#even if she did have her memories of when thancred & urianger where there

[haunted-xander]

Gaia doesn't even know Ryne's past. Even in the first two sections of Eden (before she loses all her remaining memories) she only really vaugely knows about the whole Oracle situation (That Ryne is the Oracle of Light, used to be called Minfilia, and was isolated somewhere in Eulmore). But like, she didn't know about the situation with Ran'jit, nor the way her relationship was with Thancred at first, having only seen them interact after they've already gotten into a healthier dynamic.

And after Mitron takes her memories she doesn't even remember that! iirc she never got those memories back either, so she kinda knows basically nothing about Ryne outside of the direct stuff she experienced in the Eden story.

I imagine Ryne would tell her at least the basic stuff(like her imprisonment in Eulmore & the Oracle stuff), especially since it would probably be a bit disconcerting for Gaia to have Ryne know so much about her yet know basically nothing about Ryne in turn. We already see Ryne telling Gaia about Thancred & Urianger when her memories first start disappearing, so I imagine she'd continue with that once the situation with Mitron is resolved. She has a good bit to explain, but explain it she will.

#i can imagine gaia being surprised to find out about ryne & thancreds rough start #even if she did have her memories of when thancred & urianger where there #there wasnt really anything to indicated theres been any tension or negativity between them #granted its not like she was paying much attention to thancred & urianger to begin with #she was mostly focused on ryne #gaia #ryne waters #rynegaia #gaiaryne #final fantasy #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy xiv #ff14 #ffxiv #xander rambles #xander being insane about ryne #technically this is more about gaia but. it counts

[necro-man-sir]

A window closed, a door opened

You're killing yourself.

That's preposterous. She was too clever for that, no less than a genius. One of the more learned scholars one could find. If she didn't already know, she could find the answer. She was reliable. She was competent. She was able.

She was...

Lost.

Matoya was right. Aethersight was killing her. It had been weeks of near constant use - months, really - since a scare in her dreams.

Over the years, they had become a haze of aether as well. Her memories of her friends, of their faces - their physical faces - were fading. She couldn't rightly describe them anymore. In her waking hours she couldn't place their features. Did Thancred have a hooked nose? Which side did the twins hair part, again? How much taller than her was...

Her brows steeple in the dark of her inn room where she stood. She didn't know where she was. Citystate, yes, but the room was unfamiliar. She was exhausted, her body was withering around her and her aether was spent.

She couldn't see, now. It was just... Darkness, no flickering of the aether that made up what was around her.

She was too proud to exit the room and ask her friends for help in finding what she had dropped. It had clattered off ahead of her, but...

Her ears pin back, the end of her tail flicking in sharp, snapping movements, hands balled into tight fists. She bit down at the corners of her lips, jaw tense. And she weeps.

She lowers herself to the floor, gloved hands lifting to her face to hide the shame of her tears. Any sobs were left quiet, choked back and pitiful, her breath strained as she fights to get it together.

They had crossed the universe, she was capable of that, but unable to find a simple ink pen she dropped when she near tripped over a chair that was left in the middle of the room. It wasn't an important pen, why did it pain her so much to have lost it?

Her friends would be more than willing - happy, even - to help her. They wouldn't even blink at it, no side glances, no questioning, nothing. All she would receive was kindness and still she wept over the need to ask.

She had a cane at the door. What good was it, though, when she was too stubborn to practice?

Her breathing staggers inward, rubbing her hands into her cheeks, smearing make up that had run down from her eyes. Slumping there, she wills the tears to stop, failing at that, too.

"That was -- ing! You think -- did?" an enthusiastic voice sounded beyond her door, her ears snapping back to listen as she froze in place. She didn't breathe, fearing a sob would escape, her eyes wide. The conversation and footsteps continue, and then backtrack again, growing closer, quicker.

A knock at the door sounded out, rapping rapidly and startling her heart.

She takes in a short breath through her nose, pushes herself up from the floor, and quickly clears her face with her hands. She reaches into her bag to retrieve a small mirror, and on the first glance into it, her expression twists once more.

Right.

"Just a moment," she calls in the selfsame steady tone she wore, her hand extended out in front of her, unsteady, unsure steps, a scraping of wood as that "Damned-able chair!" dared to be in her way, again.

She hears a murmur beyond the door, and she stills, listening, setting the little mirror down on the chairs seat. At least the door was easy enough to find, the faintest light through the crack between the frame and wood. She makes her way over with a degree of care, her knuckles bumping into the frame, sliding down. Which side was the knob on, again?

It twists, and she pulls open the door, standing with her head high, her gaze forward, falling somewhere between the two who were there to greet her.

"Y'shtola, 'tis good to see--" the faintest hint of concern tinged her name, but, Urianger continues without missing a beat. "Pray, doest thou have a moment? I will not impose my company upon thee, but I had hoped that I might spend some time with thee, if thou art amicable."

She feels the slightest tinge of her hackles rising, and she makes a direct point to relax her ears and lower her shoulder. "I did not have plans for the evening. I had been going to bed," she had been, but she wasn't telling him no.

He doesn't let himself in, from there, standing patiently, and the time ticks by. "..."

She could hear him smile, his breath caught a certain way when his lips pulled. Her eyes narrow in the slightest.

There is a shifting of fabric, but there was no indication on what that movement was. More, still. Was he removing his jacket?

He really meant to stay, didn't he?

"Wouldst thou let me in, Y'shtola? There is a table to thy right that I cannot circumvent." His voice was so steady, so sure. She expecting him to be mocking, a chuckle at her being in the way. "... Apologies, come in," she says, turning her head to look at that table - or the best approximation she could manage, and she steps aside, holding the door open. He bids someone farewell, and she blinks. Who...?

Familiar, sure footsteps make their way off, their friend, leaving the both of them with what she was sure was nothing but their good graces and a light wave.

Surely they had some things to wrap up for the evening, it had been a long day.

Urianger makes his way in, speaking to her about somesuch as he hangs up his coat and sets something down on that little entrance table.

"I shall move this chair to the bed and seat myself. Dost thou require mine aid? Might I keep this light on, or wouldst thou prefer it dimmed?"

She stood there, stunned, her hand remaining on the doorknob, half closed but frozen. She hadn't even thought about the lights. "Go ahead." The chair lifts with a soft clunk, and then again after a few steps as it was set down in front of the nightstand. She hadn't realised her bed was all the way over there.

She couldn't ask -

"I brought with me a book, and I would read a passage to thee, if thou wouldst allow it. It moved me greatly in summers past, and I thought that thou might find the humor therein."

There was a smile, the slightest upturn of her lips. "Urianger. There is no need for that," she half refuses, stepping forward with a tad too much confidence, and she was fine for the first few steps, but, something rounded and long pressed into the ball of her foot, and she slides with the object scraping under her weight.

A yelp was let out, a clatter of the chair, and she hits the ground before he could catch her. She wasn't hurt, not physically, but she was horribly embarrassed.

... At least she knew where that damned pen had gone.

She pushes herself up without help, no awareness he had reached his hand out to her. He stands there with his hand aloft, his fingers curling, arm slowly falling as she straightens her clothing.

Y'shtola makes no comment on that fall, and she steps forward again, her shoulder knocking into Urianger's, and she simply sits down onto the bed as soon as her knee hits the edge of the mattress.

It's quiet for a moment as he picks up the chair and sits down again. She doesn't realise he's staring at her, not until that silence between them stretches on too long to be comfortable.

"...What is it?"

"A thought occurs to me… Pray don't take offense, as that is the last thing which I would wish to inflict upon thee, but hast thou considered a walking cane? Thy stubbornness is admirable, but perhaps thou couldst entertain it with more ease with its aid."

Her brows furrow.

"It would bring me naught but the greatest satisfaction to aid thee in thy practice."

She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest, making a point to give him a look, but she was a little off. "That isn't necessary, Urianger," she first refuses, but, her curiosity does spike. She decides to ask, albeit somewhat skeptical. "This book of yours isn't to convince me, is it? I doubt you know how to use this walking cane first hand."

He didn't exactly need one, nor did she.

Urianger only smiles, that same, calm tone laced with a fair amount of quiet passion he usually spoke. "On the contrary, my friend. I had ample time with which to practice when I lived amongst the fae in Il Mheg. My hosts did, on occasion, 'trick' me by stealing away my sense of sight. They did so at my behest-- that is to say, I tricked them into stealing it, for I wished to glean more of how thou seest, or perhaps feelst, the world, that I might learn to aid you in navigating it with greater confidence."

He was being genuine.

Her shoulders do relax again, she couldn't believe, too, how patient he was.

She couldn't remember a time he lost that patience, and by all accounts, he would... be an excellent teacher, wouldn't he?

A quiet moment passes as she actually does consider that, paying no mind to the turning of pages while he searches the passage he wanted to share with her. Her hands fall to her lap, her gaze falling now somewhere onto the floor ahead of her.

"May I ask you a question?" She didn't need to specify that she wanted a genuine, true answer out of him. That was a given. At least in these cases.

"Thou mayst."

"Is it unnerving when I look at people?" Oh, that felt odd. She immediately wanted to retract the question, it felt a little too vulnerable. A little too late. Was it silly, now, to ask something so unimportant?

He doesn't let that beat skip at all, his answer spoken with confidence, and... She could tell he was teasing her.

"No, thy gaze is intimidating, as fierce in both its passion and its intelligence as it ever was. Even without sight its keenness can be felt as a knife, and any creature of mortal ken or beyond would be wise to cower under the weight of thine intense and palpable displeasure."

Had she been the type to roll her eyes, she probably would have, but she does look more pointedly at him, as if in demonstration of his assessment.

He smiles, a laugh tailing the expression.

"Very comforting," she scolds, but, it was. She was glad he could take humour in her and not make this feel so... Sad. He wasn't holding her like she was shattered glass in bare palms.

He doesn't comment on that further, the seed planted, and he simply starts to read from the book he had brought to her.

It was a story of a couple of friends with grand plans to see every corner of the star, he explained. This passage, he continues, was the moment they - both terrified - stood atop a large waterfall, looking downward over the edge into the deep water below.

Too scared to decide who would jump first, they take each others hands, and they count down from three, no, ten, no, three!

And they jump together, screaming the whole way down, plunging into the water, and as they resurface, they laugh and hug, proud of themselves for their show of bravery together.

She asks him to continue reading to her.

The next morning comes, Urianger waking in the chair, his legs stiff, back aching.

They get breakfast.

And then they go outside of the city where no one would see them, and he holds her elbow to let her lead him down the path, both of their free hands holding long hollow canes. He stops each time the ends hit a stone or some such, stating what it was, and he leads her around it.

They make it all the way to a little settlement, where they're met with congratulations of many familiar voices of the Scions.

She weeps; this time, with pride and ire both.

#ffxiv #fanfiction #y'shtola #urianger #Thank you SO much scottie for the help writing his dialogue #but that post about her disability made me feel things all over again because YEAH! #I want her to be written as still being disabled in the msq #so I took that inspiration to write a little something myself. #this is the first fanfic I've written in a LONG time #I hope that you guys enjoy it!

[hibiscus-tome]

wolcred week 2023, day 1: scars

He’s not fast enough — not even when it’s already over. He’s not fast enough to stop the summoning. He’s not fast enough to stop Ranni from going in there alone. He’s not fast enough to stop her from fighting that thing alone.

When faced with such extreme, life-threatening scenarios, fresh-faced adventurers tend to react in a number of ways: they collapse; they weep; they turn on the people closest to them in proximity, as the embers that had kept them alive and on their feet through the ordeal have yet to fully die down.

—so it shouldn’t come as a surprise when, after the dust settles, she grabs him by the shirt and slams him into the nearest wall.

“What in the seven hells was that?” she demands, in half a snarl.

It takes him a moment, but the more he looks, the more obvious it is that she isn’t injured. She’s covered in soot and dust, and there’s the cloying stench of burned hair when some of it has been singed off, but whatever scars this ordeal has left must be purely emotional, not physical.

“That,” he answers, as calmly as he can manage, “was precisely what we were trying to stop from happening.“

“And you knew this would happen,” she says. “You knew this would happen and you people still sent me into that… that death trap.”

… well. She has a point there.

“I anticipated that we had more time before a summoning would be attempted,” he says, “but I miscalculated. Even so, I was well aware of the risk. I’m sorry.”

The apology, feeble as it is, doesn’t do much. There’s pure venom in her eyes as she releases him and leaves without another word — and not for the first time, the weight of failure hangs far heavier on his shoulders than he has any right to bear.

—

When all is said and done — when Thancred’s body is returned to him, battered and bruised but otherwise no worse for wear — it becomes difficult to ignore the weight of failure that sits heavily on his shoulders. It’s a familiar weight, but it pales in comparison to everything else Lahabrea had left in his wake — a sense of fatigue that’s seeped into his bones, various aches left from whatever abuse Lahabrea had but this body through when he clearly couldn’t be bothered to properly care for the vessel he’d snatched for himself.

There have been words already — Y’shtola’s all too harsh criticism, Tataru’s teary hugs, Yda’s careful prodding and Papalymo’s proposed tactics on how to avoid a repeat incident, Minfilia and Urianger’s somehow equally terrible nagging, all of it melding together into something warm and secure — proof that for all of the destruction Lahabrea had wrought, it hasn’t destroyed everything.

He closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and leans into it all. The pain and fatigue are an anchor, holding him in place when everything else threatens to spiral out of control — when everything has already spiraled too far out of his control.

He turns his head — and there, in the chair at his bedside, is Ranni, on a war path with whatever she’s grinding into smithereens with a mortar and pestle. There’s a gaping hole where months’ worth of memories should be, but even before then…

“Did I hurt you…?”

His voice comes out as a hoarse, pathetically weak croak — and when she startles, the pestle clanking loudly against the mortar as she drops it, he can’t help but feel just a bit guilty for it.

