#he is SO SO SO much worse as a wol and it falls out in one outburst after hes quizzed as to why he thought he could sacrifice himself

[minarcana]

[aetherstorms]

So a post popped onto my timeline due to the Fandaniel tag, and it reminded me that a vast swath of the fandom hates Hermes. They hate him for being depressed, for living in a society that he doesn't fit into, for being unable to conform, and for causing the Final Days (I assume). So I've decided to write it. I've decided to say why I love Hermes, and why I still love him as Amon and Fandaniel. This is going to be long, and contain personal comparisons to support why I feel such a strong attachment. Obviously this is very personal, so if you don't want brief insights into a stranger's mind, just keep on scrolling. It really is a lot to take in.

First of all, and I believe this is my first time saying it on this blog, but I'm autistic. As such, I live in a society I don't fit into. I have a lot of trouble with face to face interactions. I have a lot of difficulty maintaining eye contact and reading body cues and tone, and this has only gotten worse since the start of the pandemic due to avoiding people as much as possible to avoid getting sick. I don't see Hermes as autistic, but the fact he feels differently than those around him, the fact that he has such high empathy for the creations of Elpis, definitely causes him to be isolated. Whether they actually push him away, or he just has trouble connecting because they can't understand his point of view, it's pretty clear to me that he's quite lonely.

His short story told me that it was probably more of the second thing. They don't seem to reject him, but they can't understand his feelings, so he withdraws. When he decides to make Meteion, his fellows in Elpis apparently go to great lengths to help him create her. They want to help him, they want him to be happy. There's simply a gap they cannot bridge. Unlike in real society, those around him are compassionate toward him despite his differences.

But, through no fault of their own, this compassion also hurts him. He worries that he is an aberration. Because no one around him feels as he does, he thinks of himself as a freak, as someone different and it bothers him. He withdraws further. How often has this man removed his mask to have an earnest conversation with someone? I feel like when he's talking to the WoL it may be the first time he's done so, at least in his adult life. If he had even one friend, or person he considered a friend, might he have broken so easily? Or would that one tether have been enough to give him pause? It's hard to say, since in that moment it was so so very clear that he wasn't in his right mind. He had heard Meteion tell him horrible things, and he felt he needed to subject himself to all of it.

Yet, remember his question at the end of Ktisis Hyperboreia? Even though Meteion was telling him previously that all the Meteia found was death and murder and pain, he still asks her 'was there happiness in those distant stars? Was there a reason for living?'. He still hopes for good news. He still wants to hear that things can be okay. Meteion does not give him good news though. She tells him more of the same, more suffering, more pain and death. She snaps completely, overcome by the agonies of her sisters, and Hermes falls to despair. If this is the whole of the universe, then this must be what Etheirys also deserves and if they can prove themselves better than the whole rest of the universe, only then will they be able to survive, whether they deserve to live or not.

The fact that much of the fandom seems to hate him for this decision is troubling, to say the least. They slap the 'bad guy' tag on him without any further thought. They don't consider why he makes this decision, they don't see him as a man at the end of his rope, who sees no other choice he can make. As it turns out, he could have stopped the Meteia right then and there. His staff can apparently communicate with them, so he could probably have ordered them to return like Emet-Selch told him to. But his sympathies do not lie with mankind, not in that moment. He sees the Meteia as being the ones in the right, as of course they must be as creations that sense emotions. Even though he asked a flawed question, he isn't thinking straight. He was a man with depression, and having been pushed to the brink, he makes a decision that in the moment seems like the correct one.

From the perspective of those around him who obviously aren't privy to his thoughts, of course this seems an evil act. From that perspective, of course they would hate him. But we the player have seen him struggle. So why do so many hate him for this decision when they must surely know that the circumstances that brought it about were unusual? Did they forget that not long before they were chasing Meteion because she very much did not want to give her report, knowing it would hurt Hermes? Did they forget that just before she began her report, she was expressing that she was sorry to Hermes? Did they forget that she had been fighting against the will of her sisters to give that report? She knows this man, her creator, better than anybody. She knew what this news would do to him. If anyone is the villain here, it's us for forcing her to give her report. But only Meteion must know how this is going to go, or at least she has the best guess, and we can only do as the game dictates. The ending was a foregone conclusion, and it's one we already know. But why do so many hate him when they know more about his pain than presumably anyone aside from Meteion?

But that's just Hermes. Why do the players hate Fandaniel? Because he's flamboyant? Because he's annoying? Because he's weird? Because he's an utter nihilist? Maybe it's that last one. If you don't have depression, without knowing why he feels this way in the moment it's presented, it's easy enough to go 'what the hell?' and hate him for wanting to destroy everything. But why continue to hate him afterward? With the context of Amon and the things he saw? The player knowing he suffered for five millennia (he states ten when dying as Zodiark, which I still find curious) and found nothing good. He was a man who was forced to help kill entire worlds on top of the belief he already had in Allag that it should all end simply because his Emperor willed it so.

Now, to be perfectly honest, as something of a nihilist myself, I admit I might have a leg up on understanding him here. I see the atrocities around me and think how much better it would be if humanity just stopped existing. But I also make a point of seeking proof of the opposite, just as Hermes did. Maybe Amon's problem is that, like Hermes, he was isolated. Given current evidence, it seems like Noah was his only confidant in Allag and she stated that he was dour and serious until he succeeded in bringing back Xande, and he may not have tried to gain friendships among the Ascians. With that assumption, it's hard to want to find the good in mankind. He certainly wouldn't have been encouraged to find it.

But why not hate Emet-Selch, who created the Empire that broke Amon in the first place? Who had, by his own admission, created many Empires, all of them presumably as horrible as Allag and Garlemald. Why is he so popular? Because, also by his own admission, he kept trying to find a connection to us? Because he sees what he's doing as a step toward restoring what was lost, something the player can more easily relate to? Which even the Scions admit sounds logical from a certain point of view? Do they hate Fandaniel because he has no wish for anything better, but rather an end to everything?

I like Emet-Selch, but I have no idea why others like him, only why I do. Just as I can only guess why others hate Fandaniel, Amon, and Hermes. If I was given a big red button to kill all of humanity, would I press it? The answer may surprise you. I wouldn't. I wouldn't because I have people I care about, because I own pets specifically to keep me from killing myself when my depression would otherwise overwhelm me to the point even my friends wouldn't be enough. Hermes, Amon, Fandaniel....they don't seem to have had those things. By all indications, they were very alone and while Noah seemed to have a greater insight into Amon than any of Hermes' colleagues did, even she could only tell us so much.

Hermes had Meteion, but then she brought him multitudes of misery, a whole universe of it. His only tether had told him it essentially wasn't worth it and Amon states he dreamed the memories Kairos had supposedly erased until he was given the seat and memories of Fandaniel, giving him context. But he was plagued with these dreams supposedly his whole life. He dismissed them as dreams at first, but to see such things night after night probably didn't do his mental health any good and then he finds out these aren't dreams, but memories. He knew about the true cause of the Final Days, and then he's given no reason to believe in the good of man when he's basically made to foster the opposite. Is it really any wonder he was so manic at the end? His goal was finally coming to fruition. His suffering would finally be over.

Maybe that's why so many people like Emet-Selch. He's a bastard and a mass-murderer sure, but he's been doing all of this for a cause he believes in. Twisted as it may be, it's relatable; he just wants his loved ones back. This is a story told all throughout history, of people doing whatever it took just to get their loved one (usually their lover) back. The man is a walking Greek Tragedy. Fandaniel on the other hand wants everyone, including himself, to die. Not just die, but suffer on the way. Most people won't stop to think about his reasons, even when he outright hands them to you. It really does show how experiences shape you. If you haven't experienced things in life to make you feel the way he does, it can be hard to see why he'd think this way.

When Kairos does its work and we see Hermes outside Ktisis, he's obviously still injured and no one knows why other than Hermes' 'vague memories' of what he decided he would believe had happened to Meteion. He gave himself an ending that would ensure he never looked for her, never tried to use his staff to call out to the Meteia again. He was wounded physically, but emotionally he was shattered. He calls himself a murderer in Hythlodaeus' short story, after all. he is depicted as a man who throws himself obsessively into his work to the point of self-neglect, most likely to punish himself and also to distract himself.

When the Final Days came, how did he hold it together? How did he not fall to despair to be consumed by his own aether creating a monstrosity? Did the Meteia consciously spare him? No, I don't think so. Meteion offers him oblivion before she flees. She sees this as a mercy he has denied. She loves him, she would not want him to keep suffering. In this I can't guess how he managed not to be consumed. Maybe he suspected the true cause, or at least a part of it, and as he'd said, he would be working against the Meteia. He seems to very much be a man of his word, at least. Even to his own detriment. One cannot deny one's nature.

But yes, I both understand and don't why so much of the fandom seems to hate Hermes and his reincarnation, but if you've made it this far, you definitely deserve accolades. This was a lot, but I found I could no longer leave it unsaid. It was an unpacking of myself, the character(s) and an attempt to figure out why those who dislike them do so.

Of course, there is a difference between empathy and mimicry. Most of us have a healthy separation of fiction and reality. He's just like me fr, but that doesn't mean I'd want to do what he does if I had the power to do it. He's a fictional character with fictional pain that just happens to reflect a mindset I can understand. But it seems many can't understand or relate. They just see a man with an incomprehensible viewpoint and they don't even try to understand his thinking. I think I can understand why they don't understand, but at the same time it really just proves his own point, doesn't it? No one tries to understand people who are different than them, it seems. Not if they're the majority. At least the people in Hermes' life were apparently kind in their interactions with him, misguided as he saw their attempts.

[lookbluesoup]

So Fourchenault was not super on board with Alisaie and the WoLs falling in love

He expected her to meet a nice rich Sharlayan Elezen scholar from a Good Family in their neighborhood

Not two hooligan Miqo'te from EORZEA living in a polycule

Doesn't matter they saved the world this is Highly Inappropriate one of them keeps hissing at him

He wants her to be happy

She's made up her mind

Which brings us to The Dinner

Most of the polycule and Leveilleurs are expected to attend so he can get to know them

So now there's Haurchefant, Alphinaud, Fourchenault, Ameliance, Alisaie, G’raha, Aymeric, Estinien, Nahte'to, A'mahl, Lyrha, and X'rhun Tia sitting around the table in roughly that order

Why are X'rhun and Lyrha there?

