright early in her journey because she rarely spoke but this was mostly due to the fact that while the Echo helped her know what everyone else was saying, it didn’t help her be understood by those around her. In her mid/late 20′s by post-Endwalker. She/her or they/them lesbian currently in a relationship with Y’shtola Rhul (was previously in a relationship with Minfilia Warde). Overall loyal, self-sacrificing, adventurous, unwilling to admit weaknesses, and in over her head 95% of the time (not that she’d admit to it).

Khutulun Dotharl

Blacksmith, Paladin, Dark Knight. The tribe celebrated when she was born because the khan declared that The-Warrior-Who-Won-10,000-Horses had finally returned to them and would lead them into a new era of prosperity with her martial prowess. Unfortunately Khutulun would much rather be the The-Warrior-Who-Forged-10,000-Blades. She traveled to Eorzea seeking a blacksmith apprenticeship to improve her craft with techniques not found on the Steppe and prove herself worthy of the soul she inherited even if she didn’t want to be a warrior. Realizing she possessed the Echo and what that meant put her blacksmithing endeavors on the back-burner and she picked up sword and shield (that she forged herself) because she could never say no to people in need. Failure to protect her friends at the Bloody Banquet drove her to pick up dark knight because if the world wasn’t going to peacefully let her be a blacksmith, then she wasn’t going to give the world peace either. Barely 20 at the start of Heavensward, with a very typical Dotharli outlook on both gender and life expectancy. Sapphic but not currently in a relationship.

#ffxiv #my ocs #oc: ibakha malqir #oc: khutulun dotharl

[witchfall]

dirt in the wound

4 - healing

[Heavensward-era. After the Ravana fight. Izzie, still coming to terms with the weight of their duties...]

It stings like a bastard, the cut on her cheek.

Pebbles and dirt grime the edges of it; the skin is splayed open from the detritus of crystal crushed under Ravana's spindly, insectoid feet. The slice had been perfectly even, a gift from his terrible blade, until her mortal body plummeted to the ground from the force of it.

The moment is slippery. Her mind doesn't want to find purchase on the pain, burning hot with aether and the taste of blood, but she'd thrown herself forward to shove Noel out of the way of his sword's arc -- and she supposes that must be the culprit for this particular injury.

There are stories for them all, but she'd be damned if she could remember them.

She is ruminating on the nature of this work when the cool touch of magic digs into the sting -- yanking out the infection, pulling together the torn skin like laces in a bodice. She gasps aloud and recoils, because that sure as hells isn't what Noel's magic feels like--

"I'm sorry. I--I apologize, I simply..."

Alphinaud's unusually stuttering voice brings her back down from the rocky climb unto panic.

She glares at him from her perch on a cold stone, because that is easy. That is the known dynamic. Fall back into it, like a dance, and prepare for his pirouette, for his haughty rejoinder about how he wouldn't need to heal her if she wasn't always like this--

He pulls back his gloved hand. His eyes, so beautiful and dark, are wide enough to form their own gravitational pull.

Her glare dies -- shocked into smoothening, her answering expression that of confusion.

"Please." His hand hovers in the air. She watches his long, delicate fingers. "I'm sorry. I normally would leave it to Noel's discretion, of course, but she is still with Ysayle--"

"Ask next time," she grumbles out. Her skin burns with heat. She doesn't know why.

It's not like he's never seen her hurt before. He has, plenty of times. Why does this time feel weird and different? Why does it feel like she did something wrong, in making him look so upset? This is her job. She did her job. She shouldn't feel bad.

"Yes, of course," he says, entirely too quickly. His relief crushes his shoulders down. "Of course, I wasn't thinking. Forgive me."

She closes her eyes as his hand hovers just over her cheek. Barely an ilm away. She could lean in and he would touch her skin -- which is a very weird thought to have. Why is she thinking about that? She shouldn't.

Maybe because, for the first time, he sounds their age instead of like the hoity-toity lordling he pretends to be around these Ishgardians. Around storied personages like the Azure Dragoon, who is pretending not to watch with amusement near a wet boulder.

She winces against the coolness of his aether, not at all like the soothing warm salt water of Noel's cure spells. He's like a river, washing the blood and grime away, eroding the crux of the world with the force of his will. The injury will fade because he demands that it shall.

"Why do you care, anyway?" she asks, before she can stop the words from tumbling out. "It's just a cut."