“What—“ she splutters. “You—No, you didn’t do anything to hurt me. Whatever Lahabrea did, I paid back tenfold.”

She’s a bit thinner than he remembers, fatigue pronounced in the dark circles collecting under her eyes — but she doesn’t look injured. Whatever scars this ordeal has left must be purely emotional, not physical.

“Listen,” she says, averting her gaze. “I… owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

Her lips curl downward in an irritated frown. “After Ifrit was summoned, remember? I was… less than kind to you. I can imagine it didn’t exactly help things, when Lahabrea came knocking.”

“No,” he says. “You… you had every right. I let you down.”

“You did not,” she retorts, shaking her head. “All that happened that day was perfectly within expectations, even if it wasn’t the conclusion anyone was hoping for.”

He winces. “That’s precisely what happened with every Primal afterwards, isn’t it?” he asks. “You had to slay Titan and Garuda, too.”

She nods. “So I did. And I had Y’shtola with me every step of the way for Titan, so if you intend on blaming yourself, then you might as well blame her, too.”

Well, they can’t have that. Y’shtola surely did the best she could, given the circumstances. It’s the kind of argument that would find itself right at home in the Sapphire Avenue Exchange, amidst coins passed between hands and the fairest amount owed up for constant debate.

“Oh, I suppose you win this round,” he says, lightly, “but know that this is far from over.”

She grins, confidently, as she crosses one leg over the other and leans back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest — as bold and assured as she’d been the day she’d frozen Ungust’s goons solid outside the Quicksand and proven once and for all that she was precisely the kind of adventurer that the Scions had needed.

“We’ll just have to see about that.”

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #wolcred week #thancred waters #wolcred #fic #wolcred week 2023

[therovingstar]

Illustrious

Summary: When everyone lowkey wants to be your favorite. Chill fun with the OG Scions, set sometime post-5.3, I reckon. ~1600 words.

She should have known to stay away when she entered the Rising Stones only for every eye in the room to immediately find her. Odzaya resists a reflexive pause in her step and continues on her way to the bar, where Lucianne greets her with a tellingly amused smile and her usual cup of tea. “Should I be alarmed?” she asks, just loud enough for the bartender to catch, as she accepts the earthenware mug with a scaled hand and appreciative nod.

“Depends on your answer,” Lucianne cryptically replies, and lifts an encouraging eyebrow before scooting her way back down the counter with a chuckle.

Not promising. With a silent, preparatory sigh, Odzaya turns from the counter and, pointedly ignoring the half-dozen stares that follow, makes her way to one of the sitting area’s armchairs.

Before she has taken her first sip or even fully sat her rear into her seat, Lyse is in her sights, and practically in her face.

“Who got you to join the Scions?” she asks without preamble, hands planted on her red-clad hips as she stands before her.

Odzaya lifts a thick violet brow, just barely seen beneath locced bangs. “Good to see you, Lyse. How is Ala Mhigo’s restoration progressing?”

“Slowly but in a good direction. It’s annoying work sometimes but worth it. Raubahn and M’naago say ‘hi’. Who got you to join the Scions?” The first three statements fly nearly over her head, quick in succession as they come. The fourth – clearly considered by the monk to be the most important – is slowed just enough to register.

“Context?” Odzaya asks simply, eyebrow rising higher.

“Thancred says it was him,” Lyse vaguely clarifies. “But whoever of us you met first gave you the invitation, yeah? Between Thancred, Shtola, and Papalymo and me, it was us, right? It’s practically on record.”

Is it? Before she can ask, Thancred speaks up from his position leaning against Tataru’s desk.

“There is no record, Lyse. Just your word, which is wrong.” He tips his chin toward Odzaya with a small grin. “Welcome back, love.”

“Mm,” she sounds in acknowledgment as she settles back against the cushions and brings her mug to her lips, just as Lyse continues.

“Well, maybe not on written record,” the blonde amends, turning to the older man. “But it might as well be. We met her while investigating the Twelveswood, remember? Gave her her invitation to the Waking Sands after she helped us out. That’s how she got there.”

Thancred lets out an incredulous laugh. “Before or after you knocked your block and imagined it?”

“What?!”

“They’ve been arguing about it for near a bell, now.” Odzaya looks up to see Y’shtola planting herself at the nearby table, gaze narrowed in what can only be perceived as fond exasperation. “Lyse refuses to let it go.”

“Because I’m right!” the young woman insists.

“Meaning wrong.”

“Shut up, Thancred!”

“How did this begin?” Odzaya asks in a rare – and usually regretted – indulgence of curiosity.

“Fond reminiscence,” Urianger supplies, amusement writ clear on his face. “Knowledge of thy visit to the Sylphs prompted Lyse to recall your first fateful meeting ‘neath the great boughs of the Elementals’ domain.”

“You were practicing your conjury, remember?” Lyse takes over. “Saved Papalymo from getting nearly plucked up off the ground by a buzzard.”

“There’s some hilarious imagery,” Thancred comments.

Odzaya nods. “In the Central Shroud, near Bentbranch. I recall.” Though she was not so much practicing her conjury as ensuring the young Sylphie did not kill herself practicing hers.

“See?!” Lyse exclaims, aiming the declaration at Thancred. The older man graces her with a smirk.

“Odzaya’s memory is not the one we are calling into question. She would also recall our own first meeting underneath the Sultantree, yes?” He meets her gaze expectantly.

Odzaya takes her time enjoying a long draught of tea before agreeing. “We defeated a voidsent.”

“And in so doing rescued the Sultana,” he adds, his smirk widening at Lyse as if to brag. She sniffs at him.

“As if that’s relevant.”

“Of course it is. How else than through such a serendipitous partnership would she have been convinced to join us at the Waking Sands? Which, for the proverbial record, is located in the very region I monitored?”

“Proximity doesn’t mean anything! Zaya showed up in the Shroud long before she ever made it to you out there in the desert!” The monk turns back to Odzaya. “Right?”

“Mm...” the other woman begins, happily distracted by the taste of nutmeg and heavy cream on her tongue.

“Ha!” Lyse exclaims, taking the monotone intonation for confirmation as she whips herself around to Thancred, only...

“No,” the woman finishes.

...to whip right on back around in a near-complete circle, her expression plummeting in surprise. “Huh? No?”

“Ha,” Thancred mocks. Lyse shoots him a barbed look.

“I did reach Thanalan first,” Odzaya corrects, circling a clawed finger around the mug’s rim before bringing the residue she finds to her mouth. “By boat, coming from Kugane. I met Thancred soon after, and not long after that he gave me the name of the Scions and invited me to the Waking Sands.”

“But you never mentioned him when you met Papalymo and me!” Lyse questions. Odzaya briefly lifts a shoulder.

“I cared not for the invitation, nor the thought of involvement in an organization.” She spares a glance in Thancred’s direction. “Nor the not-so-subtle flirtations of a random rogue I met beneath a tree in the desert. I chose to forget the encounter occurred.”

“Are you serious?” the man questions with an incredulous grin. Odzaya grants him a small, teasing smirk, and he loudly chuckles. “Well, damn. Consider me effectively humbled.”

“Guess that extends to both of us.” With a slight pout, Lyse plops herself on the arm of Odzaya’s chair, the long red silk of her sleeve draping itself over Odzaya’s lap. “If you were looking to avoid joining any groups, I can only assume that means Papalymo and I didn’t convince you, either.”

“No,” Odzaya confirms, her smirk widening when Lyse answers her bluntness by wriggling herself partially into her seat, only to settle for the chair’s arm when the spikes of her friend’s curled tail promise something decidedly different from comfort.

“Well, if we failed to convince you, how’d you end up joining?”

Reflexively, Odzaya glances over her mug’s rim, sunset eyes finding their way across the table, only to meet Y’shtola’s own misty gray gaze.

Urianger catches the subtle exchange, and his delight is obvious. “And the sorceress strikes once more,” he dramatically intonates. Lyse whips her head around for what seems the umpteenth time.

“Shtola?!”

The scholar in question merely lounges further into her own seat, her own cup of tea in hand. She takes a leisurely sip, and the subsequent clink of the porcelain on the accompanying saucer seems to sound her answer better than words.

“Why do I feel like we should have known?” Thancred comments with an amused shrug.

“But that’s not fair!” Lyse exclaims, eyeing Odzaya. “You were never in Limsa! Were you?”

“For a brief time, yes,” she corrects once more. It was her original destination after leaving Kugane, in fact, only for the small ship to be blown off course by an unforeseen storm. It found purchase instead in Thanalan, at the docks of the Silver Bazaar, from which she found her way to Ul’dah on foot.

An attempted guiding by higher powers, it may have been, the more she thinks on it. An annoyance, it most certainly was.

“Just long enough to capture the attentions of the local populace,” Y’shtola confirms. “The commercial link between Limsa and Kugane does make the citizenry more accustomed to foreigners. Nevertheless, a rather elaborately garbed Au Ra adorned with both blade and scepter set tongues wagging rather enthusiastically when she arrived via airship.”

“Unsurprising,” Thancred comments, a teasing wink already on hand when Odzaya briefly meets his gaze.

“I shall enjoy my respite in peace now, yes?” she inquires of Lyse, the question just short of sarcastic as she makes a point of raising her mug back to her lips. The monk releases a final, resigned gust of air and theatrically drapes herself along the armchair’s back, her blonde head alighting upon Odzaya’s shoulder.

“I suppose,” she says, a pout pulling at her voice as well as at the bow of her lips. “Still think it’s cheating,” she mutters.

“Simply be glad our illustrious friend found her way into our midst, dear Lyse,” Urianger soothes. “Twas a united effort, one could say, for our prayers to be answered as they were.”

Just then, the din of Mor Dhona’s marketplace heralds the opening of the Rising Stone’s doors. A familiar sight soon follows: an enthusiastically arguing Alisaie, her arms a tangle of emphatic gestures, and a calmly protesting Alphinaud, at whom said gestures are aimed. The former only pauses in her tirade when she catches sight of Lyse’s figure and, apparently more importantly, the high-pinned fall of Odzaya’s locs partially obscured behind it. “Aha!” she exclaims. “Zaya will clear this up!” And against her brother’s protestations, she makes a beeline for them. “Zaya! Who do you rely on most amongst the Scions?”

Once more, the Warrior of Light lowers her mug, her expression characteristically neutral but for the slightest pinched purse to her lips. “And soon to find my way back out,” she quietly declares.

#odzaya malaguld #scions of the seventh dawn #ffxiv fic #storytime #hey look i wrote something! its a miracle! #trying to practice more with zaya's voice and pov #it's almost always easier writing from another's perspective #cuz they're almost always more forthcoming with their thoughts/emotions/etc. #zaya's a closed book even to herself sometimes

[fluffysilver]

Flufftober Day 29 - Hey, wake up

Soft sounds disturbed his sleep. The darkness behind his eyes where he drifted, unable to focus on anything, where not even dreams disturbed him. It was a comfortable darkness and he didn’t want to leave it. On the other side was pain and obligation; he’d have to go back eventually but for now… for now it felt good just to rest. 

“Please…”

“...losing… need more…” 

“...focus thy energies…” 

Rika shifted away from the soft voices, but they had pulled him closer into awareness, growing louder. Memory drifted into his grasp and with it the edge of pain. His body; each limb ached, every joint burning with the pain that meant he had pushed himself to the point of collapse, again. Davien was going to spank him. 

The voices faded again, letting him drift back into slumber. Time passed without his supervision or awareness, until the voices came back. Now he could attach names to them. Alphinaud. Urianger. G’raha. Loudest was Alisae - of course she was yelling. She always yelled when she was upset. 

He wasn’t sure what had upset her, but likely if she was upset, and it sounded like the others were too, he should probably get up and find out what was going on. It took something monumental to shake Urianger’s calm, after all. With an effort he opened his eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar view of metal etched with patterns that reminded him of Allegan artifacts. Between the metal and his face were a pair of hands glowing with white healing magic like a glimmering fog in front of him. 

Perspective shifted, and he realized he was laying down, looking up at a ceiling, and the hands were people casting healing spells on him. They tingled over his skin, soothing the aches and pain, though they didn’t do much for the bone deep fatigue. Even healing spells had their limit, and eventually the body demanded its due. 

One hand drew back to be replaced by Alphinaud’s worried gaze. “I think he’s awake. Are you with us, Rika?” 

Hm. Not up to speaking yet, Rika managed a smile for him. From the look on his face, it wasn’t as reassuring as he had hoped, so he managed a single raspy sentence; “Is everyone… all right?” 

“How can you ask us that?” G’raha knelt beside Alphinaud, his red eyes bright with tears, features tight with relief. “Considering how close you came to dying. Again. How can you keep your promise if you do that?” 

Well he had a point there, but it wasn’t like he’d really had a choice.

“You put on quite the show, my friend,” Estinien added as he stepped closer, fond smile softening his features. 

Rika smiled a little as Y’Shtola and then Thancred scolded him; he didn’t need Thancred to tell him that it came from a place of love. He’d yell at them for being hypocrites later, when he’d recovered. Gods, they were mad at him when they had all sacrificed themselves to get him to the nest of the Endsinger? He’d sent them back here because he couldn’t bear to see them die, not when he had just used Venat’s last gift to him to bring them back. 

“We did what we could for thee, but considering the extent of thy injuries, I would recommend further repose.” Urianger said then. “How is the pain?” 

Rika considered that, then shifted and sat up, steading himself on his hands as a wave of dizziness washed over him, and several mostly healed injuries decided to protest. Blood loss - he needed a good drink and some food, and a week’s worth of sleep. But he smiled at the healer and nodded once. He’d live. 

Urianger smiled back. “That is gladdening.” 