Lyrha was A'mahl's "+1." She's not in The Polycule but she's in his polycule so he figured it counted

X'rhun is Lyrha's "+1." X'rhun was not informed properly the nature of this dinner and is trying very hard to make the best of it.

Everyone else finds out about 10minutes before dinner that they're coming its a whole thing

Awkward conversation ensues. Nahte and Alphinaud and Aymeric are doing their best to keep things civil

Lyrha is doing her best to make Fourchenault's eye twitch because she's decided he needs to lighten up and he's too easy to tease

Food comes out. There's mushrooms "hidden" in the soup.

Lyrha hates mushrooms

Not realizing it's a mushroom she puts one in her mouth and takes a bite and

GAGS loudly the way cats coughing up hairballs do

Reaches into her mouth and pulls the half-chewed mushroom out

Dangles it

and drops it on the plate in front of everyone, nose wrinkled

Fourchenault stops talking to watch

Alphinaud is about to have an aneurysm

A'mahl scolds her for wasting good food and grabs her plate to eat the mushrooms himself

Including the half chewed one

Everyone at the table takes psychic damage

Lyrha makes a Remark to which he replies, and I quote,

"wHAT? my mouth has been on much worse parts of you, a little spit wont kill me"

A'mahl realizes immediately that was probably not a good thing to say at This Dinner in front of Papa Fourchenault

X'rhun Tia is about to have an aneurysm

Fourchenault is making a face like if Elrond was trying to strangle you with his mind

Alisaie launches herself across the table at A'mahl who's now at the top of her enmity list for ruining Meet-the-father-in-law-in-a-positive-not-apocalyptic-setting-so-he'll-accept-you-dinner

Anyway no Fourchenault does not like his two son-in-laws very much and Lyrha has never been re-invited to a formal dinner

[starrysnowdrop]

Random question time! I don't see a ton of Lalafell WoLs, has Hali ever faced difficulties in her journeys due to her race?

Ahhh this is such a great question!! And this is something that I have been thinking about a lot lately and I want to write it more in Hali’s story. I also just recently came up with some new headcanons relating to this topic as well.

So Hali was born and raised in Sharlayan, and thankfully the Sharlayans don’t discriminate based on race or creed (well I guess except if you are seen as causing war and such but that’s not what I was referring to), so Hali never experienced any form of discrimination or hardships growing up as a lalafell, giving her the confidence to be herself and speak her mind.

When she arrived in Eorzea, the first city-state she went to was Ul’dah, and because lalafell like Nanamo and many on the Syndicate are in power, she wasn’t discriminated there much either. There were many lalafell like her there, especially fellow Dunesfolk. Limsa Lominsa was much the same, with plenty of lalafell around, she didn’t experience discrimination at all. There are of course some Gridanians who are racist, and Hali overheard some whispering around her several times, but she tended to ignore it and went about her day.

Hali didn’t really start facing certain difficulties with her race until she got more involved with Ishgardians, and then went to Ishgard proper that there was a change. As you likely concluded already, many of the Ishgardians would discriminate against her, some harassed her in the streets until they realized that she was a ward of House Fortemps, and even if they didn’t say anything to her directly, Hali could feel that she was treated differently.

Hali and Tataru both had difficulty with being lalafells in Ishgard. Not only with the Ishgardians’ treatment of them, but also their height proved a difficulty, because unlike the other Eorzean city-states who have a lalafellin population, Ishgard has none. As such, none of the furniture was made for them in mind. Everything was way too tall for them, and you can’t exactly carry around a stool with you everywhere you go.

Obviously this changed over time, especially after the end of the Dragonsong War, the Reformation of the Ishgardian government, and rejoining the Eorzean Alliance, as there were many more lalafellin travelers to Ishgard afterwards.

Despite all of this, Hali’s biggest challenge to being a Lalafellin Warrior of Light is a very personal one.

You see, Hali begins to feel as though her race might prevent her from getting what she wants out of life, in particularly, as you might’ve guessed already, being in a romantic relationship with someone of a different race. Hali has always been attracted to people of different races, but none of the ones that she had a crush on in the past felt the same about her, and over time, she wonders if it would have been different if she weren’t a lalafell.

This issue only gets worse when Hali meets and eventually falls in love with Aymeric. Though he loves her for who she is and thinks she’s beautiful as a lalafellin woman, she doesn’t feel as though she’s worthy of being with him because not only is she an outsider but a lalafell who most Ishgardians had a problem with when she first came to Ishgard. She thought that Aymeric would never possibly want to be with her, and her race had a lot do to with these insecurities.

There might be more examples but I can’t think of anymore at the moment so I’ll leave it at that. Thank you so much for the great ask @sasslett!! 🥰💖

[duskwightdancer]

FFXIV Write Prompt 8: Shed

The WoL and the moments he takes to shed the title and responsibilities of the Warrior of Light to let himself break and feel the toll it has taken on him.

Rating: T. Shadowbringers spoilers, no cws.

Unnamed WoL/G'raha

The title “Warrior of Light” was never something he asked for, never something he wanted, but it was something he’d accepted without complaint either way. How could he complain, after all? He was helping people, saving lives, making the star a better place. So he never once questioned it. He did every task asked of him, whether it be as simple as delivering the mail or as difficult as leading squadrons of people into battle. Whatever was needed, he would do it. 

But it all took a toll on him. 

He would never show it. He hid the scars from all the battles, pushed down the bile that would rise in his throat after every kill, and bottled up all his emotions after every loss. The people needed a strong warrior to look to for guidance and he agreed to play that role. He agreed to be a pillar of strength for whole nations of people, he couldn’t go back on that. Not when all eyes were on him. 

So instead he looked for the quiet moments when he was alone where he could shed his title and his responsibilities and let himself feel everything. Moments alone where he could simply be a man. Not an Eikon slayer or a god or whatever else people saw him as, just a man. A man who some days didn’t think he was strong enough to hold up the hopes of the world.

Inn rooms across Eorzea, and then across the star, became the one of the few places where he could finally let go. They were the only places where he could find the privacy to let himself feel everything. His mask of strength would fall and he’d let himself ache, let himself weep, let himself break, let himself just feel.

Inn rooms, his room in the Rising Stones when the others were out, a bedroom in a little house in the Empyreum, tents all across Eorzea and Doma, and, eventually, G’raha’s private quarters in the Crystal Tower. 

The latter took longer for him to feel comfortable letting himself break. Along his whole journey, he never had someone there to help him pick up the pieces afterwards. It was always just himself. There were one off moments of someone else catching him, someone else helping him through a moment of weakness, but never consistently. Never did they see how hard it was for him to be the Warrior of Light. It was terrifying letting someone in, letting someone see that he wasn’t all the stories said he was – especially when G’raha knew him best from the stories.

But as much as he wished otherwise, he couldn’t keep going alone. He needed someone else. Things only kept getting harder and it seemed like it would get even worse before it got better. 

And G’raha understood. A hundred years of being the Crystal Exarch, of being the one people looked to for guidance, for strength, for hope, G’raha knew how hard it was to shed that title and just be a man. He knew the vulnerability it took to let someone else in, to see the man behind the title. 

It was only because of that understanding that the Warrior of Light let himself open up, let someone else see just how soft he was. He let G’raha soothe his aches, tend to his wounds, hold him as he wept, and then help put him back together after he broke.

And when things did get worse before they got better, having G’raha help put him back together proved to be one of the few things that helped him find the strength to keep going. 

It wasn’t often that he could shed his title and his responsibilities, even for just a moment, but he was glad that there was someone there to be his pillar of strength, to give him hope when he needed it most.

[e-dragoons]

i wrote a little something in honor of haurchefant day, inspired by dragonsong reprise (no spoilers past heavensward) pairings: wol/haurchefant, wol/estinien ao3 link: here

Lehna sobbed as with all her might, she flung her bullets into the air, a shield falling like rain between Haurchefant and the spear attempting to break through his shield. She flung herself at the spear as he pushed it back, allowing her to leap at it once more, cutting it down with something between a scream and a sob escaping her lips.

Haurchefant collapsed to the ground and she followed suit, relief and confusion flooding through her as she watched him breathe. A bit exhausted, perhaps, but otherwise none the worse for wear.

“Ah, you’re unharmed? Good.”

She wrapped herself around him, unable to control the sobs that flowed from her as she squeezed tightly, his arms hesitant for a moment before returning her embrace. “Come now,” he said into her ear. “Tis alright.”

At that, she could only cry harder.

But everything was wrong. 

It played around her like a film–her fleeting happiness as she was reunited with Haurchefant. But Thordan was summoned and returned to Ishgard, killing thousands who refused to follow the Heavens’ Ward. Estinien, corrupted completely by Nidhogg, went head-to-head with Thordan and won, the dragons finally gaining enough momentum at the loss of both the Azure Dragoon and the Archbishop to completely overtake the city. 

And every time she attempted to stop Nidhogg–

She was dead, the only trace of Estinien remaining as he ran his lance through her was but a glint in his eye, as if apologizing for what he could not control. 

And Lehna would die–she would die a thousand deaths to save him, to keep him safe the way he had kept her–

But as the Scions fled to Doma in a feeble attempt to gain a foothold to take back Ishgard blaming themselves for Lehna’s death.

The Scions died one by one.

Lehna choked out another sob as she held Haurchefant close.

“I appreciate the effort,” he said gently, and she looked up at him, begging for him to see how badly she wanted him to live–that they could stop the world from changing so drastically if they tried, they just had to follow the Archbishop now and–

“One cannot change fate, my love.”

She buried her face into his neck and he pulled her in tighter. “I can’t lose you again,” she said, her voice cracking. “I won’t.”

“You know that you must.”

And she knew it to be true–one life for thousands more should have been an easy choice to make. And yet.

“You have many who love you,” he said, running a hand through her hair. “I am always with you, always cheering for you. Let me do this for you.”

“It hurts,” she said, her voice not much louder than a squeak. 

And it did.

Haurchefant had welcomed her with open arms. He’d taught her how to fit into a city that didn’t seem to want her–or want him, for that matter. His family welcomed her with open arms, as if she was one of their own. And she had finally felt like she belonged somewhere. She’d carved out a life for herself–a life with Haurchefant, full of adventure and stolen kisses when they thought no one was looking. 

