enemiesofinnocence

[enemiesofinnocence]

I Beg Of You To Heed Me...

A drabble for @ghostofnibelheim

No sweeter words would ever be uttered beneath this blanket of sorrow and twilight—nothing sweeter, fateful, melodic, akin to the twittering of the loveliest of songbirds on a warm summer's day. 

‘I love you…’ He’d said. ‘I love you…’

Moreover, in the place of the lush, warm green of the Black Shroud’s canopy, only this desolate place's bleak, cold darkness surrounded them. A place of death, and incomprehensible grief; Ultima Thule.

The ever-present ache of battle, the sharp sting of wounds sliced open beneath icy steel, the viscous tang of blood coating the tongue and the thick fog of the mind lifting, albeit slowly - none of this mattered, not in the face of waning hope, of dreams which Khum’a could arguably visualise beginning to crack and disintegrate before his very eyes as his one, his only - love of his life, a destiny realised - slowly slipped into the black. 

“No…” An initial whisper while he cradled Sefirah’s head, brushing snowy hair from his tired eyes, watching helplessly as the Viera descended beyond the grasp of consciousness. 

“No, no, no… Sefirah…” he whimpered, a gentle rock of the other’s body in a frail attempt to rouse the man from what the Miqo’te knew all too well to be mortal injuries… injuries that he had caused - by design or no… it didn’t matter. 

“... stay… stay with me�� please… please don’t go, Sefirah!” whimpers now evolved into broken, desperate sobs, what was left of the space surrounding them blurring out of view. They’d come too far, hadn’t they? Defied all odds stacked against them, defied even the Gods and life itself, for it to end this way. 

The Dragonsong War. The liberation of Ala Mhigo and Doma The seemingly impossible war against the Everlasting Light.

They’d risen above them all, victorious, strong. Together. 

They’d come too far for it to be over now!! It couldn’t end this way!!

“Sefirah, please!! You can’t!! You can’t leave me! You can’t!! You promised me!! YOU PROMISED!!” A scream, one that did not sound quite like his own, where in this instance he felt so utterly helpless, where all he could do was cry… and beg.

But what good was begging when the one you love beyond all measure was dying in your arms? Actions speak louder than words. Was that not a sentiment Khum'a himself had always tried to live by? 

A fit of desperation would take hold, then, forcing him to lean back only slightly while he knelt there next to his love, tearing away every satchel on his person and spilling their contents right onto the cold, hard floor. Potion bottles, coins, materia, and all other manner of bric-a-brac skittered across this former battlefield, an undefined mess of ‘things’ once revered and hoarded, saved for a rainy day… now beyond worthless. Khum’a did not know for what he searched in that moment, but search through the clutter he did as instinct dictated. A mad frenzy borne of unadulterated reckless desire to fix the unfixable, hands sweeping and slipping through the jumble of meagre possessions to find something, anything… nothing at all. Until that one defining moment… 

… when he actually did. 

It lay there amongst the pile, pearlescent and bright against the dark stone of the floor beneath him; a small trinket picked up on a flight of fancy many, many moons prior, a beacon shining, oh, so brightly upon this deep ocean of uncertainty.

The faintest glimmer of hope, albeit one he could see and touch. 

His White Mage’s stone.

An age had passed since he’d last had use of it, and yet here it was now, glittering up at him like a long-lost treasure. A fathomless fortune compacted into one tiny space.

Khum’a wastes no time grasping it from the floor, tearing away his gauntlets, knowing in that moment that he lacked the equipment needed to channel the aether needed to conjure even the weakest spell… not that there was any aether to be harvested here, in this waste made almost entirely of dynamis. Not even the corpse of their fallen adversary beside them could harbour enough now, as foul and corrupted as it may have once been. And so, he sits there for a moment, eyes flickering between Sefirah’s lifeless dying body and the stone betwixt his own quivering fingers, eyes stinging, breaths heavy, the only sounds to be heard being the thunderous beat of his own heart hammering in his chest.

The stone was right here… though not quite the means to use it, and the hope was beginning to die once more, at least until he’s forced to recall a memory, one not spied upon with his mind's eye for what felt like an eternity, and then some. 

Of a young conjurer met upon his travels, with the power to extract aether from within; to use their own lifeforce as a means to heal others. 

Anything to save him. To bring him back to them. His one, his love, his destiny realised. 

Gripping the stone in both hands, clasped around it like some precious, priceless thing, bringing it to his brow and squeezing shut both eyes - 

“... I have the will…”

- the blond tried. 

“... I have the will…” 

Tried with all his might, not certain which parts of himself to tap, to wake, stimulate, but he tried nonetheless. Tried to the point of blind frustration, once, twice, three times… yet still the stone lay lifeless in his hands.

A violent snarl, enough to tear at the throat, bitter tears clearing clean paths over his cheeks, does he raise his sights heavenward, his mouth twisted into a vicious grimace, his jaw clenched, painfully so. They had come too far… 

‘Where you go, I go.’