“Gladdening!” Alisae exploded. “There is nothing ‘gladdening’ about this! You…” She was almost sputtering with rage, even as tears slid down her cheeks. “When Meteion appeared she said you were right behind her! And then you didn’t come, and when you do deign to appear you’re an ilm from death!” 

Rika’s lips twitched into a small smile and he placed a hand on her soft white hair. “Just remember that the next time you blithely decide you’re going to give your life for me.” His gaze swept around, including all of the Scions in that. 

After a moment Alphinaud cleared his throat. “If you’re feeling up to it, you might like to see where we are. We got the ship moving while you were, ah, indisposed.” 

“We’re home already?” he asked, then shifted with a grimace. His legs were unhappy, but he could move. With a nod, he let Alphinaud pull him to his feet, and paced slowly over to the window, watching it open to reveal the bright blue sky of Aetherys. Home. 

“I think we’re in range now,” one of the Loporrits reported. 

“Excellent. I’ll announce that we’re back.” Thancred replied and put a hand to his ear to activate the linkpearl there. “You’d better be ready,” he added to Rika, who winced. 

“Just as long as they don’t put together a parade.” The congratulations were going to be rough enough.  Maybe he could sneak away; he had his ninja soulstone…

#gaming #oc #flufftober #flufftober 2023 #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 fanfiction #final fantasy xiv fanfiction

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #25: At the End of All Things

Prompt: eschatology (free write!) || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: Spoilers for Endwalker, and warnings for blood and violence at the end of the piece.

Here we go.

--

It is a fundamental truth of combat that no battleplan survives first contact with the enemy.

Even with that in mind, as she falls unconscious from lack of air, Dancing Heron can’t help but think the Scions set a brand-new record for the plan going straight to shite even before they met their enemy. Just their damned luck.

The edge of existence is awful, desolate in both terrain and spirit. Heron and her sisters are quiet, where normally they would banter, attempting to fill the silence of the group as they traversed the landscape; even Rereha is subdued, the weight of Meteion’s dynamis and Thancred’s disappearance a pall over them all. Normally, Heron and Thancred would switch off who takes point and who guards the rear, but today Heron must stay in the lead.

And then Meteion taunts with what she did to Thancred, and what Thancred did in his last moments.

Heron is…she is not surprised.

Stay standing, despite all thought or reason, attempt to disable the enemy, and when that fails—give his everything for his family, to use Meteion’s own weapon against her and give them a chance to continue on, however slim it is. That’s Thancred. That he, somehow, was also able to give Y’shtola true sight in this broken hell, isn’t a surprise either; even when he played at the roguish cad, he always displayed a keen thoughtfulness for those he loved.

(She’s reminded, too, her lips quirking as the memory flits behind her eyes, of a sly comment Thancred made years ago, just before he and Lyse and her sisters and herself dove into the salty depths of Loch Seld to infiltrate Ala Mhigo in the lead up to the liberation, about being able to hold his breath. Rereha had taken the obvious bait, both bards falling into an innuendo exchange that had had the rest of them groaning.

Later, she promises herself, she’s going to beat Rereha to the obvious ribald joke when she lifts a tankard in memory.)

And then Estinien is next. And Y’shtola and Urianger. Finding the path forward, no matter what.

Heron cannot let herself break. She cannot. She’s the shield, the bulwark against danger, and she cannot falter. Thancred and Estinien and Y’shtola and Urianger have acknowledge more than once the willingness to lay down their lives to see this last journey through, have placed their faith in Heron and her sisters, and she will not insult them by mourning. Not now.

Later.

It’s G’raha’s sacrifice of all of them that causes the first real cracks.

Heron is the cool, calm adult of the Warriors of Light; Synnove gets mistaken for one only because she is very good at pretending to be one at the Arcanists’ Guild. Heron is reason and sense and the strong arm to dunk one of her sisters in the nearest body of water when they’re being gremlins.

And she holds a grudge worse than any of them.

The Crystal Exarch’s plan to save the First and avert the Eighth Umbral Calamity was, to put it mildly, fucking terrible. And as the most highly attuned to her aether and how to manipulate it, Synnove had been the best choice to contain the Lightwardens’ essences. Her little sister was a brilliant aetherologist, if the Exarch had taken the time to explain his theories before throwing them at the Lightwarden of Lakeland, or sat down with her at any point after instead of leaving Synnove to muddle through it on her own with the assumption there was no further information to be had—

Synnove had nearly paid for that willful negligence with her life. And when it came to the well-being of her sisters, Dancing Heron of Ul’dah did not forget, and she did not forgive.

G’raha Tia was not the Crystal Exarch—not entirely, the blending of selves effectively creating a new individual with the memories of the old. But while Synnove had been willing to allow a fresh start, with Rereha and Alakhai following her lead, Heron had not. Had it been fair? Perhaps not. G’raha, at least, had respected her simmering anger and left her be, and she had done the same.

It's the cheerful young man, so certain they’ll succeed and have the chance to adventure somewhere new, even in the face of Y’shtola’s warning that they can’t use the Azem stone to restore the lost Scions. He believes in them, enough to counter the despair of the omicrons, powerful enough to forge yet another path forward.

(She’s going to have to buy him at least one drink. Honor demands it.)

But if G’raha is the crack, the twins are the dam breaking.

“Please,” Heron breathes, falling to her knees before Alisaie and Alphinaud, “please not you, too.”

Alisaie throws herself into a hug, and Heron clings to her, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“Alphinaud’s plans have a way of working out, in the end,” Alisaie says, though her voice is suspiciously watery.

Alphinaud butts his way in, and Heron enfolds him into the hug, too, as her other siblings crowd around them; Rereha clings to Alphinaud’s waist, and Alakhai is hugging Alisaie from behind.

“Given the nature of this realm,” her little brother says, hesitantly, “it may be possible to do more than unbar your path. We might also pave you a new one. One where you find happiness at journey’s end.”

Heron squeezes her eyes shut and tightens her hold on the twins further. Her heart hurts, she should be the one doing this, it’s her job to put herself in the line of danger, to take the blows for them all—

“This much, I think we can believe with the utmost conviction.” Alphinaud’s voice is stronger now, giving truth to his claim. “No matter how deep our despair.

“So please, believe in us too. And press on.”

Oh, damn him, her brilliant little brother. But he’s right. She owes him the courtesy of that belief, when so often he has believed in her, in them.

Heron breathes out. “All right,” she says. “All right. Let’s see this through.”

--

The final walk is the hardest thing she has ever done.

Heron has Synnove talked under one arm, and Alakhai under the other, and Rereha is sitting on her shoulders with Heron’s shield supporting her back. Synnove and Alakhai are nearly mirrored, an arm each around Heron’s waist with their hands grasping at their other sister; Galette is tucked into Synnove’s free arm, warbling sadly. Rereha clings to Heron’s head.

They are each of them crying.

“I swear to any god listening that if one of you throw yourself on the metaphorical sword to make a new path,” Heron says through her tears, “I will resurrect you solely to beat you to death with my shield.”

“And if you do the same, I’m beating you with my grimoire,” Synnove sniffles.

“Please tell me one of you has thought of something,” Alakhai rasps.

“Yeah,” Rereha says. “Gonna need the orange rock candy.”

Heron can’t stop the sputtering laugh that escapes her as Synnove growls out, “Stop calling them that,” even as she reaches into her hip ouch to draw out Azem’s stone.

Rereha takes it, and Heron feels her lalafell sister prop it on the top of her head.

In this place of dynamis, of emotion given tangibility, Heron can hear echoes from the past, and it steadies her stance, firms her grip on her sisters. But it’s the last that gives her the will to take that final step:

Let’s finish this.

Heron helps Rereha down as Meteion taunts them; this messenger of the Meteia isn’t worth listening to. For all that she quails in the face of the task before her and her sisters, Heron won’t give up.

She owes it to her family not to.

Rereha steps forward, clutching the Azem stone in her hands. She rocks back and forth on her heels, and then looks over her shoulder at Synnove. “You aren’t going to like this,” she says.

“What are you—oh for fuck’s sake.” Synnove’s sigh is deep and weary. “He’s going to be an insufferable prick.”

“Isn’t he always?” Rereha says. For the first time since they arrived here, she’s cheerful, and Heron sighs herself as she realizes what Rereha is about to do.

She has always been exceptionally good at finding loopholes.

Turning back to Meteion, her grin still in place, Heron’s tiny sister says, as the Azem stone begins to glow, “All right, boys! Time to join the show!”

--

“Endsinger,” Synnove names the creature that rises from the flock of black-winged Meteia.

A single, tiny bluebird flits before the herald of the Final Days. Stop! their Meteion cries out to her sisters. Calm yourself! Please, stop!

The Scions try, oh, but they try, but in the face of ichor of the Endsinger’s despair and fury, and the echoes of dead stars, they fall before her, their magicks shattered, their weapons broken. Meteion pleads and pleads, but the Endsinger is deaf to her.

A single beat of the Endsinger’s wings sends nearly all the Scions airborne, leaving just Heron and her own sisters, and she watches in horror as the Endsinger gathers the means to destroy her family once and for all. For a moment, there is rage in her heart, and hatred, that despite all the Endsinger’s claims of the gift of oblivion, she would resort to such cruelty as to make them watch her family die.

Too bad for the Endsinger that Bloewyda and Wilfsunn are brilliant aetherologists.

“Girls,” Heron says, “it’s our show now.”

She knows they understand. They always do.

As one, they push themselves to their feet, and reach into pouches or pockets. Rereha’s teleportation device flies from her hand first. Synnove’s is next, then Alakhai’s.

Heron lifts her head; even from this distance she can see Alisaie reaching out, hear her call out, desperate and afraid: “Stop!”

If they make it back from this, she will deserve the ire of her youngest sister, and she will let the elezen maid rage at her for as long as she desires. And if they don’t, she hopes Alisaie will rage at her regardless. She is at peace with what must be done. This is her job.

Dancing Heron blows Alisaie a kiss, pushes the button, and lets go.

--

CRACK!

The walls of the dead suns, of the Meteia’s nest, shake, huge cracks now glinting across the starscape of eternity. Endsinger and Warriors of Light alike turn, all five of them stunned.

“My Ultimatum,” the Endsinger says, truly dumbfounded. “What is happening?”

Heron is briefly reminded of another time a being broke through the spaces between worlds to reach them, it’s Rere who puts into a single, hopeful word what each of the sisters are thinking: “Dad?”

Reality breaks.

It is not Midgardsormr.

A bluebird flutters to perch on Heron’s shoulder, bunching close to her cheek with her feathers floofed up in alarm. What is that?

Heron reaches up to pinch the bridge of her nose, sighing gustily. “A headache,” she mutters.

Synnove is now beating her forehead on the shoulder opposite little Meteion, a rhythmic thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

“A concussion isn’t going to help,” Heron says over Rereha and Alakhai’s very loud, very colorful swearing. It’s always a fun day when Alakhai is reduced to using spoken words.

“No, but it makes me feel better,” Synnove says.

Well. The son of a bitch is offering a ride. This might as well happen.

--

“What do you think?” Heron says. “Four, or eight?”

“Eight’s always a good number,” Synnove says. Alakhai grunts her agreement.

On the back of a dragon, Rereha hands Heron the Azem stone. She holds it to her chest, breathes out, and puts all her will and hope into the stone, all of the love she has for her sisters and her chosen family and her star. The stone awakens once more, the summoning spell spilling forth bright and warm as the sun, painting golden beams around her and her sisters’ feet, creating a platform and Heron calls out:

Will you come?

A beat of her heart, two, three, four—and four more Warriors of Light, from across space and time, answer.

And now for tradition:

Heron grins ferociously and settles her shield on her arm, drawing her sword in the same motion. “Give us the beat,” she says.

Synnove begins to whistle, and drums her grimoire against her thigh; even in a realm of dynamis, the aethersong must be thick in Synnove’s mind with how quickly she settles into the rhythm. Alakhai picks it up after her, stomping a foot, knives in hand, and then Rereha’s voice, a soprano clear as a crystal bell, rises like a clarion call.

This is what Dancing Heron and Synnove Greywolfe and Rereha Reha and Alakhai Noykin do best:

Save the world.

--

Heron coughs, blood pouring from her mouth, and stares up blankly at infinity.

Zenos viator Galvus has rattled his last accursed breath, and good riddance. She feels filthy, giving him the fight that he has craved for so long, but it is over. He won’t haunt her or her sisters’ steps ever again.

But just as they gave it their all, so did he, and he hadn’t fought the living embodiment of oblivion beforehand.

She rolls over, coughing again, her arm holding her intestines inside her stomach, and crawls to where her sisters lay to gather them close.

Alakhai is wheezing, deep and heavy and desperate: collapsed lung. Just one, which is a small miracle, with how caved in her chest is. Her face is a ruin and she might be blind in one eye now.

Synnove’s right arm is broken in at least two places, her hand crushed, and she is deep in aethershock, her skin the same grey pallor as a corpse; Heron distantly recalls seeing another mage, after the Sacking of Rhalgr’s Reach, in the same state, who died of organ failure.

Rereha can’t move at all, her spine possibly broken. Her palms are torn down to the bone, and she is covered in blood. Most of it isn’t hers. The killing blow against Zenos, after all, was Rereha’s. The lalafell had used a moment of distraction while he was gutting Heron to launch herself off Synnove’s collapsing body and straight at the Garlean, a feral scream tearing her throat. She had driven the broken remains of her bow into his throat, over and over and over and over, until he had thrown her off himself with a gurgling roar and her body had impacted the ground with a sickening crunch.

They’re bleeding out. If fate is kind, they’ll breath their last at the same time.

Heron collapses onto her back, blood thick in her throat and mouth, but she’s got her sisters now and she stares up at the end of the universe once more. Synnove lolls her head onto Heron’s broken shoulder, and Alakhai tucks herself into Heron’s ruined side, and Rereha buries her face in Heron’s blood-soaked hair.

