#pouncing coeurl

[yzeltia]

Closer to You

Chapter 2 Characters: Natus Obinata, Leonnioux Ouraux, @driftward 's Zoisstte Vauban, @erickgage 's Ryssthota Sundstywy, Silent Coeurl and Pouncing Coeurl, Y'shtola Rhul Rating: T for angsT Notes: Death of a Character, Experiencing pain

“More tea? I brewed our imported Hingashi blend just for you.”

Natsu looked up as Pouncing Coeurl refilled her cup for her, not giving her a real chance to object. She'd tuned out at some point to the conversation happening about her between Zoissette and Ryssthota. Across from her Y'shtola slid her cup toward the Roegadyn woman uttering a small thanks while beside her, her Elezen girlfriend carefully dropped two cubes into the drink without breaking her attention from the conversation at hand. 

“Thank you. You didn't need to make me anything special though,” Natsu said timidly, stirring her tea.

“It was no problem, dear. Y'zel is particularly fond of that blend so I've kept it on hand for a while.”

“He is? I didn't know…”

Pouncing gently put her hand on her shoulder, offering a soft smile, “I'm sure we'll see him soon.”

Natsu gave a weak smile back before the woman wandered back toward the kitchens. Y'shtola remained quiet, blowing cautiously at her tea. Frowning, Natsu shifted lightly and gathered courage to ask a question.

“Lady Archon, aren’t you a bit more concerned for the well being of your Cousin?”

“What cause do I have to be? This isn't the first time he's gone missing for an extended period of time. He will turn up, eventually. No doubt in trouble.”

“Isn't that all the more reason to start looking for him? Should he be in danger…”

“As I understand it, his duties are still being fulfilled. That means he's around in some capacity. Being elusive is not a cause for concern, as annoying as it is.”

Natsu lowered her head, turning her cup in her hand, “Could it be that he just does not care to meet me?”

Y'shtola pursed her lips as she stopped herself from taking another sip. Her ear flicked, but before she could answer Zoissette leaned into the conversation.

“Zel has a rather extensive family and has been quick to welcome others into that sphere. I can almost guarantee you that it is nothing personal. And while Sht…er, the Lady Archon is used to his antics, we are a little bit concerned and have been looking out for him.”

Natsu smiled toward Zoissette, giving the slightest of nods before withdrawing from conversation again to nurse her tea. Occasionally she'd give a glance toward the Archon, catching her intense aetheric gaze. As the lunch conversation turned to business, Natsu’s attention was pulled into taking notes for what would be needed for their next subnautical expedition, leaving Y'shtola to quietly excuse herself and return a bit later, staggering a bit as she tried to return to the booth.

“Are you alright?”  Zoissette swiftly asked.

“Yes, of course. I just need a bit more rest.”

Natsu watched as Zoissette hesitated to leave her be, but ultimately returned to their list. Once settled, Ryssthota clapped her hands together and looked to her with glee, “Excellent! We shall have that map completed yet. Now, be sure to give Silent a copy of that to distribute to our gatherers and then see Dark tomorrow about an allowance for you to commission the more readily available materials from the Alliance vendors.”

“Understood,” Natsu nodded, tearing out a copy of her notes before packing up the rest of her things into her purse then standing up to bow, “thank you for lunch.”

With that, she made her way to the reception desk, to drop off the list as instructed before looking up to Silent with a smile. “I am covering the front desk for Pouncing’s birthday correct? Are you sure you don't want to take another day? You deserve to take a break and I'm sure she'd enjoy another day on the island.”

“I am sure my sister will have her fill of me after two days on Mr. Gage’s Island. Do not worry, I will have plenty of rest,” he answered warmly.

“If you're sure…,” Natsu trailed before turning to head down the hall. 

Arriving at Y'zel and Leon’s apartment, she paused to rest her head against the door. It had become a little ritual, offering a little prayer that she might find Y'zel on the other side. As her head and hands made contact with the door, she jumped back and let out a yelp. 

The door was cold to the touch, so much so that she'd felt it through her gloves. Worried, she heated up the knob with her palm, wincing as the cold stung her before forcing the door in. A wave of cold fog poured from the door, exposing the iced over hallway inside. Cautiously, she entered.

“L-Leon?”

No response sounded. She braced herself on the wall as she moved forward into the long hallway, the fire ahead reduced to weak embers that did little to illuminate the room. 

“Y'zel…? Brother?”

Silence. Rounding into the main room she spotted a shadowy figure sitting on the sectional. Summoning her focus, she let it pulse out a light. Leon's angular face soon came into view, looking peaceful as if asleep. Relief washed over her as she found him, but as the light trailed downward her eyes widened. A knife stuck had been through his heart, the blood around it frozen over.

Natsu stepped back, slipping on the icey floor. She began to violently shake as she let her focus fall to the floor. Her eyes swelled with tears and as soon as she was able to breathe she let out a piercing scream.

After was a blur. People coming and going. The room was soon lit up and a blanket put around her. As the shock started to wear off she found herself propped up against the wall with Pouncing’s arm around her, holding onto a warm cup of chocolate. Eyes trailing back up, she found Zoissette and Y'shtola standing over the body, looking up at the wall, though the Archon was staring off elsewhere as she lightly clung to her partner. Above Leon's blood had been used to write: “You're Welcome Praxithius.”

“Are you with us dear,” Pouncing asked.

“I-I think so,” Natsu whimpered.

As she started to sit up properly a Hyur woman squat down in front of her, glowering a bit, “Can you explain what happened here?”

“I…I came in and found him like this in the dark…”

“Seriously? That's all? Of fucking course,” the woman huffed, standing back up, hands on her hips.

“She is only now coming around. Give her time Violet,” Pouncing scolded.

Violet merely crossed her arms, looking back toward Leon, “I can't reach him with my Echo. Every minute wasted is another in the killer’s favor. “

“I think…er, everyone needs to calm down. There is little chance that this was a random act of violence given that this happened in private quarters in a well monitored building. We are at a disadvantage with Nyx being away with U'rahn; however, Silent Coeurl keeps a rather astute eye out for those coming and going,” Zoisette said, looking to Pouncing.

“It's true. My brother keeps a log just in case there are personnel inquiries.”

Natsu looked around worried, “But anyone could just use the aetheryte!”

“Yes and no,” Y'shtola answered, rapping her fist on her cheek, “Anyone could leave easily; however, you can not simply teleport into someone's estate. Most are warded to put you at the edge of a given property. Our assailant would have had to have already been in the building or have passed the front desk. Given that it is early afternoon, that would severely limit the pool of suspects to those who passed through and had access to this room. At present, aside from Silent Coeurl, that would be myself, Zoissette, Natsu, and Pouncing.

“And Y'zel,” Violet added, “Conspicuously absent. And Ryssthota was at lunch with you was she not?”

“Yes; however, she was present at lunch when Natsu joined us and left to the workshop after. So she’s accounted for. Now,before we get ahead of ourselves, we should summon Silent Coeurl here,” Zoissette said, trying to get control over the room.

“I'll get him, given that I'm the only one not on the suspect list,” Violet huffed, waving them off as she sauntered away, “Don't leave this room.”

Natsu sniffed, getting to her feet with a little help by Pouncing. “I don't understand. Wh-who would do this? How are you so calm?”

“I’m no stranger to mystery and Zoissette is possibly the most level-headed woman in Eorzea. Well, on most days anyway,” Y'shtola answered without missing a beat.

“Y'shtola! Please,” Zoissette scolded before looking down to Natsu, “Solving things in house allows us to operate without being noticed.

“Mr. Gage is the largest employer of those blessed by the Echo, and partnered with the Scions. We don't want the wrong kind of attention, especially when the collective membership could easily take down a Grand Company with little effort,” 

Natsu’s eyes widened, having not given it much thought. “Blessed,” she repeated, looking at her gloved hands quietly as Violet wandered in with Silent Coeurl in tow.

“A mixed blessing anyhow,” Violet scoffed.

“Lord Ouraux…,” the man said, looking down at the body before hanging his head.

“Alright, you've seen him for yourself. Now out with it. Who came through here,” Violet demanded.

“Many people since this morning,” he answered.

“He was still alive just before I left for lunch,” Natsu interjected.

“Then that narrows it down quite considerably. I regret to say that is limited to those of us in this room.”

Y'shtola frowned, returning to rapping her first on her cheek as she looked at Natsu. The Auri girl backed into Pouncing, feeling all eyes on her. “And I am to be your prime suspect?”

Silent Coeurl didn't answer, looking over Leon while Violet tutted. “You were the last to see him alive and the one who alerted us. You could have very well used your time at lunch to create an alibi for yourself.”

“I didn't! I swear to the Kami it wasn't me,” Natsu protested.

Violet crossed her arms, “Coeurl, who were the others who went past.”

“Well, it was rather quiet until the Lady Archon passed through toward the end of their luncheon. She seemed to be…less than graceful in her steps. I thought something was amiss, but at the time I felt it wasn't my place to interject.”

“Oh? Do you think I've taken up day drinking with the lull of pending calamities?”

“I would never dare to presume, madam.”

Y'shtola let out a small hum of amusement, “So, you'd posit, instead of Natsu, I drunkenly stumbled my way into here, stabbed poor Leon, iced over the place, and returned to lunch? I can assure you I am innocent. I've been resting my eyes, and as such, have allowed myself to wander around blind for a good portion of the day.”

“It is unlikely, but it could very well have been an act,” Violet pointed out, “Y'zel is missing. You hide it well but you are worried. Perhaps you thought Leon knew more than he was saying and came to the room to confront him. In a moment of heated exchange you struck him in the heart then staggered back to make it look as though you were not relying on your aetheric senses.”

Y'shtola rolled her eyes and shook her head, “I cannot exactly disprove your accusation. I would have had time to do so and it is unlikely anyone can verify whether or not I am using my limited vision.”

“I can!”

The group turned to Natsu as she spoke up. Shyly she stepped forward, “Earlier when Pouncing served us tea. Y'shtola didn't offer her cup…nor did she prepare it afterward. Zoissette sugared it for her.”

“That proves nothing other than Zoissette being a good girlfriend,” Violet scoffed.

“Well, then there's the matter of what Y'shtola described herself doing, or rather didn't…”

“That is right,” Zoissette said, “You did not describe the wall.”

Y'shtola pursed her lips, “The wall?”

“The killer's message. See, that should exonerate her.”

“Hm. Saved by my own sarcasm. How droll,” Y'shtola mused, “What does it say?”

“You're Welcome Praxithius,” Zoissette answered.

Violet blew her bangs out of her face, “Alright, I didn't really think she did it in the first place, but that is reasonable doubt.”

Natsu looked at the wall, “Who is Praxithius?”

“Without getting into a long, complicated, story, let's just say it's another name for Y'zel. A last life,” Violet answered.

“So this has something to do with the ancients then,” Y'shtola mused 

“Perhaps to do with his recent publication,” Pouncing suggested.

 “Publication?” Zoissette asked.

“He penned a small book while you were resting in regards to the relationship between the Ancient self and the connections of the present one. Only a handful of copies were made, and conveniently, none made it across my desk. From what I gathered from Thancred it was mostly anecdotal accounts he collected via his own Echo, and utilizing those who can travel to Elpis to gather information,”. Y'shtola stated. “It didn't sit well with Thancred. It apparently came off as too sympathetic for the Ascians, but I could not say what had irritated him beyond that. I was not thought of in its brief distribution before he collected them back up.”

“Your, uhm…bitterness aside, that brings to light  relevant information. Whoever did this would have had to have been aware of the contents of the book,” Zoissette posited before slowly looking to Pouncing.

