floralived - Tumblr blog

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hi I’m back on my ffxiv bullshit and solely logging in here to say that no matter how far into her story - no matter her hero status - if anqoora sees someone getting ripped off at the market, or god forbid someone tries it with her, she will become that merchant’s worst nightmare.  she never looses her roots as  tradesperson.   if she isn’t busy with hero business, she helps tataru with the ledgers. 

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was testing out stuff and??  absolutely going insane over how well this actually fits.  maybe endwalker tank gear.  gotta do a thonkle. 

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you know how fem characters sit sideways on some mounts, like the wedding chocobo? anqoora sits like that on most of her mounts unless she’s genuinely riding into / during battle. 

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taps mic.   anqoora will always treat fellow au ra -- xaela or otherwise -- like family by default, regardless if it’s the first time they’ve met.  thank u for coming to my ted talk. 

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this + using her body to shield your muse & offering her other hand to help them up.  ya know.  that cliche. 

anqoora blocking a weapon with the scales on her forearm.  thank u. 

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˗ˋˏ* ✿ ˖ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋 ?

𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍.   oh  child  of  spice  you  are  bound  to  the  core  of  the  earth.   can  you  feel  the  heartbeat  of  nature  pulsing  through  your  veins.   you  are  the  mouthful  of  autumn  that  scorched  through  your  throat,  you  are  the  pepper  of  life  that  wakes  up  the  weary.   the  foolish  and  shaking  will  attempt  to  dilute  you  with  sickening  sugar,  do  not  let  them.   your  spark  is  what  keeps  us  alive  my  dear.   keep  burning,  little  star.   you  see  the  beauty  and  the  light,  but  oh  you  have  been  fed  poison  and  refuse  to  drop  it  onto  other's  tongues.   be  wild.   I  know  what  your  heart  is  chanting.   run.  run.  run.   run  dear,  find  your  story.   do  not  trade  your  spirit  for  safety.   you  are  a  child  of  the  earth,  forever  seeking,  forever  dancing.

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anqoora ‘ tired of your bullshit ‘ qestir : endwalker edition.   will make a proper photoset later but.  I Love Her, your honor. 

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on one hand I’m lamenting that I can’t do the  ‘ hair permanently white after shadowbringers ‘  with anqoora, but at the same time it does speak for itself that one of her greatest motifs have always been shades of white. 

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constantly thinking about anqoora’s lack of vocalization while on elpis and the great significance of her suddenly - and only - speaking to tell the tale of why and how she has arrived there. 

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i promise i will never leave you. ( @ alisae ! )

     Alisaie’s stare snaps to her, wide and blurred.

     Her eyelids are puffed, rimmed red from tears — tears which still track down her face, leaving the cheeks and her hands and the bedsheets that she's been weeping beside messy and damp.

      She lurches forward. Grabs Anqoora by the upper arms, tight. So tight. As if the woman will fall to pieces if she dares lets go. Alisaie shakes her, and lets her head hang when the tears don’t stop but instead flow freely and, says with a voice rough with desperation. “Don’t you dare. If you do-- if you do --”

     A beat.

     Alisaie is trembling. She struggles for words. There was no time to cry in the Burn. No time to think about what this means. More times than she’d ever wanted, she’d had to consider the what-ifs regarding his noble path and those often-bitter ends -- 

     But this is the closest they’ve tasted it.

     And yet they aren’t safe.

      Her resolve tightens. Her grip on Anqoora tightens. She surges forward, again, and when she whips her head back up to stare Anqoora down, her face is bright with an anger  at her friend, at her hero, at that which hasn’t happened, which won’t happen -- because -- because.

     Lowly, and with all of the feeling in the world: “I will -- never -- never -- forgive you.”

       She gives Anqoora another shake. Then from the corner of her eye -- she sees-- and with a choked sob, she lets go. Turns, again, and collapses once more beside her brother’s nearly still form.

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I can always count on Juno to perfectly understand my characters. 

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 @floralived​​  sends her regards.

                   “ careful… you’ve never had to fight me before. ” ( @ fandaniel ! )

OH  ,    SWEET  THREAT  !          agony  of  desire  so  thorough  in  his  body  ,    this  broken  bloodied  thing  that  craves  and  carves  .    lips  licked  by  bloodied  tongue  ,    eyes  wild  and  watching  .    this  is  what  he  wants  ,    what  he  needs  !    this  malevolence  !

                                       “      and  why  would  i  be  careful  ?      do  your                                          worst   :        i   promise   to   enjoy   it       !      “

             laughter  !    jovial  he  ,    despite  it  all  .    best  or  worst  case  are  the  same  :    someone  will  die  ,    or  they  will  not  !    what  more  can  he  ask  for  ,    all  fang  and  anger  .    leans  so  close  ,    bent  at  the  waist  ,    brown  settled  on  blue  skin  .    how  could  his  chest  bubble  with  anything  but  joy  ,    excitement  !   this  rush  !    oh  ,    her  weapon  makes  him  want  to  sing  .

            inky  black  swallows  all  .    limb  and  length  ,    falling  into  the  void  of  nothing  .    only  for  him  to  resurface  ,    closer  ,    closer  .      to  dodge  stone  ,    her  determination  adorable  .    to  appear  before  her  ,    all  smiles  and  scrunched  eyes  .    to  wrap  his  hand  around  her  throat  and  pull  ,    oh  ,    aglow  with  magic  stolen  from  earth  and  aether  .      that  fandaniel  might  bring  her  face  close  ,    might  smile  too  wickedly  .    surely  ,    she  will  strike  him  here  !    he  prays  so  ,    begs  so  .    begs  for  a  swing  or  a  burn  of  magic  or  malice  .