“I love you,” Heron croaks.

“Love you, too,” Rereha whispers.

“I’m glad I picked you three,” Synnove says, more of a sigh. “I’m glad you picked me back.”

“See you on the other side,” Alakhai murmurs.

The only sound now is their uneven, crackling breaths.

In the starscape above them, Heron sees a pair of blue tailfeathers wheel, and a glint of something…metallic?

There’s a clatter, suddenly, just next to her head, opposite of Rereha. An eerie, familiar beeping croons in her ear, and slowly, horribly, despite the pain that infuses every cell of her being, Heron laughs.

They taught her well, the little hopesinger.

“Thank you,” she mouths.

The world goes black.

PREVIOUS PROMPT || NEXT PROMPT

#ffxivwrite2022 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #oc: dancing heron #oc: rereha reha #oc: synnove greywolfe #oc: alakhai noykin #meteion #the endsinger #dt's writing

[laeorinel]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 21 - Grave

Well...I can't sleep so figured I would get todays prompt done early. Hurray for being in the EU I guess. Downside is that since I'm sleepy this has likely not been edited the best.

A few minor spoilers for Shadowbringers and Endwalker but nothing super explicit I think.

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

The weather matched the sombre mood in Old Sharlayans Lichyard. Samara stood out among the sea of white-robed people; even at a funeral, the Sharlayans did not shirk their pristine white attire. She could not remember whose funeral they were in attendance of. All her memories prior to arriving here were blurry.

She saw a few Scions standing among the crowd, each looking heartbroken. They were the few wearing all black. Someone they knew then. She could hear someone talking, a priest of some kind, but she could not clearly make out the words. Looking down at the freshly dug grave, she still could not remember who they were there for. Were Thancred here, she could ask him without earning a glare or two from other attendees, but he was absent. Glancing towards the tombstone, she finally got her answer, and her stomach dropped to her feet.

Thancred Waters.

No. No, this wasn't…this couldn't be right. He was with her today. He was fine. They had…what did they do again?

"Such a pity. He did not deserve such a fate." Said Alphinaud as he stood to her left.

"No. He never even got to see Ryne again." Said Alisaie as she stood to her right.

"And all because you failed him." They said together as each turned to look at her. To hear such venom from the twins shocked her, but for them to give her such cold looks? What had she done? None of this made sense. He was fine. Wasn't he?

"But I didn't he…" The twins faded from her sight. She looked around for them, but they were swallowed up by the crowd of white robes.

White filled her vision until it was almost blinding, and then she was simply left in the empty lichyard. Not a soul to be seen until she heard two voices behind her. Urianger and G'raha Tia had their backs to her instead of staring at the freshly dug grave.

"Why didst thou not save him?"

"How could you let this happen? He trusted you. Believed in you. Loved you. And when he needed you most, where were you?"

"'Urianger, Raha…I…I didn't. He…he's fine. I swear it!"

"As if your failings were not enough, now you fill our minds with lies." the icy cold tone of Y'shtola's voice cut her to the bone as she turned to look at her. Sightless eyes stared through her, and soon, Y'shtola was joined by the rest of the Scions, all standing and glaring at her before calling out in a unified voice.

"Look! Look at what happened because of you!"

The lichyard shifted, the verdant hills of Sharlayan turning to sand and stone. Amh Araeng? But how were they here? This made no sense.

It mattered little as she looked over the area. The same place Thancred and Ran'jit had crossed blades. The smell of blood and gunpowder filled her nose, and she saw Thancred at the centre of a stone circle, his pure white coat stained bright red, his gunblade shattered in a half dozen pieces, and his body bloodied and broken. Vacant dead eyes stared at her, his hand reaching out towards her as if begging for help, even in death.

"No…no…this isn't real…it can't be real…" she doubled over, eyes wide as she stared at her dead partner. She felt a hand land on her shoulder as she looked up, seeing the face of another dead man.

"Zenos. How…"

"Come now. I cannot truly die. You know this, old friend."

For some reason, Zenos held onto her shoulder and shook her. Perhaps to confirm this was real? It did not cause him to pause in his taunting, regardless. " Now, I have already claimed your man. What of the rest of your precious Scions? Which should fall next? Perhaps his daughter?"

Ryne appeared next to Thancred's body, tears streaming down her face as she looked at her fallen father. Samara felt Zeno's grip on her shoulder lessen before making his way over to Ryne.

"Don't you dare touch her!" she lashed out. With no weapons to use, she relied on her claws, trying to get purchase on any part of him, but she did not feel leather or metal beneath her hand when her claws connected with him. It felt almost like flesh…why did everything feel so strange and wrong?

"Yes. There it is. That rage and hate. Unleash it all. You know what needs to be done. Kill me before I kill again."

The heady feeling of bloodlust tore through her; whatever reasoning she had was gone. All that mattered in that moment was Zenos dying. She had to keep Ryne safe. Launching herself at Zenos, she knocked the scythe from his grip. The madman wanted a fight, but she would not give him one. She would strangle the life from him before he could reclaim his weapon before he could do more harm. She could vaguely hear someone calling her name, but it was so far off. It almost sounded like Thancred, but he was dead…he was…

"Samara!"

The nightmare collapsed almost instantly, the shroud of sleep falling away as her eyes focused on the person beneath her, the person whose neck she held firmly in her hands. Thancred, alive and somewhat well, aside from the minor case of his lover trying to strangle him. He was practically using all of this strength to hold Samara back.

"Are..are you back with me?"

"Th…ancred?" she whispered brokenly, tears streaming down her face as she let go of him and practically threw herself from the bed, hurrying away from him as quickly as she could. She heard him mutter a few curses between coughs as he called after her. Her wobbly legs did not carry her far as she fell into the wardrobe door and crumpled to the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest and burying her face in between.

Oh gods. She had hurt him. She had tried to kill him. She could have if he did not wake her. Between choked sobs, she kept saying "No" repeatedly. She did not even notice Thancred making his way over to her and kneeling down in front of her.

"Samara, look at me."

She made faint attempts at recoiling from him, but he took hold of one of her hands with a vice-like grip and held it to his chest, just above his heart. It did not take much for him to piece together what had happened in her dream. "See? I'm fine. I'm here. It was just a nightmare.

"I'm fine. Look, nothing more than a few cuts and bruises. I am fairly sure you have given me worse during…other activities in bed…" Samara tentatively reached out to touch the side of his face, the side that now had a claw mark running down it. She hated it when he flinched, as much as he tried to hide it. With tears still streaming down her face, she threw herself at him, burying her face in his chest and holding onto him as if her life depended on it.

"You're okay. We're okay." Sobs wracked Samara's body as the pair sat there, Thancred lightly rocking her back and forth. They sat like that for hours until her body finally stilled, exhaustion claiming her. Thancred carefully picked her up and returned her to the bed before lying down beside her, cradling her to his chest once more.

He knew they would need to talk about this at some point, but that could wait until the bruises had faded and the cuts had healed. Both of them had been through so much that nightmares were always going to be an issue. Some memories or fears simply refused to stay buried.

#ffxiv fanfiction #thancred x wol #wolcred #ffxivwrite2023 #ffxiv write 2023 #thancred waters

[dainty-baneberry]

20 Anon

“Thancred? A moment?” The tall, silver haired gunbreaker turned at the sound of his name. Although he was familiar with the voice speaking it, it was rare he heard her address him directly. The days where they were so hostile to each other they had come to blows were long past but Thancred would struggle to call them close. They were friends and each would have given their life for the other or the star and almost had numerous times over but Thancred knew he would never see Dainty laugh freely at something he said or did the way she would with G’raha Tia or the Twins. Nor would he seek her out for a companionable drink as he might with Urianger or Y’Shtola. They never could quite relax around one another, despite how much they cared. Too near was their grief for Minfilia, even still. Too similar were their utter irreverence for authority. “Dainty, well met friend. What brings you this way?” 

“I would make some enquiries in Kugane but do not have your particular talents for subtlety.” Dainty explained in a manner that actually explained very little. She had a tendency to do that stemming from her stoicism. Where Urianger could be accused of using 20 words where 2 would suffice, Dainty was guilty of using 2 words when 10 were needed.

Thancred was well used to this with the often silent Au Ra however and held his hand out for the missive that she carried. It proved to be a sketch of an Au Ra’s horn, the same shape as Dainty’s own but possessed of markings indicating an intricate set of piercings. Thancred took more than a second glance at this. He’d never seen an Au Ra with pierced horns before and the writing on the paper explained why. These notes detailed a short window of time when, in recent Kuganese history, it had been fashionable for civilians and Geiko alike to have many ear and horn piercings. The practise had existed for only a short while before being banned by the Lord Bugyo of Kugane as it was deemed to have been introduced by a visitor from Thavnair and was therefore detrimental to Kugane’s ancient culture and history. 

“You would like me to discreetly seek out information on the person who had their horns pierced in this manner?” Thancred confirmed, eyes raised momentarily over his bright gray eyes to assess Dainty. She was not the kind to ask for help from anyone let alone him. He admitted to being someone touched that she had done so as opposed to simply doing it herself.

“Aye.” Dainty nodded, again speaking in a frustratingly miniscule amount. “I could use a little more detail to work off, if you have it.” Thancred requested although he would not be discouraged if she didn’t. He could do a lot with very little, especially in situations like this which was why she had swallowed her pride enough to request his help.

Dainty considered this a moment, then offered a small shrug; “The woman with these piercings is possibly a hybrid, taller and more curvaceous than other auri. Naturally blonde hair, probably dyed mint green. Magenta eyes, orange limba….” “You!” She had never spoken to him of her past but it was obvious she was describing herself. They all knew she had no memory from before the Calamity but it was so rarely mentioned that no one particularly dwelled upon it.  Riol had made the offer to search for clues about her past but Dainty had quickly shut that down saying that she cared not.

She was certain she had no family, despite the lack of memory she had absolute confidence of being alone in the world with no one searching for her.

It seemed almost dying at the edge of the Universe had motivated Dainty to look into her own history after all.

“Perhaps.” Dainty offered lazily. “I’ve these piercings, Hozan was kind enough to detail a time and place they may be able to be traced to. That is all I’ve got.”

“Understood. I shall set out anon.”

#ff14 ffxiv #ffxiv rp #ffxivwrite #writeseptember #ffxiv writing challenge #ffxiv writing prompt #ffxiv write 2022 #missed the deadline #late oh so late #still trying my best #doing it anyway

[queenofnohr]

i don't think I've seen you talk yet about aias' bond with any of the scions, how does he feel about each of them?

ok so this might be a little boring bc Aias’ strongest bonds are def not with most of the scions so a lot of these are going to start with “they’re not that close, but...”

spoilers for all expansions under the cut

Minfilia - Never had the chance to really get close to her. His relationship with the Scions pre-StB was very...... work only. It’s not that he didn’t want to get close to anyone, but that he didn’t know how to be a person, really. His role in ARR...... He thought of himself simply as a god-slaying machine. He didn’t resent that role - actually, he was happy to have some sort of purpose even if it wasn’t his “ideal worth dying for” - but he still wasn’t in a place where he could really form bonds with people. For Minfilia’s part, she probably wanted to reach out to him, wanted to make the Scions feel like somewhere to belong, but how do you reach out to a man who treats himself like a machine, yaknow? One very distinct thing, however, is in seeing Minfilia as Hydaelyn’s Voice, when everyone else acted as though she was dead...... seeing her still alive but giving her body unto Hydaelyn, he surmised that even if he wasn’t allowed to die as a “hero,” still, he could martyr himself in life if he gave himself body and soul to his ideals (in this case, his dead friends)

Y’shtola - They’re not really that close, but she was the first Scion he met in Limsa. He’s always happy to help her do the heavy lifting for her research, but doesn’t really know how to approach her otherwise, so she has to initiate any conversation or whatever if they are to chat

Papalymo - Wasn’t all that close with him, but after his sacrifice at Baelsar’s Wall & considering Lyse’s past and how he watched over her, he has a great respect for him.

Lyse - Again, not all that close, but he has a lot of respect for her. The reason he doesn’t try to carry on Papalymo’s memory is because he knows he’s safe with and watching over Lyse. I honestly feel like I should play StB again cuz maybe I could fit more into the Aias Lore, cuz now that I think about it, perhaps seeing her flounder when losing Papalymo, but slowly start to find her place in the world did impact him somewhat, even if it wasn’t an immediate thing, but rather after he’d reflected on it a bit

Thancred - Perhaps one of the few people who calls Aias “Ice.” He, Thancred, and Urianger make up the sad grieving men of the Scions, so they vibe on that level. Aias usually doesn’t have much to say to Thancred, but Thancred is sociable enough to him, so I presume they talk more than Aias talks to most of the others.

Urianger - I don’t necessarily think they have full-blown conversations very often, but I think they can sit and enjoy each others’ company very well. I don’t think Aias has ever doubted Urianger during any of the times he’s had to be secretive. Since Aias likes books, but doesn’t really have the attention span to sit and read, I like to imagine him sometimes asking Urianger to tell him stories before he and Asha are a Thing, or during the rare times he has Scion business and Asha isn’t with him.

Krile - Again, not too close, but he finds her very reliable especially after watching over everyone so diligently in ShB. Probably the person he turns to immediately if/when there’s trouble.