“Sister..,” Silent said sadly.

“You suspect me? I was in the kitchens the entire time,” the woman protested.

“You came through just as Miss Obinata left for lunch.”

“Brother, surely another passed. I did not come through,” Pouncing reiterated, “I was serving lunch and then tea. I could not have been in two places!”

“I am rarely mistaken. You wandered through just shortly after Natsu had left and then returned through the front door just before the other's gathered.”

“And we've established that someone could have just used aetheryte to return outside and re-enter the building,” Violet pointed out.

“I was out in the gardens gathering fresh dill for my finger sandwiches.”

“After you fucking killed Leon,” Violet shot back.

Natsu tensed up then shook her head. “N-no! I don't believe it. Pouncing has been nothing but nice and helpful. I don't believe she could have done this! What reason would she have had?”

“We do need to keep motive in mind,” said Zoissette, mostly to herself.

“Well, the only suspect left would be yourself. You're insistent it wasn't either of you, but there's no proof to the contrary, circumstantial or otherwise,” Y'shtola hummed, “And Pouncing seems the most informed here. Clear something up for me? Why did my cousin collect his books after he published them? My understanding was that he stubbornly defended the work.”

Pouncing looked down, “It was the recent kidnappings. He seemed to think they were related to his work but I assured him that it was a coincidence…but perhaps his own absence after might be related. I'm unsure how though. Come to think of it, that's when we started to see less of him.”

The Archon started to pace, careful to not step in the ice. “That is indeed strange. I had assumed his scarcity ultimately was over being embarrassed that he'd expended his aether to the point of depigmentation as it timed well with Zoissette waking.”

“I'm, uhm,I am sure he was not fretting on my behalf,” the Elezen said.

Y'shtola rolled her eyes, “No, just absolutely mewling around as if he'd thrown you into the rift himself.”

“That's…that is neither here or there, Shtola,” Zoissette scolded.

“And yet thinking about it, it is. We have been talking about who was here, but who is not?”

“Y'zel,” Violet answered, “He doesn't need to pass by Silent at all. He could just aetheryte to Leon's side with their eternal bonding rings.”

“Exactly,” Y'shtola said with a nod, “Not to mention all the ice is rather on brand with his disposition to umbral magicks.”

“There are too many theories going around and we're moving on before we have settled the matter of the one that has come before. We have little insight into a motive despite narrowing means and opportunity,” Zoissette reminded them.

Natsu whimpered lightly, gripping at her wrist as she looked at her gloved hand. Shyly she stepped forward, “I can get our answer…If I touched him…I might divine what he saw and felt before he was killed. I know I am a suspect but it is the only way I can think to solve this.”

Y'shtola pursed her lips, “Are you saying you have the Echo?”

“In a manner, yes.”

“That would be tough to fake. I can't get mine to activate through so I doubt you'll get far. This room is filled with people who either have the Echo or deal with those who do. We'll know quickly if you're lying,” Y’shtola warned.

Natsu nodded then removed her glove. “I promise you…this is something I wish were a lie,” she said softly before closing her eyes to kneel and take Leon's cold stiff hand between her own.

Natsu found herself chopping carrots. The kitchen room was warm and looking back she could see the living room in its entirety, vantage much higher. Returning to her carrot, she continued to prepare a meal, trying to ignore the loneliness, at times glancing at the ring on her long finger until hearing steps behind her.

As much as she wanted to be excited, she couldn't help but feel ill at ease. Y’zel was smiling as if he hadn't been absent for days on end. Anger radiated through her. It was easier to be, it always had been since they were small. When something was confusing or hurtful it could be burned away in rage.

“Why should I care? I was with Claudien. He's my true love after all. You're just here for when I want to play house,” Y'zel's words taunted.

Natsu felt the storm of hurt and anger twist inside of her. She tossed the knife from her hand onto the counter and stormed into the living room. She turns, seeing Y'zel pick up the knife and come toward him, smiling as if he hadn't said something Etheirys shattering. And then a moment of clarity all too late. They  looked like Y'zel, but the movement, the way they spoke, the way they stared at her was all wrong. She noticed his shadow, far too long for a Miqo'te. 

Before she could bring her revelation to light, a sharp pain. She stumbled back, feeling the searing pain spread through her as the other touched the blood on his chest and helped him to sit properly. Her life faded fast, getting cold as the imposter stood on the couch beside him then vanished. 

As she felt the last few moments of life leave her, her love’s voice caught her ears. There was a franticness about it that made her know it was him. 

“Don't leave me! I love you! I always loved you! Leon!”

She felt herself smile as the other pulled away. As the life slipped out of her, she felt the air turn cold and the crack of ice as her love choked out a cry.

Natsu let out a cry as her face suddenly stung. Holding her cheek she looked up at Violet, panting hard as she tried to catch her breath. 

“Sorry. You were screaming and shaking you wasn't doing it,” Violet huffed, shaking out her wrist, “Still, even then you had the familiar glazed over Echo look. So then. Who was it?”

Natsu shook, “It was…someone who looked like Y'zel…but wasn't. Leon knew whoever it was wasn't Y'zel…but he was here in the end…”

“Someone who looked like Y'zel but wasn't and someone who looked like Pouncing but wasn't Pouncing. This whole thing stinks of Ascian bullshit,” Violet huffed, “At the very least it's none of us.”

“Illusions are also a specialty of the Sylphs. Then there is a whole school of magick devoted to glamor…though as I understand, only those with the Echo can completely change their form without performing complicated and dangerous rituals. It would certainly not be something they could have done easily between rooms,” Y'shtola mused aloud.

Natsu held herself, shaking. “There's only more questions.”

Pouncing put her hand on Natsu's shoulder and pulled out a square of chocolate from her apron, “Eat this dear. I believe it's safe to alert the rest and have Leon removed and cleaned up.”

“I will appraise Mr. Gage and Ms. Autumn immediately,” Silent echoed before taking his leave.

Natsu backed up a few paces, holding the chocolate tight. Ahead of her, Violet gently brushed Leon's bangs and closed her eyes before blowing her bangs out of her face in frustration. Turning, the Hyur looked to Natsu. “You were shacking up here waiting for Y'zel? Given the circumstances I don't think he'll be back anytime soon. Get some shit together and meet me out front. I'll take you with me to Thanalan. I need to check in on someone and staying here is just going to make you miserable.”

Natsu sniffed lightly and nodded, looking up to  Violet. “Alright. Who are we seeing?”

“U'rahn. His girlfriend hasn't let him leave his room or something and he's asked me to visit. I've got nothing better to do so I told him I would come.”

Natsu nodded then looked behind Violet as a dark figure appeared, “Um…”

“Thal’s swiving balls! You need a damn bell,” Violet cursed at Nyx, nearly stumbling next to Leon as they appeared.

“Vauban, I did not find any traces of the intruder. Fisher, clarify Rahn’s orders.”

“Shouldn't you know?”

Nyx stared, then touched their ear. After a moment of silence they lifted their fingers and touched their ear again. “U-Odh. Where is Rahn?... Understood. I will come now.”

As abrupt as they appeared, Nyx had gone. Frustrated, Violet stamped her foot and called out to them, “What was that all about!? Get back here!”

“That is troubling,” Zoissette said, watching the door.

“Pay it no mind. We should look into what happened here and figure out what my cousin has gotten himself into. I am in agreement with Violet. Our more troublesome companions really do need a bell of some sort. Or a homing charm,” Y'shtola hummed, giving the Elezen a meaningful glance, “Anyroad, let us know when you locate my cousin, and I suppose whatever is happening with the Drakes.”

With that the couple made their leave as medical staff was led in by Silent Coeurl. Violet and Natsu looked on quietly until he was carefully placed upon bedding and carted off, “Silent, would you hold off on alerting his mother? It would be best if it were Y'zel, but if it cannot be I'd like to go. He didn't have too many people he was close to and he wouldn't want a stranger to, y'know.”

“Yes ma'am.”

Violet nodded then turned to Natsu, a bit less animated and not making eye contact. “Alright. Once you're ready we'll make for Gridania and fly to the Saucer. Dress for the heat.”

Natsu nodded and returned to the part of Y’zel’s library she’d made into a makeshift bedroom. Once there, she burst into tears, blurring her vision as she started to pack. 

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #ff14 #ffxiv oc #ff xiv #ffxiv miqo'te #y'zel tia #ffxiv aura #closer to you #natsu obinata #leonnioux ouraux #pouncing coeurl #silent coeurl #erick gage #ryssthota sundstywy #zoissette vauban #y'shtola rhul #violet fisher #cw death #cw murder

[thisfairytalegonebad]

"You will regret touching them." - Whumptober day 20

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Character: Prompto Argentum Rating: Teen and up Warnings: Ardyn being creepy, non-consensual touching (non-sexual!)

Read below the cut or on AO3 here.

Noct doesn’t really know what to make of this Ardyn guy. He seems harmless enough, but something about him just seems… off. The way he speaks and moves is unsettling in a way Noct can’t put his finger on.

Ignis and Gladio don’t trust the guy a single bit, that much is obvious. They’ve both got years and years of experience handling unpleasant politicians, though, so they’re hiding it pretty well, at least at first glance.

Gladio is making light-hearted jokes and acts as if Ardyn isn’t even there, but he always carefully places himself between Noct and their uninvited guest, and his eyes follow Ardyn’s every movement.

Ignis, while he’s all polite smiles and pleasant small-talk, refuses to sit down with them, claiming he needs to frequently get up to check on the food cooking inside the caravan anyway. Instead, he leans against the caravan and watches Ardyn like a hawk, and beneath his polite behaviour, there is a frigidness that would make Noct shiver if it were directed at him.

So far, Ardyn’s done nothing to warrant any hostile reaction besides being a little weird, so Noct’s overprotective friends are forced to sit back and watch.

It’s more than a little awkward. Normally, when they’ve got some downtime and get to spend the night at a caravan or even a hotel where there is wifi, they’re quick to whip out their phones and play some King’s Knight, but it seems impolite to do so with Ardyn present.

Prompto tries to start conversations and include Ardyn in them several times, but most of it falls kind of flat and doesn’t really go anywhere. Not that Ardyn makes it any easier for him, choosing to reply in cryptic remarks instead of speaking like a normal person.

Eventually, Ardyn starts carrying most of the conversation on his own, wandering back and forth around their table as he talks about some weird stuff Noct can’t even be bothered to listen to - but he’s had to sit through enough meetings that he knows when to smile and nod and make noises that sound like agreement.

“…isn’t that right?” Ardyn purrs, and leans forward to caress Prompto’s face.

Prompto’s widened eyes flick towards Noct in a silent plea for help, but then Ardyn steps back and resumes his monologue as if nothing happened.

Noct opens his mouth to say something, but Prompto speaks at the same time, a high-pitched, too-loud agreement with whatever Ardyn is talking about. He tends to get talkative when he’s nervous, and from the way he’s babbling now, he’s got to be pretty damn nervous.

Gladio stops him with a subtle nudge of his knee and smoothly takes over the conversation instead, and slowly, Prompto relaxes.

Allowing himself to zone out again, Noct lets Ardyn talk all he wants, and he’s just about to suggest they go to bed when Ardyn goes to touch Prompto again.

This time, his fingers don’t manage to make contact before his hand is seized in a tight grip and Ignis’ voice cuts through the tense silence, icy like the Glacian herself.

“I would strongly advise against this if you want to keep all your fingers.”

Ignis’ voice is soft and dangerous, and it’s a tone that usually gets people to back off really quickly when they realise Ignis is all business, but Ardyn just smiles lazily and pulls his hand back.