Khum’a refused to lose him now. 

‘Where you go, ... I... will stay’

REFUSED!

“BY THE TWELVE!!” he called then into the stars, still holding onto the stone, defiant in the face of its refusal to work for him now when he needed it so desperately. His final call, the last resort… was to pray, to beg a higher power for this one small favour… certain that even the Gods would not hear, but he would try anyway. 

“You WILL hear me now, that you owe me if nothing else!!” His voice was breaking, hoarse, as he cried out into this Godless, forsaken, and forgotten sky, where voices were never heard, where all feeling, all life… came to die.

But Sefirah would not die today. Death did not have a say, not here, not with him. Khum’a would see Death denied this prize. Sefirah was his… Death could not have him. 

Not today. Not today.  

“You’ve taken everything from me, already, why take more?! What will more pain and suffering bring to the lives of men?! You would snuff out the Light which saved your damn world, time and time again?! You would have the children of Etheris believe you cruel? WOULD YOU?!”

A low sob, casting those teary eyes upon Sefirah once more. To gaze upon him right then, one would be forgiven for believing that he was merely sleeping, peaceful… But the moment the blond’s palm would caress the man’s cheek, cool to the touch, Khum’a knew better. He was slowly dying, and there was no one here to save him. Khum’a allows his body to curl over the Viera, touching his brow upon the others, the ice of his skin a torture he had prayed to never know. 

“I beg of you to heed me…” He whimpers then, eyes closed against the cold of the man beneath him, unable to accept defeat, refusing to allow himself to believe that this was one battle they had already lost.

‘Where you go, I go…’ ‘... and I will make a promise of my own to you. Where you go… I… will stay.’ 

Strength returned to him then, in the wake of that powerful memory, where the Miqo’te had once believed all hope was dead, where Sefirah had once again made himself the beacon of hope, the light shining deep within the black of Khum’a’s eternal night. And he would pull himself back from the cool body on the ground, calling once more into the deep, unforgiving darkness overhead. 

“Do not take him from me as well! If a life is owed, then take mine!! Take mine! Or give to me the means to save him! I have the will! You know it! I-HAVE-THE WILL!! "Grant me the power to do good by you, by him! And I swear, I will never ask anything of you again for as long as I draw breath! Help me return the Light to him! Please! I BESEECH YOU!!” 

Of course, no voices would answer. There were none to be heard here, none to sing the songs of Etheris, of the Gods, to bring life to one man who didn’t deserve to die, the Warrior of Light. 

But even as he goes unanswered, Khum’a was not ready to let him go. Not yet. 

And so he curls over Sefirah once more, a single palm caressing his cool cheek, turning the face of the Viera towards his own, brows again touching, while the palm of his other hand gripped so tightly at that one little stone still clinging greedily to the answers he needed. 

“... please… please… Don’t leave me…I love you, please…” 

A moment passed, perhaps even two before - amidst the anguished sobs of a man so violently holding onto the hopes that the most important thing in his life would miraculously wake from this stupor - warmth would pulse into his chest, an immense swell of heat radiating from that one little point held in the palm of his hand. 

Eyes flew open to witness the stone’s sigil glowing in the palm of his hand. The shock of that moment was immeasurable, one which would have his own flesh tighten around his bones. And it took a moment longer for the realisation to sink in… that his prayers had actually been answered. 

“Thank you…” A hushed whisper as Khum’a scrambled then to secure the stone in a pocket, and prepare himself for the onslaught of conjuring aether into the body of another. A task much easier with the correct channelling tools for the task, but in the here and now, he would have to make do with what he had. 

“Thank you… thank you, thank you, thank you…!” A chant repeated over and over again, drawing his blade, poising the pommel over Sefirah’s lifeless form - the stone of which had been set there Khum’a would use to focus his aether - and the palm of his free hand hovering over the chest, a bid to keep the heart beating and the blood flowing while his cure did what it could to heal the Viera’s wounds. Fatal as they’d seemed to be in the moment, the God’s surely would not grant him this power if they truly believed he would fail. 

They wouldn’t sacrifice their Warrior of Light to a demon born from hatred. Surely they wouldn’t.

The effort it took to even conjure the spell was tremendous; still weak from the mental battle with Zenos, the insufferable ache was very evident in every fibre of his being. Yet Khum’a would apply his all, everything possible he had left within him to force his own lifes essence into the man he loves, watching as the world around them grew ever darker, his body screaming against the very basic instincts to just survive. 

He would give it all for him.

He would die for him. That fact would never change, not now, not ever. If he had to die so Sefirah could live, then so be it. 

A world without him, was not a world Khum’a wanted to live.

And so he fought on, feeling the aether drain from the deepest and darkest parts of him, watching it manifest within the cooling blaze now encircling Sefirah’s body, the sparks of life beginning to make themselves known; colour returning to pallid skin, the steady knit of damaged flesh. 