Tataru - Easy to get along with, and always happy to help her out. He usually simply sits and listens to her unless she asks him questions, but perhaps they bond more after ShB/EW when he gets together with Asha? I don’t really think Aias is one to go to people expressly for relationship advice, but I can imagine Tataru asking him about things that’ve happened on the first, what he’s been up to whenever he pokes his head around between returning from the First and the meat towers popping up, and Aias damn well near-glowing talking about Asha and she’s just like.... “Oh, he’s got it bad-bad.” She’s probably the one that asks him about the wife after they shack up for real

G’raha - Ahahahaaaaaaaa. They didn’t have such a hot start at the beginning of ShB to be quite honest (this is something I might get into later, but it revolves around the fact that pulling Aias to the First means his bond to Ysayle and Haurchefant was severed for the time he was there and he was. not happy. about that.) He eventually came to warm up to G’raha over his stay in the First. While many interpret G’raha’s fanboying as romantic love, in this case, in the timeline G’raha lived through, tales of Aias’ tragic love for Haurchefant (+ people consoling themselves with the idea that at least Aias would see his love again in death after he died) & tales of his “strong bond”/romance with Estinien were so prevalent that as fat as Aias’ titties are and as much as he heart eyes at him, it’s absolutely platonic because Aias is spoken for already. Post-ShB, it’s always a good time when they meet up, always exchanging stories - perhaps the Scion he talks most to because of that.

Estinien - Well. Well. The first person Aias felt like he truly saved. A man he has wept over. His brother-in-arms. To Estinien, Aias is where he can lay his lance to rest, his hope for a better future. To Aias, Estinien is the one he can pass his lance to should he fall, an extension of his own body, a continuation of a hero who can defend humanity. Up until 5.5, while they weren’t formally in a relationship, they’d end up fucking every time they’d meet up so long as one of them wasn’t in a hospital bed. They understand each other and vibe together on a different level. One of the few people Aias actually feels close to. As a side note - he would’ve been Aias’ endgame if Asha didn’t exist. As it stands now, though, Estinien isn’t so dense he can’t see how Aias looks at Asha, and so while he’d still respond to affection if Aias wanted it, he’s content to back off. Lizard pussy so good though it ruined him forever and how he’s being “taken care of” in Radz-at-Han thooooo

Alphinaud - Alphinaud is the only person in the Scions that saw and understood the extend of his affection for Haurchefant, and the only other person aside from Estinien to have experienced the entirety of Heavensward with him. Thus, they’re pretty close. Also because HW was where Aias started to become a person and Alphinaud being there means that Alphinaud was one of the first people he opened up to and could call a friend.

Alisaie - Sortaaaaaaa reserving judgment here because I haven’t finished the Unending Coil of Bahamut yet and her whole deal with Gramps may or may not mirror Aias’ whole Thing very well. In general though he gets along with her. Her clinginess/abandonment issues (?) but desperate want not to cling to anybody sorta reminds him of himself. Aside from that though, while they do get on, Alisaie is... how should I put this. She’s too well-adjusted. She gets frustrated with herself and says “no, I shouldn’t let this rule over me” and busies herself with tasks not to dwell on it. Aias sees that and is like wow. That’s crazy. Couldn’t be me.

#long post #is it too much to expect - that i would name the stars for you #i dont want to tag with all the spoiler tagssssssssss eughhhhhhhhhhhhhhh #ill at least do #ew spoilers #endwalker spoilers #since those are the ones ppl would be most mad abt lol

[crossroadsdimension]

Cross wasn’t expecting to see Emet-Selch in the Ocular of the Crystal Tower. Nor was she expecting him to give them his own lecture on the Calamity, and all that entailed.

He claimed that all of them had been split into 14 pieces -- the source and its shards -- when the star had been shattered by Hydaelyn’s attack. And that rejoining the worlds would rejoin the bits of soul together, bringing back the power they’d once held.

Seven times rejoined...8 pieces of a soul, merged together into one. And they were planning a great disaster that, according to Urianger, would kill her and everyone else, sending the star into chaos.

This, and how Emet-Selch didn’t see them as complete people, made Cross stew in anger. But it only brought up questions -- how had Emet-Selch survived “whole,” as he put it? Who else had done so? Lahabreha and Elidibus, maybe? Gaius had said they were on top of the food chain, so to speak...

At least Cross was able to get a somewhat-straight answer about how the Ascians had kept their numbers. They kept finding shards and reminding them, somehow...and their names were actually titles. It made her wonder who they actually were, and how many masks the Ascians wore.

She’d have to wonder another time, though. There was something else that had her attention.

Back in Vylbrand. Or, Not-Vylbrand. The scraggy, dry grasses of the island reminded her of the more craggy parts of Thanalan, where only the tougher plants were able to grow and survive.

Eulmore certainly seemed to mimic Ul’dah’s decadent spending and class separation, even if it looked like Limsa Lominsa from a distance.

But its heart was nothing like either city. Infected by foodstuffs made of sin eater flesh, the people were mind controlled to attack them at Vauthry’s whims. Only Ran’jit seemed to have a clear mind out of all of them, but even then...

...even then...

When Cross stood over his failing, dying body, and heard him call for “his girls” -- the Minfillias he had raised and trained over his years of service -- a part of her called back to Emet-Selch’s words, and she couldn’t help but wonder...was Ran’jit a shard of Zenos, with his power, or was he a shard of Thancred, with how protective he’d been of his charges, driven to grief by repeated loss?

She couldn’t afford to question it now, though -- not when Vauthry waited for them still. A large, terrible, ugly man who was apparently a sin eater himself.

Like she needed that revelation today. The thought made her sick to her stomach, even as she helped bring Eulmore back on its feet and glared at the floating Mt. Gulg whenever she had the chance. Was what happened to Vauthry going to happen to her? Was she in a weird half-between state herself?

Cross did her best to push the thought out of her mind. She needed a distraction.

She got one, when everyone pulled together to get the Ladder moving, so they could chase Vauthry and his floating mountain up the cliffs. (If the Kobolds saw this, how incensed would they be, seeing their mountain commandeered? Would they summon Titan and force it back to earth without a second thought?)

...even then, she couldn’t be distracted from her own questions forever. Emet-Selch returned, giving her a somewhat backhanded compliment at how she and her companions could bring together the world to move towards a common goal, rather than conquering them all by force, first.

The way he spoke of his lost home almost made her want to ask about it, but when he said “Not that you’d remember,” all that did was set off alarm bells in her head. Remember? Remember what?!

Ardbert offered a nicer distraction, feeling more grounded in the moment and telling her of his first ride on the Ladder with his companions. She asked him to linger, and watch, but he decided against it -- something about this part of the land holding “bad memories” for Lamitt and himself. As much as Cross wanted to, she didn’t press.

And then they found Amity, jolted Chai’s confidence some (and wasn’t that a familiar speech from the Exarch...was he...?), and found the dwarves. Or Lalafells, probably, but they apparently didn’t take their helms off for strangers, so Cross wasn’t going to get a good look under their hats (or beards, apparently). She was curious, though, and instead decided to learn more about them and how they were different from Lalafells.

Very different, it turned out. She couldn’t imagine the Lalafells of Ul’dah mining with this same enthusiasm, much less drink the Quicksand dry....

#cross' rambling #cross sylvan #miqo'te warrior of light #miqo'te oc #miqo'te wol oc #warrior of light oc #wol oc #shadowbringers

[autumnslance]

On Elpis there are Ancients that are theorized to be the unsundered Scions. A pair of siblings for the twins, a women with cats for Y'Shtola. There's also a mentor and his successor for Papalymo and Yda. Just wanted to know who do think could be Thancred, Urianger and the other Scions Ancient selves on Elpis?

Given the only other Scions with the Echo are Krile, Arenvald, and Minfilia, the souls met in Elpis or anywhere else in the Ancient world are not our companions.

Given what was learned back in Shadowbringers, particularly in Amaurot and in the patch MSQ, the Echo belongs to those who are reincarnated souls from before the first Final Days. After Zodiark was summoned to save the world, new souls were born that never experienced those starshowers and fraught times--and those were the souls the Ancients were willing to sacrifice one last time, after the previous two, to "reset" the world and regain their lost paradise. The sacrifice where Venat put her foot down.

Literally, if those murals of Hydaelyn sundering Zodiark are an indication of the visuals.

The only people awoken by the starshowers to the vague soul-scarred memories and the repeated voice of Hydaelyn were those with Ancient souls, as we saw in the 5.x patches. If the Scions were reincarnations, they too would have been triggered during Elidibus' antics in the First, if not before then during various adventures, such as Hydaelyn intentionally triggering the Echo to find the WoL in 1.0.

People can be themselves. Not everyone has to be reincarnated, or a reincarnation.

Also the Western modern concepts of reincarnation popularized by certain celebrities/pop culture don't necessarily fit the Buddhist ideas so strongly seen throughout Endwalker--see many of Western fandom's outcry over Word of God's confirmation of Venat's fate, when some in the Eastern fandom were like "not constantly reincarnating is good, actually, and She has completed the cycle" given Her specific role in the story.

As great as the Ancient world and characters are, there's sometimes a bit too much emphasis put on them by the fandom IMO, oftentimes to the detriment of other characters and story, even to the point of setting up for disappointment and dashed fanons. Like everyone debating "which best friend Hythlodeaus reincarnated into" and it turned out...he never did.

That said, there may be more folks born with the potential for the Echo (should there be an event to trigger it) as those many souls within Zodiark, who experienced the first Final Days, have now been released back to the Lifestream to work through their cycles until reaching enlightenment and completing their journey as Venat did.

#Final Fantasy XIV #Shadowbringers #Endwalker #Venat #Hydaelyn #Zodiark #Scions of the Seventh Dawn #Ancients #The Echo #Reincarnation #lore

[cinnabun-faerie]

FFXIV x Obey Me! : The brothers react to Ryne

A/N: ^^'' I didn't know that Ryne turns into Shiva. I'm assuming that it's a part of the Eden raids though? (I did one thing of that and I did not enjoy it).

I am confused on the how Ryne can be the reincarnation of Lilith as well. But I have a solution. Instead of a direct reincarnation, she's an alt universe reincarnation? I mean, the first has lots of parallels of the first, so why not say there's a connection from the Obey Me! world? In this, we can say that Lilith and Ryne look identical.

Note: While stuck in Eorzea, the brothers as taken to the First with the Scions and WoL. Also, the brothers know that Ryne is not Lilith. The connection between the two are so strong, it's as if they have the same soul.

Sorry that some are shorter than others.

Lucifer

Honestly Lucifer would be very shocked when he sees her. This can't be real. Was this really Lilith? She looked a little different. But, still, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was her. He It would be a toss up between him and Thancred on who is her protector. Honestly though would argue with her when it came to her fighting. Thancred would teach her how, but Lucifer would ultimately decide that maybe she should leave fighting to the others. He would be pissed when he'd find out she'd been captured. Like Lilith before her, Minfilia was always going off on her own and getting into trouble. When joining the rescue mission, he would not be forgiving of his enemies. He had already lost his sister once, he would not lose her again. (this kinda sounds familiar, eh?) When Hydaelyn would speak through her to Thancred, he would be right there. And suddenly he would hear his sister's voice, speaking through this child's vessel. He would finally have that closure, but would promise Lilith to take care of Minfilia. He felt that she needed the brothers more than ever. He reluctantly agreed to let Thancred to give Minfilia a proper name. Especially since he was a a father to her. And hey, Ryne was a rather nice name. It meant "blessing" in fae, and she was indeed a blessing.

Mammon

She was so small. Just as he remembered Lilith to be. Honestly Mammon would know that Ryne was not Lilith. How could she be? They'd lost her a while back. But after finding out the true connection between the two, he'd be very brotherly to her. He was impressed that she knew how to fight and even offered to train with her.

Levi

Levi would be a bit cautious around her. He didn't want to get to close to her only to find out that she's chosen to be the next Minfilia. However, if she were to ask something of him, he'd never turn her away. He appreciated that she was a bit more soft spoken like him.

Satan

Upon meeting her, Satan would cry. He had never met Lilith, but due to Lucifer's memories of her, he felt as if he had. But with Ryne in front of him, he'd feel some sort of happiness. Like what they had lost, was now found in a way. To be honest, he could understand her when she'd feel the burden of being two people (three including Minfilia). Satan was originally a part of Lucifer. Just like how a part of Ryne was Lilith & Minfilia/Hydaelyn. He'd always correct the others when they referred to her as Lilith. He'd be so excited to find out that she was a fan of reading. Honestly the two of them would be raiding the little library area where Urianger stayed.

Asmo

He thought that she was so pretty! Just like Lilith was! I feel like Asmo would have struggled to see her as 'Ryne'. It had been ages since Lilith was alive, but he had never really fully mourned her. Instead he had pretended that he was fine. And with the WoL being a reincarnation, it was easier. They didn't look like Lilith. But Ryne did. It would take Lilith channelling through Ryne for him to finally accept her as her own person. He would want to teach her lots of things.

Beel

He would hug her immediately when he'd see her. He was just so overwhelmed with happiness. He of course knew that Ryne was not Lilith, but no matter what, he would accept her. And he was happy to know that she accepted him first a friend and second as a brother she'd never had.

Belphie

He would not be the nicest to her at first. He might even be distant with her at first. Why did this girl that you knew have to remind him so much of Lilith? It hurt his heart. But honestly seeing you two together, was something to behold. And with some help from you and Beel, he would open his heart to Ryne. I'd imagine the two were as thick as thieves (very close).

#obey me otome #ffxiv x obey me

[hibiscus-tome]

wolcred week 2023, day 2: memory

“Did you know my memory is completely wrecked?”

Ranni lays the question there at their shared table in the Waking Sands’ library, amidst the last lit candle flickering between them and Urianger’s soft snoring from over by the bookshelf. She steals a piece of fruit from Thancred’s plate, if only for the welcome distraction.