“A protective bunch, aren’t you?” he says slowly. “Well, I do apologize. I’ve let myself get carried away. I hope you don’t hold this against me,”

His eyes are trained on Prompto who looks like he wants to be anywhere but here, and Noct has had enough.

“The hell is your problem, man? Leave him alone.”

Gladio stays silent, but he’s holding himself like a coeurl ready to pounce. One wrong move and Ardyn gets decked in the face, Noct has seen it before.

Part of him almost wishes Ardyn will give Gladio a reason to do so.

But the guy does seem to possess some sense of self-preservation and simply excuses himself to bed instead.

They all watch him leave, and as soon as he’s gone, Noct focuses on Prompto who’s white as a sheet.

“Hey, man, you okay?” he asks, not bothering to hide his concern.

Prompto lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yeah, he didn’t. I mean, he didn’t hurt me or anything. It’s cool.”

“It’s very much not cool,” Gladio grumbles. “Next time he pulls a stunt like that, I’ll wipe that creepy smile right off his face.”

“Think Iggy’s gonna chop off his hand first,” Noct mutters.

“Oh, I absolutely will,” Ignis agrees with a dark look. He pushes himself away from the caravan and rests a comforting hand on Prompto’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re alright, Prompto?”

Prompto nods and leans into the touch, already a little less pale than before. “Yeah, thanks, Iggy. Just, if I never have to be alone with him again, I wouldn’t complain about that.”

“You won’t,” Gladio promises, and Noct nods firmly in agreement. Like hell that creep’s gonna touch Prompto again.

----

The exchange keeps playing on a loop in Noct’s head. They failed him, gods, they failed Prompto so bad, most of all himself who is responsible for this whole mess in the first place.

“What did that bastard do to you?” Gladio demands, voice rough as he inspects Prompto for injuries. He’s got many littering his body, but none are life-threatening and it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a potion.

“Nothing. He just- Nothing,” Prompto replies. He looks out of it, like he hasn’t slept in days - and really, he probably hasn’t.

“But-” Gladio presses, but Ignis nudges him to shut him up.

“Prompto needs to rest, we cannot press on like this.”

Reluctantly, Gladio nods. “Iggy’s right. Noct, did you see a dorm room somewhere close by?”

On autopilot, Noct stands. “Yeah. Out that door over there then to the left, I think.”

Gladio gathers Prompto in his arms, and it’s proof of how shitty Prompto is feeling that he isn’t making a single joke about it. Instead, he just curls into himself and lets Gladio sweep him up like he weighs nothing.

Like a shadow, Ignis follows, dagger clutched in his hand. If Noct had to guess, he’s probably imagining a million different ways to kill Ardyn right now, and Noct quite shares the sentiment.

In the dorm room, Gladio gently places Prompto on one of the tiny beds and helps him crush a potion in his hand.

Immediately, Prompto looks better, but he still needs rest, and desperately so.

Gladio tuck him in with so much care it almost feels too private to watch, and then Ignis settles himself on the bed next to Prompto, feeling around the mattress for his hand and holding onto it once he’s found it.

Noct turns around and steps out of the dorm room. When he's sure the door has closed behind him, he looks up towards the ceiling and raises his voice.

“Ardyn! Mark my words - I will make you regret touching him. You will regret everything you’ve done to them. Consider this a promise!”

Then, he turns on his heel and returns to his friends. Ardyn is not worth any more of his time, right now, he has other priorities.

Prompto is already deep asleep, and Ignis, nestled against him, looks exhausted enough to nod off any moment as well.

Gladio’s leaning against the wall next to the door, standing guard.

“Gladio, go lie down. Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch,” Noct says. He’s never felt more awake, and he’s going to take full advantage of it to protect those he loves.

“I’m fine,” Gladio argues, but Noct’s not having any of it.

“I said sleep. I need you, Gladio, and I need you in top shape. So you’re going to lie down and you’re going to sleep and I’ll wake you in a few hours. Got it?”

Gladio still looks like he wants to argue, but then his shoulders drop in defeat and he nods. “Okay. Two hours, then you wake me.”

“Sure,” Noct says.

He does not wake Gladio after two hours.

----

Read all of my Whumptober prompt fills here.

#whumptober2023 #no.20 #you will regret touching them #ffxv #final fantasy xv #fic #prompto argentum #thisfairytalegonebad's writing

[iliektehhaxs]

the coeurl in the afterlife running up to barney n bladesmith going it’s you 2 !!!!

clive may have killed the family cat but the cat is with the family again so its like. partially forgiven?

big cat purring and rubbing his face into bladesmith’s torso like hiiiiii i kept my collar in perfect condition :) chin scratches? :3 treat? a kissie ?

When you see your massive fucking cat baby kitty in the afterlife once more he nearly crushes you with how fast he pounces, only barely taking into consideration your frailty. Your face is wet with slobber, his tail wags back and forth, it makes you wish you had a good treat for him.

“You did so well! Such a good boy!”

Barnabas looks at the display proudly, rubbing a hand through its fur. What a good boy indeed.

#robo speaks #ask

[galahdanblade]

'Your surname, it is not common on this mainland.' That was a statement, not a question, and Ulldor didn't wait for an answer. Instead he walked a slow circle around this man. This was David Auburnbrie's second-hand man ... he could b an asset, a tool or an obstacle. It all depended on how he approached this questioning. 'I never said I wanted anyone.' So the Ulric mentioned in the Crown City was this man's son. Made sense really. Walking another slow and pensive circle around this man, Ulldor stopped before him and looked into hateful Galahdan eyes. "I spoke to you before, floating the idea of re-establishing a trading relationship between us and the Hunters. And I politely enquired if you would ask about a close friend of mine who went missing. Is there an update on either?'

well, ezma had always told him that his mouth would be his downfall ... turns out she was right. not that she'd be glad to know that right now. kaleb chose to believe the brigadier general had known the connection between himself and nyx. his comment was probably angled to throw the hunter off and make him as uncomfortable as possible.

' it isn't a mainland name. ' kaleb answered flatly, eyes following ulldor as he traipsed out a circle around him, like a coeurl toying before it pounced. nodding his head at the man's mention of them speaking before, kaleb had nothing to hide - he'd held up his side of that bargain. dipping his head, the man curtly agreed, recalling their prior conversation.

’ and i told you back then that i couldn't make promises on behalf of the hunters. that i'd convey your message to the committee ... which was done. and a decision was made to pass-over a trading relationship with yourselves in favour of giving our goods and quarry to the flood of refugees who needed it. '

all the truth. not a word of a lie in that. the proposal of trading with the bases and garrisons had been brought up, but given what had happened in the crown city and the throngs of people it had killed and displaced, sentiment to aid the imperial troops had been non-existent. so they'd turned their attention to helping those the war had affected the most.

as for his close friend?

kaleb hiked his shoulders in a shrug, blue eyes locking with ulldor's unwavering gaze, ' no update on your missing metalsmith. the hunters have been preoccupied with ferrying refugees from insomnia to any outpost that can house them, and we're spread thin as matters stand - in case you haven't noticed, the nights a are arriving earlier and earlier as they days go by. '

#replied

[chosenbythecrystal]

@hearthandhomeward​ continued from here.

Noctis found himself unable to tear his gaze away from the coeurl as the Captain cleaned his blade on the glass. He was a little shaken. The beast had come frighteningly close to pouncing on him and if that had happened...well, he’d probably be dead. 

He hadn’t been paying attention if Titus hadn’t been there, he would have paid the price for that.

The snap of the man’s fingers startled him back to the present, his gaze shifting to the Captain himself. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he nodded. He got the idea. It had been a close call and he wouldn’t let his attention wonder again. Titus was supposed to be teaching him how to hunt and survive with minimal resources. So far Noctis hadn’t been doing a very good job at listening to him.

“R-right.” He took a few steps until he was standing at the man’s side, his phone clenched in his hand. After a moment, he held the device out to him. “You should...probably keep hold of this so I don’t get distracted again.”

#hearthandhomeward #verse; crown prince

[strangerrebelled]

[ guard ] for your muse to step between my muse and danger 

@phoenixshards

Jack caught movement from the coeurl in the corner of his vision, a flash of claws. He raised his shield while his other hand reached for his flung blade, but he knew he'd be too late to parry or interrupt--

Until someone else did first. He didn't know who this new arrival was, nor did he much care at the moment. Taking the opportunity to recover both his serrated sword and his posture, Jack stepped up beside the stranger, stare fixed on the growling beast before them. "Thanks, but stay back!" The coeurl pounced, and Jack leapt forward to meet it. He managed to catch its bared maw on his shield, pushing the beast aside with a growl of effort. He reaffirmed his grip on his blade's haft. "I got this!"

#ic #rp #[hope this is okay! and feel free to use whichever muse of yours you want!] #phoenixshards #everything new is old again [ff16 au]

[mouser26]

On the Offensive

The coeurl springs forward, aiming to pin him.Prompto turns himself to the side, arms blurring as he counters the swiping paws; he grabs, pivots, heaves, and the cat is sent head over tail, landing heavy in the dirt.

She springs up, looking dazed, and doesn’t immediately attack.

Prompto readies himself, but instead of pouncing, the beast’s whiskers begin to crackle and glow.

Prompto’s too close to get out of range in time, so he goes on the offensive.

The lightning hits just before Prom reaches her, but he continues his dive, sliding feet-first beneath her, between her paws. She’s so surprised she doesn’t react instantly, or else Prom’s jugular would have been between her teeth. It’s just enough time for him to aim his blow.

“Sorry,” he grits out through shock-clamped teeth.

The punch lacks the usual force of a suit behind it, but Prom’s muscles and training are enough. His fist lands against the thoracic wall, an inch to the right of the sternum.

The coeurl shudders and collapses in an instant. Unfortunately, she collapses on top of Prompto. - MT Outside by Taoroo

Another Badass scene from the same series as Life Hurts Man from two years ago. Prompto is wearing Noctis’s clothes and Gladio’s boots since this fight happened before he got his own wardrobe or his signature hairstyle.

October Art #7

#October Art 2022 #prompto argentum #mt!Prompto

[congregenturanimarum]

@soulsalight asked: jacket Brithael @ Ilya

MEME:  SEND THE WORD “JACKET” and my muse will wake up somewhere covered in your muse’s jacket/coat, because your muse covered them with it while they were asleep

Long days pulled into even longer nights - the sweltering heat of the afternoon gave way to the cool breezes of the night all too swiftly and if one was not careful, the days could run away from them. How long it had been since Ilya had last closed his eyes to sleep, he couldn't recall - lithe breaks taken every couple of hours sustaining him to the point he had gotten to ere sitting upon the floor.

Eyelids had grown heavy in a matter of mome ts, his slouched position against the wall not lasting long as he slipped to one side and lay his head upon the Coeurl kitten bed kept nearest the doors for airflow.

It took no time at all for his consciousness to switch off, not a single worry regarding locking up the forge able to flourish within ere he dived deeply into sleep. Even the kittens, as energetic as they usually were, only tugged and played with the blacksmiths hair for a number of moments before nesting against it for comfort and warmth.

Eyes only reopened when a chuckle was heard, quiet though it was - the slits of sight he allowed himself while still drenched so heavily in fatigue settling upon a figure seated upon a stool but part way across the room and had his mind not drawn who it was from the shadows of rest (the dark-furred kitten would only trust one other to play with them, after all--) then he'd have likely lept up from where he lay and made immediate threats.

But he didn't need to.

