Tumgik
#i love how imperfect all the ffxiv characters are. they all have their flaws in a very human way and it's so beautiful
noxtivagus · 2 years
Text
i am thinking about ffxiv. my head still aches but in a good way now
#🌙.rambles#[ ffxiv. ]#i really love emet-selch#i love ffxiv so much#gives me so much comfort#huh. i wanted to ramble a bit about emet but#now i can only think about the very fact that i love emet and ffxiv so much#sometimes it surprises me when i realize how much i really do love emet's character#alphinaud was my first proper fave#n though i really also liked thancred yshtola a lot#aymeric became my fave#and haurchefant#but yeah their part's mostly in heavensward so#alphinaud yeah#THEN EMET-SELCH CAME.....#he's not the prettiest nor is he the kindest but#his character's aesthetic is really just my favorite#from his names to his story#i really like sad characters huh 🤕#i love how imperfect all the ffxiv characters are. they all have their flaws in a very human way and it's so beautiful#emet's attachment to his past. the way his love for his home and for his family and friends influenced his actions#i admire his resolve. his dedication. his invincible ideals#he's such a slave to sentiment n we're so similar in that regard#color scheme isn't my no. 1 fave but def smth special to me#dark/white hair. gold eyes. other colors in his palette include red and purple#and perhaps my wol/azem is the blue that balances it out#oh how tragic the eons of loneliness twisted his kindness. the burdens he's carried alone for so long#regret. guilt. how it hurts to remember#i love tragic stories so much T_T#yk every single time emet-selch is referenced or written or wtvr in anything i just get emotional bcs he means so much to me
3 notes · View notes
illegiblewords · 5 years
Text
5 Questions for Writers!
               5 Questions for Writers                                                        
I got tagged by @kunstpause, it looked like fun so figured I’d go for it! THANKS TO KUNST!
Tagging @wouldyouliketoseemymask, @nilim, @azwoodbomb, @peregrineroad, @frostmantle, @autumnslance, @strangefellows, @redbud-tree, @nozomikei​, and @rivenroad​. No obligation to anyone but full permission to steal granted to anyone else who might like to. I’ll literally be delighted if you pick this up spontaneously and blame me as an excuse lmao.
1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?
2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?
3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?
4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?
5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?
I made long answers so have a cut!
1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?
It depends heavily on what fandom and where I am mentally, but I’ve figured out I tend to love writing angsty lameass dudes with blonde hair who are prone to doing really silly things despite taking themselves entirely too seriously. Honestly, I have a pretty huge track record at this point. Harvey Dent, Vexen, Dmitri, Lahabrea, probably more besides. Every one of them fits the right balance of lameass to angst. I like seeing them grow and find fulfillment as people and they are very very cute while still having an edge of badassery and cleverness. Also they’re funny.
Lahabrea is my favorite at the moment, and him reaching that position is an accomplishment considering how stiff the competition is in FFXIV. Loser tricked his way to the top while I was busy laughing at him.
2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?
I really, really, really love redemption arcs and people recovering from fucked up experiences. Latter case especially I love seeing characters in those situations successfully connect to the people and world around them, especially if they get to grow together with a partner. I also LOVE “hero saves the villain and villain takes it to heart”.
(You may be sensing a theme here haha.)
There are a few reason these concepts resonate with me, the first being I think they’re really hopeful, inspiring, and something I always wanted to see growing up but rarely did.
People fuck up in life. People get hurt in horrible ways that bring out the worst in them. Sometimes when that happens they dig themselves deeper and deeper into ugliness. The more a person’s bad side comes out, the more hopeless it can feel. And for mental illness especially I’ve found this can be a major issue.
Everyone makes mistakes and everyone has flaws, but I think there’s something really significant in seeing someone who has hit rock bottom, who can no longer imagine a way out, get offered a hand for support and take it. While recovery and redemption (not synonymous of course) ultimately need to be carried by the individual struggling, I really can’t understate how important it is to know in those situations that you’re not alone and someone believes in you.