“That is not the life we would have if I stay.” 

“But–”

“Listen to me.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “We will meet again one day in the aetherial sea, my love. You will tell me of all your adventures and I will listen to every word. You’ll tell me how you managed to tie Estinien down in one place and I will admire you all the more. And I hope I am left waiting for quite a long time. There are so many more adventures for you to have before I see you again.” 

She stared at him, tears still streaming down her face.

He smiled at her once more, suddenly coughing up blood. 

“Oh, don’t look at me so,” he said. “A smile better suits a hero.”

Haurchefant exploded into a dusting of light as Lehna let out another cry, knowing full well that she could not have saved him and yet still wanting to try again anyway–

“It’s alright,” she heard, a deeper voice than Haurchefant’s. “It’s just a bad dream.”

Estinien.

Her eyes opened and she was met with Estinien’s wide eyes, his hair falling in loose sheets around his face as he stroked her cheek, wiping what must have been her own tears away.

Without thinking, she threw herself at him so that her arms were around his neck. After a brief moment of hesitation, he brought his own arms around her and said, “Shhhh,” as she began to sob in earnest. 

Estinien had gotten much better at comforting her after her nightmares. And although there was a small panic forming in her chest as she longed to see the rest of her friends safe, the dream would be one that only Estinien could truly understand.

“I saved him,” she whispered. “I saved Haurchefant.”

Estinien stiffened for a moment before relaxing again, running his hands through her hair, but he said nothing.

“But…” She took a breath. “When he did not die, we did not chase after the Archbishop. Thordan became too strong. Nidhogg became too strong. Nidhogg k-killed you, and then me, and I think he would have gone after the others next but–”

“It was a dream,” he said. “We’re fine. You’re safe.”

Lehna let in a gasp of air, trying to keep her breathing even. “Everyone died. And Haurchefant… he saw it all too, and he wouldn’t let me try to save him again.” 

“He loved you, Lehna,” Estinien said. “I know that. He loved you so much that he would die for you again and again. He would want you to think of him fondly, not of his sacrifice for you–not knowing how much pain it would bring you.”

She sniffled, knowing that he was telling the truth–that even her dreamed version of Haurchefant had wanted nothing more than for her to chase her happiness. 

“Would you like me to make you some hot cocoa?” Estinien asked gently. 

And although it hurt, Lehna nodded before she could stop herself.

Haurchefant would not have come to her dreams to hurt her, she knew. So perhaps it was time for her to stop avoiding thoughts of the man, and instead think fondly of the memories she had of their time together. 

For as he’d told her once before:

A smile better suits a hero. 

[karygurl]

touchstarved (ffxiv)

Pre-relationship Thancred x WoL Cassandra Tygrova. Takes place in Shadowbringers, after returning to the Crystarium from Malikah's Well. Cassandra has always craved physical touch from those she's closest with. Being separated across time and space leads to some adjustments.

Cassandra wasn’t sure what it was, perhaps her lack of memories? But something in her craved physical connection with others, and while she was always hesitant to inconvenience anyone else with her needs, over time it’d come to light in starts and stops and all of the Scions had embraced it. Alphinaud always grasped her arms when he pleaded with her, Thancred ran a thumb over the back of her hand to reassure her, and Y’shtola and Alisaie often linked arms with her when headed in the same direction. Arm wrestling Yda. Adjusting the grip on her magic focus with Papalymo’s hands guiding her. Falling asleep in their midst, near their arms or on their shoulders. Urianger struggled with the contact and Cassandra never pushed him, understanding that his needs were different, but he was a looming, comforting presence when he sat next to her and allowed her to lean on him.

When she met them again one at a time in the First, though it hadn’t been long for her, she knew it had been incomprehensibly longer for them, and though the unspoken consent had never been revoked, she knew that she would need to find ways to ask again.

With Alphinaud and Alisaie, it had thankfully been easy. Alphinaud had hugged her straight away, and Alisaie had barreled into her during a sin eater attack and shared a brief cheeky grin with her as they lay tangled on the ground for that moment. 

If anything, Urianger’s time in the First had helped him to come out of his shell, if only a little. Not only was he skilled at navigating pixie pranks, he seemed more comfortable in his own skin. Though he still often remained cloistered away with his readings and research, he chimed in more, and even reached out to Cassandra on several occasions to pat her on the shoulder or reach across her to point out his findings in a particular book she was reading. 

For Thancred, it seemed to be the opposite, unfortunately. He seemed both physically and emotionally closed off, though not for lack of desire for closeness. She wasn’t sure how to describe it: almost as if he wanted affection for himself more than anything, but did not know how to ask, or worse, thought he didn’t deserve it. 

Minfilia’s presence complicated things. He seemed determined to hold himself away from her, despite spending three years in her company, the buffleheaded buffoon. 

It took time, but Cassandra was able to slowly figure out what he needed. It wasn’t until he’d sent Minfilia outside when they’d first arrived at the Bookman’s Shelves that he acquiesced to Cassandra asking if a hug would be okay, but once she was in his arms, the sheer joy and relief and loneliness she felt emanating from him spoke volumes. (Urianger, of course, also received a hug, as did Minfilia when Cassandra was able to properly ask the girl for permission.) 

Thancred needed assurance, but also seemed to feel embarrassed that it was something he craved. He wanted so badly to do the right thing, to the point of depriving both himself and Minfilia of much that they both needed. Thankfully, Cassandra arrived and did her best to bridge the gap as best she could. 

When Thancred had sent her and Minfilia ahead while he faced Ran’jit alone in Amh Araeng, she's been terrified that it hadn't been enough. There hadn’t been enough time, she hadn’t managed to get them talking openly with each other yet, they still had so much to say and share and she had to tell him that she--

And he’d gone and nearly died on them. She’d been shaking with terror and anger at him once she'd spotted his body on the sands and the clinical chill of triaging his dying form had subsided. She’d coaxed his heart back to beating, his lungs to breathing, his aether to flowing, his eyes to open. And after all of that, the fury in her veins melted away in an instant when his eyes trained on hers and his trembling hand rose to her cheek, his features melting into such a blissful state of relief that she couldn’t stay mad. Not at him, not when he’d risked himself within an inch of his life to keep her and Minfilia safe. Just like his fool arse always did.

Soon after that, Minfilia became Ryne, her own person, and their relationship changed-- for the better, thankfully. In Thancred’s eyes, the decision was made and he no longer had to remain a bystander. Though he didn’t say as much, it seemed as though he felt more comfortable being involved then, injecting himself into conversations and joking around with Ryne. Not only did his words reveal the sheer pride he held for her, he seemed more comfortable reaching out too, patting her on the head and putting his hand on her back as they walked along. Small gestures, but so telling. 

And then there were his interactions with Cassandra. When they’d finished at Malikah’s Well, they’d headed directly back to the Crystarium on amaro, not even stopping at Mord Souq. The rush to return had made Cassandra nervous, moreso when Y’shtola had cornered her with Ryne and interrogated her on how she was feeling. The three of them had gone to Spagyrics just to assuage their fears, but none of the healers there made note of her glaringly bright aether beyond a passing glance. Then again, they might have been too scared to say anything; a preponderance of light within anyone was cause for concern. 

By the time Cassandra was released from their ministrations, she headed back in the direction of her room in the Pendants but caught a glimpse of a familiar head of silvery hair at the Wandering Stairs. Altering her course, she climbed the steps up to the seating area and joined Thancred as he stared down into the mug of whatever he’d been served. After ordering some water for herself, she smiled and scooted closer to him, almost conspiratorially. “Tell me about Minfilia, your Minfilia,” she asked, her voice near a whisper. “All the stories you wish everyone knew about her.”

That request had his lip quirking up. Perhaps a bit of the bard he used to be still lived within him. He regaled her with tales of the girl he'd watched grow up, and all of the ways he'd been privileged to know her. When he slouched, she pressed up against him to keep him upright. She understood that it wasn’t the drink causing it, but the great heft of the memories that weighed on him. 

Gods, he was warm. Coming back from the pressing heat of Amh Araeng, she thought she’d be grateful for the comparative chill of the Crystarium, but she’d found herself fighting off goosebumps, especially the longer she sat. It nearly felt as if sitting still was draining her of warmth, not to mention pulling at her consciousness. She pinched her leg, trying to stay awake as Thancred finished his stories and was content to drink with her in silence, but the stillness settled over her in a wash and she felt herself nearly become rigid. The thought would have shocked her had she been more awake; she was used to slumping over when she felt asleep, not locking up, but her awareness was fading quickly and the thought popped like a soap bubble before her mind drifted away altogether.

Her next conscious thought was of falling, and then floating. 

“Usually you’d rest on my shoulder when you’d fall asleep,” she heard Thancred murmur to himself, the rumble in his chest carrying through her cheek resting against it. “Am I such bad company anymore? Ah, but perhaps today I truly was.”

She pushed herself to emit a small groan, adamant in refusing his supposition. 

His chuckle reverberated just as much as his words had. “I see, pray excuse me then. You’re obviously correct.”

“‘m sorry,” Cassandra muttered softly in return, wanting to say more but pulling words from her lips felt like so much effort. Though she struggled to hear his response, she drifted again, only wakening once more when she was gently laid out onto a surface that softly gave way beneath her. A bed? Was it hers?

She had more to say to him, she didn’t want him to leave yet, so she sat up (they were, in fact, in her room in the Pendants she noted) but the motion sent waves of sparkling white across her vision, her chest contracting into what felt like an inanimate monument of stone as she struggled to breathe. She’d inadvertently pitched forward as she sat up and reached for him, her hand catching at the sleeve of his shirt as she toppled. She’d only managed to keep from crashing to the ground thanks to Thancred’s fast reflexes, his hands grasping under her elbows and his knees dropping to the ground in order to catch her. 

Her head landed against his shoulder awkwardly, and the alarming crackling noises that emanated from her open mouth had him pushing her back to cast his eyes over her face. He called her name, but she wasn’t able to respond for several more seconds, until she was able to ease the seized contraction in her chest enough to force herself to breathe. 