Remaining where he was, watching the one feline pounce after some offered string, he became aware of a weight upon his shoulders and it took only a half glance to note it as a jacket. Brithael's, if he could make a guess - - and though he would usually offer a snappy remark, he didn't. Be it because he was too tired or perhaps turning soft - Ilya chose not to.

"You don't have to look so damn pleased with yourself." He croaked, not daring to move his head lest he disturb the kitten sleeping against it. A moment of silence passed, eyes growing too heavy to keep open any longer - Ilya knew he danced close to the edge of sleep once more.

"Either sod off or come and join us... Either way, lock the bloody door."

#Ilya || replies || #letters from the aether || asks ||. #Ilya want..... Cuddle?????????!!!!!

[najazwhan]

The climbing, the digging had exhausted Naja, pushed her to the brink of collapse many times but she was driven by desire, even if it was a desire tempered in fear and sadness. There was no light in the tunnel and soon the red glow from the chamber was lost. Naja dug in the darkness, pushing and breaking the fragments of her once friends. Up and up and up, Naja dug, unsure of if she was burying herself alive. Naja fell into the depths of her thoughts as she dug. There was no one else but her now, no cacophony of the Hive to dilute herself into. No Fee to show her a better way or offer reassurance. Naja and the strange emptiness that seemed to cling to her mind, a desire to drag others into the loneliness that seemed to seep out from her very core. Maybe when she returned, they would see if, like she felt it. They would look at her in disgust, in revulsion and then Naja could... Dirt fell into her eyes, making her cry out and stop digging. She tried to wipe the dirt away but was showered in more of the stuff. Brightness filled up her already distorted vision but there was air, fresh warm air and that made Naja thrust her head up and into a commotion. Voices were calling out and soon Naja was being helped out of the tunnel. She was confused, unable to say anything with how dry her mouth was. A water skin appeared and Naja scrabbled for it, dumping half of the thing on her face and into her mouth. She didn’t care most of what she drank was from her face, it was delicious, it was liquid, it was life. She slumped down, trying to keep herself from crying. She had lived, she could see them again and...then.. A red noise filled Naja’s mind then, seeping up from the vast bedrock of her skull. Someone approaches and Naja looks up. No, no, no, this isn’t real. She had killed this man, she had made sure he was dead so he wouldn’t have to suffer like she did and now, he was here again. She’d have to do it again, free him from their influence. She had to, she had to be the last to remain, the last to carry the burden of what she had done. Naja sprung onto the man, tearing at his face and throat. She was weak and tired though, all that digging, all the time spent in the depths of thoughts better unthought. He fell to the ground and struggled so Naja started to shake and slam him into the ground, having seen coeurls do similar things to creatures they pounced upon. The others descended upon Naja, driving her off with their spears and forming a circle around the man. Naja tried to speak, tried to tell them what they were doing was a mistake. He had been like her, drawn into a thing that should not be. All her words were gone though, all she could do was mutter and make noise. Some of the hunters moved to strike and that’s when she ran. Naja ran, though she was not nearly as graceful or speedy or energetic as she usually was. This was a stumbling, huffing, wretching kind of run, where she realized how much she had spent escaping from that enticing tomb. She would fall and lay for long moments, ignoring the thoughts that told her this was a bad idea, that she had so many chance to just give up and yet she continued on this path. She got far enough where she stumbled into a creek, feeling relief at the coolness of the water. She drank down gulps to the point of almost getting sick before pulling herself from the water and continuing her mad dash back to Ishgard, back to maybe someone who she could talk to who didn’t like her as much as anyone else. The Highlands were worse, her clothes were ruined, she was weak and it seemed like people were patrolling the roads. Why was it so cold...Naja shivered as she lay on the ground, waiting for a chance to move again. She tried not to cry when she realized all the things Fee did for her, even something simple as keeping her warm in the cold. It took Naja almost a full day just to cross the Highlands, but she did it, though she felt close to collapsing as she snuck past the Nest and into Ishgard proper. Even the streets of the city were cold, the looks of the people on the streets didn’t help either. She picked up her pace, despite having only eaten snow the past day. She was so close to the company house, so close to her room where she could sit and wait for the days to pass and maybe Fee could come back. She pushed through the door of the house and was met with a great silence, one that mirrored what lay deep in her chest. Not even the music from the strange box was turned on. She forced herself to check the upstairs and basement. No one was in any place, though there were signs of them having been there. A few drinks on the counter at the bar, some of the pillows in the upstairs moved from where she had shuffled them around. This is what Naja deserved, to be alone. She knew it deep down, as she made her way towards the place she called her room. The sight of it made Naja stop in her tracks. Something made sense to Naja for the first time in a long time...it was almost funny how clear of a mirror her room had been to her. Naja may have laughed if it weren’t for the tears she couldn’t stop.

[ffxiv-angora]

Day 13: Oneirophrenia

Tagging @caspianking and @likazo-tia for mentions <3

Shria’s head fell back against the wooden wall behind her with a solid ‘thunk’ that startled her awake. It was the middle of the night. This was the….honestly she’d lost count of which watch this was. She’d volunteered for so many. It was one of the few things she felt she could do to be useful to her family and her tribe. But this also means she’d hardly slept. She couldn’t! What if they showed up? The moment she tried to rest would be the moment the Lynx tribe would pounce from the forest. She just knew it.

So here she was...fighting to stay awake and staring into the dark beyond the Lion tribe. At least she had Khums and Ayanga with her. Were they getting to sleep? Yes. Shria was only a little bit jealous.

A few bells passed. The tribe was mostly quiet aside from a guard change here and there along with the crackling of nearby fires. Shria jolted, looking this way and that. She swore she’d heard movement ahead of her just now. The coeurls didn’t seem bothered by it. There was a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. Her dagger was already drawn before she started to take a few steps forward.

There! More movement. It was ahead of her this time. Red...hair? Someone was running into the forest?

“C...Caspian? Brother, is that you?” she whispers. “W-Where are you going??” No response. Shria tsks, tapping the top of both of the heads of her coeurls. If her brother was going on a late-night trip into the forest, she was going to find out why. It was dangerous! Especially with the possible tribal war on the horizon. Both Ayanga and Khums were not thrilled to be awake at this hour, but Shria didn’t give them much of a choice seeing as she was already off into the forest. Khums stayed behind to play guard dog while Ayanga slowly made her way after their lizard.

Shria pushes her way through the brush and low-hanging branches. That flash of red hair kept dancing about just at the corners of her vision. Where in the world was he going? It wasn’t long before she saw something else. This miqo’te was taller? They had much darker hair and were running between the trees.

“...Kazo? You’re here too? Wh-...I..” Shria came to a halt, spinning in a desperate attempt to catch a better glimpse of her brothers. Why were they out here? Gods did her head hurt. Surely they would have told her if they’d planned a late-night hunting trip.

It was then that she realized just how far into the forest she’d managed to wander. She’d ended up in a familiar clearing that had a single, large boulder in the center. This was somewhere she’d been before. It’s where...oh.

The roar behind her was the only warning she had. She spun around to face her attacker. A bear. The bear. She screamed. Not again. Please not again. Shria only had time to raise her arms to protect her head...and wait. But it never came. There was no attack. No pain. Only a gentle breeze shifting the leaves and a very confused Ayanga. The coeurl let out a worried hoot, shoving her head up between Shria’s arms. Why was her lizard screaming at nothing? There was no danger here. Yet her lizard stood there shaking like the leaves in the nearby trees looking like she’d seen a ghost.

Shria blinks, letting out a ragged breath as she sags against Ayanga.

“We...W-We shouldn’t be out here. Let’s go home, Ayanga. Perhaps I should...get some sleep.”

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxiv #ffxiv rp #ic things #Shria #I was going to expand this a bit further but I didn't want it to go too long and rambley lol #It also references a story about Shria I haven't posted public yet but STILL #Let me know if y'all would even be interested in reading about what happened in that clearing before heh #Shria is also going to get her ass whooped once someone finds out she left her post

[gonemechaniic]

"Before I go hauling these tires out for you. Are they junk or are they going to storage?" If the answer was junk, he needed to mentally prepare for the very real possibility that they were going to Lexus as toys and that meant he may be in for being pounced on before the rubber ever hit the ground. And he liked being aware of the risks of helping out at the garage before the job was done. // from @strictomiles​

     ⚙ *:･ﾟ✧ // There's a moment where she pauses, teeth biting upon her lower lip as she looks to Gladio with just a touch or nervousness on her features.

         “ Well… ” She doesn't really have a moment to answer as Lexus was already excitedly pacing as soon as the truck pulling up reached his keen eyes. He knows what day this is. Routinely on Wednesdays - considering he wears out anything given to him within the week - he's understood this is the day for something new to sink claws and teeth into. Though he does know wait, there was naturally a limit to the patience of a wild animal. Cindy looks to the coeurl then back to Gladio with a hopeful smile as the idea gears start turning. 

          “ Alright, I’ll distract him for a bit, an you can just roll those suckers outta there fast as ya can! ” 

#strictomiles #⚙ ; 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐥 :: Got somethin’ for ya! #♡ ; 𝐃𝐲𝐧 :: I don’t need a bestseller list to tell me you’re number one. ( strictomiles ) #absolutely nothing can go wrong here x3

[secret-engima]

missingmywing

Okay, but imagine Ignis as Rufus. Who looks around, and sees everything that he fought against in a previous lifetime, now in power, now with the expectation that he would endorse it. And Ignis knows politics, he spent a childhood previously elbow-deep in the thick them, learning to protect his prince. He knows the games, the moves. Sharp minded, ever practical Ignis looks around and says "No. This will not stand."

missingmywing

And every move he makes has several layers of purpose. He plays the son of the President to a T- all the while doing everything in his power to undermine Shinra. And he looks at the Turks, and sees potential. (I could also see him as Lazard, but I feel like Rufus would be more fitting, somehow.)

missingmywing

As for Gladio: Angeal. A complete 180 from his last life, he grows up with nothing but his family, and he loves them even as he aches for what isn't there. And then he meets a redhead boy who's all swagger and tough-talk with a temper that he can't fully fight back and suddenly has the thought "Is this what Ignis felt like dealing with me?" Suddenly Gladio is the braincell, arguing against a boy who feels he has something to prove and will do reckless things to prove it.

missingmywing

And he follows after a boy who he feels doesn't take things seriously enough, and is too immature, but this time it's not out of duty. It's to keep this boy who's a reflection of himself at his absolute worst, with none of the growth or maturity he grew into, from getting himself killed taking on something he can't handle. (And then he meets Sephiroth. And then he meets Ignis. And things suddenly get very complicated. And about twenty times more stressful.)

Me: Oooo this is GLORIOUS. @swiftyue suggested Ignis as Tseng, which is ALSO glorious, but I will admit this one is more tempting. Just-

Ignis is reborn and for a while he doesn’t remember. But then there’s a kidnapping attempt that is both successful and also not, and the Turks find “Rufus” two weeks later out in the wastelands outside Midgar with shaking hands and too-keen eyes, because Rufus almost died and now Ignis has WOKEN UP.

Only to find that now HE is the royalty (in all but name). HE is the child of a cruel empire, destined to sit on its throne and he hates it, he HATES it.

He looks out upon all Rupert Shinra (not father, NEVER father, that bloody, apathetic tyrant will never be Ignis’s parent) has built and decides he will tear it down. He will rip it up by the roots and if nothing can be salvaged then he will burn it to the ground.

But he is (was) the Hand of a king, he knows better than to rush out like a revolutionary, causing collateral left and right, hurting the innocent people. He will not be one of those angry, shortsighted vigilantes who tear down businesses, ruin livelihoods and break families of the ordinary citizens who’s only sin is that they, like so many others, live and work in the shadow of Shinra’s sins. Oh no.