"It looks painful," he says quietly. "And you needn't scar from such a thing when it is in my capacity to mend it."

She bites her lip. "I...forgot."

She forgot that he can heal.

Because he'd never had to, before. He'd never been in the field with them before. But things are different now. There is no one else to rely upon, save herself, Noel, and him. They are all that is left of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn, or at least their warrior contingent, and that reminder kicks the air out of her lungs hard enough that she takes in a sharp breath through her nose.

All that is left. A barely of-age girl with more grit than sense, a barely of-age boy with more brains than wisdom, and a brilliant adult woman broken entirely by grief thanks to that fucking Crystal Tower.

"Sorry," she mutters.

He blinks. "Whatever for?"

She doesn't know. All of it? All of her snapping at him, how he's stuck with her again, how his delicate little lordling body has to drag through the mud with them, how she'd made him worry? "A lot of things," she decides, for the sake of her pride. "But this time for forgetting."

A breathless, choked, single giggle bubbles out of him. Tension snapping. "Quite easy to forgive, I assure you."

His hand lingers in the air for a split second after the chime of his aether fades away. Like he's considering something, and then at the last moment, decides not to.

Instead he says: "Would you like help with your hair?"

Her face flushes hot. Angry, right? What else could it be? Surely nothing else but that. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He is the one that recoils this time. "I just meant...! Well, you tangled it quite severely in your last engagement, I--"

"My hair is fine! Thank you!"

"It has blood and dirt in it!"

"What if I like it that way?"

This. This is more normal. This, somehow, is healing.

She feels a smile pull at her lips as he angrily fumbles a response in turn...a smile that only grows when he finally, finally seems to realize she's fucking with him.

He glares at her, face turning pink -- and she bursts into laughter.

And when he sees her laugh, his confused smile in return is...pleased.

A healing only she can offer him in turn. This is their game. Theirs. And no blade, no gil, no scheming in the night can take that away.

#twinwolweek #wolphinaud #alphinaud leveilleur #ffxiv #izzie nenelori #having fun with using these as writing exercises and to look into their canon hehe

[sjofn-lofnsdottr]

A friend a while back did a little photo series of her WoL through the MSQ, and I thought that was cute, so I also did it. Why not make the faceless internet void look at it?

One of the funniest things to me is no one remembers Dusk started his little FFXIV career as an arcanist. I didn't have any idea what I was doing or what class I would like, and I basically picked that because I found the idea of using a book for a weapon very amusing. Dusk, as you can see, is realizing this nerd-ass class is not where his gifts lie.

I actually picked up lancer pretty much as soon as I got sent to Gridania. I fell in love with the idea of shipping Dusk and Estinien pretty much the moment he dramatically landed in front of Dusk and insulted him immediately, because I found that hugely funny. I had NO IDEA Heavenward would have me hanging out with him so much, and turn my ironic 'lol this is silly' ship into an actual ship. I also had no frickin' idea how correct dragoon would be (I didn't watch trailers! I didn't think there'd be so many specific callouts about my class!). Also being Blue Spiky Dork to Estinien's Black Spiky Dork gave me inordinate amounts of joy.

I picked up dark knight during Heavensward, as my FC had no one who wanted to tank, and I figured ... why not? I fell in love with the class story, of course, and I do actually like tanking! I had done it in other MMOs, I was just skittish when I was a baby sprout. I had started during the Stormblood era, so my sprout was gone by the time I headed into SB, which is a little crazy to think about now, but I did feel experienced enough to subject strangers to my tanking. Also, jumping puzzles can go fuck themselves.

Dusk, by the way, is basically 'what if a golden retriever was an elf?' which is why I kept playing DRK. Because I found the idea of poor Fray riding along with this sweet man without a resentful bone in his body absolutely hilarious. Alas, after the end of the Shadowbringers MSQ, I decided to give this newfangled gunbreaker class a try. I find gunblades extremely stupid. I find the concept ridiculous and not remotely cool.

But the class was *fun* and Dusk looks amazing in the armor. I am a simple creature, okay?

I want to say he'll probably still be a gunbreaker in Dawntrail's MSQ, I can't imagine either of the new classes drawing me away from it, since MSQ aside, I love tanking for my dork friends and will want to keep doing it. But who knows, I never thought I'd switch to gunbreaker, either.