The process was arduous, slow, painful, the very fringes of Khum’a’s consciousness beginning to fray around the edges, pulling him deeper into the everlasting black. But just as he was beginning to see progress, as the healing magiks were doing their work, the strength to keep going began to ebb and wane. 

“... no… Don’t do this… Come on, please!” 

A factor the Miqo’te simply hadn’t factored in. For he, too, was severely injured, yet in his moment of despair, physical pain had been but an afterthought. 

He felt himself give way, deep within the crevices of himself, an almost physical snap as though his bones were too brittle to continue and the flow of aether suddenly ceased. 

“NO! Not now! NOT NOW!” A distressed cry before he brings the pommel of his blade a touch closer, the flat of his palm pressed firmly against Sefirah’s chest, as though this in and of itself would aid in healing him faster. The flesh quickly began to grow cold again under his touch. 

He tries again, steeling and focusing what little of himself he had left into conjuring another spell, the pain of which was causing him to growl from the bowels of his throat. For a second, perhaps two, it seems promising; the tell-tale glow of his hand as the aether flows, the agonising drain of his basic senses, the steadily growing warmth of the body beneath as Sefirah clings to those minuscule threads of life. 

But again… Khum’a’s strength fails him, the spell dissipates, the sheer weight of his blade now too much to bear as it clatters to the floor, and he all but collapses alongside it. Spent and breathless, the blond merely kneels, head bowed, next to his friend… the one whom he had vowed to protect against all costs, had willingly offered his own life in return… and failed.

“NO!! No, no, no, NO!!” A primal scream, one without even an echo in this desolate tundra, hands yanking at his hair, pulling his head towards the floor in white-hot frustration, before then slapping both palms onto the floor between them.  

Story of his life; yet another catastrophe to add to the catalogue of all the others still hanging about his throat like a damn noose. 

The Gods had teased him in his hour of crushing need, and the fury was so fast to bring his blood to the boil. Hands flat against the ground, he clenches them both into the tightest fists, so tight in fact that he could feel his nails beginning to pierce the flesh of each palm. The tears flow once more, his cries a savage scream, ripping the throat raw as he lifts a single arm, high, and ready to slam back down into the ground - a common reaction to his own failings, to elicit violence, to hurt himself and feel the pain when things simply don’t go his way. 

But instead, he simply held it there, high above his head, the tension of that tightly bound fist making him quiver beneath it, a moment of surreal clarity as the cries died down into a low, quiet sorrowful weeping; a realisation then, that a fit of rage will do nothing to fix what was already broken beyond any reasonable sense of repair. Even turning that anger on the man who had caused all of this, lying dead behind him, would do nothing to ease the agony. 

Sefirah was dying… and there was nobody here to save him. 

Slowly does the blond draw his hand back down beside the other, raising his head to gaze once more over the visage of his friend and ally. The one who’d given him purpose, a reason to live beyond mere existence.

His one, his love, his destiny realised. 

He loved him. Loved him more than mere words could possibly express. And he loved him back in return, his final words… 

‘I love you…’

That bare hand once again touched upon Sefirah’s cheek, his thumb gliding over his pale skin, just so desperate to take him in, to gaze upon him just one last time… praying silently that he would just open his eyes and everything would be as it was. 

As it should be.

That they would suddenly wake up between crisp, cool sheets back in the Rising Stones. That all of this would all just… go away. 

Childish notions, ones that Sefirah would have scolded him for, were he awake to hear them from Khum’a’s lips. 

“I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry…” were Khum’a’s final words in that plane as he then resided himself to lie next to the one he considered his soulmate, hand shifting downwards to the Viera’s throat, feeling the ever weakening pulse beneath his skin. Khum’a would not let him go alone, he owed him that much if nothing else at all. 

He would not be alone.

‘Where you go… I go…’

It could have been seconds after the blond had accepted his fate and closed his eyes, it could have been hours - all sense of time had been lost since this nightmare had begun, when he heard the tell-tale clink of something metallic falling onto the cold floor of the clearing. And instinctively, Khum’a raised his head in the general direction of that sound, down near their feet… 

… the blinking light of the transportation device he himself had used to save the Scions from the wrath of the Endsinger. 

There was no way… how could this even be? 

He swings his head skyward… to darkness, to the body of the former Crown Prince behind him… still dead… to Sefirah, breaths shallow but alive. There was no time to waste, no time for questions, if this offering was real, Khum’a had to grab it with both hands, and he had to grab it now! Mere seconds away was it from activating. 

Scrabbling to his feet, he takes chase after the device, misjudging the distance initially and kicking it hard across the clearing, sending it skittering along the dark stone. But he catches it up, falling to his knees and all but tackling the small remote with a full body ground slam, before sprinting back to the Viera, skidding across the plane of the clearing on his knees, hard enough that his armour would create bright yellow sparks in his wake. It was Sefirah’s dead weight that brought the Miqo’te to a halt, wrapping himself around his friend's head and holding on for dear life as though he feared that it would leave him behind if he didn’t. 

And in the blink of an eye, they were gone. 