Ignis stands to inherit an empire. He has a lifetime of political training and experience and patience to back him up already. He was a CORNERSTONE of the survival of mankind during the Long Night.

He will play the long game, he has the time. He will sit on his throne and move his pieces across Rupert Shinra’s board.

And he will win.

He wears the name and skin of Rufus Shinra like a theater mask, a tailored suit. He listens to everything his tutors can give him and then sneaks off to the library for more. The mayor finds him endearing really, with his gentle manners and his lust for knowledge of history, arts, and sciences. He watches the Turks that guard him and in them he sees the keys to all of Shinra, and so he plays that game too. The Turks underestimate him, even as they watch his “prodigy mind” absorbing information years ahead of what he should be. Rupert is thrilled to have a genius child, but even he doesn’t know how vast Ignis’s mind is. Only the Turks get that glimpse, and only the ones he thinks are worthy.

Tseng quickly becomes a favorite, he reminds Ignis of himself, and they get along splendidly. Reno and Rude come later, a matched pair that reminds Ignis of things from his past life and make him smile (the first time Tseng hears Rufus laugh out loud, he goes still in shock. Reno, a new rookie Turk at the time, has no clue what a miracle he’s created just by trying and failing to make hot chocolate, how the young child of the president hasn’t openly laughed or smiled since his kidnapping and two week disappearance.)

One by one, Ignis draws the Turks in. He is charismatic for his age and smart, he knows how to win people over, especially people who know that he was “up to something”. Some of them he wins over by being “endearingly bad” at manipulation, like a Coeurl cub being cooed at for its clumsy pounces rather than feared for the deadly killer it is teaching itself to become. Others he wins over with his mind, impressing the keen sighted with his intelligence and drive and work ethic.

Some, like Tseng, he wins over by being the most of himself he’s ever been. It’s Tseng who discovers Ignis’s cooking obsession, how baking from scratch and making filling dishes for others to eat relaxes him like nothing else. It’s Tseng who realizes one day that his charge wears the name “Rufus Shinra” like an suit that is tailored wrong so that it chafes and wears.

But Ignis knows he’s won the Turks the day Veld comes to visit (as he sometimes does, for the head of such a deadly division, the man has a heart for children and Rufus is the only one he has any reason to visit during his long months of work) and catches Tseng calling Ignis “Ignis”, because Tseng had asked what name he would prefer over “Rufus” and Ignis had dared to answer honestly, and doesn’t tell Rupert. He just watches Tseng and Ignis interact with sharp eyes, accept the muffin Ignis bossily pressed into his hand, and then let it slide.

An identity crisis is something Rupert would have wanted to know (should have been told). But Rupert never speaks of it and Ignis is certain he doesn’t know. Veld has kept the secret. And it’s only a little one really, but it’s one of Ignis’s secrets Veld is choosing to keep. It’s foot in the door.

Ignis can do a lot with a foot in the door.

And then of course later, Ignis learns he’s not alone. He reunites with Gladio first, and the Turks sit up internally at how FAST their young vice president bonds with the Soldier, how quickly they fall into a rhythm around each other that speaks of years of partnership rather than a few months of friendship.

And then he learns there are OTHER. Prompto and Luna and NOCTIS and Ignis could cry from relief that he is not alone anymore in this second lifetime. He is not the only one anymore.

...

And YES. GLADIO AS ANGEAL LET’S DO THAT. I just- I love this idea so much. That Gladio wakes up when he’s young, and he remembers- being someone else. Being a Shield and a Crownsguard and a leader and a brother and now-

Now he’s an only child, an ordinary child in an ordinary orchard town and he loves his parents, he does, and he loves the lazy days of BEING a child without having to train for an inherited duty but-.

But it still aches.

He walks in the shadow of someone no one can see, and he watches the sunrise and thinks he hears a camera clicking when there is none, and sometimes he can barely swallow his mother’s apple pie because it’s GOOD but it ISN’T IGGY’S. It tastes WRONG, like it’s less somehow than Ignis’s familiar (safe, home) cooking and- and it hurts. It makes him quieter and steadier than most kids, more patient and more honorable. He has been a leader of men, a Shield of a King (a brother who failed), a warrior who helped hold back the darkness of the Long Night. The problems of children seem awfully small compared to all that.

And then he meets Genesis. Genesis who is too smart and too immature by turns, who is BRIGHT and brilliant and has something to prove wherever he goes, because his rich parents may love him, but they do not pay attention to him in the way he needs and all Angeal (Gladio) can see is himself. Young and stubborn and angry at a world that already has his destiny laid out, eager to prove himself in any way he could an Astrals is this how Ignis felt dealing with him? No wonder his brother in arms got so impatient sometimes. Angeal feels like smacking Genesis upside the head more than once, but instead he bites it back and channels his adult side into keeping this kid from doing something dumb.

It takes him a few years to realize he is now Genesis’s Ignis and inside he’s a bit of a Scream™.

Angeal has no interest in Shinra, he can smell the corruption from a hundred miles away, but Genesis is obsessed and not willing to budge on this no matter how Angeal wheedles, so the day Genesis runs off to sign up, Angeal is on his heels sighing bitterly that he is once again signing himself up to a military life.

And then he meets Sephiroth, who is so clearly abused and weaponized and lost in a world outside the labs that it HURTS and Angeal can’t stop himself from being a Shield again. From standing between Sephiroth and the world with a steady, controlled ferocity that unknowingly takes Sephiroth’s breath away.

(Sephiroth meets them in Wutai, two more recruits to the war, and at first he has only eyes for Genesis, who is loud and competitive and confusing and annoying)

(He doesn’t really notice the bigger one with black hair and knowing eyes trailing along behind)

(Until another Soldier starts getting too pushy and angry over something Sephiroth did that he doesn’t understand and his control over his instincts to lash out is shaking and then suddenly there’s someone standing between them, a wall of muscle where there was none before, a broad young back of another Soldier, a rookie, who looks the older Soldier in the eyes and growls at him to back off while Genesis orbits nearby with a fire materia and a gleam in his eyes.)

(And Sephiroth learns that the wall’s name is Angeal)

Angeal gets attached, and during one of his leaves, he comes back with a tender back and arms from the tattoo of an eagle with spread wings (and the style is wrong, not like his old one, he’d gone to a Wutai parlor and they had a different art style, but it is HIS. His feathers and his promise. When Sephiroth runs curious fingers down the feathers on his bicep, Angeal tells him it’s a promise to his friends and Sephiroth looks surprised to realize that he is included in that promise).

Then they are recalled to Midgar, to a city that stinks of corruption and Angeal-

And Gladio-

Finds Ignis again.

And that is stressful, because what if that means Noct is out there alone somewhere, but it is also a RELIEF because he never knew how exhausting being the group Braincell was until now and he needs to vent, even if it means Ignis gets to laugh at his misery.

#Secret Engima Rambles #Sunshine and Clouds verse

[hydaelynsgallery]

Nijoh'ir loves his two coeurl kittens, but sometimes he forgets that they 1) are chaos given physical forms and 2) consistently see the end of his tail as something to pounce upon.

Featuring @nijohirjesyho and his two minions Fi and Mischief

For more screenshots, please check out the #gpose tag on my tumblr!

#ffxiv #gpose #oc gpose #nijoh'ir #nijoh'ir jesyho #nijoh'ir gpose #minion gpose

[ertrunkenerwassergeist]

Born Into the Wilds - Snippet

I’m back! I’m sorry. Renovating and preparing to move has eaten so much of my time and energy. So here’s a snippet of what I’m working on. All the magic stuff!

.

.

With an excited grin he drew his kukris, weighting them in his hands for a moment before a slight frown of concentration marred his expression. He reached inward, towards the pools of magic – one wild and wilful, the other foreign and much more sophisticated. This wasn't the first time he tried to use both in tandem, but it was the first time where Nyx was actively aware of it happening and not in any kind of danger while doing so.

Sohe took the time to compare them both and feel how they interacted with each other. It was utterly fascinating.

The Lucian magic had always felt artificial to him – constructed and warped for a specific purpose – but he had never realised how much this was the case, until his own unique magic had sparked. It was a bit like looking through a cracked window, but the shards were coloured crystal that moved against each other in different patterns depending on how he wanted to use it. It was rigid, but with a surprising amount of flexibility. If he were honest, it had a beauty all its own.

His own magic couldn't be more different if it tried, but still the two of them seemed to find ways to fit together. Like they had when he had fallen down Tealpar Crag and had warped using the lightning of his own inherent magic.

To start with, he did some simple warp-strikes for a warm-up. Just how his instructor in the Kingsglaive had shown him. During this exercise he had a close eye on the Lucian magic. For the first time he really noticed what it was doing and he couldn't help but wonder why that was. Maybe because it hadn't really interested him before?

No matter. What was important was the here and now. With each warp strike he was about to execute the shards of Lucian magic turned a glittering blue. The same colour of the residue left behind and falling from his skin with every warp. He would have to talk with Crowe about that.

Warping had always as easy as breathing to him. In Nyx' mind it had always been a bit like pouncing his prey. Maybe that was why he was so good at it. After his last leaped warp down from a rock that was at least twice as large as he was, he came to a stop. Every movement was tinged with animalistic elegance and perfectly controlled.

He breathed in deeply, tasting sunlit warmth and dust on the air. For a few moments he simply closed his eyes and let the wind caress his face and card invisible fingers through his hair. Then he reached for his magic again.

This time he let the two kinds of magic residing in his blood and bones, mix. His coeurl-deep jungle-instinct jumped to the forefront eagerly like a playful cat. The taste of ozone spread on his tongue and his fingers flexed around the hilts of his kukris in anticipation. Sparks danced over his skin, only to be tempered a few seconds later by the now glittering blue shards of his borrowed Lucian magic. The sharp, cutting edges of which seemed to have softened a bit over the years, and even more so with lightning assuaging the feeling of biting sharpness every time he used it.

For one fleeting moment Nyx just felt both kinds of magic mix and connect. Then he threw a kukri.

The sound of the warp was near deafening. Nyx flew across the plain literally at the speed of lightning and far farther than he had intended. The feeling of buzzing static all around him and across his skin unbalanced him enough to lose his concentration and balance. He skidded across the ground in a tangle of flailing limbs, landing painfully on his right shoulder and rolling once, twice, thrice until he came to a stop, blinking up at the dusty blue sky.

#ffxv #born into the wilds #snippet #we're going deeper down the rabbit hole #of my magic headcanons #geist writes

[therovingstar]

The Interpretation (and Potential Assassination) of Dreams

@ffxiv-writers

Summary: Dreams are fickle, fragile things, unless you have another with which to share them. So does the Warrior of Light face a most difficult trial: convincing the Lord’s Shadow that she belongs in the lord’s bed, while also inadvertently revealing that she is, in fact, already in it. Hien x WoL, Yugiri Mistwalker, ~6,000 words; fluff, politics, and a touch of spice for flavor.

Also available on AO3; link through my blog.

She’s easing out from under plush quilts and silken coverlets when she feels a heavy arm lock tight around her waist in a piteous attempt to stop her. “Don’ go,” she hears murmured, and looks behind her.

Hien lies in a sprawl on the futon, his hair like a hundred shattered black inkwells pouring forth from his head, strands loose and long and wildly tumbled across the pillows. Moonlight gilds his face and naked chest, making silver out of the gold of his skin and, beneath the bangs strewn along his forehead, his barely-opened eyes.