“‘m fine,” she croaked out from a paralyzed throat, the words making a mockery of themselves with their delivery. “Just… needed a minute.” 

Despite her shaky reassurances, he didn’t let her go, but slowly rose and helped her sit back onto her mattress. 

“Did Y’shtola and Ryne have anything to offer you, beyond the generally accepted wisdom of rest?” he asked quietly, his eyes taking in every detail of her form. Though he had no talent for seeing or sensing aether, he knew that whatever was ailing her was no normal malady. The shuttering into stillness worried him, almost as if she were turning to stone… or light.

Cassandra shook her head, dashing his hopes for some kind of temporary remedy. Her head was downcast, ashamed, and it pricked at him to see it, as if her having to absorb the aether of the lightwardens was somehow her fault. Her eyes turned forlornly to the closed window, and she shuddered. 

“Worried about being alone?” he asked quietly, and she nodded. “Would you like me to stay?”

Her eyes met his then, hope warring with something else in them. 

“It’s no imposition,” he tried to reassure her. 

“But what would…” she trailed off, then hung her head. Was she thinking of their friends, or the other residents? She’d sacrifice sleep and comfort for the sake of some measly gossip?

“What will they think of you, or me?” he wondered aloud, lips curving wickedly. “I expect something unseemly, but I’ve heard stranger rumors circling about the Exarch and they still love him all the same, don’t they? Now, move over, there’s plenty of space on that bed, unless you’d rather I drag over one of those uncomfortable looking stools.”

She blinked owlishly at him, but immediately moved to scoot over in the bed before he surmised she’d even fully comprehended what he’d said. How like her, to acquiesce to a request from someone else without taking the time to consider if it was an imposition to herself first. He preferred not to weaponize her kindness, but in this case, it was for her sake after all.

He shrugged off his coat, leaned his gunblade against the bed and removed his boots with practiced ease before sliding onto the covers, moving to sit against the headboard near the edge so that she had nearly the entire space to herself. Despite that, she chose to curl up next to him, hands tucked against her chest and head bowed near his thigh. Surprising no one, she fell asleep nearly instantly. 

Thancred supposed this was good for him, as well: he still wasn’t fully recovered from the dire tricks he’d used to fight off Ran’jit’s onslaught. Despite Cassandra’s and the other Scions’ efforts, he needed rest himself, and this was a good opportunity as any. A quiet room, relaxing company, and nothing to do but get the rest he was prescribed. No distractions. 

Except, of course, for the rather large distraction in the form of the woman curled up next to him. He wasn’t surprised that after a bit of time, she’d scooted closer to him in her sleep, and finally giving in to both her and the pesky rest he knew he needed, he slipped down into the bed and allowed himself to press his shoulder downward so she could rest against it, as he knew she would unconsciously seek it out eventually. The woman was a cuddler. 

He should have expected that during the night she’d managed to worm her way under his arm and press her cheek to his chest. He’d nearly shot up at the feeling of her nuzzling; he didn’t take well to being surprised as he slept, but thankfully, he’d managed to stay calm and allow her to get comfortable before he did the same. He’d slept near others often enough, but never with someone like this. It was new, certainly alarming, but not disagreeable. In fact… Feeling her close, warm, safe, settled him in an unfamiliar but welcome way. He could get used to this.

[screamsviakeyboard]

Really mixed feelings about the Garlean bit. I think there was a kernel of a good idea in the way they're handling Garlemald. The concept of the Evil Empire of Evil's ideology and propaganda not vanishing after it falls is quite interesting and the struggle of the Good Guys trying to help these kind of deranged people has a lot of opportunity for good stories.

I even think the angle they chose is a good one, the idea that we're giving them everything but the autonomy they need is interesting and it raises really cool questions about the nature of intervention and the rights a people should still have before an outside force, even if that force is benevolent and necessary for the people's survival. It also provides an opportunity for the twins to bump up against a significant challenge. It's really fertile ground!

That being said, the execution felt practically infantilizing. The stupid baby racists are going to throw a temper tantrum and LITERALLY DOOM THE WORLD if we don't give them the chance to feel like big boys. If we didn't have a head of state there to give them a transparently pity offer of trade then we were fucked, and even with that one of them still ran off like an angry child to go get killed by one of the robots HE EXPLICITLY REFUSED TO LET THE EORZEANS EXTERMINATE FOR HIM. These guys aren't capable leaders or sympathetic characters, they're idiot manchildren and I hate them. Worse than that, they're idiot manchildren I HAVE to deal with in order to fight the cool void guy, so the whole time I'm watching them whine and complain at us for wiping their asses too well I'm impatiently waiting to actually progress the plot.

I think that the better way to handle this would have been to introduce an actually competent Garlean in charge. Someone who occupied a position of power prior to the fall and consequently kept the trust of the survivors afterwards. They shouldn't like us--we're savages and their enemy--but they should be used to dealing with things they don't like. You don't rise in the empire if you can't make the best out of a shitty situation. They should be conniving, pragmatic, and maybe a little evil, but that should mean that above all else they're aware of their position. They know we have them in a choke-hold, even if we're not squeezing. They should be trying to extract everything they can from our kindness while that lasts, and at the same time taking every measure they can to ensure Garlemald will survive when our kindness runs out.

This is just fantasy now, of course, but I think a character like that would have provided much needed agency to Garlemald's side, and could have used Jullus as an excellent foil. At the same time, it could offer good character development as we see a real Garlean asshole come to terms not only with the fall of the empire but the impossibility of its restoration and the need to continue on regardless. With proper development over the 6.X patches, I think it wouldn't have felt unnatural for this character to come to a begrudging acceptance of the WoL as a force of good, even if that good is too chaotic for their taste.

If you want to get crazy with it, I think they could even have been interesting with the twins. If this is a savvy real politik type, then they would immediately have to recognize that those two are the most powerful political force currently in action. The Scion's political actions have largely been shaped and spearheaded by Alphinaud and the result of this has been the complete transformation of the Eorzean alliance and the world order at large. Previously unthinkable alliances have been forged and the Empire's been beaten back at every turn because of them (and the WoL). But, at the same time, they're so stupidly idealistic. They're building a powderkeg of dreams and it's only a matter of time before they don't send us after a spark in time and the whole thing goes up in flames.

With proper work, this character could present a coherent philosophical challenge to them. And I think the most interesting result would be if both sides managed to temper the other instead of a complete defeat. This Garlean character can poke holes in them, point out how volatile things are, how likely the alliance is to resort to violence once resources become scarce, and Alphinaud and Alisae can say, "you may be right, so let's fix that." And the result can be the beginning of working towards a stable and united Hydaelyn, not just because all the leaders are best friends with the most important white haired people in the world but because they created ways to solve their inevitable disputes peacefully.

IDK, this sort of got away from me. I just wanted to talk about my issues with the Garlemald bit and instead I've invented a character that will never exist, but I think they'd be cool. Maybe at least they help illustrate some of the missed opportunities.

[bnuuywol]

"You're okay. You've got to be okay. You've got to be. You're okay. Please. Please be okay." (for the angst asks!)

This is a good one. It took me a hot minute to decide where this could go in their timeline, and ultimately I decided to veer off in the whump!WoL direction during the post-Stormblood era. Please enjoy! <3 And thankie for sending!!

More angst prompts here 💕

Even with Ala Mhigo liberated, Gyr Abania was still wrought with issues. Phoenyx and Thancred, at the behest of the Eorzean Alliance, took on some tasks concerning the border nearest to Garlemald. As threat of all out war loomed over the land once more, they found more and more parties of soldiers lurking around. The two were chosen for the mission due to their specific skillsets that would allow for a quick, clean elimination of the threat.

As capable as they both were, however, neither were immune to surprises. This particular group of Garlean soldiers caught them unaware. Despite this, they seemed to be holding their own, having almost taken down the whole party. But Phoenyx just did not see the one soldier behind him in time. The thin blade pierced his lower back and pushed through his abdomen. He bit back his vocal reaction. Fuck, he thought. That's exactly what I need right now... Once the soldier yanked the blade back out of him, Phoenyx fought through the pain and dealt with him swiftly. Then he pressed a hand to his side to suppress as much of the bleeding as he could, even though he couldn't do much about the entrance wound in his back.

Thancred finished dealing with hostiles of his own before turning his attention back to his boyfriend, immediately noticing the color had drained from his face. "Are you alright?" At the sound of his voice, Phoenyx shifted his gaze from the wound to his face. "Yeah. They caught me off guard, is all. It's not that bad." Despite how truthful his tone seemed to be, Thancred wasn't quite certain he believed him. Phoenyx had a bad habit of minimizing his own hardships, and from that distance with how dark his clothing was, he couldn't really tell for himself. He eyed him with concern. "If you're sure." Phoenyx nodded. "We should keep moving. There may be more lying in wait."

He only made it a couple steps before falling to his knees, breathing heavily. Thancred rushed forward, and as he got close he was finally able to see just how much blood was on his hand from holding it over the wound. "Let me see." He requested firmly. Phoenyx pulled his hand away and Thancred unbuttoned the bottom half of his shirt to get a better view of the injury. Seeing how deep it looked, he gently moved him to get a view of his back, the wet rip in his jacket confirming his suspicions. "Not that bad my arse, Phoenyx, this literally goes through you." He said, frustration and concern cutting through his tone. Thancred ripped a wide piece of cloth off the fabric hanging from his belt to wrap around his abdomen as a makeshift tourniquet. "I've had worse." Phoenyx remarked, then he groaned as Thancred tied off the cloth, the pressure making his nerves sting. "Even so, we need to get you back to Porto Praetoria. It's nothing a healer can't fix but the longer it is until you get to one, the worse it'll get." He draped Phoenyx's arm around his shoulders then heaved him off the ground. "Can you walk?" "With your help, yes."

Thancred cursed his inability to use teleportation magicks, as they were a considerable distance away from Porto Praetoria. Sure, a few small villages were closer, but with the fragile state of political affairs in Gyr Abania presently, he didn't trust people he wasn't acquainted with to be anywhere near the Warrior of Light while he was injured. Twelve forbid someone chose to exploit his vulnerability. But after what must have been about an hour of trekking, it was looking like they may not have a choice. As they walked, Phoenyx only grew weaker, his breath fast and shallow, his abnormally pale skin slick with sweat. As he lost more blood his brain fogged.