#ffxiv #gpose #just dusk #seriously the armor is so good #watch I'll ditch it for corsair or some shit

[vixlenxe]

Talking with Xaos-Mun about HW Tiffanie has made me realize that he is one of two people that truly understand how bad & hopeless Tiffanie was back in them days.

Like I talk about the Heavensward Era a lot, but when I bring up how Tiffanie was, ya'll barely blink. Like I'm overexaggerating or something, but I'm not. HW Tiffanie was basically Sakura, but if Sakura was somehow worse.

#musings [lore; ideas and aesthetics] #(ya'll mfers doubt me like I don't know what i'm talking about but I FUCKING DO)

[mxkokopuff]

Koko meeting Estinien

They met way back in ARR, in the Seventh Astral Era quests. They didn't know his face, only his arrogant personality and willingness to jump into danger for no good reason. As they got to know each other in heavensward, Koko realized they really didn't like him much. He was hot-headed, stubborn (stinky), and only seemed to care about himself and his obsession with revenge. However, this was on the surface. Deep down Koko had feelings for him, they just didn't want to admit it to themself. Ysayle one night helped them realize this and before the battle at Azys Lla Koko was determined to confess. They backed down at the last second. An action they would soon live to regret as Estinien quickly fell prey to Nidhoggs influence and became a vessel. Unable to act fast enough to save him, Koko fled with their friends, looking back on his form with tears in their eyes. 

Dragonsong war happens. Estinien still appears as the vessel of Nidhogg. Aymeric shooting him with an arrow or trying to. Koko screams at Nidhogg to let him go. Honestly after all the Dragonsong war, and saving Estinien from the eyes, Koko was much too scared to confess at this point and was happy to simply be his friend. However while resting, Estinien asked for a private moment alone with Koko and he himself confessed much to the surprise of Koko. Estinien asked them out to dinner, and after a lovely evening of much teasing from Estinien, they decided to start dating.

#wol lore #koko malaguld #estinien varlineau #kokostinien #koko polycule

[meowww-ffxiv]

Oh yes! Non-WoL Meowdred and Theodore.

I made them to be compatible with my friends' WoLverses, but I mean. It's good food to chew on.

✧ They're contractors for the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. Skilled adventurers, but mostly just 2 guys who floated between high-paying jobs. They had an apartment set up in the Mist, but were reachable through linkshells and Thancred's contacts.

✧ Despite each possessing the Blessing of Light and the Echo, Minfilia could NOT for the life of her recruit them.

✧ Meowdred said the Scions sounded like a cult, offending everyone. He also said do-gooders like them were fated to die a wretched, meaningless death because he was still in his emo-era so yeah.

✧ He does the thing where he "belongs" to several free companies, but his main one was a money-focused if prestigious group of adventurers. Funnily enough, Theodore was not signed up with the same FC. Taxes, you understand.

✧ Meowdred and Theodore are available as Duty Support for all the ARR primal trials, and with an extra quest, could be available for Heavensward duties, replacing the random banneret or soldier.

✧ They could also be involved in the immediate aftermath of the Waking Sands being sacked by that Livia lady.

✧ Despite what Meowdred told Minfilia, he came running when he heard they were attacked. He was looking for survivors, and volunteered his services as a funeral priest to inter the dead and ensure news of their passing reach their families.

He told the Warrior of Light he was sorry for their loss, if there were any among those who passed. And that he would work to find out where the survivors were taken.

✧ Mordred and Theodore WERE able to corroborate the information of where the captured Scions were kept. They joined the duty to get them out of that castrum near Silvertear, and Theodore would remark that the "corpse" of Midgardsormr still felt like it echoed with a song.

✧ Mordred helped the WoL and company escape during the bloody banquet, putting the Brass Blades to sleep and guiding Lyse and Papalymo out of the dead end they found themselves in. He spent most of HW patches absent after returning from Ishgard, but returns for Baelsar's Wall where both he and Theodore were with the Grand Companies' forces.

✧ Although the two were involved in the Ala Mhigan front during StB, Mordred could mysteriously be found apparently in jail with the Sekiseigumi in Hingashi. Gosetsu remarked on it, because he recognized him from having hung out with the Doman refugees back in ARR.

✧ But the WoL can leave the cat for later because it would literally be a useless fucking side quest where apparently Mordred was found in the forbidden zones of the Garlean Embassy, and was summarily arrested. He was impatiently waiting in jail with the Sekiseigumi, but had broken out by himself at this point.