I think a big part of why this theme is important to me is because mental illness, both genetic and due to trauma, is something unbelievably difficult and painful not only for the sufferer but those around them. The most mentally ill characters in fiction tend to be villains, and are disproportionately more likely to be suffering severe trauma. It frustrated me since I was pretty young to see over and over again cases where a mess could have been avoided if there was any support system in place.
Seeing compassion and connection given that kind of power means a lot to me, as does recognizing that villains are people before they are villains. It’s also very reassuring in the sense of “If this person fucked up that badly but still tried to better themself, I can too. And odds are I’m also worthy of love and compassion, even when my issues make things harder for others. I just have to keep working to improve.”
3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?
Eff.
Straight up I think I’ve written too much to have just one favorite description. It’s been a lot of years and I have hundreds of fics and I’m lame. So I’m going to put a few of my favs.
Anytime there’s a gap in block quotes it’s a different section within the same fic.
22 - A Batman Fanfic
He trembles beneath the weight of their expectations but his smile never fades flashes before cameras microphones under his nose crowds screaming questions bleeding together he answers like clockwork the District Attorney who must bring justice to us all paying tribute to false idols with golden hair and silver tongues we the people bow down in worship to this guardian of the law with words and deeds I believe in Harvey Dent so he swears in hallowed halls to bring prosperity to smite the wicked to damn the criminal with authority invested in him by Gotham’s dutiful children and himself.
***
On the precipice of victory we stand united our voice raised like a torch like a spear like a golden arrow against the beast of Lerna we are gods and monsters we are so much more than good and evil we are order in the court cauterizing corruption our head held high and mighty manifest in Harvey of the doubletalk Harvey who writes himself into the fabric of Gotham’s history Harvey who will not bend before the Roman we command you the unworthy we condemn you the unrighteous we will not be merciful and you will fall before our eyes.
***
I am Dionysus divided at the altar of Tyche O Fortuna O Fortuna give me guidance in the light of the moon you dance sacred silver dollar I see and obey the wax and wane your whim Wheel of Fortune the card I am dealt your servant your slave venerated puppet of flesh blessed is your wisdom bestowed upon I am your disciple wine-mad twisted chanting your word becomes law holy splendor against gavels desecrating your name defiant in denial extend your will through me and we shall strike the innocent enlighten the ignorant or spare them all for now.
Doppelganger - A Spider-Man Fanfic
She asks him to tell the story of himself, and like Scheherazade he begins anew each day.
As with many other things, this comparison is imperfect. The Ravencroft Institute is hardly a palace and neither of them could pass for royalty. She sits in a chair across from him over a carpet the color of sawdust. Her walls are lined with insects pinned on display. Not many butterflies, quite a few beetles. On a bookshelf Dmitri sees The Metamorphosis nestled between non-fiction texts more relevant to her profession. He thinks maybe it's an inside joke she has with herself, but doesn't say so.
He's received an invitation to call her Ashley instead of Dr. Kafka and doesn't know whether to accept. It might be to make him more comfortable. It might be something else. In her late fifties Kafka is built from delicate features, and he suspects the lines around her eyes mean they crinkle when she smiles. Short black hair, beige suit, only jewelry a pair of diamond stud earrings. Dmitri thinks she looks like a mother, but not his.
Her weight sinks into leather, darker than the floor. The couch he rests on matches. He finds himself leaning forward with one elbow propped on his thigh, the other locked in a cast suspended by his neck. There is something reassuringly empty in the gray fabric of his uniform, cheap and utilitarian and harmless. Dmitri’s wrists are thin, but then he's lost a lot of weight recently. He probably wouldn't be able to run as fast as he used to, but then circumstances would be the same anywhere he went so that really doesn't matter. His espionage days are over. His free arm is shedding in flakes but at least his skin is dry. Clean.
Dmitri no longer looks like anyone, unrecognizable to himself. A face without much in the way of edges, short nose. Weak chin. Mismatched eyes that shift between green and blue and brown and every other natural hue as moments pass into minutes pass into hours. Dark blotches interrupt his forehead and chin. They will peel in new patterns across a span of days. For the most part though, he is pale enough to trace veins where his body seems on the brink of spilling out.