One moment they were walking slowly, the next he passed out completely. Thancred tried to support his weight as he went down, panic spreading through his nerves. "Nyx? Stay with me." He cupped his cheek in his hand, trying to rouse him awake again. "You're okay. You've got to be okay. You've got to be. You're okay. Please. Please be okay." He pleaded quietly. "You didn't survive false gods, dragons, and Ascians just to fall to a Garlean foot soldier. Wake up!"

Refusing to give up on him or let his emotions get in the way, Thancred decided to attempt to carry him the rest of the way. He hauled his boyfriend into his arms and rose back to standing, pushing forward with all his strength. His life depended on it. Fortunately, their luck took a turn for the better. Resistance scouts were stationed nearby their present location and spotted Thancred with the Warrior of Light in his arms. They ran out to meet him. Relief flooded his face as they approached. "What happened?" asked the first one to arrive. "Explanations can wait. He needs a healer immediately. Do you have one in your party?" "Aye. Our camp is a few minutes up the road. Come, I'll lead the way."

It took a few hours after the healer tended to his wound for Phoenyx to come to again. It was late in the evening by that point. The scouts that weren't keeping watch had long since fallen asleep, leaving Thancred awake on his own, staring into the flickering flames of the hearth and holding Phoenyx's hand. The Warrior of Light pulled himself into a sitting position, groaning from how stiff and sore he felt, but feeling otherwise alright. "Would it kill you to actually rest after suffering a life threatening altercation for once?" Thancred turned towards him. "I..." Phoenyx went to argue, but the defiance died as he realized how scary that must have been for him. "Sorry." Thancred sighed, the misplaced anger quickly devolving into relief at seeing him back to normal health. "It's not your fault." He pulled his partner into a tight embrace. Phoenyx relaxed into his touch. "Thank you." "For?" "Bringing me to safety." A gentle smile pulled at Thancred's lips. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Of course, darling. It's not often I get to save you rather than the other way around." Phoenyx chuckled gently. "Ah. Yes. I've been keeping score." "Oh, have you now?" "You're very far behind. I'll have to come up with more creative ways to endanger myself so you can catch up." "Don't you dare." "I only jest. I'm sure the world will come up with plenty of other life threatening scenarios for me on its own and you'll have ample opportunity." Phoenyx smiled. "So long as you remember that I care not. You mean the world to me regardless. I'd save you a thousand times over." Thancred's heart filled with content and he rested his head on top of his, letting his eyes shut. "As would I."

[ashes-writing]

chaos | csi miami ; r.wolfe

Authors Note: So I just kind of went ham with this one. It's not spicy, it's not smut but it's... whew. To set the tone here, throw on Go F*ck Yourself by Two Feet or pretty much any Hozier song, but most particularly, It Will Come Back. I uh.. I'd apologize for this little trippy thing I've done but honestly, am not sorry or ashamed. I watched a rerun recently with Ryan in it and yeah.. Here we are.

Also, this is written for @justmeandanoverdrive because they asked about this like... forever ago and today, the stars aligned and inspiration struck.

Warnings: Nothing, tbh. This one is family friendly. I mean despite what I feel is a very borderline kinda... heat? Sexual tension, yeah.. That's the only real warning. Maybe a swear here and there too.

Tag List: So ah.. there's nobody on any of my tag lists. So no tags aside from @justmeandanoverdrive because this was kind of something they asked for way back when.

Other Stuff: tag list doc | pinned - the rules and stuff

“The heat is out again.” the sound of her voice, a quiet and melodic drawl he could listen to all day if given the choice, that’s what drew him out of his own mind and the neat stacks of paperwork lining the desk in front of him. He glanced over at her because he thought she was talking to him at first and this presented a whole other set of challenges for him because now he had to try not to stare too long or too hard.

Kind of hard when she had her hair piled up on her head and she was holding a water bottle to the back of her neck and all Ryan could think about was the way it would feel to dance his lips over the graceful delicate slope of skin there. Skin that looked too soft. That maybe he was dying to touch.

He shifted in his seat and she glanced up from the machine she stood in front of and for a good six seconds, they locked eyes. When her tongue dragged the outline of peach colored lips it was all Ryan could do to keep any manner of unholy noises from leaving his mouth because if that happened, he’d be fucked.

Delko was in the room with them and Delko absolutely loved to tease and rail him about his newest crush on their newest lab assistant. A crush that in the short span of two months had already made him almost fall up a flight of stairs, nearly pour burning hot coffee all over his hand when she walked into the break room in a new skirt and heels that were definitely nothing short of a distraction. A crush that constantly had him either saying the wrong thing or worse, rendering him totally incapable of any kind of speech at all on the rare occasion she did have a reason to speak to him.

The stare off continued between them and when he saw her do it, he thought he might have imagined it at first.. The way pouty lips curved upward into this little smirk.. The wink directly following.

Then she was looking down again, scowling at the machine in front of her as it began to beep obnoxiously. “Stupid freaking printer, come on…” she whined out loud.

Eric caught sight of him watching her and he nearly doubled over laughing. Until he couldn’t hold it in any longer and he wandered over. Pausing by Ryan’s desk as he nodded to her turned back.

“You’ve got it bad man. So bad. I didn’t think it was possible but I think you might have it worse than me when I first met Calleigh.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. Grumbled under his breath and then reminded Eric about the whole fiasco with Sam. Or worse, when he actively tried to pursue Natalia.

Eric glanced from her back to his co-worker. “I dunno man. You haven’t seen the way she looks at you when you’re not looking. You didn’t see her nearly choke on water when we were out at the pier and she happened to be there on her day off and  you dove in to grab the evidence the perp threw in. When you took off your shirt, man..” Eric chuckled, shaking his head and Ryan gaped, mouth opening and closing.

If Eric weren’t a known joker Ryan would’ve allowed himself a sliver of hope. But Eric was a known joker and hope wasn’t a luxury Ryan Wolfe felt he could afford.

“I’m gonna get back to my area. Stop staring and do something, Wolfe.. For fucks sake. Watching you both watch each other is giving the rest of us some serious blue balls and frustration.”

Eric wandered away and she made her way back towards her desk. Ryan stood because he’d been about to go over and grab some papers he left out on that side of the room earlier and what happened as a result was the two of them meeting in the middle.

Body to body, with her tilting her head a little to look up at him, black framed glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose until she pushed them back up into place. “Sorry.” her tone was quiet, just a notch above a whisper.

That melodic drawl he could fucking hear in his dreams.

“It’s okay.” he answered, swallowing down a lump in his throat as he felt himself slipping. Getting lost in the depth of her eyes. Noting how up close, they seemed to shift colors depending on the lighting.

Or maybe that was just him and he was just a giant freaking sap. Either way.

They went to step away but it didn’t work, they wound up stepping close all over again. Seconds of sheepish laughter died away and they were both back to the staring. Until she finally shattered the crackling tension in the air all around them when she spoke up. “Baby blue makes your eyes pop.” she observed before turning on black stiletto heels and walking back across the room to her own desk.

Ryan’s brow raised because he happened to be wearing a white button up today. Then it hit him. He had been wearing the baby blue one the day before. And when that hit him, his concentration was absolutely fucking shot for the rest of the day.

Gone. Out a window.

–

There were exactly fifteen minutes left on the clock. It was Friday. It had been a reasonably slow day. Almost languid in terms of both actual crimes to investigate and the heat waiting outside the precinct.

The team had gone out on a last minute call and this left her all alone in the office. Given that she was able to finally control the music playing while she tried to focus on filing the rest of the paperwork and lab reports that needed to go out by that coming Monday, she had Hozier playing quietly.

The heels of death sat abandoned by the desk she hardly sat at because she liked to roam. Work literally anywhere but the desk assigned to her. She’d never been very good at being still. Or patience.

And she liked to work in the general vicinity of a certain CSI.

She definitely enjoyed the view.

Work Song gave way to It Will Come Back and under her breath, she hummed along. Slamming shut the vanilla colored folder in front of her labeled AUTOPSY as she took a deep breath and leaned her head back against the drawer to the desk she sat on the floor in front of.

“You have a desk, woman.” Eric teased gently. She glanced up and shrugged. Blowing at errant strands of hair as it flopped back down into her eye for the millionth time in a day.

Next time she thought she wanted bangs, she thought to herself, the answer is no.. no she didn’t.

“Who put on Hozier?”

The question came from Natalia and when she raised her hand without looking up at the dark haired woman, Calleigh and Natalia shared a look.

If the staring and the awkwardness around each other wasn’t blinding and obvious that their new girl was clearly perfect for Ryan, the fact that they both had similar tastes in music and food was just extra proof.

It Will Come Back faded out to River by Bishop Briggs and she could feel the eyes of her female coworkers' eyes fix on her as she continued to file paperwork while singing along. She laid down her pen and looked up.

And almost as if he’d been summoned by God himself, Ryan Wolfe walked in the door of the room. And he glanced around at the various stacks and piles of paperwork spread here and there, the discarded shoes just beside his own feet discarded beside a perfectly functional desk that for whatever reason she seemed absolutely hell bent on not using.. He was staring again.

Biting his lip as he studied her intently. Eyes locked on every single twirl the strand of hair around her fingertip made as she twisted it around.

A mint bubble popped against plump lips almost obnoxiously, shattering the daze he found himself in and without anything else to say, he pointed out what Eric had no less than ten minutes prior before he finally came up. “You have a perfectly good desk.”

“Chaos.” she responded with another one of those little smiles and for the second time, a wink. We Fell in Love in October started to play and she pulled herself off the floor, gathering her papers and the folders as she made her way over to the big table in the middle of the room.

The one closest to his desk.

Eric was giving him that look again. The one that screamed “Do something now or so help me fucking God.”

But all Ryan could do was glance over at her, watch her as she placed papers into folders and stacked the folders neatly on top of each other. A hand on the back of his neck as he tried and failed at finding a way to proceed next..

–

He was almost to his car at the end of his shift when he felt a tap to his shoulder and he turned around. She stood there, one hand on her hip and the other tangled in her hair. Her head tilted just a little. Enough that his eyes zeroed in on that graceful curve formed by neck meeting shoulder and he gulped because suddenly, all the oxygen in his brain was flowing downwards, gathering in his cock instead.