Homeward bound.

[enemiesofinnocence]

The way in which this guy would slip that parchment between them did little for Khum'a's already waning resolve. Oh, to just reach out and force the man's teeth down his own throat was a thought as intrusive as Coerthas' weather. Insufferable was putting it mildly.

Still, he made no motion to move, even as the missive was pulled out of view and the Hyur's face was brought close enough that the miqo'te could probably bite the nose right off his face if he wanted to. The notion of which displayed with the upturn of a single corner of his upper lip to show the glossy gleam of a sharp, elongated canine, typical for any Keeper of the Moon.

"Heh, I wouldn't tell your little elezen friend outside about your botched nosejob~" stated with a hue of flirtation, just to make this entire interaction a touch more uncomfortable, and tip the balance in his favour once more before snatching the missive - perhaps with vehemence a smidge excessive - out of the other's hand.

"It states, word for word, that I, Khum'a Erih, of the order of the Dark Knight, have been employed by the order of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn to babysit one sorry asswipe Seifer Almasy; assuming that's you-" he stops to take a breath, for dramatic effect of course "-given unfortunate, yet perfectly preventable circumstances resulting in their exhile into the arse-end of Eorzea for crimes against the Sultana of Ul'dah and her people."

He'd embellished a lot of it, if only to ruffle some feathers, but the gist of the missive was there. It wasn't in Khum'a's immediate interest to know the details of what happened over in the unforgiving scorched lands of Thanalan, but he was of little doubt that hiding out here was evidence of some guilty consciences.

The bar had grown a little quieter as the miqo'te had offered his own version of the missive's order, and the punters were beginning to cast their gazes over the pair. Not that Khum'a paid them any mind, just another fortunate occurrence that should wipe that smug expression right off this limp dick's face.

"Want me to continue?" the other blond asked, innocently enough, while he fanned his face with the parchment in hand. "Or shall we take the pleasantries outside?"

· 𝐀 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

Clearly, the tall blond was of no such characteristics, emerald eyes trained on the stranger with the slightest crinkle to the corners of his eyes, belying his amusement if one cared to look close enough. Arms now crossed over his broad chest, the other one’s reactions were observed closely, filing away how much it seemed to irk the feline to be in his proximity to begin with. Curious, certainly, considering he had been the one to approach.

The offered seat is ignored entirely, and instead Seifer found himself almost nose to nose with the other mere moments later, his eyes darting briefly to the slip of parchment, one brow quirking steeply in light of what could only be considered an attempt to annoy him, fingers snipping close enough to make the corner of his mouth twitch in a show of displeasure.

There wasn’t too much to ascertain from the paper on the table, considering how the stranger had elected to, quite literally, get into his face and thus devoiding him of any chance to actually see what apparently should be grabbing his attention.

Yet, with how things had gone so far, Seifer could almost guess that it like as not was some sort of mugshot, either calling for his head ― not quite inconceivable considering the debacle with the Sultana and his recent trip to save Raubahn, what with the Crystal Braves still running amok.Or, as had happened before often enough as well, it could be a missive detailing his whereabouts in case someone was in dire need of help.

Holding the Miqo’te’s gaze evenly, one arm then slipped from the crossed position it had been resting in, hand reaching for the parchment at last to pull it closer, then lift it and wordlessly move it between his face and the other’s, in doing so likely pushing it against the fline’s nose tip.

Too close for him as well to actually read the words penned down, but close enough to at least make out the portrait sketched out at the top.

A world-weary sigh then fell, having the paper flutter slightly as he cocked his head to the side just so, inspecting to the best of his abilities as if taking the stranger opposite of him seriously at last. “They got my nose wrong.”

 Lowering the missive at last, his eyes once more met the other’s directly, brow now furrowing more clearly as he leaned closer in turn, almost enough to close what anyone else likely would have considered an uncomfortable close distance.

“...’m asking again: What. is. it.?”

[enemiesofinnocence]

Ah, yes, there it is; the voice of reason spewing from the mouth belonging to the perpetrator of this very predicament.

And of course, Khum'a shows no hesitation in displaying his irritation with the sharp downward tug of his mouth, coupled with a hard, piercing glare in Sefirah's general direction.

"I got something that'll suit you, yeah? And I can promise you'll like it as much as I like this shed you call a house."

An idle threat - as they mostly were when directed towards his Viera companion - as he gets to his feet with a pained grunt and passes past his friend and the stew pot he slaved over.

"Needs salt and basil." Khum'a bites, padding his way through the entrance gate and down towards the beach. Perhaps the one silver lining even he can see amidst the fog of this damned mess Sefirah had gotten them both into - there really was nothing finer than a good soak in oceanic waters~

"Hasty judgment is the worst companion in this trade." Sefirah replied from where he sat on a little makeshift bench made out of piled wooden planks and a chocobo's saddle pad.

Inside the pot, a simple stew was just beginning to bubble up. His cooking was far from excellent, and he was almost positive his companion would have some critique for him. But there was little Khum'a would not consume when exhausted by a good battle.