It's been a while since he shaved his head and the hair that grows back is almost foreign. An unruly mess of black, blond, brunet, and red—strands as unlike in texture as anything else. The mask that made him Chameleon was white plastic embedded with hardware. Left deformed after trying to resemble others in flesh too many times, it allowed him to duplicate any face, any body he could remember. More than holograms, the most complete sensory illusions technology could perform.
Without it, Dmitri feels stripped.
When Kafka looks at him she’s receiving constant signals and missing none of them. The moments he needs to turn away, flat monosyllabic turns of phrase he chooses or resorts to or blankly accepts as his own. It doesn’t have to be this way. It isn’t comfortable and he doesn’t even trust it’s not calculated. But she’s going to notice no matter what he does at this point, and lying about it doesn’t do anyone much good. They both know why he’s here.
***
“We were poor. We worked hard to keep ourselves fed and clothed and less than an embarrassment. I probably could have worked harder. Mother,” he begins before stumbling over himself.
The story he’s telling isn’t hers. Whatever else she was, Sonya Smerdyakov wasn’t Mrs. Bates. He remembers her voice as the beginning of an echo, forever following someone else’s lead.
And so he followed her.
She was bright like a light going out. She was gentle without being kind. Her fingers were short and delicate and she touched him as little as possible. He found her attention in the way she avoided his name.
***
In the privacy of his room, Dmitri began talking to himself.
Celebrities. Teachers. Children. The flat, steady rhythm of his father’s voice. The words and intonations favored by mother. Sergei’s laugh. He lost himself in a fantasy of conversations, strode through space to mimic confidence he didn’t feel, flashed teeth in front of his mirror like other people.
Once, Dmitri raised his voice. And when his older brother came, eyebrows knitting in confusion, he found himself full of stammered explanations, hands fumbling at his elbows, stumbling over his tongue to make sense of it.
Just making stories for himself. A game with no ending. That was all.
***
He would have died in that town under the eyes of speechless parents. Dmitri remembers the confusion that took his peers when he found a job for people who spoke for themselves. They thought he might be growing up.
He could lie. And when he began he understood it would always be a game with no ending.
Dmitri lost himself in a fantasy of conversations with real people and a voice that didn’t belong to him.
They asked a stranger to sign their yearbooks without even realizing it.
And then he was eighteen, and he left to continue elsewhere.
He didn’t announce his departure.
From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic
It was probably a dream.
Lukewarm water crept down his throat, nearly making him choke. A skin pressed to his lips, insistent. He coughed, and for the first time there was moisture enough for resistance.
The face that obscured his vision was shrouded in white cloth. Cenric found he couldn’t focus on it. Mismatched eyes, one light and the other dark. Impossible to say if blindness caused the inconsistency.
A string of shells dangled from the figure’s neck, rattling gently. The skin pulled back for a moment. Careful. Patient.
It returned only once he'd grown quiet. Cenric drank for as long as he could. Impossibly, a great deal remained by the time he relinquished his hold.
There wasn't enough of him present to say thank you. Cenric barely registered being dragged, being carried onto a cart. Awareness was altogether gone by the time they started to move.
***
…to the blessed traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn aether born fire-walker your will sees us to rest we entrust ourselves to your sight forged of oschon for peace and prosperity and an ending you do not weep for father azeyma lives in the earth with you her fan brings no breeze the air is hot and thick and breathless your domain a silent place that does not stir have you forgotten the sound of your own voice have you known what it is to live and fail have you been alone do you know what it is to die how can a god pass judgment without being judged nald’thal lord of departures of flame and sand whose coin purse overflows who knows not what it means to starve what it means to spoil the legacy of one who loved you nald’thal who holds shells and souls and precious stones as if their worth were equal nald’thal who cannot know mercy without knowing pain who are you to weigh mortal affairs?
***
In darkness he unwinds the black bandana, steps first from his slops and then his kurta. Yuyudana has provided robes, which rest neatly on a small rock nearby. It crosses Cenric’s mind that the bones of his knees, his hips, his wrists, even his face have all started to protrude strangely. He looks less hyuran than before, maybe less than he ever has. Closer to something priests would exorcise than anyone deserving aid.