If/when the WoL caught up with him, he told them he was in the process of assaulting a "mobile Garlean base" south of Rhalgr's Reach, but they must've had a teleporter or something because he felt himself yoinked away and emerged in an unfamiliar case with the WORST nausea.

This was, of course, the precursor to the WoL being able to travel to the unattuned aetheryte in Yedlhimad. The Garleans had their own version of it.

✧ Anyway, you could take Mordred through Duty Support in the Far East if you do the quest. He doesn't offer anything particularly useful as a new companion, but is an extremely high-damage caster DPS who will explicitly use AoE attacks and might therefore get ur team through a lil faster.

Also he can be found around Locations offering his thoughts etc.

✧ Meowdred gets to go home when your WoL does, yaaay. Apparently he knew Carvallain and actually quite a few people in Limsa Lominsa, having spent his childhood there.

Theodore was BESIDE HIMSELF when u bring the cat back to Ala Mhigo. He thought he was DEAD like DUDE. and Meowdred said sorry, the linkpearl broke with the teleport, etc.

✧ Oh yeah they're background NPCs in Ala Mhigo dungeon and also were there during Ghimlyt Dark.

✧ Tbh anywhere the WoL went that wasn't the First, it seemed Meowdred and Theodore were there somewhere. The 2 Guys, you know?

#meowdred surana #theodore pentaghast #adopt 2 npcs into your wolverse today #non wol au

[paintedscales]

Chocolate-3. What does your OC find comforting when they are distressed or anxious? Are they able to ask for this comfort from others? Or do they need to be alone?

Hiya, Briar! Thank you for the ask! I appreciate it! \ o w o / Happy New Year's as well! I hope that the days meet you with grace and kindness!

Sweets and Puddings OC Questions

A lot of the time, Nomin found comfort in plums. Whenever she is feeling down or upset, having plums, plum-snacks, or just anything with plums in it would help to make her feel a little better. She associates plums with acceptance and belonging, because when she was first adopted into her Sagahl family, she was given some plums and remembers fondly the first time she met Bayarmaa, her adoptive sister, and Esenaij, her adoptive brother.

Before a certain time (pre-Shadowbringers), Nomin would be hard-pressed for sure to ask for or even accept plums from other people. The only time that she had less of a reservation to do this was when she asked Tataru or Alphinaud to do her shopping for her when they were in Heavensward before the movement after the Singularity Reactor ushering in an era of peace between Ishgardian and Dravanian. Or at least starting to. Nomin freely wanders Ishgard whenever she goes back (though still expresses trepidation without having some company with her to do so).

On that note, Heavensward for sure she indulged in a lot of dried plum snacks that could be procured for her. Another comfort of the time was drinking Ishgardian tea with a lot of milk and sugar as she bundled up close to the fireplace.

#questions and answers #user: briar-ffxiv #thank you ♥ #ffxiv #ffxiv oc #oc: nomin tal kheeriin

[bnuuywol]

What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other? For the ship asks!

When they first met back in ARR, Thancred was, of course, infamous for drunken escapades. There was this one time where he came back to the Waking Sands late at night with a couple of girls when Phoenyx was the only person still in one of the common areas. Not only did they embarrass him by saying "Is this that Viera you keep talking about?" (cause the man was drunk and pining and ended up infodumping about how much he admires Phoenyx and the things he does, totally oblivious to the fact that he was crushing), but then because he got so flustered by it, he stuttered over his words trying to explain himself, ran into a table, and fell flat on his face.

Also back in ARR era (cause they don't admit they have feelings until after Heavensward cause they're stubborn bastards), there was this one time that Phoenyx was using whatever bath/shower facilities that exist in the Waking Sands and, thinking he was alone in that part of the building, was basically full-voice belting Vieran folk music. Thancred was passing by the door and overheard. Soon, Phoenyx leaves the room in nothing but a towel cause its a very short walk back to his chambers, only to be met with Thancred, who gives him a shit eating grin and says "I never took you for a bard." It's not exactly inherently embarrassing but your crush overhearing you singing in the shower then seeing you half-naked when you get out... Phoenyx was very embarrassed by it.

Thanks for sending fren!! :)

#ffxiv #ffxiv wol #wolcred #thancred x wol #thancred waters #phoenyx eldritch #ask meme #wol oc