It’s not like she’s… talked about this before at length with anyone, after it had first become obvious that there were numerous holes and frayed edges where parts of her memory should be — but it has to be obvious at this point, that there are entire histories she can no longer speak to, even if no one will utter it aloud. Recognition in Urianger’s eyes the day she first came to the Scions’ base of operations, Minfilia’s all too thorough explanations of Sharlayan and its various research groups despite all the evidence that Ranni had spent more than enough of her life in one of them, Alphinaud’s thinly veiled attempts at blackmail when she threatened to walk away after the Waking Sands had been raided — that no one had challenged her on it is nothing short of a miracle.

(In a long, long journey to Ul’dah, Ranni boards the caravan. Hums noncommittally when the merchant speaks to her of jewels and riches and adventure, as if she’s some tourist and hasn’t been living in Thanalan for the better part of…

… wait, how long has she been here, exactly? Long enough that walking through the gates doesn’t feel entirely new. Long enough that though she doesn’t recognize the innkeeper yet, even when the innkeeper clearly recognizes her, the inn itself feels familiar. There’s bottles attached to a belt sitting at her hips, and herbs tucked away in a satchel strapped to her thigh, and none of it means anything, yet it clearly must have at some point for her to carry it on her person.

The Lalafellan innkeeper waves her hand before Ranni’s face, her easy, suddenly familiar smile melting away into something far more concerned as she says—)

“Really? And you’re all right?”

One would think that one with proven success charming the pants off of more of Ul’dah than most of its residents can achieve in their lifetime, he’d have a better quip at the ready. Ranni barks out a laugh. “Oh, please,” she retorts. “You had to know something.”

“I suspected a questionable past and potentially blackmail,” says Thancred. “Both of which are entirely within expectations for someone who’s spent the better part of a decade in Thanalan.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of that too, if what I’ve pieced together is accurate,” Ranni retorts.

It’s just that she’s not sure. It’s a hypothesis, one that will likely hold up now that she has the time to properly test it; where it becomes complicated is how much of her pre-existing knowledge of it hinges on speculation.

(There is a theory as to how this all started, all but confirmed now that it’s all over: an encounter with a Hyuran woman taller than an Elezen, dressed in black robes that Ranni would later come to associate with Ascians, with long, curling, wisping hair like a storm cloud. She’d stood in the middle of the desert, gazing up at the stars.

Ranni had only meant to ask if she was all right — but the woman instead tilted her head to the side, her gaze cold and calculating. “So you’re the familiar,” she said. “Well, no matter. You’ve long fulfilled your purpose, little lizard.”

She pressed her ice-cold fingers to Ranni’s temple, and then something in Ranni’s head pulled — a thread yanked loose, unfurling as the woman continued to pull it free. Memory after memory tumbled loose — in Thavnair, an orphanage by the water; kind Arkasodara caretakers promising that a lack of parents did not mean a lack of love.

—in Sharlayan, a swirling gate, Voidsent clawing her fellow researchers apart, years of work falling to pieces as she poured everything she had into pushing those Voidsent back and sealing the gate they emerged from; the weight of disapproval from the Forum, from her mother, from as many teachers and mentors and professors as she could count, when there had been no one else left to blame for it but Ranni; a difference in blood never so stark as it had been the day her mother turned away and never looked her in the eye again.

—in Thanalan, guilds and merchants and adventurers, always working, always bartering, because rent was going up but pay was not, evenings spent at the Quicksand with a lute because just music was hardly enough to pay the bills, but it was still enough extra to scrape by for another month.

When the woman stopped, it was clear that something had happened that she did not anticipate. She staggered back, shock and disgust warring in her expression.

“You…” she gasped. “What are you?”)

“Have you told anyone else?” asks Thancred.

“Just Momodi,” Ranni answers, shaking her head. “It… never seemed entirely relevant before?“

Thancred presses his lips tightly together, bowing his head slightly, and she can’t help but wonder if she’s said the wrong thing. Minfilia had said, more than once, that the Scions were a family; it’s hardly her fault that it’s the same line touted by too many unscrupulous merchants to count.

—and, well, Ranni’s no idiot. There are gaps and holes and frayed edges where parts of her memory should be, but she’d recognized the Archon marks, the day she’d met Thancred by that great tree outside Ul’dah’s gates. It’s been a long time since she last set foot in Sharlayan, but she remembers that much — remembers what it means, for so many people sporting those marks to be congregated in one place together, working towards a common goal.

“W-Well!” she interjects, far too awkwardly. “Ascian treachery sure has a way of building trust amongst those on the receiving end, doesn’t it?”

It doesn’t quite hit its mark — but something softens in Thancred’s gaze. “Even if it’s not relevant,” he says, carefully, “I’m glad you told me, all the same.”

Ranni blinks at him once, twice — and then heat floods quickly into her face. She ducks her head, and steals one more piece of fruit from his plate — then another — then another.

With a wistful smile, he pushes the plate towards her.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #wolcred week #thancred waters #wolcred #fic #wolcred week 2023

[potassium-pilot]

Prompt 24: Illustrious

“Is it done, Alphinaud?” Dia pestered excitedly.

“No, it is not.”

She waited for approximately five seconds before asking again, “How about now?”

“Do you really want me to rush through this?”

“You’re the Artist Alphinaud, I am your assistant; what else can I do if not make sure you finish?”

“Will you ever let go of that?”

“Never.”

Alphinaud sighed defeatedly and continued his drawing. He was commissioned to create a current portrait of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn to hang in the Solar. To their relief, he had everyone’s figures wrote to memory and therefore, did not require them to pose. That in mind, Dia couldn’t help but be a shadow to the boy, watching his artistry at work. The Warrior of Light was many things; an artist, she was not. It seemed the act of using a paintbrush did not come with the same ease as using a sewing needle, or a cooking utensil.

In the middle stood what he believed looked like himself holding a carbuncle while Alisaie stood on his right side at roughly the same height with her rapier held out in front of her. Dia towered behind him carrying Tataru on her shoulders (at her behest) with Thancred on her left with his arms crossed, Y’shtola on her right with a cane being wielded, Urianger on Thancred’s left with a book in hand, G’raha between Alphinaud and Alisaie with a big grin on his face, and Krile in front of Y’shtola to the left of Alphinaud leaning up against him.

“All right, I’m not done, but what do you think so far, Dia?” She scrambled from the Solar door to the desk to look it over with enthusiasm. “Ahh, I love it so far! Why’d you make yourself so short though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Alphinaud, you’re not that small. You almost made yourself into a lalafell compared to me.”

“It feels accurate to me…after all, ‘tis no secret I’m of a smaller stature in comparison to many of you.”

“Smaller stature, sure, but you’re not miniature. Give yourself more credit.” He shook his head before she inquired, “And where’s Estinien?”

“Oh…”

“What?”

“He…told me not to draw him…”

If her eyes could turn red in fury like Nidhogg, they would have in that very moment. “Give me but a moment, Alphinaud…” she told him quietly. She turned away from the smaller elezen and exited out the door in a seemingly calm manner, concealing her fury.

*********

Estinien, Thancred, and Urianger enjoyed a cup of coffee in the lobby.

“So you sort of just…wait for an assignment?” Estinien confirmed. The other two nodded. “Frankly, it’s been a bit more trouble to have the patience recently, particularly since our last assignment wasn’t exactly taken by choice”, Thancred stated.

“Indeed. Though we only aged some few moons in the Source, our souls hath lived on for years in the First, and kept us all plenty occupied, particularly when our friend finally arrived”, Urianger affirmed. Estinien made a hum. “What did you do while waiting before?”

“Oh”, Thancred began nervously, “Nothing too unusual. We just took our rest, did something leisurely, enjoyed ourselves whilst we waited.”

“Is that what thou calleth courting several maidens at once?”

Thancred scowled at Urianger while Estinien made a slight smile at the remark. Suddenly, Thancred and Urianger made horrified faces and scattered from their positions, abandoning Estinien to his fate: a furious Warrior of Light, wearing a look she wore when she killed gods.

“Do you want to explain your thought process here?” Dia confronted him.

“You’re under the assumption that I care to explain anything.”

“Look, I get you that you like to work alone; frankly, it’s understandable in a way. Twelve knows half the work I do needs to be done alone, lest anyone without the Echo be tempered, but I have news for you: you are not alone anymore!”

He growled, “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” She placed her face in her palm, then explained annoyedly, “The portrait, Estinien.”

“By the Fury, you’re angry with me about that?”

“Yes, yes I am.”

“It’s a bleeding portrait. What does it matter?”

“It matters, Estinien! It matters a lot to me, to Alphinaud, to quite a few of us.”

His face betrayed his befuddlement. Not having been a Scion for very long, her irritation seemed misplaced.

“That portrait’s not my place”, he attempted to explain, “And quite frankly, I don’t understand why you all so desperately want this portrait in the first place.”

“We want to commemorate our little family.”

“This isn’t my family. It never was.”

“Never?” she repeated incredulously.

He raised an eyebrow at her tone.

“Estinien, Alphinaud fought for you after your possession by Nidhogg. I fought for you. When everyone seemed intent on killing you, even yourself, we did everything we could to keep you alive. We even entreated Hraesvelgr to help us save you when Aymeric seemed content with just stopping Nidhogg at any cost. Then you go and follow us through Gyr Abania, to the point where you even pushed back an Ascian in the body of Zenos yae Galvus, and pulled my comatose body out of a battlefield and back to the front. And on top of that, you helped take out Black Rose facilities for us while the rest of us were off in another world. You mean to tell me that meant nothing?!”

Estinien blinked.

“Guess what, dragon boy? You were a Scion before you even offered your lance!”

He looked away to the floor, pondering her words, irritated by the nickname.

“Don’t call me ‘dragon boy’…” he snapped.

“That’s what you’re taking from this?”

He remained silent, still thinking through. What in hells had he done? What did he get himself into? He let out a frustrated breath and walked away. She watched him get away from her in disbelief, and followed him as he aimed for the Solar.

Estinien opened the door and called, “Alphinaud?”

The young elezen looked up and away from his efforts. “Yes, Estinien?” The dragoon hesitated, then begrudgingly ordered, “…put me in your damn portrait.”

Dia flashed a huge grin, and Alphinaud’s eyes lit up in excitement. “I’ll do just that! Thankfully, I was still sketching, so I can find a way to add you.”

“Hm…good, I guess.” He closed the door behind him and glared at Dia, still chipper from his agreement. “You’re a pain in my side, Dia Sito.”

“You have to be to do what I do. Thank you, Estinien. He’s a great artist; he’ll do you justice.” He shook his head and stomped off while Dia hurried back inside the Solar.

*********

A bell had passed since Estinien agreed to be in the portrait. Making sure he wasn’t followed, he quietly slipped into the Solar where Alphinaud continued his work unabated. He sat down in front of the young artist and bade him, “How goes the portrait?”

“Quite well, all things considered. I did have to remake the idea a bit, but overall, I’m quite pleased with how it turned out.”

“I see.” The dragoon shuffled in his chair for a moment, unsure how to phrase his next question. “Alphinaud…you are doing this of your own free will, correct?” He brought his attention from his work to the question brought before him. “Of course I am”, he answered incredulously.

“You’re sure, Alphinaud?”

“I am. Why do you ask?”

“I want to make sure this is something that you truly wish to do. Dia has a tendency to be a bit dramatic as I’ve recently learned.”

“Fear not, Estinien. I’m under no influence but mine own.”

Estinien let out a long breath and asked, “I know her reasons, but what of yours? What does obsessing over a painting get you?”

Alphinaud smiled at him. “I get a chance to relax.”

“Really?”

“I do. The past few times I’ve drawn, ‘twas out of necessity in order to locate our missing comrades or to gain entry into forbidden cities. This isn’t like that at all. Despite our friend’s being a bit more enthusiastic than I’m used to, I feel no pressure.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself at the very least, Alphinaud. But is that the only reason why?”

Alphinaud brought his gaze back to the portrait. In particular, he focused on the outlines of two people; Dia and Estinien.

“When I lost command of the Crystal Braves…when I heard that everyone I knew had been lost to that bloody banquet, all I felt was hopelessness. I felt stuck in a dark abyss, where nothing could see me nor pull me from it’s shackles. That’s what I earned for dehumanizing those who would help me, for seeing them all as pawns in my game to unite Eorzea.

Then Dia pulled me out of it. So did Tataru and Haurchefant.

Despite everything I ever thought of her, despite the way I would send her out as though she were my trusty god-slayer from my toolbelt, she stood with me, and helped me find a new home. Had she not saved Haurchefant’s friend from the Inquisition, and slayed Shiva, and the dragon that threatened the gates of Ishgard, we would not have found refuge within it’s walls.

After everything that came of our tenure in Ishgard, the Scions became something different. Especially now that my blood family has forsaken me, the bonds I’ve formed with my comrades became a great source of comfort to me. Everyone has their reasons for why the Scions are their home. If we wish to commemorate that with a painting, I see no reason not to oblige.”

Estinien didn’t usually pry into this sort of business; that was Aymeric’s domain. Yet, he did find himself in a better understanding of Alphinaud after that. He met the boy when he was still so immature, inexperienced in many things that were obvious to him growing up with Ser Alberic. It was interesting to hear how he changed, and what he missed.

“So this truly is more than just Dia’s will being imposed on others, then.”

“Dia’s not wont to impose her will onto others. She merely expressed a wish that the rest of the Scions shared, myself included.” Alphinaud raised an eyebrow. “Now that I think of it…I’m not entirely sure what her will is on a normal day. What does she want?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps it’s best for that to remain her business, hm?”

“When this is all over, and the Final Days are halted, I mean to express my sincere gratitude to her in any way I can.”

“Heh. Good luck with that”, Estinien commented as he rose from his chair. “Well, I won’t pry from your work any longer. Keep at it, Alphinaud.”

“I will, Estinien, thank you.”

The dragoon turned away and left through the door to the Solar. Alphinaud returned his full focus to the portrait.