The absolute last place it needed to go. He hadn’t had one of these awkward boner situations since he was at least seventeen and now that it was happening again, he wanted to kick himself.

She never should’ve gotten down beneath his skin this much. But he tried to put a stop to it so many times. Too many times.

“Why don’t you ever come out for drinks with everyone else?”

Ryan’s mouth opened and closed.

“It’s ah.. Not really my thing.”

She pouted a little and he started to object, but he figured this was just another of their bizarre little run ins and she’d get tired which meant she’d walk away. To his surprise, she didn’t.

Instead, she studied him for a few seconds. “What is your thing?” she asked just when the silence was thick enough to choke.

“I..” Ryan stammered, his brain promptly flat-lining.

“Because we can do whatever it is.” she gave him this cute little pleading look. That soft and delicate hand gripped his wrist just above the watch he’d gotten himself two years ago as a treat for kicking his gambling habit.

His eyes settled on the way her hand circled his wrist for a second or two and he floundered for words. Anything.

Her stomach growled and he remembered that he hadn’t seen her eat anything other than a Kind energy bar earlier. “Hungry?.” He questioned.

She giggled a little. Nodded in agreement. “So you’ll take me somewhere with food, hm?” she gave him this cute little pleading look as she dangled a set of keys at him. “You drive. I’m still um.. Not really used to traffic out here. Got lost trying to go back to my apartment last week.”

He took the keys after seeing the headlights on a Challenger Hellcat flash in the same row he was parked on. “Okay.” he finally mumbled. As he reached to take the keys, she closed his hand around his.

And her hand lingered there.

“I’m flirting with you, Ryan.” she muttered, a voice filled with honey. Sultrier. It was almost as if the scenario had been ripped right out of his dreams but he’d die before admitting it. Heat lightning lit up the sky for a second or two and Ryan cleared his throat. “Wait..” he muttered, the words he’d been about to say dying on the way to leave his mouth. He caught up to her, stopping her in front of the passenger door of her car. Stepping closer, the realization of just how much shorter than him she happened to be taking over and leaving him a little stunned for a few seconds because while he’d noticed absolutely everything about her before.. He hadn’t noticed just how much shorter she happened to be.

Their bodies brushed against each other and her back met the exterior of the car as she bit her lip and gazed up at him, waiting.

Time felt frozen.

Everything going on around them seemed to melt away, right along with her inhibitions and she knew exactly what she wanted to do. She knew she wasn’t going to settle for anything less than having him all to herself.

She reached up and threaded her finger beneath his tie, tilting her head to look up at him.

More heat lightning crackled overhead, lighting up the sky in a brilliantly colored jagged streak. “I can stop.. If it bothers you, I mean.” she mumbled quietly after having enough time to think and coming to the conclusion that maybe she’d been just a little more forward than whatever he might be used to.

“No,no. No.” Ryan’s words tumbled out on top of each other. The shock was giving way to quite the healthy rush. She leaned against him just a little, glancing up. “Can we get somewhere with food? I’m starving and these heels are kind of killing my feet.”

He chuckled and reached behind her, pulling her closer to him and away from the door so that he could find the handle and open it. She slipped down into the passenger seat and me made his way around, getting into the driver seat. As the car roared to life, so did her radio and unsurprisingly enough, Hozier was playing again.

Ryan chuckled. “I thought this guy was an acquired taste. That’s what Eric tells me every time I ride with him and try to listen to it.”

“And he calls himself the sexy one. Weird.” she giggled as she said it, locking eyes with him for a second or two as he pulled out of the parking spot, an arm behind her headrest as he looked behind him to make sure nothing was coming.

The drive to the diner he usually grabbed food at on his way back to his place was a quiet one. Her humming softly along with the radio. Him covertly watching her out of the corner of his eye while still trying to process the whole awe at what was happening.

This was one of those rare cases were being wrong about something felt so,so,so good.

–

“This is you.” she pouted as Ryan brought her car to a stop beside the spot he’d parked his own in. He got out and so did she, making her way around the front of her car until they stood beside his vehicle. “I had a great time.” he muttered, stepping close all over again. Just enough that their bodies were touching again.

It’d been like that all night long. Little touches. Accidental bumps against each other. Holding his hand over the table. Leaning against him when they went for a walk around the block the diner was located on just for the randomness of it.

She rose up, gripping his tie. His hands settled on her hips and he pulled her up a little more, his mouth inching in, closing against velvet soft pouty lips as her arms raised and wrapped around his neck and she melted against him entirely. They pulled apart after a kiss so long it felt like they were breathing for each other at the end of it and she licked swollen lips. “The night doesn’t have to be over, Ryan..” she mumbled quietly, almost immediately blushing under the dim glow of the overhead light closest to them.

“It doesn’t, hm?” he questioned, his hand skimming up and down her back as he gazed down at her.

[redmoonwanderer]

Lessons

Prompt: Grand companies Wondrous Tails Masterpost

Summary: Taking the eager but inexperienced recruits out for a mission is never easy, and usually, it’s the Warrior of Light who pays the prize. Characters: WoL OC, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Thancred Waters

________

Alphinaud doesn’t lift his eyes from the book he’s reading when he hears the door to Rising Stones open. The rhythm of the steps is familiar enough, even if the clanking of the armor is a rarer thing to hear.

It’s when he picks up on the dragging of metal (that he knows to be a larger-than-should-be-legal sword) against the stone floor that he does look up, because that’s almost unheard of as the warrior has respect for his weapons.

He nearly slams the book on the table in his rush to get up when he sees Qhol’a. “By the Twelve, are you alright?!”

The large sword Qhol’a placed against the wall, perhaps too tired to carry it any further, falls down, almost as if it’s just as tired as its owner. The sound gets the attention of a few others present, and their faces reflect Alphinaud’s words, somewhat worried by whatever new terror might have found their star this time.

To say Qhol’a looks tired and beaten is an underestimation. He looks exhausted. He looks like someone dragged him through the streets by his feet before tossing him into a room full of hungry beasts. Yet still, he waves his hand to say he’s alright (to the relief of all, as it is a sign of “no apocalyptic threats”, and people return to their conversations), but the way he sits heavily by the table with Alphinaud, like he’s literally carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders once more, says otherwise.

“What happened?” Alphinaud asks, unsure as to what could possibly get the experienced Warrior of Light, master of many a trade, into such a condition.

Qhol’a takes out a soul crystal, and with a whoosh, the familiar, more comfortable-looking dark leathers of a mage replace the black-and-red heavy armor. “I visited Maelstrom, took three recruits for a mission to see how they’d fare,” he says, voice low and gravely like he’d just woken up.

“Oh,” Alphinaud says quietly. “The healer didn’t heal, I take it?”

Qhol’a banging his head against his arms on the table is all the answer he needs.

Feeling some of his worry fade away knowing that their friend hadn’t encoutered something far worse, Alphinaud offers a small, empathetic smile. “Would you perhaps like something to eat? After I see to your wounds, of course.”

The warrior waves his hand lazily in reply that he reads as a yes, a gesture that somehow reminds him of his sister. He promises to be back in a moment, and heads to F’lhaminn to ask for something to eat and drink for their friend. When he hears the main door open again, he glances over his shoulder to see Thancred walk in, considerably less beaten than Qhol’a.

When the Hyur walks past the table, he doesn’t take much notice at first, but then stops to take a second look at the Miqo’te. “What herd of angry beasts did you anger?” he asks, brows rised.

Alphinaud takes the tray F’lhaminn offers – mostly leftovers from the meal earlier – and walks back to the table. “Some green adventurers merely thought that our friend wasn’t in need of healing,” he replies for Qhol’a, who doesn’t seen to be in mood for words at the present.

“The Company recruits? That doesn’t spell anything good, even for someone on my level, if the rumors are to be believed,” Thancred says, taking a seat by the same table.

“Perhaps we should offer some lessons,” Alphinaud says as he begins to channel his healing into Qhol’a, who seems to relax some as the pain washes away and any of the lingering injuries fade.

“I thought that was a job for our friend, here,” Thrancred replies, picking an apple from the plate before anyone can stop him. But since Qhol’a doesn’t even attempt to do so, it seems he doesn’t mind much.

“Most joined because they were inspired by his deeds. It would not surprise me if they are too busy trying to impress him to take any lessons to heart.” Alphinaud lowers his arms and gives Qhol’a a once-over. He seems better, now, if only in need of a nap. The Miqo’te nods in thanks before he straightens on his seat and begins to enjoy the food, apparently content on not adding his opinion in the mix (though this was hardly the first time something similar had happened, so they had an idea).

“Well,” Thancred leans forward on the table, “if he asks me nicely, I might even consider it.”

Qhol’a glances at him, but his expression betrays nothing. Alphinaud has a feeling he will not be begging.

“At any rate, I would suggest you take proper time to rest and recover before you venture out with the recruits again,” the Elezen says. He knows Qhol’a won’t need much time at all, but this is his Medically Given Permission to say no should they come knocking the very next day.

Qhol’a finishes his drink and places the empty mug on the table, pausing. His face is serious as he stares ahead, and somehow, when he slowly nods, Alphinaud has a feeling he’ll be finding a reason to head to the Far East for a while sooner rather than later.

Perhaps for the best.

[egoiistas]

poison in the water

ao3

ffxiv - wolcred; named f!wol rated: e for cursing, sex, nonexplicit tho words: 1803

Freshly blessed again with Hydaelyn’s light, this is her chosen’s darkest hour. 

--

“Did you find her? Did you find Minfilia?” The words ring and echo like the tolls of a bell. 

Of course Bijou found Minfilia. Once put to the task, the Warrior of Light finds it hard for her to fail - be it by luck or strength or willpower. Within the Antitower, she transcended her very existence to find their missing Antecedent - their missing friend. What should she find but the Mothercrystal speaking through her - Minfilia all but gone. 

The task of reaching the aetherial sea via the Antitower is an easier task than having to actually explain what transpired. By the end of her tale, a gloom cast over the already dark, dank cave of Matoya. Yet, most harrowing of all is Alphinaud’s reaction as he came to realize Minfilia’s fate after all the others - for once sounding like a child of his years. 