He wonders if this idea has occurred to them.
The water, when he advances, is cold. Goosebumps raise across his skin as slowly, gingerly, he wades in to his waist.
Cenric ducks under.
His hair is a long and tangled wreck. Being wet only disguises this slightly. It drifts past his neck, comes to float near the surface. Cenric holds himself in silence, eyes open, watching the silver scatter of light over stones and plants and fish. He remains for as long as he can bear.
His vision stings afterward. Gasping, he can’t tell if the cause is exposure or something else. For a time he simply waits, breathing hard through his nose, hunched so that his lips are partially submerged.
He thinks of nothing, pretends that this time instead of no future he has no past.
Only one moon remains. Maybe the sky aches for losing Dalamud, but better that than the blow which scarred Eorzea.
Stalemate - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic
He is presented with impressions of a horse, gaunt and fetid and decayed. Spreading ruin wheresoever it goes. Occasionally it sloughs off portions of its own flesh, which collect flies and blacken any land that surrounds. On its back rests a world, and alongside it does the herd struggle under their own burdens. But even beasts of such endurance have limits. Theirs are reached. When the rotten steed lags, its companions cannot afford to falter. Cannot turn. Without its ability to bear loads, this aberration has no place. Falling is inevitable.
Yet a heart still beats and lungs yet swell.
The Ascian shivers in his grasp, but does not attempt escape.
Here, something festers. Something bleeds. An old wound exacerbated over time.
Fevered, coated in a film of self-disgust, the core of Lahabrea convulses.
 Don’t…
 Don’t leave me like this…
***
Teeth and tongue. Lingering, wet, disembodied. Another finds his hip. Another his thigh, slipping beneath what clothes remain.
And another.
And another.
Warm, human, seeking. The Warrior tightens his hold, uses the moan crawling from his own chest as incentive. Barred by naught but fabric, driving close as he can manage. Lahabrea makes a strangled sound, his gasp crushed empty. A new mouth finds the dark knight’s ear in response.
These are parts of him no one dares touch, no one dares acknowledge. Slick now, attended with something like reverence. Supplication.
He resolves to fuck the Ascian senseless for this, presses his intent deep into Lahabrea’s aether. He is going to steal all his fancy words away. Make him squirm.
“I… I…” Tight, airless, like a plucked string. The Warrior feels Lahabrea’s voice reverberate against the roof of his mouth.
The feeling is difficult to describe. Cracked ice. A fraying rope. Such is Lahabrea's response, fumbling and disoriented as it is.
The Warrior lets go.
4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?
Just imagine me weeping over here lmao. Same deal as before, I’VE DONE TOO MUCH SHIT.
Spare Change - A Batman Fanfic
"Stop," he gasps, "I wouldn’t—"
"You would Harvey. You did. It’s what makes you such a damn good instrument. You had to test yourself, prove that you’re not a real person.” He can feel fingers grinding against bone. His knees bend. Harvey kneels, shuddering, gazing up into the destruction of his own visage. Two-Face meets his eyes, blue on blue. “People are weak. People are ruled by what they want and don’t want. You’re capable of anything if the wind blows just right. You can’t even stop yourself.”
"I wouldn’t," he repeats, numbly.
"Did you," demands Two-Face, forcing him down further, "or did you not flip for their lives, Harvey Dent?"
"We…We aren’t the same people anymore."
"Of COURSE we’re the same people!" Another shove and he’s on the ground, Two-Face sitting on his chest, teeth bared, coin clenched tight between them. "Do you really think you can close your eyes and pretend you aren’t capable of these things? They’re alive," and there is something hideous in his expression, something certain, "because they were lucky. No other reason.”
"The coin is gone! Even if I wanted to listen to it—I can’t!”
"If you’re so sure," says Two-Face, "then how about you improvise?”
And with one motion the silver dollar is under his tongue, forced back so hard he feels himself gag and begin to choke before his eyes open.