Whether what had transpired in the basement could be described as 'good', well... that was a whole other matter.

"I think it suits you well. This place."

[enemiesofinnocence]

Fink I'm gonna have a go at doing some writing today. Khum'a ( @enemiesofinnocence) is my muse of choice tho, and I do have a few replies to get to there so look out for those.

In the mean time, if you'd like an ask from my previous cat boi, please like this post and I'll get on that when I've logged on at home!!

Muse is stronk today, and I am not excited!!!

[enemiesofinnocence]

HC where all young Miqo'te are born with tabby markings - a throwback to the old tribal days where camouflage was the key to survival. As a young Miqo'te grows and ascends into adulthood, these markings will usually fade back to nothing.

Not for Khum'a, who retained the camo-markings from his youth on his back. Fortunatley enough for him, he wasn't raised in a clan setting and so was not subject to much ridicule but these marks are still a part of him which brings him a considerable amount of embarrassment when they're pointed out.

Even at 26 years old, he still a baby~

[enemiesofinnocence]

Because of the 24-hour maintenance, I wasn't able to play FFXIV tonight, so I doodled my main WoL instead.

He be a tabby :3

[enemiesofinnocence]

The Reckoning

[enemiesofinnocence]

&. 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  smut  /  nsfw  implied  sentence  starters  with  not  so  vulgar  language.  )

❛ i’ve been thinking about you all day. ❜

❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜

❛ how badly do you want me? ❜

❛ i can’t get enough of you. ❜

❛ i’ve never done something like this before. ❜

❛ i like being close to you. you’re warm. ❜

❛ you look good like this. ❜

❛ you look like you were jealous. ❜

❛ i’m not jealous. ❜

❛ shh. there’s people in the other room. ❜

❛ say you want me, and i’m yours. ❜ 

❛ i won’t bite. unless you’re into that sort of thing. ❜

❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜

❛ would you like to go somewhere a little more private? ❜

❛ i’ll take care of you. ❜

❛ there’s so many things i wanna do to you. ❜

❛ take off your clothes. ❜

❛ i’m going to ruin you. ❜

❛ show me how much you missed me. ❜

❛ is this okay? ❜

❛ you know you love me. ❜

❛ i want you to feel good. ❜

❛ make me. ❜

❛ i want this. ❜

❛ come back to bed. ❜

❛ you’re such a tease. ❜

❛ want me to model these for you? ❜

❛ we have to make this quick. ❜

❛ what are you looking at? ❜

❛ it’s hot when you talk back. ❜

❛ you don’t have to be gentle. i won’t break. ❜

❛ don’t you know what you’re doing to me? ❜

❛ i really want to kiss you right now. ❜

❛ this is a one time thing. ❜

❛ you know where to find me. ❜

❛ did i say you could stop? ❜

❛ you’re soaked. let me grab you a towel. ❜

❛ i want to see you. ❜

❛ are you wearing my shirt? ❜

❛ no ones here. we can be as loud as we want. ❜

❛ you look good with my hands around your throat. ❜

❛ i’ll be good, i promise. ❜

❛ you’re really good at that. ❜

❛ shut up and kiss me already. ❜

❛ you better watch your fucking mouth. ❜

❛ don’t mind me. just enjoying the view. ❜

❛ tell me what you want. ❜

❛ here’s my hotel room number. ❜

❛ you can be rough. i can take it. ❜

❛ and where do you think you’re going? ❜

❛ if you called just to get off on my voice, i’m hanging up. ❜

❛ i shouldn’t allow myself to get this close to you. ❜

❛ what if i hurt you? ❜

❛ you could never hurt me. ❜

[enemiesofinnocence]

🌙 * ― 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 ( a collection of unhinged and relatable things said on discord. feel free to change wording as needed! do not add to the list. )