It is painful seeing him lose and grieve again after so much has happened to him, but Bijou’s eyes are unable to stay with Alphinaud. Thancred’s silence is so loud; his stillness is so distracting in the wake of news he least wanted to hear. She can hardly say anything else herself. 

Once Krile and Y’shtola take their leave, Thancred follows suit - unprompted and deaf to Alphinaud’s beckoning. The young elezen says to himself how wrong it all is. 

As she has for several moons now, she comforts him with a hand over the crown of his head. She looks remorseful at his youth splintering from the cruelty of this world. “Don’t take it personally. He’s a lot on his mind.” 

Alphinaud visibly slumps, head turning downcast. “Will you go after him? I’m afraid that if I were… I would only make it worse.” She nods her head. What he doesn’t say is, he doesn’t know yet how Thancred has taken the failure of the Crystal Braves, how much could have been averted if not for his folly and the hypothetical scenario of would they even be in this situation if not for his lofty ideals. 

Bijou lets her hand slide down his face and cradle his jaw as she walks away until her touch is removed. She exits the cave, immediately surprised that Thancred is not within eyeshot. He couldn’t have gone far; the man can’t even teleport.

In spite of this, she finds him several yalms away at the ruins of a Sharlayan house. Only a curved wall remains from one side, the fallen bricks obliterated into dust by weapon or weather. Cabinets and dressers remain amongst the rubble, and so does he. 

Bijou sighs. “You can’t just walk away like that.” 

Thancred doesn’t budge. He remains selectively deaf. 

Her feet cross the parameters of this home that was probably well loved at some point. She can’t help indulge her curiosity as her eyes take it in. She’s within earshot when she says something again. “I know it’s difficult-”

“You know nothing,” he interrupts with a sudden turn and she gasps. 

Bijou gathers herself from her momentary lapse, tucking away any emotion into overstuffed pockets of her mind. Her face falls to neutrality with high alert so she won’t be caught unawares again. “I know you’re grieving, Thancred, but please, trust-” 

“Trust nothing,” he spits out. Half his face is covered from the eyepatch and his overgrown hair but his rage radiates without difficulty. 

“How could we have expected-”

“You had one job and one job only and it was to get Minfilia safely out.” He looks to the ground as he speaks, not to her, as if some part of him is embarrassed for what he’s saying. “That’s why I stayed behind. So she could get out, not me!” 

She can feel the cracks though. The facade isn’t as tough as it used to be, not with everything in recent memory, not when he speaks of the same hurts that ail her. She relies on it regardless if she hopes to get through this with a semblance of sanity. 

“Thanc-” 

He lunges at her, large arms encapsulating her smaller shoulders. He shakes her once, twice. “What’s the purpose of you, huh? What’s the point if you can’t even save her?” 

At some point later, she’ll realize he’s talking about himself, but stuck in a chasm of unaddressed grief, she doesn’t know that now. 

He lets her shake her in his anger. It’s what she expected from Lord Edmont, or Artoirel, even Emmelain, in which she never got: the turmoil, the failure, to be expressed and showcase her failures. She expected Aymeric to impress upon her the gravity of his loss for Haurchefant and Estinien, but he sees her with lens too rose-colored. The thought of Estinien’s possessed body in control of the selfsame wyrm that scorched his innocence; she could barely stand it.  And Ysayle, who but Alphinaud and herself, mourns for her? Who will express their anger for her sacrifice to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn or at the very least, the Warrior of Light? Perhaps she lets him shove her into the only wall standing, air escaping from her lungs, because she knows it’s her fault and no one has wanted to tell her otherwise. 

“Thancred.” His name doesn’t waver out of her lips, to her surprise. 

“Warriors of Light are created a dime a dozen,” he seethes the words right in her face, glaring down at her with all his sorrow. If he were to look at her too, he’d see she is the only one who understands him. “But Minfilia was singular. She’s irreplaceable.” 

She knows. “Thancred, I know.” 

Again, he doesn’t hear her. He somehow gets impossibly closer, lips pulled back like a beast and growls, “I never want to see you or that cunt of a boy again.” 

Bijou drops to the ground, not realizing he had been holding her up. Thancred walks away, pebbles crunching underfoot. She draws her spear and lances it with practiced speed and precision to strike in between his legs mid-stride. “Don’t you fucking leave.” 

Somehow, he’s forgotten who she was, what she’s done, and is oblivious to what has happened in his absence. She wants more of his anger and if he’s willing to dole it out to her in his unjustified sentiments, then she will draw it out.

Her weaponized message is received. He stops in his tracks and turns around, conscious of the dragoon weapon. 

“Perhaps if you were the Warrior of Light, then you could have saved her right?”

His eye squints and he grimaces. “What did you say?” and it’s the softest volume she’s heard him this entire conversation. 

She doesn’t stop. “Maybe you should have wondered why you’re not, because at it stands, you can’t even manipulate aether.” 

He stomps over, bringing a maelstrom of anger with him. “Shut your mouth!” 

“ You are not the only one grieving. You do not own that sentiment as if it belongs only to you.” 

He grabs his forehead in frustration. “By the Twelve, Bijou-” 

“No!” she shouts and subsequently smacks his hand out of his face. He will look at her.

Reaching the brim of her dam, it flows over. She loses control of what had remained staunchly in place since the bloody banquet. It doesn’t have a name but it no longer serves her. Her hands swipe away at her eyes with indignation, tears manifesting without her consent. “Do you think you’re the only one hurting?” Bijou says it so loud that it throws her off guard, it rasps at the edges of her throat. 

“Do you know what F'lhaminn said to me - when I told her Minfilia was missing?” Her breathing is loud in her ears, her pulse pounding out of rhythm. “‘ How could you let that happen? ’ she said to me.” Her hands wipe at her face again in frustration. She knows not if he’s listening but there is no quelling the torrent of her emotions, finally free to burst out of her. “So much has happened…” she says out loud, trying to calm her breathing. “The banquet happened and then so much .” 

An embrace of strong arms surrounds her. Her eyes open, least expecting a hug from Thancred, but instead of comfort, she only feels ire. Her arms shove him away and he doesn’t exclaim for a reason or protest. 

“Nay,” she sniffs. “I want not your pity.”

“Pity is what you’ll get looking pitiful.”

“I don’t want it!” she repeats. 

“Then what do you want?” 

Without a moment to spare, she responds, “Your anger.” Her nails scratch the front of his torso over his clothes and he hisses. “Your ire.” She looks up to him with turquoise eyes, innocent as if she was nobody to the world. “Share with me your grief, because I wish to drown in mine, but not alone.”

Her eyes catch the moment his hands ball up into fists and then loosen. His fingertips brush under the bottom hem of her top, just above her hips bones. He digs his nails in for purchase on her skin and slams her back to the wall. She grunts, wincing with one eye shut, but she’s been manhandled worse. She finds the glint of understanding in his one eye. 

He turns her around and pulls her hips back, relieving her of her trouser as uncouth as fucking atop the rubble of ruined home. 

He hurts. She is not slick, there have been no loving touches from Elezen hands, and with certainty, there is no consideration for her as he dives into her like a common whore. He pummels into her with no love, no warmth. Her palms begin to scrape against the rough exterior of the Sharlayan brick. He does not come close to the affection Haurchefant showered her, the fill of his girth, and she can’t help but compare with each time the tip of his dick hits deep within her. His ragged nails scrape down the sides of her waist to her hips, no doubt leaving angry lines as his mark. 

The speed at which his cock hardened, she can only guess what allowed him such a feat. She likes to think he’s fantasized about bending over the mighty Warrior of Light before, maybe spent a load of his seed thinking about subduing her strength to get her just like this. She can only wonder. 

“Minfilia,” he says. Her name becomes a reverent hymn on his tongue. 

She almost laughs from hysterics as he wounds her emotionally, but doing this with her, he taints her memory, his idolizing love for Minfilia. She relishes at the thought that this too will haunt him in the days to come. A tether constructed of hurt and anger and guilt.

It’s exactly as she wanted.

[okami-zero]

Okami Watches...

Okay, I need to get these new thoughts out of my head proper, or I will be upset.

If you've noticed, my last few ramblings were from a recent rewatch of Ushio & Tora, one of my favorite anime ever. First saw the OVA at... I wanna saw Arisia (a sci-fi con in the Boston area) back in the mid to late 90s, I think. Then, I heard about a reboot being done more recently (ugh 2015 REALLY?! Fucking time, man...). Okay... relatively more recent than the OG. And I LOVED IT. Brought back all the fun and action and banter I loved from the original, but then continued onward. But something occurred to me as my brain was swirling around and digesting the show after the binge, figuring out what it was I liked about Aotsuki Ushio.

Firstly, what I love about Ushio, is he is a stubborn optimist. Hope incarnate. I know the whole "gets back up when knocked down" is a shounen trope (and one many of us love), but I feel like Ushio just... takes more each time to go down, and always struggles back to his feet, teeth gritted and embodying hope itself. He gets absolutely wrecked so many times (and worse a couple times), but he gets back up. Doesn't "shrug it off", like some do. It feels more like he takes in how he was knocked down, acknowledges it and gets better, if only a little bit. He is also willing to shoulder the pain of others - even if they are not very well acquainted - to spare them the suffering. Are you a person who is suffering in some way, driven to sadness or pain? Aotsuki will do all he can to get a smile on your face and the burden off your shoulders. And the fact that he is compassionate enough to begin to realize that there are a LOT of yokai who are just as much people as humans, and they fall into all of the things I mentioned before. He has tears for his enemies, and sometimes those enemies aren't enemies for long. In one episode, there is an enraged yokai, who has been driven from his home time and time again, and has vowed to kill humans in revenge, terrorizing local villages as a preamble to moving on to larger cities, Ushio tells this yokai (a kamaitachi) to kill him instead. If it would make the yokai feel better, if it would banish his hatred, then he was willing to let the yokai kill him, so no other humans would have to die. But just as importantly so the yokai would no longer be suffering from all-consuming hate. The episode is really good, and a lot of feels. I realized that Ushio is what I wish I could be - I am stubborn, and an optimist (and sometimes both at once, like him), but he is much more self-sacrificing for others than I feel I could be, and so supportive you could build a house foundation with how much he supports everyone. And that might just be the line between reality and a shonen protag's fictional life. But I do try to be better. And then the aforementioned occurrence of thought was this:

Aotsuki Ushio is in almost every one of my OCs.