Odzaya smiles. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Where are you going?” he asks, ignoring her comment, his lips forming lazily around the words. His eyes close only to open once more, a touch wider. Odzaya’s lips curl higher in amusement.

“To the washroom, if you must know.”

Hien hums absently, his eyes fluttering closed under the weight of a deep breath. She thinks he has succumbed to slumber until they slit open again, intent and even more awake. “You will return?”

She sighs. Stubborn dzo of a man, even in the dead of night. “Go to sleep,” she gently commands.

“Return,” he commands back, and tugs at her by way of his hold on her waist, surprisingly strong despite his dazed state. Odzaya huffs laughingly and resists the pull.

“Why? My guest room is just down the hall.” And she should be in it. Should already have been in it, truth be told. And besides… “You,” she says, teasing as she reaches out a hand to pat his chest, “you seem quite done.”

The prince scoffs. “Hardly,” he replies, and Odzaya cocks an eyebrow as he shifts and stretches across the futon in an unexpected show of energy, the coverlets falling away from his torso entirely as his hand finds and fingers at the scales patterning her nude hip. “Simply waiting for my second wind,” he declares, and shoots her a languid, toothy grin.

She laughs. Cannot help but to, with the self-satisfied way he looks at her, still half-held in his dreams. Unabashed and beautiful in the moonlight, his chest and arms and now one sculpted leg exposed to and for her gaze. “Is that so?” she asks, smirking down at him.

“Return,” he entreats again, and beneath the rasp of exhaustion this time lurks a rumble of promise. “I will be here.”

Ready, she swears she hears, though he does not say it.

Odzaya leans over, purple locs falling over one shoulder and down her back to the floor as she stretches and bypasses the spectacle of naked skin before her eyes and reaches instead for the furthest part of him. Her hands find his face, smooth the bangs from his forehead, still tacky with sweat, and cup his bearded cheeks, recent memory recalling the tender abrasion of them on the insides of her thighs. The Kienkan’s master chambers are slightly muggy from the summer’s night and their own play, and her bare skin would feel a chill where her sweat still cools if not for the blankets and Hien’s near heat, concentrated in the broadness of his palm. When he presses himself into her hand, his smile widening, thick brows rising, his arm tightening around her middle with another gentle pull, she smiles back and leans in, brushing her mouth slowly over his.

“We will see,” she whispers in challenge, right into the parted seam of his lips, before letting him go to nab a nearby yukata, tossed earlier to the floor in impassioned abandon. Before Hien can react, she is up and enrobed and opening the shoji of his chambers, tossing her tail and a smirk over her shoulder as she slides it shut to the sight of him still splayed on his bedding, hilariously blinking.

She’s still silently chortling to herself at the spectacle he made as she proceeds down the hall on silent feet, mindful of her presence so close to his rooms. The Kienkan’s available suites are largely empty for the purpose of potentially visiting dignitaries and other important figures such as, apparently, herself, which means that, on most days, the pavilion is, by Hien’s accounts, dreadfully quiet. Yugiri has a room nearby, as is appropriate given her status as her lord’s right-hand shadow, but even she is often off on reconnaissance, as she is now. Hakuro has one as well, as one of his advisor, though he rarely uses it in favor of the nearby barracks, where he can more properly manage the Enclave’s defense forces. And Gosetsu would have had one, had he not chosen the path of pilgrimage. Add the small handful of staff living on the premises, such as Jifuya, and that still leaves near a dozen rooms unoccupied.

Too much lost, she thinks. Doma Castle, Hien once told her, was always lively with the comings and goings of visitors of all various makes; there was rarely a dull day, even with the pall of Garlean occupation hanging over the kingdom’s skies. Even as a young boy with too much energy and enough curiosity for a dozen coeurls, he never had trouble finding ways to occupy and exhaust himself, be it by sitting in on his father’s meetings or his mother’s social calls or Gosetsu’s training sessions.

There is much to occupy him now, too, in the form of the restoration efforts, or contacts with the Alliances, or touching bases with the nearby villages. “And yet,” he said, laughing gaily at himself, “at the end of day, when the night falls and the noise settles and I retire behind these walls, I often find myself restless midst the quiet.” He laughed again. “I suppose I am not all that different from the boy I used to be, after all.”

“Little Master Shun is lonely?” she lightly japed at him, only for her humor to falter when he gave her a fond, bittersweet smile.

“Aye, in my weaker moments, I suppose.”

To say she melted or her heart broke would be overstatement. But perhaps, in her regular visits to Yanxia, she began lingering a touch longer in Doma and at the Enclave, assisting in menial duties. And perhaps she lingered long enough and late enough for it to become rather inconvenient for her to teleport back to Eorzea or even to the Bokairo in Kugane. Faced with the Domans’ insistence on proper hospitality, she accepted a room in the Kienkan instead, and pretended not to be pleased when, instead of a servant, Doma’s prince himself showed up at her door with tea and tray and innocent invitation in hand.

Not quite so innocent an invitation now, more than a year later, but at least he still makes her tea. When and if they actually find the time to drink it, is another tale.

Soon enough, she is relieved and refreshed, and beginning the small trek back to Hien’s chambers, idly wondering if she should expect to be pounced on upon her return. The soft pad of her steps is all her horns can register in the stillness, joined only by the chirp of cicadas, the soft creak of the floorboards-

“Odzaya?”

And a voice that bounces off the walls and freezes her in her tracks, as through that sound quiet, someone distinctly not Hien calls her name.

Odzaya fights the instinct to spin on her heel, and purposely turns herself in the direction of the Kienkan’s sudden new guest, only to blink in surprise. No guest, but rather Yugiri, newly returned from her reconnaissance, it would seem, if her pitch-black shinobi’s uniform is any indicator. Too diligent to wait even for the daylight to return, she muses, and gives the other Raen woman a greeting as she approaches at a steady pace. “And the Lord’s Shadow shows her face. Where all have you been?”

“Everywhere,” she answers, coming to a stop a few fulms away. Hyperbole, it would seem at first glance, until Odzaya notes the rare show of exhaustion in and around her friend’s pale green eyes. “I returned later than planned. Thankfully no one seems to have found trouble in my absence.”

Odzaya smirks. “You mean Hien specifically, I gather.” She tilts her head. “He’s not the type to go looking for trouble, I would think.”

“You are correct. But he also has no habit of discouraging it when it comes looking for him.” Yugiri sighs, exasperated and fond in equal measure, and grants her a small smile of her own. “It does comfort me knowing you are here, however. Few troubles would get by on your watch.”

Especially when I am in the man’s room, Odzaya quips to herself. Outwardly, she shrugs. “I haven’t been here too long, actually. Since late this morning.”

“Ah. Then I gather the Committee has kept you well occupied?”

“The work is never done,” she answers in confirmation. “Fortunately, I do not mind it.” The sense of community is nice, in truth; it reminds her of her childhood on the Steppe. It doesn’t hurt that so much of the Enclave’s restoration is showing subtle Xaelic touches as a result of the tribes’ efforts. The particular way a tarp is stitched or a board is cut or a kettle is made. It is familiar in a way she has deeply missed.

Yugiri’s smile deepens. “Nor do your tribes. We would be in far worse shape without their generous aid over the past year.”

Odzaya shrugs again. “When they’re not busy warring and bickering, they do good work. That I can say with certainty.”

“I know Lord Hien deeply appreciates their efforts, as well as their lively presence. As do I.” Ever the ceremonious, Yugiri takes the opportunity to give her a grateful bow, though she at least keeps it shallow. Odzaya chuckles.

“I’ll believe you about the former, at least.” To her amusement, the other woman only clears her throat in response. “All the same, you’re here now, and your lord is in good health. You should wash up and eat something, at least before you start lying and prostrating yourself before people.”

“Sound advice, if a touch rude,” Yugiri’s eyes narrow over an amused smile that grows by the second. Finally, she shakes her head with a small, low giggle. “I assume you returned from doing something similar?”

“Ah. Yes.” Odzaya nods, and toys with the long eggshell sleeves of the yukata enshrouding her shoulders. “Woke up a bit clammy and thought I would freshen up.” She folds the collar of the robe tighter on her torso, unaware of the rather scandalous gap it made. Strange, it didn’t hang off of her when she first put in on, nor when Hien eagerly unwrapped her from it-

For the second time that night, the Warrior of Light freezes, her eyes falling to her person. She closely examines the sleeves of the yukata, falling well past her hands. And the hem, practically dragging on her heels. And the collar, already poised to gape back open and make a spectacle of her umber chest.

“Shite,” she hisses, and in the ever-so-present silence of the Kienkan, it is a shriek.

Yugiri watches her silently, her arms crossing casually, her expression innocuously blank. Her eyes, however, are keen as ever as they make contact with her own.

Slowly, her lips tug downward.

Shite squared.

Then the shinobi speaks. “You may come out now, my lord.”

Shite cubed.

Maybe her technically-failed studies at the arcanists’ guild paid off, after all.

There is a quiet shuffling at the other end of the hall as the aforementioned lord appears, looking not nearly as sheepish as Odzaya thought he might or as she currently feels. For some inane reason, she half expects him to be wearing her own robe stretched tight over his broad torso. He is not, blessedly; rather, he has donned another, of more intricate make, dyed deep crimson with golden embroidery gathered along the hem and sleeves. The comedic exhaustion that had him in its throes earlier is nowhere to be found; rather, he exudes perfect awareness and composure, his hair tied low and loose with his favored ribbon, the resulting tail falling over his shoulder and down his chest, bordering a generously opened collar. ‘Tis a night for exposing ourselves, Odzaya thinks sardonically, and absently tugs again at her own. Hien catches the motion, his eyes zeroing in on his yukata – on her person – with a delighted sparkle that she almost rolls her eyes at, before he schools his mien into something more befitting their current, mildly panic-worthy situation.

“You have returned to us, Yugiri,” he calls out, his characteristic grin broad as he comes to a standstill at Odzaya’s side. “I trust your mission was a success?”

“It was,” Yugiri answers easily. She bows again, this time far lower. “I will have the necessary documents detailing it all on your desk come the morn.”

“Bah,” he exclaims, waving a hand. “Only after you have properly rested, and no sooner.”

“Of course,” she accepts with her usual grace. “In the meantime, our members of the Eastern Alliance send their regards.”

Hien enthusiastically nods. “We will have to schedule an assemblage soon.”

“By your leave, my lord.” And that is that. It is an utterly normal exchange, and one Odzaya has witnessed at least a half dozen times before. If not for the late bell, the circumstances, and the frown still lingering at the very corners of Yugiri’s mouth, she’d think the encounter hardly worth mentioning.

And yet the gazes of master and retainer remain locked, as if at an impasse, for a handful of heartbeats, until, to Odzaya’s surprise, Hien decisively reaches for and grasps her hand, lacing their fingers together. “T’was by my initiative,” he declares suddenly and simply, and again, the words seem deafening in the silence. His mouth is a soft but unyielding line, his eyes unblinking. “Pray direct any criticisms at me.”

The shinobi remains impassive. “Lord Hien-”

“I love her, Yugiri,” he firmly interrupts, though the ease never leaves his face, and Odzaya’s breath catches quietly in her throat with the beat of her heart. She has heard the words before, generous as he is with them, but to hear them spoken so clearly, without preamble, before an audience, even if only of one…

Yugiri’s eyes minimally widen, though it does not seem to be in surprise so much as acknowledgment. And then they are on her, sudden and inquisitive. “And you?” she asks her, and the question to her horns is almost challenging.