******

The days passed while Alphinaud took his time to focus on the painting. The Solar was nearly forbidden territory, with the exception of Dia, who nobody would dare try to stop. After nearly a week’s worth of effort, Dia finally opened the door, and approached her fellow Scions.

“If any of you would like to view the portrait and help us decide where to place it, that would be most welcome”, Dia announced to the group as they sat in the lobby. All but Estinien rose from their chairs and walked towards the Solar.

“That means you too, Estinien.”

“Your suggestion is noted.”

“Get in here, or I’m telling Alphinaud to put it on your bed.”

He stood up reluctantly and followed her into the Solar, where they beheld the group fawning over the portrait. Estinien and Dia looked to each other, Dia wearing a smile on her face, Estinien his usual stoic look. He slowly walked towards the portrait to join the group.

For the most part, the positions of everyone stayed the same with one notable exception; Estinien stood between Dia and Thancred with a smirk and with his hand placed on Alphinaud’s head.

“I’m glad he took my suggestion and made himself taller”, Dia mused. Estinien tore his eyes away from the painting and looked to Dia. “Didn’t he do a good job with you, Estinien?” He nodded, “Aye, he did.” He brought his attention back to his portrait self.

Is that how he sees me, he thought.

“All right, now the question remains: where do we place it?” Alphinaud asked the group.

Everyone took a moment to think. “What about up there?” Estinien suggested, pointing to a spot above the desk…the spot that once held Tupsimati. Most of the group shifted uncomfortably with the exception of G’raha and Dia.

“Well…” Alphinaud started.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Dia defended. The group made faces of disbelief towards her. “Look, I will never forget Louisoix, nor will I forget Moenbryda’s sacrifice. But that spot is perfect. Anytime we walk in, we’ll see us hanging there proudly. After all, Tupsimati’s not hung there in how many moons now. Why don’t we use that spot to honor a new legacy?”

The Scions considered her words. “Did I touch upon something sensitive?” Estinien whispered to Dia. “‘Tis a long story. You did nothing wrong”, she whispered back to him.

“All right. Perhaps it would be better for us all to let our own story be told. After all, we saved not just one world, but two. That should be worth a nice spot, don’t you think?” Thancred reasoned. The group nodded.

“Allow me”, offered G’raha. He took out his staff and levitated the portrait from it’s spot. Y’shtola took out her cane and prepared a nail for the painting to hang upon. The two combined their efforts, and in a matter of minutes, the portrait hanged proudly in the very same spot Louisoix’s legacy once stood, the legacy that Dia had unfortunately sacrificed along with Moenbryda in her attempt to destroy Nabriales.

“There. I like it there quite a bit”, Dia complimented. “Thank you, G’raha, Y’shtola.”

“Of course. Now would you care to explain to me why that spot seemed to cause discomfort?” G’raha questioned.

Dia smiled. “I owe you two an explanation, it would seem.”

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #estinien & wol #estinien & alphinaud #estinien wyrmblood #wol #alphinaud leveilleur #thancred waters #urianger augurelt #g’raha tia #ffxiv fanfiction #fanfiction #a writer is never late nor is she early she arrives precisely when she means to

[allycryz]

Nsfw prompt: “Oh my god. Did we just break the bed?” for the ot6 :3

Alright, here it folks. Urianger gets spoiled, six people are very cute, a bed gets broken. Also pushed myself to write this in past tense since I haven’t done it in a while.

Rated E for Eggsplicit, is honestly pretty PWP but there’s feelings and fluff in there

“I beg thy forgiveness.” Urianger frowned at the piles of books crowding his room. His hands stroked light upon the spines, tracing letters, "I am certain thy book was here but it seems not."

“It’s alright.” Nerys said from her perch on his bed. The thin mattress creaked beneath her weight, swaying with each minute gesture. "I know you'll find it. Come sit with me."

He looked up with a hand caught in his silver locks and mouth curled into a frown. Twas not often he wore his consternation so openly and it was...quite charming. Not least of which because of the subtle pouting of his full lips. (She hoped he was not so upset as to halt her plans.)

“Nay, I shall keep searching.”

“Uri.” She patted the space beside her. “Please?”  

"I am unable to refuse such an invitation twice." Urianger moved like a dancer, once explaining that his poise and posture came from learning at the elbow of Louisoix Leveilleur. Nerys mostly believed it, seeing all the similarities in how he and the twins held themselves. And yet–she was convinced it was not the whole of the story.

He sank to his knees before her, rather than where she indicated. “It has been some time since I relaxed by thy side.”

Nerys stroked over his noble brow, nails scratching light into his scalp. “Far too long. Though this is not by my side.”

“But how else shall I do this?” He brought her hand up, leaving reverent kisses upon her fingertips. As always it made her breath catch, whether alone or in the company of their lovers.

They were not often alone, just the two of them. (And with what she planned, it would not be this way long.) There was so much she had yet to discover about him, the newest of her lovers. The sinuous sway of his hips was but one coin from a well-buried, well-protected treasure chest of knowledge. 

But there were facets of him that were extensions of the relationship they already had; as her comrade, her friend, partner of her partners. He was always kind and respectful, as willing to listen as to teach. That impish sense of humor he kept beneath it all–she had found that long before she took him as hers.

Here was one discovery that still made her tremble: the way he looked at her as if she was a treasure worth worshipping.

Another: the secretive smile upon his lips before he struck. Nerys was a moment forewarned by it before he rose to kiss her. 

Still another: how good a kisser he was. She was overwhelmed enough that one moment his lips were on hers, the next she was beneath him. The bed groaned and swayed with their movements, an anchor in the swirling sea of his presence.

Besides being noisy, the bed was on the small side. Not really what she expected. Urianger could live like a monk, subsisting on water and archon loaf with naught but a candle for luxury. But with the way he luxuriated in Haurche’s sumptuous bed or the raptures on his face when he shopped for fine clothes…

Nerys had assumed he was only a hermit when his studies called, not as a matter of course.

“We need to get you a new bed.” She murmured as he unfastened her already half-open shirt. His eyes had gone to the partly revealed breastband since her arrival. “You’ve barely any room for yourself.”

"No need, my lady. I seldom sleep here--indeed, I have moved most of my possessions to Haurchefant's and Thancred's rooms."

“Yes but-” Nerys unclasped the golden torque about his neck.  "You have been in the Sands for a week now. And I'm sure this won't be the last time you have to stay here."

"Would it comfort thee…" His words became a moan as her hands worked into his taut shoulders and nape. Were he able to, he might purr under her ministrations.

“Yes?”

"I often avail myself...of the cot in the archives."

“Uri.” She clucked her tongue. As if he and their lovers didn’t admonish her for various bad habits ranging from overextending herself to less-than-prudent jumps down cliffsides. 

Today is not about me though.

“Once again, I must beg thy gracious pardon.” He lowered his cheek to her chest, nuzzling against the swell of breast even as his hands eased down the breastband. His long fingers kneaded the sides of her chest slow and gentle. “In penance, I shall serve thee faithfully all afternoon and into the evening.”

Desire coiled in her belly. One word from her and Urianger would worship her from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Even now, his practiced healer’s touch found her pains and soothed them away. But she came here with an agenda and she must not forget it, even-

Her mouth fell open with a moan as he took handfuls of her chest, squeezing with gentle strength. That impish gleam was in his eyes when he looked down. 

“Will you…” She swallowed. “Lie on your back for me?”

“If that is thy wish…” He flipped them easily, settling her atop him. Hands slid over her bottom and squeezed. “Dost thou wish for control today?”

“Just a shred.”

His lips caught hers as she slithered down, meeting the barest resistance before he let go with a chuckle. Nerys gave him a look and received only a smile in reply.

According to Haurche, the chiton was far easier to deal with than his scholar’s robes. She never had the pleasure of unwrapping him from his old mode of dress. Piece by piece, I took him apart like a present before taking him apart as a lover might do. There is nothing quite like a reveal, my heart.

That conversation ended with Haurche performing his own slow striptease. Nerys drifted from the fond memory to the present, to the bunch of fabric now at Urianger’s waist and the silken black smalls she unveiled beneath. His cock strained against the taut fabric, twitching at the glide of her hand.

"Wilt thou let me return whatever favors thou dispenses?" His voice dropped to low and rumbly and then to a groan as she rubbed her cheek upon his clothed cock. 

“I’ll think about it...You certainly proved your tongue’s prowess when we were last together.”

Urianger sighed, either from her touches or the memory of nine days ago–him and her and Y’shtola between them. “I-I didst not sup upon thy nectar then…”

She squeezed his thigh. “No but I saw you send ‘Shtola into the heavens.”

“Where she doth belong, crowned in stars and cloaked in moonlight.” His words then turned to garbles and gasps as she mouthed against the fabric. Traced her tongue over the solid outline of his shaft and inhaled his musk.

“And what shall be her throne?” Nerys hummed against him. His hand found purchase in her hair and tugged. Heat kindled between her legs at the touch, more when he did it again. Sitting up so she could see the intent in his eyes.

“Thy visage is the most glorious sight of all…” He groaned, digging filed-down nails into her scalp until she trembled. “What better seat for our beloved than that?”

“Oh,” she breathed. It had taken him no time to master her needs and wants. Had he not watched her plenty, with a lover or two or three between them? And you really are that easy. 

Nerys would not be the only one losing sense and control. Her thumbs hooked beneath his smalls to ease them down, freeing his erect length from their confines. She squeezed his thighs as her tongue dragged up his shaft, finding the sensitive ridge under his head. 

“N-nerys-” he gasps, reaching for the white cotton sheets and grabbing them by the fistful. “I-I should have better control, than to be driven so wild so quickly.”

She pulled off of him with a soft pop of sound. "You've been locked away in here for a week with only your hand to relieve you. No wonder you're sensitive."

“I shall...endeavor to satisfy thee. Thou need not worry-”

The door opening startled her, even though it was Phase Two of her plan coming to fruition. Urianger froze beneath her before he chuckled, the sound as much sigh as it was mirthful. “My lady, didst thou invite them and not tell me?”

“Surprise.” She grinned and turned her head. Y’shtola and Thancred watched them with twin expressions of pleasure. “I hope this is alright?”

Urianger groaned. "I wouldst never turn away those I love so dearly. And they look upon me as if I am a feast laid out for their sampling."

“Ha,” Thancred snorted. "Seems like Nerys has the feasting part well in hand."

Y’shtola smiled, turning her back towards Thancred while keeping her eyes upon them. He dutifully took care of the hooks at her nape, easing the scarlet and gray dress down her shoulders. She arched an eyebrow at the pair on the bed. “Well? Don’t stop on our account.”

Nerys gave the slightest hint of her intentions–a little secret smirk she’d learned at his feet–before swallowing him down. Breathing with purpose through her nose to take him deep, deeper, deeper still. Gods but Elezen were thick, and the reduced air goaded her as much as the eyes upon her. 

The gaze of the world was ever upon her in ways that made her anxious, embarrassed, fearful. But to simply put on a show for others, to stir their passion? That was something Nerys loved. No one expected too much of her besides the occasional fling, and those were more and more rare these days. There was no time to adventure in Eorzea’s bedrooms as she once had.

How lucky, that her lovers liked to watch as much as she liked to perform, while duty kept her from the dark corners of taverns and rolls in the hay.

Urianger laid back, forearm pressed against his brow. Lowered it so he might press his fist to his mouth. Nerys hummed around him, sinking further onto him until she could take no more. It was not enough, not yet, but he moaned all the same.

The heat of Thancred’s bare skin pressed against her back and his palms curled over her breasts. Toyed with them as his lips trailed over her spine. “You need a bigger bed, Uri.”

His response was a muffled groan about clenched knuckles. Y’shtola crawled onto the bed, over him with teasing touches, and stretched her small frame between him and the wall. She seized his wrist, dragging it to lips. “Ah ah. How will she know she’s doing a good job? Let her hear you.”

“Sh-shtola-” Urianger shuddered with the full force of his body as Thancred’s hand slipped down his stomach, fondling his sack. Nerys began to lift her head, found Thancred pressing her back down.

“Good,” said Y’shtola with an approving nod. “Keep her there a moment, Thancred. Urianger–there is no one to overhear you. So I had best hear your response.”

They watched as Urianger opened his mouth, his wordless cries filling the room with their sweet, penitent notes. His reward was another fondle, another suck; Y’shtola petting his hair.

“Nerys is far too overdressed for this.” Thancred said, drawing her up at last.

“And so is he,” Y’shtola agreed before she caught Urianger’s chin and kissed him. The man made a desperate noise before giving himself over to his passion. Nine days ago, Nerys watched him do the same as he filled Y’shtola, as Nerys held her close. Then he’d had the presence of mind to extol her virtues between breathless kisses. 

The same passion is clear in his half-lidded eyes and fervent mouth. Even if he is now in a place beyond poetry.

“You should have a taste too,” Nerys gasped, writhing against Thancred’s purposeful touch over her trousers. For his complaint about her state of dress, he was taking advantage of the friction of cloth against her skin. 

“Do you think so? I think that if we both suck him, he’s liable to pop.”

“What about all his rings?”

“They’re in my quarters,” Thancred laughed against her ear. “Besides, that’s not a guarantee he’ll be able to hold off-”

“I swear to thee.” Urianger licked his lips, eyes flickering from Nerys’ mouth to Y’shtola’s hands kneading his chest to whatever expression Thancred made. "If thou drives me to completion, I shall return the favor in kind. Thou...thou should not go unsatisfied because of my folly."

“Yes, definitely folly to show us how bad you want us.” Thancred snorted. “Uri, it’s okay to come. We’re not going anywhere.”

“True enough.” Y’shtola nipped at his jaw when he tried to rise. “I was going to make him hold off but that might be cruel…”

“I’m disappointed, darling.” The new voice sent shivers through Nerys. Thancred’s steady grip kept her from turning to greet him. “It’s ever so entertaining when you’re cruel to our lovers.”