                                   “        come  on  ,    little  dragon  .    you  don’t  want                                     to  let  them  all  down  ,    do  you    ?    end  me     !                                         end  the  final  days   !     win  back  your  fate  !      “  

              release  she  to  step  back  ,    two  -  three!      arms  extended  as  if  to  bow  ,    but  to  spin  !      to  twirl  upon  toes  ,    to  let  robe  of  red  melt  into  light  armor  .    and  blade  forms  in  his  hand  ,    red  and  black  and  sharp  and  deadly  .      he  wants  this  .    needs  this  .    wants  to  know  how  far  she’ll  go  .

              (      how  far  will  she  bend  before  she  breaks  ?      something  ancient  ,    something  mortal  .    just  like  him  .    they’re  the  same  ,    after  all  ,    these  shells  holding  souls  too  large  for  their  own  bodies  .    cages  beasts  in  gilded  bars  ,    clawing  free  .    )

              stops  ,    bows  at  the  waist  .    extends  his  unarmed  hand  .    eye  shines  with  something  carnivorous  ,    something  hungry  .    will  they  swallow  one  another  whole  ,    or  continue  this  chase  unto  space  unknown  ?

                                                                          “        shall  we  dance  ?      “

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honestly, for all her serenity and benevolence, anqoora is inherently a very imposing individual when she wants to be.  she absolutely is the person to recount what enemies she has felled to intimidate a la  “ i have slain gods in their own kingdom. do you think yourself above them? “.   she claims - and believes - it is only to avoid confrontations.  she uses intimidation as another form of diplomacy.  but truthfully it is also a point of pride.  anqoora has been through hell, fought satan, and came back the victor.  and she will not pretend otherwise. 

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51.Qestir/おかえり

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anqoora arriving in sharlayan. 

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         words  have  never  come  easy  to  her,  even  after  teaching  own  tongue  to  speak  them.    what,  then,  is  a  warrior  of  beloved  light  to  say  in  face  of  darkness  incarnate,  the  antithesis  of  her  very  being ?   what  could  she  possibly  want  to  hear  from  a  creature  of  evil ?   her  blood  boils  at  the  mere  mention  of  conversing  in  lieu  of  a  confrontation  that  would  pit  light  against  darkness.   do  as  she  always  has  :  vanquish  the  wicked.    ( no  time,  no  time  —  nonsense !  )   how  often  has  he  stood  within  reach  of  blade  and  spell  alike ?   let  her  suffocate  the  hesitation  festering  ‘neath  a  heart  begging  to  give  esteemed  paragon  the  same  benefit  of  the  doubt  she  does  everyone  else.  

holy  keeper  of  peace   /   weapon  forged  in  blessed  blood  :  a  champion  divine !   what  need  have  you  of  compromise ?   o’  child  of  mother  moon,  betrayal  is  as  much  a  companion  as  death.  would  you  have  this  one  betray  you  as  well ?   take  not  a  hand  offered  by  the  darkness,  it  will  only  end  in  tragedy.  

        though  unrest  is  writ  clear  ‘pon  subtle  furrow  of  her  brows  and  the  continuous  sway  of  sharp — edged  tail,  deeper  still  it  runs  in  the  most  subtle  ways,  carved  into  marrow  of  a  straightened  spine  and  the  fingers  tightened  ‘round  staff.   mistake  not  her  serenity  for  peace.   long  has  it  ceased  to  reside  in  a  heart  made  to  bleed  time  and  again,  settling  instead  amidst  high — strung  nerves,  ready  to  carve  a  righteous  path  through  whomsoever  would  make  themselves  an  obstacle.   the  firstblessed  wears  serenity  as  a  liar  would  their  mask :  to  hide  the  ugly  truth.  

          a  gentle  sigh,  then,  easing  neither  her  shoulders  nor  mind,  yet  still  softening  the  edges  of  sharp  glint  ‘neath  moonlit  eyes.   ❛ storyteller, ❜   confident  but  airy,  as  though  spoken  to  herself,  yet  clearly  addressing  enigmatic  paragon.   lightest  tilt  of  qestir’s  head  and  knuckles  of  a  hand  brush  scaled  chin.  a  daunting  task,  to  speak.   but  the  thought  of  beloved  silence  being  read  by  such  a  creature ?   revolting.   ❛ ‘tis  a  fanciful  tale,  the  yarn  you  spin, ❜   and  though  lacking  in  disbelief,  it  gracefully  dances  ‘pon  edge  betwixt  condescension  and  curiosity  —  her  eyes  tell :  she  knows.   and  this  she  allows  an  adversery  to  read  ‘pon  deceptively  calm  facade,  a  challenge  unspoken,  not  of  blade  and  spell,  but  of  truth  and  belief.    ❛ apocryphal. ❜

˗ˋˏ * ✿ ˖°  STARTER  /  @klymenos​​​​ .

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puts on my clown nose over here too.   hit the ❤ for a kiss from your local lizard !!