❛  you know bullying is my love language and you’re still here so… ❜ ❛  i mean... who am i to say no to that. ❜ ❛  hey, some might be into that. i won’t judge. much. ❜ ❛  we can both be dumb but pretty. ❜ ❛  because you wanna know why? fictional men can't disappoint me like real life men can. ❜ ❛ i need someone that’d end the world for me.  ❜ ❛ can’t be sad with dick / pussy. or nice tits.  ❜ ❛  thinking of how they're all old in this movie like wow i love dilfs and milfs. ❜ ❛  he fucking is like a ROACH, CAN'T EVER GET RID OF HIM. ❜ ❛  [name] do not encourage their antics, I BEG OF YOU. ❜ ❛  don't bully me, i'll cry. ❜ ❛  [name]..... why are you such a people pleaser. ❜ ❛  i am an indecisive bitch okay. ❜ ❛  don't squish his TUMMY! ❜ ❛  fair enough but what did you do dumb bitch? ❜ ❛ i have a flyswatter, i will smack him.  ❜ ❛  oh god yeah, add that motherfucker as well... the hate list grows. ❜ ❛  he gets no peace in any universe. ❜ ❛  if they get hurt, they get hurt. ❜ ❛  no love… there is no love in this house. ❜ ❛  truly, the braincells are not in my head. ❜ ❛ i wanna grab his waist. ❜ ❛  they just… need to fuck the anger out. ❜ ❛  could be worse but i'm judging. ❜ ❛ yes, oil me up baby.  ❜ ❛  don't you shush me. ❜ ❛  how dare you make me NOT distracted. ❜ ❛  i'm sure you've seen each other naked before, this is nothing new. ❜ ❛  suffer. ❜ ❛  i ... fucking THIEF. ❜ ❛  old men are just superior. ❜ ❛  sometimes people just deserve to be stabbed. ❜ ❛  bisexuals don't sit normally. ❜ ❛  i never said i was smart. ❜ ❛  what am i to say about this? want me to kiss your booboos better? ❜ ❛  JOKES ON YOU, I ACTUALLY DO, AHAHAHAHA. ❜ ❛  we both know you have a mask kink. ❜ ❛  kick him six feet under. ❜ ❛  to be fair i only killed those at the gate. ❜ ❛  well sooooorry, can't all be goody-two-shoes like [name]. ❜ ❛  i'm gonna murder you. ❜ ❛  it's because you're OLD. ❜ ❛  we're just ... too nice for our own good. ❜ ❛  and then you got sweaty [name] out here going batshit crazy and killing a whole building of people. ❜ ❛  we are in fact too dumb and yet here we are. ❜ ❛  actually i'm a liar, i'd let a lot of men get it. ❜ ❛  oOP NOT ME SEEING ANOTHER VIDEO/PICTURE AND I THINK HE'S FINGERING HER. ❜ ❛  he's adorable when he isn't being a gremlin and trying to randomly bite me. ❜ ❛  it’s in my contract of existing to bully everyone. ❜ ❛  well clearly you enjoy it since you’re still here. ❜ ❛  feeling a little called out? ❜ ❛  anything can be a dildo if you're brave enough. ❜

[enemiesofinnocence]

A blink, maybe two and a sharp downward turn of an already irritated mouth.

Was this guy fucking with him just now? He had to be fucking with him, talking to him like he was some maid sent to serve him. Already he was beginning to wonder if coming all this way to deal with this shit-heel was worth the gil. Like he should even care if he's cold and hungry? Hell, everyone residing in this armpit of a city was always cold and hungry it beggared belief why anyone would choose to call this place home.

So, Khum'a does not take the seat so unceremoniously offered with that twitch of the Hyur's head, and he does not dignify that question with a professional response either.

Instead, the miqo'te plants a single palm on the table in front of the guy, their faces now uncomfortably close before he clicks the fingers of his free hand between them. You know, to get this Idiot-Who-Think's-He's-The-King-Of-The-Table's attention, and using that same hand to viciously jab at the missive's parchment in front of them.

"Cry about that with someone who gives a shit. Are you him or not?"

· 𝐓𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 ⸻ 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 ⸻ 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞...

Not only had he been catapulted into a completely different world, caused by Time Compression like as not, finding himself in the middle of what he assumed the Centran Civilization might have looked like hundreds of years ago. Amidst strange people and even stranger vocabulary, he then had to find a fast way to earn a pretty Gil. One thing thankfully termed the same as back home. And while he had only cared to line his pockets enough to pay for lodgings and food, a band of absolute weirdos had found him soon, clearly attracted by his skill with the blade and no-nonsense approach when it came to taking up every odd job he could, so long as it paid.

Scions of the Seventh Dawn they called themselves, and before he could even ask what had happened to the other six he’d been pulled into one conflict chasing the next, leaving barely enough time to think on his feet as the plot against them unfolded.

It had been a drag at first, but after a while, the strangest thing happened.

Had Seifer been the one to always end up in unfavorable situations, no matter how much he tried to make the right choices, he now found himself admired by people who had only heard of his deeds, yet never laid eyes on him. Needless to say, the attention fed his ego something fierce, and despite the odd feeling of apparently standing firmly placed with both feet on the right side of history for once, he eyed the developments with a wary mind, always expecting the other proverbial shoe to drop eventually.

And of course it did.

It was the reason he had to hole up in a place colder than Shiva’s tits, half freezing to death each time he was forced to venture out because some people had to take up every inquiry for help tossed their way. If it hadn’t been for Alphinaud’s constant admiring, which admittedly bolstered his ego some more, he’d have flipped the boy off long ago and made his way someplace warmer, less hostile.

As things stood now, however, he had apparently landed himself not only in a city where he needed to behave, lest he’d soil the good name of the house that protected them, but the beginnings of an entire Dragon War, if one could believe it. He certainly hadn’t, not until he stood before one in the flesh.

If Estinien was to believed ⸻ weird as he was with his constantly hidden face, but with Urianger and Yda about Seifer had gotten used to such nonsense for the most part ⸻ they would be able to find one of said Dragons with the help of no other than Iceheart.