He is not due quite yet… Not that she minded. Hopefully, in his impatience he remembered to bring-

“Surely,” Haurchefant said with a laugh. “You might magick up a way to help him hold back? As all his rings are in Mor Dhona, and not always reliable.”

“That will cost you, my Lord Emissary.”

“Tell me then, O Great and Powerful Sorcerer: how much for such a device, snapping away everyone’s clothes, and your cock in my mouth later?”

Hades’ laugh was a clear ringing sound that warmed Nerys’ already heated flesh. He was often playful, this ancient lover of theirs. Seldom was he so open as she heard in the notes of his mirth, playing in harmony with Haurchefant’s chuckles. Urianger met her gaze, his smile softening even more the warm mush her heart turned into. And then he gasped as Thancred ran a teasing hand up his length and Y’shtola bit down on his shoulder. 

A snap and her clothes disappeared, along with the bunched up chiton and the black smalls shoved about Urianger’s knees. Thancred’s warm skin pressed against hers–chest to her spine, thighs to the backs of her legs, his unclothed cock hard against her rear. Before them, a ring of black and purple aether pulsed at the base of Urianger’s cock.

She put a hand to it. It felt solid but as it shimmered, she saw flashes of the skin beneath. Hades had all manner of aether tricks to aid in the bedroom. This was one she hadn’t seen before.

He knelt on the floor beside the bed as bare as everyone else. His hand slid past her a moment, she caught the motion of him patting Thancred’s cheek. Then his fingers were on her chin, tilting it up for him to brush lips against lips. She moved to deepen the contact and he pulled back, clucking his tongue. “Ah ah, your mouth is destined elsewhere.”

“One kiss won’t hurt.” Nerys squirmed against Thancred’s hold but today, he was willing to cooperate with Hades. He held her fast and pressed light kisses down the line of her neck. 

“I wonder. Now, my dear–how long should we make our scholar squirm?”

“Oh not too long. Remember why we’re here after all.” Urianger looked up at that with raw curiosity in his gaze. 

“Please, the man loves when we deny him.” Hades rose then to perch on the edge of the bed with his torso turned towards Urianger’s face. His bare fingers ran over his chest till they found the gold hoops in his nipples. A small tug set Urianger’s face and neck red with pleasure. “Does that feel good then?”

"L-lovely,” groaned Urianger. "My lady Nerys...didst thou c-conspire against me?"

She laughed. Haurchefant made himself known then with his fingers guiding her limbs, positioning Thancred alongside her. He caressed them both while they obeyed onto their hands and knees, arms and shoulders against each other. "You've been holed up here for days. I thought you were due a respite."

"And I thought you deserved a little punishment as well." Hades added, thumb circling the stiffening nipple. "Depriving us for days."

"H-ha." Urianger quirked a brow. "Couldst thou not visit me whenever thou desires, Hades? I did not bar my door to thee."

"Impudent man." Hades leaned forward to kiss him as Y’shtola tugged at his silver locks.

A hand pressed against her nape as she saw another do the same to Thancred. Haurchefant must have removed his rings prior to his arrival. She could not feel the familiar press of metal or see his signet contrasted with Thancred’s white locks. Even with his fingers bare, with him standing behind them, she would have known his touch without ever having to see them.

It was that way with all of them now. Even Urianger. She had learned the feel of him that first night with Thancred between them and his touch reaching behind her for Haurchefant, caressing her arm lightly as she shook with the overwhelming pleasure of that moment. 

“Ladies first,” Thancred purred when their eyes were level with the ring. 

Nerys laughed, from the remark, from the surge of joy rushing through her. She licked a stripe up the thick shaft. Thancred did the same, meeting her with an open-mouth kiss that had the benefit of teasing against Urianger. They pushed each other–matching every swirl, lick, and suck; triumphant when one coaxed a loud moan or gasp. It was a heady competition, egged on by Haurchefant stroking her spine and praising them both. 

“You two are exquisite,” Haurchefant sighed as his hands drew away. Fingertips dragged over her skin until she felt them dip between her thighs, heard Thancred groan aloud. Nerys half-expected the mattress to dip with Haurchefant’s weight but instead he drew her back. She had to stretch her long torso to keep her mouth against Urianger.

He accommodated and leaned forward, bracing hands on either side of her. “Dearest Thancred, you will help her for this next part? She is radiant when she takes a cock completely.”

“Hmm…” A raised eyebrow. “Alright Haurche. Long as you promise to give me something nice later. No fair if only Hades gets your mouth tonight.”

“My darling boy…” Hades raised his head and Urianger whimpered at the loss. “Since when are you the arbiter of what is fair or not?”

“You hush.”

“If you want to stop my mouth, you need to be far more creative.”

“Both of you hush,” said Y’shtola. Her voice trembled as Urianger suckled at her chest but still resounded with the underlying core of iron. “You’ll get your turns later, if you’re good.”

“Yes ‘Shtola,” said Thancred with a laugh. He curled a hand over Nerys’ nape and helped her ease back onto Urianger. Behind them Haurchefant praised their obedience while the head of his cock notched against her folds. 

Urianger was a writhing mess beneath them and it was beautiful. The disheveled state of his hair; the blossom of red suffusing his upper body; the sighs they pulled from him; the pattern of bites on his neck from Y’shtola and on his torso from Hades. And him, impossibly hard and impossibly large in her mouth as Thancred dragged her up and down and Haurchefant sank into her. 

Their eyes met, his mouth worked. She reached forward though it could upset her balance. Brushed fingertips against his and then seized his hand. His hips canted upwards and it was almost too much with him so lost in sensation. Somehow, she managed to take him all the same. 

His trembling lips tried again before they managed a word in the babble of whimpers and sobs. “Please...please…”

Nerys answered with her eyes while her hand reached out again, brushing against Hades’ side. Haurchefant picked up her pace and she all but collapsed. It was then Hades turned his amused look at her and the hand desperately groping at his hip.

“May I help you?”

Her eyes swept downward. She could not see the ring just then–Thancred pressed her down so far that her eyes could see only golden skin and silver, curling hair. Haurchefant sighed behind her. “What a good girl, taking him all the way. You’re doing beautifully, my heart.”

“I wonder…” Hades voice floated above her. “What could she be trying to say? Have you any notion, ser?”

“I am not a betting man-” (Thancred’s derisive snort at that became a groan.) “But perhaps she would like to be dear Uri’s angel of mercy.”

“Certainly not. Our ferocious hero?”

“Our compassionate hero.” Haurchefant’s hand joined Thancred’s and brought her up. Hades met her pleading gaze with a sigh and an incongruously soft kiss to her forehead.

“If you insist, dear.” The ring disappeared and they were all lost.

Haurchefant and Thancred pushed her down, Urianger bucked upward. Hades leaned entirely on the bed, bare chest against their scholar as he kissed him with Y’shtola dragging her nails down his back. 

“That’s it,” Haurche panted in her ear. “Help him finish, beloved, dearest, our Nerys-”

Urianger cried out as his hand reached for her-

Haurchefant knelt on the bed and filled her-

And as Urianger spilled into her mouth, the chorus of their raptures was overwritten by an earsplitting crack! There was the sensation of falling, of balance going horribly wrong as she slid backwards into Haurchefant and Hades into both of them. A strange sound escaped her mouth when the momentum and impact both caused Haurchefant to fill her and not entirely pleasantly. 

She lifted her head and Urianger looked down at her. He had not sat up. His eyes were glazed with satisfaction even as realization pierced the fog of his climax.

“Oh my gods.” Nerys stared at the ramp they occupied. “Did we just break the bed?”

Shocked silence met her question. It was Urianger who broke it with low, barely concealed laughter. He slapped a hand over his mouth and his shoulders shook with the effort of not breaking. Behind her, Haurchefant chuckled into her ear as Hades scowled at them all.  Y’shtola stretched out where she was. Thancred roared with laughter behind them on the floor.

“Th-thou didst tell me…” Urianger said, fighting to control his mirth. “That I was in need of a bigger bed.”

“And I was right!” She watched Hades vacate the space between them before squeezing Urianger’s thigh. “Now what do you have to say for yourself?”

In answer, Urianger sat up with care and eased himself down. His warm hands cupped her cheeks, tilting her face up to receive the brush of his mouth against hers. “That I am glad we have a Sorcerer of Eld to set us to rights.”

“Hm.” Hades dusted off his arms with great exaggeration and wounded dignity. The gleam in his pale gold eyes was the only clue he was not so piqued as he pretended. “Give me a moment. As today we are demanding favors before we do anything, I needs must calculate the price.”

“Do make haste, lovely man.” Haurchefant adjusted Nerys in his lap and the friction sent her shivering. “I would like to finish what I started.”

“If I may offer a suggestion…” Y’shtola stretched herself upwards and Nerys could not help watching the curve and rise of her bosom, the marks of lips and teeth upon the teak skin. She wrapped her arms about Urianger from behind and propped her chin upon his shoulder. “You could ask to give Nerys proper thanks for arranging all this.”

That twitch at the corners of her mouth spelled Nerys’ salvation and destruction. “Now wait a minute-”

“Brilliant as always,” Hades smirked. “While the guest of honor recovers, I would like a sampling of our event planner in exchange for my great and powerful magicks.”

“Deal!” Haurchefant said, lifting her up while the bed repaired itself with a rush of aether. He had to withdraw from her to do so but from the looks around her...she would not be empty for long. “Have a care with her, lest we break it again.”

“I have ensured it won’t tonight.” Hades stepped over and gathered her into his arms. Laid her back upon the mattress, sprawled upon Urianger’s lap. “And tomorrow we purchase Urianger a bigger, sturdier bed.”

“There, my lady.” Urianger grinned above her. “Thou shalt get thy way after all.”

“I usually do,” she said before Hades moved to have his way with her.

Not that she was complaining.

#lemon #ally writes #big heroic ot6 #nerys eluned #urianger augurelt #thancred waters #y'shtola rhul #emet-sellch #haurchefant greystone

[laeorinel]

FFXIV Write 2022 - Day 15

Prompt - Row

Endwalker 6.2 spoilers sort of. Mainly vague ones to do with the Island Sanctuary. Teeny tiny bit of ThancredxWol

Samara wiped the sweat from her brow as she set down the pieces of wood she was carrying, looking around with a rather satisfied grin. She had only been on the island for a few days, and while there was still plenty that needed doing, it was starting to come together.

She was still in the process of making a paddock, but there were a few sheep milling about the area, not keen on venturing away. The few vegetables and fruits she planted were in neat tiny rows, though Gods only know if any will grow. Lastly, she had a makeshift yurt that reminded her of being back on the Steppe. She wasn't sure if it would survive a bad storm, but for now, it was home.

It was all horribly domesticated, and she loved it.

At first, the idea chafed with her a bit. While life on the Steppe had its ups, there were just as many downs, if not more. Still, she did have some fond memories. Helping rear some of the animals, or going out foraging or on hunts for small game. It was a simple life for the most part, if a bit difficult at times, and there were moments when she longed to return to those ways.

But regardless of her wish, she was a warrior, not a farmer or anyone suited to developing land. Even with the help of a small army of mammets, this would not be easy. Still, it was a new challenge she intended to make the most of before things inevitably went to the seven hells again, even if she was taking a practical approach to this instead of turning it into an island paradise.

While she had no reason to believe the Scions would be betrayed by any of their allies again, she wanted to be prepared just in case. She had plans in the works. She had already scoped out different areas of the island for little hideaways for her friends. On the surface, this would be exactly what Tataru wanted and expected of an island paradise. Under the surface, however, this could be a secondary base for the Scions. One only a select few would know of. Worst case scenario, the island never gets used for that purpose and simply becomes a place where any or all of them can escape when needed.

Urianger would have a cabin atop one of the hillsides with the best view of the stars, perhaps built in a similar style to the Bookman's shelves. She had not decided on that detail just yet.

G'raha would have a place near one of the cliffsides, overlooking the vast ocean, a view that acted almost as an open invitation to adventure.

Y'shtola would have a section of one of the cave systems all to herself, far from prying eyes or distractions from her research.

Alphinaud and Alisaie would have homes in the small village that would make the island's heart; each styled in a way to suit their needs.

She was still trying to figure out what to do for Estinien. A part of her almost thought of just giving him a permanent room at the future lodge, knowing how he comes and goes wherever and whenever he wishes. It was less pressure on him.

As for Thancred…She was still trying to figure that out. Naturally, they would live together, but neither of them had ever really been the type to settle down. Both of them were wanderers at heart, never really wanting to linger in one place for overly long. Between them, they barely had enough personal possessions to fill a room, much less a house. And what of Ryne? Would it be too presumptuous of her to make a room in the house for her? She had faith that Y'shtola's research would eventually bear fruit but is it too soon to make plans of some kind of reunion between them both? Then there was the question of location…

Samara shakes her head with a wistful sigh. Were Thancred only here to help her answer those questions, but he was probably halfway to Othard by now, and she was still on enforced recovery time. All of them had been aware of Tataru's plan, and Thancred had practically begged the Lalafell to make sure Samara took up the offer and did something other than save the world for once.

Whereas before, she would have argued until she was blue in the face about going on a vacation, or whatever the Hyur's called it, she could see the wisdom in it now. She had needed this. She truly felt happy and at peace for the first time in ages, and she could feel her body and mind recovering from the recent trials. There were even moments here and there where she could almost entertain the idea of retiring.

But then she would catch sight of her axe or bow hung on a stand in the corner of her yurt. She would feel that all too familiar wanderlust and realised she could never leave the life of adventuring behind, that desire to explore somewhere new and unknown.

But those adventures could wait for now. For once, she was in no rush.

#ffxiv write 2022 #ffxivwrite2022 #ffxiv fanfiction #thancred x wol