But. more specifically, in Akagi, Xano and Rav (all three of them tanks of sort, HMMM). Now, this it not to say that these three fellas are the same. They are each distinct from one another (I was even pondering mentioning Xano as one of the inspirations for Akagi on one of those "Name six characters who influenced your WoL" things; and I still might!). But they all share similar hard-headed, optimistic views, they are fiercely loyal to their friends and family, are willing to jump into danger to protect others, will give more support than Atlas on 'roids, and will drag themselves to their feet every time they are dropped.

And I really, really like that.

It resonates with me, and at least with my blorbos, they all have a little chunk of some aspect of me in them. And maybe that little chunk of an aspect is the one I share with my boy Ushio (Xano's stubborn "beat it till it stops moving" MO is probably more Tora, though. xD)

Anyway, I needed to get this thought bunny out of my brain pan to sleep, though it will probably keep hopping around for a bit in there anyway. -_- Take care, and if you have not checked out Ushio & Tora/Ushio to Tora, I HIGHLY recommend it. (I've not watched the dub yet, for nostalgia reasons, but there are some awesome VAs on the roster!)

~Okami, out.

[cinnabun-faerie]

Ok, fun idea I had: G'raha, Urianger, Thancred, Aymeric, Haurchefant, and Estinien with a short (like, a little shroter than G'raha short) Healer!S/O who normally seems like they could get blown over by a gentle breeze just deadlifting them to carry them out of danger (not using Rescue, but like the guy just hurt his leg and they need to MOVE so their S/O just picks them up and bridal carries them to safety)

A/N: So for most of them, the WoL is carrying them bridal style. For some reason, I just imagine the WoL throwing Estinien and Thancred over their shoulder

Real I beg your pardon and confusion vibes

he was ready to fight through the pain

when suddenly he doesn't feel the ground?

"I got you, Aymeric!"

he had to do a double-take

"Y/N!?"

he is tryna figure out how you are carrying him

not that he doesn't appreciate it

but how?

? ? ?

his brain freezes

"What the-"

doesn't know what happened

he just sees that he's moving from the fight

but his legs aren't the ones walking away

the man is stunned

and when you take him to safety and put him down, he just stares at you shocked

you just picked him up like it was nothing

"Y/N? What are you-"

he definitely questions what you are doing

not only did you lift him

but you did it with one hand

while you're one-handing your weapon (or using magic) to clear a path to get him to a safe place

his face is red because he is so surprised but amazed by you

he has never seen you like this before

didn't see it coming

he's confused for a second until he sees your face

your serious/focused yet beautiful face

he melts

you are just so perfect in moments like this

like you're really the love of his life, huh?

"You're staring."

"I love you."

he's a blushing mess and has the goofiest, lovey-dovey smile on his face

"What?!"

I'm sorry but

you threw him over your shoulder like a damn ragdoll

he is flabbergasted

WHERE did you get that core strength from all of a sudden!?

"I was perfectly fine-"

if your glare wasn't enough to shut him up, your next words were

"You'd be in worse shape or dead if I didn't grab you. And I don't feel like raising your ass right now, so be lucky I saved you."

pouting because he just knows that Y'shtola and Urianger are gonna be making fun of him for this every chance they get

but he knows if he complains, you might just drop him

"Thanks."

Ohh? 👀

swept off his feet by his beloved? say less

it is in that moment when he falls in love with you all over

he knows you're just doing your job to make sure he's safe but

the way of it all

it makes his heart flutter as it did when he first laid eyes on you

and there's something about the way you're holding him like this

he likes it very much

the princess treatment

[candycryptids]

4 do they have a canon mount or minions? What are their names? If applicable!

30 what was their highest point in Shadowbringers? Their lowest? What caused it? 

((Omg I’m dumb I forgot the number but:)) how do they feel about Zenos?

Ok ok I’m sorry this took a while I was gonna take screenshots but then the mog-event started and instead I raided until my wrist hurt LOL (and then I typed this all up laying in bed and kicking my feets- read more cos it just got fuckin long

So for Minions/Mounts/Names; Mochiie has adopted two little Chocobo hatchlings- a tan-brown one he named named Anne, and a deep orange one he named SallyBeth he’s not 100% sure what breeds they are, but he does end up eventually saddling Anne adventure during Heavensward and SallyBeth during Stormblood, with the two of them each having their own strengths in terms of riding. SallyBeth is a Draft sized Chocobo too tender hearted for battle and ends up being more suited to long journeys across the continent or carrying luggage/passengers/pulling the cart, if need be. Anne is a smaller sized spitfire that is most likely to kick and bite apart anything that gets in her way. Mochi is the only one that can safely handle her, though I would call them “drift compatible”. Anne has bitten several people on the ass before, and will steal gyshal greens out of your bag.

Anne is also kitted out with a special ‘trick saddle’ he had custom made during his stint on the Steppe in Stormblood, so he can put his foot up on the saddle horn for extra height-stability to fire his bow while riding. (Hence why they are “drift compatible” in order for this to work, Anne actually wears blinders to keep her focused and running steady)

(Since I haven’t thought about Shadowbringers too extensively for my two canon WoL’s, I’ll give you this weird answer from Chuusday the non-WoL, and her wife, also a non-WoL but more involved w/ the WoL, it’s complicated ik ik we haven’t nailed out what happens with the WoL yet tho;)

Lowest point was when Chuusday’s wife Talia got soul-ganked and she didn’t even get to find out about this until she was summoned to the first (eon become instant yadda yadda) a week or so later to help fight The Big Problem which was all told a hilarious situation. Because her wife was really hurt and despite being inactive by nature that was enough to send her into a guns blazing fury. I think she temporarily became a Gunbreaker she got so mad-

High point was the Yorha Raids- for all the ups and downs during, getting to explore the ruins of the city and pick through the parts for upgrades made all Chuu’s dopamine receptors light on god damn fire. Tuesday gets a body upgrade just from all the salvage. He’s lighterweight than ever. His link Pearl gets built in temporarily but ends up disabled in favor of a physical linkpearl after concerns abt being listened in on without safe action to prevent it being available.

Aaaand, “how does the WoL feel about Zenos?”

The short answer; Mochiie is obsessed with this guy for a long time. It makes him worse. It brings out the ugliness in what he would’ve considered his good traits.

The longer answer;

“I can fix him” but it’s a hard lesson. It’s a hard lesson because sometimes people can’t be fixed. Zenos becomes an all-consuming yard stick that Mochi measures himself against strength wise as he fights to become stronger, faster, wittier, he’ll think of the right things to say this time and make Zenos change for the better and recognize the humanity and feelings in others but it just keeps not working. Because Zenos doesn’t want to be fixed. He wants to be your obsession. He wants the person with the potential to be an interesting fight, a meal to be fattened and braised for hours- he wants them to be obsessed with him just as much as he is. More than he is. And Mochi falls right into that readily, of having potential to be a fight that makes his blood sing. And Mochiie thinks in his overwhelming strength is the same potential for overwhelming goodness. It is. Not easy to accept when that isn’t so.

He’s never had to run into a wall like Zenos before. He does eventually make peace with it, after beating him down as Shinryuu, baring his whole self snarling and ugly and tired to face against a terrible primal that was someone he thought worth saving. (He’d made it work with Ysayle, they found common ground before her death, even Urianger, for his turncoat moments, they found sense, things made *sense* Zenos doesn’t make any **sense**—)

Zenos isn’t here to make sense and fit into neat and tidy boxes or be some ‘fix-it’ project that can be saved lmfao.

I joke in a modern au Mochiie would write a ten+ paragraph argument, cited sources, research, hours, days of carefully picked words and picked apart drafted, revised, revised again thoughts, and Zenos would send back the equivalent of

“ur mom suck me good and hard through my shorts 🤣🤪😜” like .2 seconds later, implying he didn’t even bother to read it… and he like, really won’t.

[autumnslance]

The new Duty Support menu highlights for me one of the things that I think makes the pre-Titan Company of Heroes quest stand out as a chore compared to other, just as sloggy parts of ARR, due to how the narrative itself is structured.

I keep thinking there are 10 levels between the ARR primals--20, 30, 40--but there are actually 14 levels between Ifrit and Titan. In those 14 levels, we have 3 other dungeons just for MSQ. We think we're going to fight Ramuh at one point--but we don't yet. The rest of the time is spent searching for Lahabrea, and not understanding yet how/why he keeps several steps ahead of our investigation while getting caught up in other matters.

So by the time we get to the Company of Heroes, the WoL's already been running all over the realm on a failed search, meeting a ton of people (some of them, like Wilred, Laurentius, and Meffrid, who have important roles later) and doing a ton of things, but ultimately spinning wheels.

The Company remnants are understandably skeptical and nervous about this new hero who managed to do something that killed and maimed so many of them. They all bear scars and disabilities (mental as well as physical) from their battles with Titan and Leviathan. This is true of every Company veteran we meet (and it's more than the quest givers who reappear in the EW melee quests; Riol, the lala from the SMN quests, Gegeruju's miqo assistant, and a few scattered others). So it's no wonder they test and even annoy the WoL to be certain as they send us hither and yon.

As players however, it's frustrating after the slog already since Ifrit. I consistently forget how much there is between the Sylphs and the Company of Heroes (or was, before the ARR overhaul during the 5.x patches). And then it's only 10 levels from Titan to Garuda; the shock of the Waking Sands raid and fleeing to the lichyard; Central Coerthas (which was rough for me my first time through) and the single MSQ required dungeon in those levels, and then the Corrupted Crystals search--which to me is actually worse than the Company, as there's no darn reason for such misunderstanding from these academics when it's clear what we need. But it's a lot less story and fetch questing to deal with before facing the next primal and the escalating scene at her defeat. The goal is always clear and immediate, unlike the fruitless search for Lahabrea between Ifrit and Titan.

In the end, I think a lot of the disdain may come down to how the story itself is structured, and where some of these events and characters fall along the way. The quests the Company sends us on aren't really any worse than bouncing around Thanalan and the Twelveswood for the quests that come before, nor any worse than running about for the correct corrupted crystal afterwards--but it certainly can feel that way due to where the chain is placed.