Unwilling to head out into the freezing cold planes of Coerthas right away, however, the tall blond had insisted on visiting the nearby tavern doubling as an inn at Camp Dragonhead, intending to warm up and have a decent meal first.

Pushing the door open with a flurry of snowflakes billowing in alongside, Seifer bowed beneath the doorframe as he stepped inside, rubbing gloved hands against the bitter chill as emerald eyes darted here and there in search for a free table, spotting one such in a corner and moving over, leaving a trace of sludge behind.

Letting himself fall onto the nearest chair with an annoyed huff after unsheathing Hyperion and leaning her against the closest wall, he then proceeded to brush the snow from his shoulders before he moved to do the same with his hair, stray wet blond strands smoothed back with practised motions. Snow. Everywhere. He didn’t understand why they hadn’t elected to stay in Ul’dah if the Sultana was still alive.

Having just returned from the warmth of the surrounding area of the city due to an unexpected rescue mission of one General Raubahn, he had almost refused to follow Alphinaud back into the northern regions.

“Fuckin’ shit…” he grumbled, rubbing his gloved palms against damp pants in a fruitless effort to dry them.

It was then that someone moved closer, the approach noticed from the corner of his eye, and he lifted one hand to make a brief waving gesture as if to not needing to hear a word.

“Just bring me some stew and hot mead, same as last time.”

You him?

Perplexed by the question prompted instead of confirming his order, he turned in his seat to meet the gaze of one particularly annoyed looking Miquo’te. For a second he could almost have sworn it would be Squall standing there, the tone of voice eerily familiar for but a heartbeat.

“I’m freezing and hungry is what I am,” he retorted, one brow shooting up in mild annoyance mirroring the feline’s own. What a stupid question. Yet, already used to being approached randomly for favors and queries of help was he, that Seifer exhaled sharply through his nose before jerking his head in direction of one of the other chairs at the table. He already dreaded not having dragged Alphinaud along. The boy was much better with all the business talk, even if he spoke way too fancy for someone his age.

“What is it?”

[enemiesofinnocence]

Closed Starter for @visionaryanarchist

Scion's of the Seventh Dawn they called themselves; this band of misfits seemingly pandering to some entity they'd dubbed the Warrior of Light.

Until now he'd cast some serious doubt on whether or not the man actually existed at all, believing the tale to be little more than a fable considering the catastrophic stories of their very extinction the day Bahamut ruled the skies. A title bestowed upon the stupid, at least in Khum'a's eyes. A target to paint on one's back.

Primal's he could believe; monstrous things born only to destroy witnessed with his own eyes more than once. But a single man bestowed with such catastrophic power, gifted by the Star to annihilate them?

Yeah. Okay...

Khum'a wasn't entirely sure why Sidurgu had commanded the miqo'te's services to these people; something about this strange voice in his head possibly being of some interest to them. The 'Echo' they'd called it, though truth be told he'd paid very little attention to the spiel which had followed in their frail attempt to really explain it.

Weird and wonderful fireside fishwife gossip; he'd heard it all before and truly believed none of it, or rather, chose to ignore it the best as he could. Though this feline could hardly justify the why's and what's of the strange dreams and visions he was gifted - and often at the most inopportune instances - long ago had he boiled it down to a strong sense of cunning and wit. It was enough, even if Fray would dictate otherwise, but he was whole other can of worms.

Still, seeing was believing, at least until this band of wannabe god-slayers called for him to present himself before the Warrior of Light himself, a man said to harbour the very same gift; this... 'Echo'. To say he was sceptical was putting it mildly.

Still, coin was needed to fill the belly and secure a warm bed of an evening, and if these Scion's of the Seventh Dawn were willing to cough up the gil, then he'll humour them for now. The gold was good, the fire warm against Coerthas' bitter chill, and the mead sweet; a taste soon turned moderately more sour when the sight of his quarry made himself known beneath the rafters of that modest little inn.

So this was what people were passing off as a hero these days...? The description he was given fit, but Khum'a's expectations certainly did not.

He stared for a while, supping his weak ale and attempting to size up the Hyre with his rather strange weapon - Garlean in design perhaps...? - before he decided to approach the man's chosen table and all but toss the missive which brought him here onto the worn wood.

"You him?" Was all Khum'a asked, flat, devoid of all emotion save perhaps for a sprinkling of disdain accentuated by a single thrash of his tail and an otherwise dour expression. Indeed, he was informed that he would be expected and no other explanation should be needed.

[enemiesofinnocence]

And it was that singular sack of coins on the table which sealed the deal.

Consequences be damned when there was money involved, even if that cheery grin plastered on the Seeker's face was enough to put him off his ale... if he'd bothered to order any.

Khum'a was quick to swipe the purse from the surface of that table, quick enough that if one would blink they would miss it, and stash the thing in a rear pouch.

"Yes then," he states simply and rising from his seat to signify that the deal had indeed been made. "We'll meet again in Coerthas."