And then she is taken back. To an early morning in late spring, during which the two of them had snuck from the Enclave for a flight over the One River to greet the dawn on yol-back. The excuse had been a lesson; Hien was, after all, still not the best rider, and she was. In the midst of teaching him a maneuver, he had fairly tossed himself into the depths and disappeared, only to reappear an age later as she hovered over the surface, looking for his silhouette, and pull her, yelping in mock indignation, from Sarnai’s back and into the frigid waters with him. A tussle and an impromptu swim eventually found them washing up on the shore, and as he had wiped the excess moisture from her face with a wrung-out handerkerchief, unconvincingly apologetic, she had watched the sun rise across his, illuminating his smile and setting his jade eyes aglow. Mayhap he had witnessed the same on her, because he had paused, his hands two warm, wide pressures on her cheeks, absently stroking the chill from her scales, and murmured something too quiet for her horns to catch before leaning in. The slightest brush of his cool lips against the crest on her forehead, over each eye, down her nose, and by the time he had reached her damp mouth she was already on her toes, aiming for his.

The memory is almost sensory in nature. Almost like the Echo, barring that it is her own mind and she feels no pain at the recollection. But then there has never been any pain in loving him. Not during that morning when she first chose to, and certainly not since.

Odzaya squeezes their laced fingers. “Yes,” she says definitively, “I do,” and feels Hien’s smiling gaze as easily as the tightening of his own grip.

Yugiri’s eyes widen once more. “Oh?”

“Come the lunar new year, I will be participating in the Naadam once more,” she abruptly announces, straightening her spine as she looks the shinobi in the eye. “I will win, and as khagun, I will have my pick of any unspoken-for individual on the Steppe.” She frees herself from Hien’s grip, lifts her hand, and taps the scaled back of it to the center of the prince’s chest, giving the other woman a small, simpering smile. “Hien, being an honorary warrior of the Mol, is included. I will choose him, and by law of the Sun, he will be mine. My lover. My partner. My mate.”

In the ensuing silence of her proclamation, Hien is clearly taken aback. He holds her hand to his chest and steps into her line of sight, locking round eyes with her own. “Odzaya,” he breathes, in a way that makes her face heat and her stomach jump, and opens his mouth to say more –

“Lord Hien.” Until Yugiri interrupts. Her own green gaze is focused on her, far more sharply. “Might I have a private word with your guest?” Odzaya lifts her eyebrows at her phrasing. Hien turns to her.

“Yugiri-”

“Please,” she says, with an authoritativeness she rarely uses, least of all toward her master, though she does still respectfully incline her head. The protest most likely on his lips dies as Hien notes it, and he sighs resignedly.

“Of course,” he allows, though his reluctance is obvious. He shares one last, long look with Odzaya – and accompanies it with one last squeeze of her hand – before turning on his heel, heading, she assumes, back to his chambers to await her once more. The two Raen women do not acknowledge one another until they can no longer hear the pad of his footsteps, and then Odzaya speaks.

“Yugiri-”

“He will ask you for your hand,” the other woman interjects again. “He will ask you to be his queen.” Odzaya sighs.

“I know.”

“Will you accept?”

“Is that not expected if I wish to be with him?”

Yugiri’s eyes narrow. “Is that the only reason? You will rule this country with your desire for him as your only motivation?” The shinobi shakes her head, her gaze severe. “That may be enough on the Azim Steppe, or in Eorzea, but it will not be enough here. Not for Lord Hien, however deeply his own desires run. And not enough for the people to whom his life is committed.” Her crossed arms marginally tense. “You are the Warrior of Light, Odzaya; you have risked your life and given your energies to thousands of other people, dozens of other places. But to pledge yourself to Lord Hien is to pledge yourself to Doma. Do you? Are you prepared to put her and her people first, above the many others?”

“A fair point,” Odzaya concedes. “Yes, I have devoted myself to others; other nations, other causes. It comes with the job.” She folds her own arms across her middle. “But is that wrong? So wrong that I should withdraw from Hien altogether, and take everything marking my devotion here with me?”

Yugiri’s eyes narrow again, this time in question. Odzaya clarifies. “Ishgard is currently in the midst of trade agreements between its knights and Tsuranuki’s smithy, yes?” The crotchety old man is still fighting them at every turn, loath as he still is to see Doma becoming “less self-sufficient,” but he’s coming around. “The agreements are being headed by the Fortemps family, who trusted me when I told them of the benefits such an exchange would bring.”

“I have heard of this,” Yugiri confirms.

“Then you have heard that the Stalls will soon begin receiving regular shipments of Ala Mhigan rock salt, courtesy of dealings I oversaw with Lyse and Raubahn. You have heard that the Botanists’ Guild in Gridania will be purchasing persimmon seeds from Inari, in attempt to create an Eorzean strain.” Odzaya straightens, her red-eyed gaze intent upon the woman opposite her. “And you know that, by my decree as khagun, the Steppe tribes came here, offering resources and labor to assist in Doma’s revitalization. We have traded with you; exchanged hands, currency, and ideas. Should we leave, and take it all back with us? The lumber we cut for your homes, the cloths we sewed for your clothes, the dzo that we gifted to plow your fields? Should I inform Magnai, Sadu, and Cirina, the Qestir and the Kha and the Bolir and the Dazkar, that joining the Eastern Alliance is not, in fact, a sound investment, because the Lord’s Shadow has deemed me unfit to warm his bed?”

“You would do no such thing,” Yugiri boldly surmises. Her eyes, though, hone in further, scrutinizing. Odzaya smirks.

“Of course not.” She uncrosses her arms. “I’m no monster, after all.” She shrugs lightly, and the curve of her mouth softens. “Just a girl in love, I suppose.”

Yugiri doesn’t react; her eyes remain like sheets of Araragi’s best paper: clean, crisp, near razor-sharp, and utterly blank but for the calculation with which she watches her.

And then, all at once, words and feeling form across the parchment, and her friend sighs with a slump of her shoulders and an acknowledging lowering of her gaze.

“Well done,” she concedes, and gifts her a small smile. Odzaya immediately returns it.

“You forget how I was raised, Yugiri. War runs through my veins. I am always prepared to fight for what I consider mine.”

Yugiri hums. “So, you are,” she agrees, before giving her a pointed look. “And exactly how long has my lord belonged to you?”

Odzaya emits surprise. “You mean you truly did not know until now?” The shinobi shrugs.

“I...suspected,” she admits. “Lord Hien has harbored affections for you for some time, and while I witnessed the two of you growing closer in friendship, I could not determine whether or not you felt similarly.”

“Well,” Odzaya replies, and plucks at the collar of Hien’s much larger robe on her person, “I suppose the answer is obvious now.”

“Indeed.” To Odzaya’s amusement, Yugiri’s cheeks blush just the slightest bit pink, though her smile returns, in full force this time. “I apologize for the interrogation, my friend. I am happy for the both of you, as much as I am appreciative of all you have done in providing for Doma.” She rubs at her black-clad arms, just this side of sheepish. “But as I am sure you’re well aware, I am also rather protective of my lord and adopted home. I did not wish to see long-held dreams come true, only for them to be lost to oversight.”

“You worried we were allowing passion to guide our decisions. I understand. But tell me.” Odzaya takes a handful of steps forward. “Near a decade ago, you took the Doman people as your own and made this country your home. Why?”

Yugiri blinks in surprise. “Pardon?”

“Was it by logic? Proximity? A matter of convenience? Did you toss a shuriken at a map? How did you decide that Doma, of all the places throughout Yanxia, would be your home after you left the sea all those years ago?”

Yugiri’s eyes widen in understanding. Odzaya continues. “It was a feeling, was it not? Love for a people that grew in your heart, passion for a cause that ignited your soul.” She lifts her brows. “We are not so different, are we?”

The other Raen woman sighs. “Perhaps not,” she quietly agrees.

Odzaya takes another step forward, until she and other Raen woman stand only a fulm apart. She lifts and turns her hands in invitation, palms facing her own person. The scales on their backs gleam in the moonlight flooding the hall, and she smiles. “Through duty, you fell for these people and became one with them, and you’ve been one with them ever since. Sharing sorrows and joys, hopes and dreams.” She pauses, her mind filling with fond recollections of conversations under the stars. “We have a habit of sharing the same, Hien and I,” she says. She lifts her eyebrows at Yugiri, gently beseeching. “Might I, in proper time, learn to share the same with Doma, as you did?”

To her relief, her friend seems already to have her answer. Yugiri takes the last step forward, and presses the backs of her own hands against hers. “Of course,” she says, with a solemn smile. “There is little, I believe, that would make my lord and the people of Doma – myself included – happier.”

“Are you sure?” Odzaya asks, half-jesting. “I can walk to the washroom without fear that a half-dozen shinobi will be waiting to assassinate me mid-journey?”

“While I would not recommend you traverse these halls with total abandon, I doubt you would have too terribly much to fear if you did,” Yugiri replies, pursing her lips in thought. “If these years have proven anything, it is that you are almost disturbingly difficult to kill.”

Another fair point. “Then what will you do if I do prove unfit to be at Hien’s side?” Odzaya eyes her, legitimately curious. This time, it is Yugiri’s turn to smirk.

“I suppose I will simply have to trust that my future lady will not disappoint.” She flips her hands around to gently clasp Odzaya’s own. “Fortunately, I do not believe that trust will go unrewarded.”

“Mmm.” Another relief, then. Though…Odzaya wrinkles her nose, squeezing the shinobi’s hands. “You won’t really start titling me the way you do Hien, will you?” To her chagrin, Yugiri chuckles.

“It tickles me to know that you detest proper denomination as much as he does,” she says, “if not more. You truly are fit for one another.” With another fond laugh, she steps back, apparently satisfied with their duel and subsequent truce, and turns on her heel to finally head for her chambers.

“Once you have deemed me fit, we will discuss this,” Odzaya calls after her. “I have enough ridiculous honorifics attached to my name; I will not have you adding another!”

“We will see,” the other Raen woman calls back, her voice suggesting a wide grin.

“Shite to the fourth,” Odzaya mutters, shaking her head with a smile that only brightens as she ponders their exchange.

The remainder of her journey back to Kienkan’s master chambers is blessedly uneventful, though she is surprised to see little sign of its occupant; the bedding still lies in a haphazard heap, though her robe has been lovingly folded and put to rest near the small mountain of pillows. The air is also different – a touch cooler, as if a window has been opened to let in the summer night’s breeze.

And then she sees that, in essence, one has, as her gaze finds the open screens leading onto the veranda. A shadow casts itself on the paper panels, familiar in size and shape, and she purses her lips in question and follows the now near-deafening cacophony of cicadas, her interest piqued.

As soon as her foot touches upon the polished wood, Hien is looking up at her expectantly. He grins. “Ah. I was beginning to wonder if I would need to rouse the guard.”

“Worried my encounter with your shadow would bring the Kienkan down around your ears?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow. He lounges casually, his legs crossed at the ankle as he leans back on his hands, the tail of his hair dancing on the breeze’s current. She makes her way to his side and goes to ease herself down next to him, only to let out a startled, gasping laugh when he immediately nabs her around the waist and hoists her into his silk-lined lap, his legs folding agura to create the perfect seat. So settled, he encases her in his arms and rests his chin on the top of her head, humming once.

“T’would be a shame to lose two homes I‘d wished to share with my ‘mate’, yes.”

Odzaya‘s heart gives a resounding, telltale beat, her cheeks warming. She contentedly lays her back against his chest, her hands coming to rest on his forearms, her tail draping itself over a knee. “That appealed to you, did it?” she asks. Hien’s chin migrates from her head to her shoulder, his hair tickling her neck. She angles herself to meet his gaze, and finds his as warm and dark as the summer night.