And with that, he made his exit. If he was going to die for the sake of twenty thousand gil, he would at least go down fighting, it was all he was good at.

There were preparations to be made though it would come as no surprise to the blond that he would be the one left waiting at Camp Dragonhead's aetheryte.

It was interesting to him. Granted the Seeker wasn't much of one for psychoanalysis but he could read the trepidation in the Keeper's body language. An offer that seemed outlandish in its asking, the reward lavish but the danger immense and a feline who seemed perfectly at ease with the prospect of facing such a monstrosity, even doing most of the legwork himself, if he deemed the Dark Knight to be below the standard he was looking for.

This was a Miqo'te who knew something that his opposite did not.

"Twenty thousand gil. And more in future if your skills are up to par," the vessel confirmed easily. "Tell you what, to sweeten the deal, I'll even give you two grand right now. Not even off the top. Twenty-two thousand total," he announced, reaching for a knapsack beside his chair and rummaging for a moment. A smaller coin bag was set upon the table's worn surface with a clink of its contents.

"So yes or no? I'll find someone else to answer the ad if you hesitate much longer..."

[enemiesofinnocence]

Continued from here - @rebelichor

Khum'a mimics Ariadne's movements.

Ears low to the head, though only a light and deliberately slow curl to the tail, just to show that her threats meant very little. Who was the one with the huge sword here?

Though the blond does one better, and leans a little lower to his chosen table, careful not to break that ever-important eye contact and hunching the shoulders upwards, just a fraction, that would show her.

Were he a smaller man, perhaps he would have started grumbling from the throat, but he was miqo'te, not a savage!! Well... not today at least, and certainly not in the presence of a fellow Keeper.

Still, just who does this broad think she is, wafting her tail in such a fashion?!

Rude!

[enemiesofinnocence]

"The next pixie that approaches me is getting their damn wings ripped off..."

[enemiesofinnocence]

Continued from here - @ghostofnibelheim

And wherein Sefirah had his traditions and habits manifested over the years this festival would come around, Khum'a had his own.

Though they were a touch less wholesome; where Starlight was considered a time for celebration, family and cosy drinks around a fire, Khum'a had always dreaded this turn of the year.

Where all he had was anger and loneliness. Busying himself with the construction of the festive markets was his escape from the chill, enough of a distraction from the loving families and friends of each he wished so desperately to have himself; of what he once had now resting deep at the bottom of the ocean.

At least... ... Until he'd met Sefirah.

He'd never really thought about it until recently, how he'd found everything he'd been looking for - comfort, friendship... family - all wrapped up in this one single man.

Khum'a could truly say that he had never felt happier, or more content with his lot in life.

"No, no, no, the food is for both of us so it's not about that!" His speech is a little rushed, excitable as he scurries around his friend, pulling out a chair from the vast table laden with goodies and offers for the Viera to sit.

"Just... I know how much you enjoy this time of year, yeah? And I know you like the Amphitheatre and all that but..." he takes his own seat next to his friend, reaching for a bottle of a light pink sparkling beverage - Sefirah's favourite strawberry soda of course - and pouring it into the two glasses sat in front of them.

"I thought maybe just for one day at Starlight, we could do something like this; sit, and eat, maybe invite some friends over, play party games-" Khum'a raises his glass to the man, his mouth pulled into a hearty grin. "- make new memories, new traditions, yeah?"

Khum'a just wanted to enjoy himself, to relish in the festival, like Sefirah did.

[enemiesofinnocence]

Khum'a cannot help but surmise that this missive had been placed in his hands by chance. These creatures he was being tasked to take down were formidable - an understatement at best, deadly was far more apt. This blond miqo'te was not the man designated to this particular job... and yet here he was.

Surely he was being led to the slaughter here.

The dark knight fails to raise that query, gaze all but piercing the slip of parchment on the table while he wrestled with himself on whether or not the prize outweighed the risk.

And after only a moment, he decided that it certainly did.

"Twenty grand...?" he repeats then, bright eyes flickering upwards to meet with that deep crimson gaze of the Seeker, as if hearing the total wage of his exploits once more would be enough to purge any doubts he was having about this mission.

"I am," the Seeker confirmed freely, seemingly completely unbothered by the continued hostility. It was understandable though. No-one liked to be tested, least of all a Miqo'te with a chip on his shoulder regardless of whether he was Seeker or Keeper (and this one seemed particularly ornery).

"Oh? You want to know what's in it for me besides a lighter coinpurse and knowledge of your prowess?" He chuckled then, light and airy as he sipped of his drink.

"Why should I show my hand early? If we get out there and you're not worth the coin I give you, you would walk away with information I'd rather you didn't have. Either way, you keep the coin and the Cyclops dies."

What was in Whitebrim then? For now? Only knowledge.

"If you want there to be more for you in Whitebrim, then you'd best pray your test results are good, no?"

[enemiesofinnocence]

"Heh, careful now, or I'm liable to poke you in the eye you never see with, hm~?"