“Beyond words,” he says quietly, intensely. In contrast to his eyes, his smile is bright as the moon. “Did you mean it?”

This time her heart skips right over the beat. She simpers. “Silly Fire Walker,” she whispers, teasing. “You should know by now that we of the Steppe say nothing we do not mean.”

Hien kisses her almost before she can finish, the curve of his smile an imprint on her lips as he tilts her chin and his own to angle them closer together. “We have never spoken,” he murmurs, “of a future so definitively before.” He catches her lips and hums again, his gaze half-lidded and captivating. “How proud I would be,” he breathes in the scarce margin between them, “to belong to the Steppe’s greatest khagun.”

Perhaps the idea appeals to her, too, more than she anticipated, because she brings their mouths back together with a force that takes even her aback, her hand finding the tail of his hair and using it to tug him even closer, her mouth falling open to catch the surprised huff of his laughter, to meet the lap of his tongue as he seeks out her own. His comforting hold on her waist becomes an iron grip on her hips, and she feels the flex of his arms as he effortlessly lifts and twists her in his lap, her knees landing on either side of his thighs.

She sits, and makes a breathless discovery.

“Oh,” Odzaya utters, and rests her forehead against Hien’s with a smile. “Someone found his second wind, after all.”

Hien’s grin is lascivious. “T’was a promise, yes?” A promise he intends to keeps, if the sneak of his fingers into her – his – robe, is any indication, calluses and blunt nails catching at the border where her skin meets scale. “I hope you will keep yours come the new year.”

“Careful Yugiri doesn’t overhear you sounding so eager,” Odzaya warns with a chortle, cupping his face in her hands. “Our discussion went well, but I suspect she worries that I might just steal you away one of these days.” Scraping her nails idly along the curve of his bearded jaw, she watches Hien’s eyes slide shut as he leans back with a quiet groan, and the sight and sound ignites her blood and tumbles like liquid down her spine.

“I have thought about it,” he admits, “in my weaker moments. Alone after an Alliance meeting concluded, or at my desk, my only company a veritable mountain of paperwork. Daydreams, instances when my mind wandered and inevitably found you.”

“Daydreams, hm?” Odzaya smirks. Hien must somehow hear it in her voice, because he grins.

“Aye. Of holding your hand, of traveling with you and your Scions as an adventurer. Of living on the Steppe, and kissing you beneath that boundless sky every day.” He tugs her closer, and his questing fingers tighten on her scales until her breath catches. “Of touching you under the stars,” he murmurs. “Of making you mine on the moonlit grass, and then becoming yours by dawn’s light.”

Her heart pounding like a Xaelic drum, Odzaya hums. “Your daydreams are not far off, I would say,” she muses. “In essence, you are a part of the Steppe, adopted as you were by the Mol. And the Mol and Malaguld have merged into the Enclave so well, I almost forget its inhabitants are not of them.”

An irresistibly soft look comes to Hien’s eye as he opens them. “Are you saying you see those of the Enclave as your tribe?”

Odzaya’s smirk curls higher. “There are a number of tribes I call my own these days, all connected, from one tip of Eorzea to the far end of Othard.” She caresses his cheek, softening herself when he nuzzles into her palm. “T’would be nice, I think,” she suggests, bold and yet bashful, “if I could call the Doman people mine, too.”

“Mm. Kami know that I already am,” he returns, pressing a heated kiss to her palm. Odzaya snickers.

“Not ‘til the Naadam, you’re not, if we are still seeking to be ‘definitive’.”

“Bah! Away with officialisms!” Odzaya laughs harder as Hien hauls her into him, her near-exposed chest pressing so intimately to his own that she swears she can feel the confident beat of his heart, his warmth seeping into her skin. He wraps his arms firmly about her waist, his expression almost deathly serious, though his eyes sparkle with jest. “I declare it now, before the moon and stars, and the sun come morn. I am yours, and you are mine. Agreed?”

“What about a ceremony?” she asks, ignoring the flutter of her heart as she notes how closely his words come to those spoken between lovers on the Steppe. Hien’s answering grin makes her wonder if he knows it, too.

“Come winter’s end, I will approach my advisors,” he begins. He gives another kiss to her palm where it still cradles his cheek. “I will inform them of my choice for Doma’s next queen. They will rejoice, as they should, there will be a ceremony, and we and our many connected tribes will live happily ever after.”

Odzaya freezes. Is this how he felt, hearing her plans as she spoke them to Yugiri? His breath leaving him in a rush, his heart pounding so loudly he swore it could be heard across the entirety of Yanxia’s countryside? Joy, rising through him with so much heat and power it seemed at any moment it would leak out of his skin as sunlight, pour from his mouth as song?

What actually comes out of her is a whisper. In the silence, it is a scream.

“Agreed,” she breathes.

Hien presses his forehead to hers, closing his eyes and humming so deeply in satisfaction she feels the vibration through every bone in her body. “Agreed,” he repeats, tugging her impossibly closer.

“You will remove this from me, now?” she suggests, brow lifting as she tugs at the yukata still stubbornly hanging from her shoulders. Hien beams.

“Of course, my intended,” he says, his fingers already going to work. “You did return, after all.”

#ffxiv fic #ffxiv-writers #hien rijin #hien x wol #au ra #yugiri mistwalker #odzaya malaguld #otp: starry-eyed #hotdog it's done! #this one was a bit of project #experimented with some things that hopefully worked out well #storytime

[ala-mhinyan]

The World is Ours

It was easier to leave home when home was the mouth of a shark. He was grateful to the siren song of duty; It was a wonderful escape in moments like these. How often had these eastern walls and beams been a sanctuary to him—only to turn vile and steely like cage bars the very next second? Either it was safety or it was the jaws of an animal waiting to pounce, there was never an in-between. Tonight was no different; the gentle kiss given to Terbish’s forehead when the little girl hopped into bed for the night—his careful caress of fingertips against the soft of Mede’s cheeks as the little boy was lain to rest within his crib—the passing of his fingers along the inner softness of Ayanga’s wrist. How their eyes said passages—no, scriptures without the need for a single word to be spoken.

Ayanga was the first to smile. Warm. Polite.

“Be careful.”

C’tolemy returned the smile. Warm. Polite. Mimicked.

“I will.”

He didn’t wait too terribly long—taking a step toward the door only to lull in hesitation while his eyes etched the face of his smiling husband into his mind. Another step. Another pause.

Then he was gone.

Each footfall toward the door felt like a weight being taken off and a shackle being locked into place, the chains rattling with each step.

Sanctuary or Prison?

Where had the time gone?

.::.

Time seemed fleeting.

When his feet touched upon stone and skittering sand, he knew it had been about a bell into nightfall and his scouting teams were preparing their armor and weaponry for their routines. The tribe was doing much better after the nightmare C’sah had rained down upon it that fateful night—so well that the need for provisions from others had dwindled down to nothing and the tribe had reached a self-sustained level of reassurance.

They could hunt their own food once more. Their reserves of meat, grain and berries had been largely recovered. Their stock of furs and leathers were back to a decent level. Weapons had been made, armors crafted and new Coeurl tamed for mounts.

Much of the everyday happen-stance had returned to the lives of the Coeurl—if not for the striking reminder every time they stepped out of their caves that the population had been cleaved to only a third of what they had been. They’d gone from nearly 200 people to barely more than 60; with a vast majority of those losses coming from the younger and middle generations. There were few children left and it was a miracle if they had any of their families alive with them, much less their parents.

But the Coeurl would persevere. They always did. Against the worst odds. Against the overwhelming tide.

They would sooner martyr themselves than accept defeat.

That pride; the Burning Pride of the Coeurl rang solidly through his blood like a beating drum and reinvigorated him—reminded him for which his blade was sharp, why his eyes were sharper and why his claws could cut through diamond. They were bravehearts. They were warriors. And even in death, be it by blade or flame, that incessant pride would drum to life and seize his bones and demand that he pay tribute to that which birthed him.

The fire that gave his soul purpose.

By the time he’d let his awareness catch up with where his mind had wandered? The scouting parties had been organized and sent out, food reserves taken accurate stock, guard cycles changed and weapons/armor appraised. He couldn’t recount any of the details—but by the blacksmith’s winning grin it had gone well.

He offered a lopsided smile in return. Polite. Warm. Broken. Confused. But True.

Where had the time gone?

.::.

“Nikkasai.”

Pale gold sift through nothingness to find the source of the voice—yet here, in this waking bleakness, there is nothing waiting. Ayanga watches his feline lover stare blankly at him through long lashes, knowing by the distant look on his husband’s face that C’tolemy’s pale eyes aren’t really -seeing- him. Again, he prods. Hopeful.

“Nikkasai.” More urgently.

A small, rounded ear twitches this time and recognition colors the Seeker’s face when the conscious part of his mind awakens. His full lips pull into a small, sheepish smile and he leans into the extended hand that cradles the soft of his cheeks—nuzzling into that tiny bit of affection like a dying man to an ocean.

“Where have you gone, Nikkasai? This isn’t like you.”

C’tolemy’s eyes sift away from that worried, beautiful face to look over his environment. He was back home—how long had he been here? What time was it? Terbish and Mede were nowhere to be found and given the intimate touch against his cheek, he could only assume that the pair were off with Melody outside or it was time to sleep. His peripheral caught the warm, shining rays and he knew it was late afternoon—the slug of fog making it difficult to think despite looking relatively chipper. No one had noticed something was wrong but Ayanga.

He always did.

“I am just tihahd, Sajanavaa,” He reassured softly, the sound of his own voice foreign and in-human to himself. A blink and he saw himself through his husband’s eyes—

Who was he looking at?

Who was he?

The Seeker shook his head to shake the thought loose, smoothing a hand over his swollen belly with a fond smile given toward his husband. “Feah naught, theah ‘as been much to adjust to. I am just a bit moah tihahd than I anticipated—all I need is a good night’s rest at ‘ome. I’m suah C’mayan can take caeh of th’scouts foah th’daeh.” That seemed to satisfy the surface level worry Ayanga showed, the rapid staccato of the familiar scaled beast behind him slowing down. If he gave his husband a chance to take care of him, it would be a bit of good to soothe his worried nerves.

Pregnancy was a new, scary situation for him—something that brought him a deep joy that no one else on this star could rob from him. And in the same vein, a double edged sword that seemed to further remove himself from his own person. There was no one to talk to about how he felt. As far as he was aware, there was no one close to him that could understand the immense amount of confusion and depersonalization he felt just existing as he did now.

No men had given birth that he’d known and that left him uniquely alone. Confused. Afraid.

It was no wonder he’d retreated into his head to find the answers, only to find nothing at all waiting for him but more endless circles.

And when he would come to?

It was nighttime; the Seeker tucked into bed with his husband curled around him protectively—rumbling in an affectionate gesture more felt than heard. C’tolemy lay awake and his gaze focused on the wall across from their bed—a distinct chill of fear creeping up around his ankles and clawing along his calves. A fear unique to him. A problem that had no solution.

Chunks of his day gone in but a blink of an eye. No recollection of his progress. No time to address the changes in his body, much less his psyche. No time to address his traumas. No time to acknowledge the nightmares that shocked him awake at night. No time to prepare for the child growing in his belly. No time to appreciate the way his body was changing. No time to just… sit. And be. No time, no time, no time for anything at all.

Where had the time gone?

#ffxiv #My writing #c'tolemy #tidbits #i don't know where this came from #but i've been sitting on it for 2 months #so w/e #catboy struggles to actualize his feelings about being pregnant as his gender eats him alive