The Inquisitor’s Letters - A Dragon Age: Inquisition Fanfic
To His Worship Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan of Skyhold, My name is Isell from Amaranthine and I’m seven. My mum is helping but says I can send you all by myself. Thank you for fixing the hole in the sky and also the one by the dead man’s house. There were demons but they’re mostly gone now and people are going outside now. Da says Amaranthine has been through too much and can survive anything and he says you’re an elf like us and the Hero of Ferelden was an elf too. He says people used to think elves can’t be heroes but now they don’t. Have you met the Hero of Ferelden? Also I heard that even though you’re Dalish Andraste helped you in the Fade and that humans let you be in the Chantry because anyone Andraste likes must be a really good person. What’s Andraste like? The Chant says a lot but it’s different meeting someone I think. Also I think I saw you a little before but Mum wasn’t sure because you had a helmet on and we were far away and there were a lot of people but I bet it was you. Da wasn’t sure I should write because he says the Dalish don’t like city elves like we are but I think you must be nice and Mum agrees with me. I’ve been playing demon hunters with my brother Arrion (he’s just five still) and Da said templars are who fights demons usually and elves can’t be templars. People thought elves couldn’t be heroes and inquisitors though and we are so I bet I could too. Is it hard fighting demons? Da says they’re real scary but I’m not scared. Thank you for helping us and everyone and I hope you kill lots of demons. Sincerely, Isell U’venlan
From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic
Cenric sits on the floor, draped in a white cotton tunic. It might have been snug on a Roegadyn but anyone else would find ample room. Behind him, Memesu stands on a cot holding shears. Gold earrings dangle on either side of her face.
“I fought at Carteneau, you know,” she mentions casually. There is a soft hsssssshhhh. Click.
Hair hits the floor. Coils.
He starts to shake his head, aborts the gesture partway through. Stills. “…you saw Bahamut?”
Memesu snorts. “I’m sure everyone this side of Hydaelyn saw Bahamut.” Click.
“That’s probably true,” he concedes. The dragon is what everyone knows, everyone remembers. He can't imagine the proximity. “What about the Warriors of Light?”
“Pff.” Gentle tugging at his scalp. Cenric does not open his eyes but leans into the motion. “I wasn’t of rank to see their like. Not that I’d remember. Stop moving.” Click.
Cenric hesitates.
“What do you remember, then?”
For a time, the only sound comes from blades and a thousand strands cut short. This lasts for several minutes. Cenric resigns himself to secrets.
Then, “I used to think I was special too. As a twin. My sister was Memeni. We studied together.”
 Was.
The exhale hits him slowly, quietly.
“She died?”
He can feel the shrug in her hip against his shoulder.
“It was Carteneau,” says Memesu. “Of course she died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Click. “It had nothing too do with you. If you keep trying to claim responsibility for every misfortune you find, you’re going to get self-important.”
Cenric only grunts, quiet and non-committal.
 Click.
 Click.
 Click.
“Carteneu was so much worse than people remember. Only four years later and already we hurry to dispose of details.” There is a hard undercurrent to Memesu’s voice, but what contact she makes remains light. Careful. “I remember the arcanist from Limsa who didn’t dodge a magitek canon in time. Miqo’te. Spells come faster in that discipline, so there’s less stress on distance than thaumaturgy. Girl got careless.” Click. “The mess smelled like rotten eggs and charcoal. Her face was… melted.” Click. “I try not to look in those situations. They only make casting harder. But she was so close.”
Cenric doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.
Memesu continues. “One of our own gladiators, an Ala Mhigan, took to mutilating any pureblooded Garleans he could catch. The man had a string of eyes hanging around his neck. I’m pretty sure one enemy officer wet himself before he started to beg. Not that it particularly mattered.”
 Click.
“Memeni… didn’t anticipate what she was getting herself into. She saw magic as a way of being useful to craftsmen. My focus has always been theoretical. Right side.” Startled, Cenric lets her guide his jaw to get a better view of his profile. Click. Click. “Meni used to think I was a priss. She preferred to develop magitek kettles alongside alchemists. See if she could find a way to capture light like the Mhachi did. She still enjoyed fishing when she could, even though it smelled awful. Never outgrew the braids she wore growing up. ” Memesu sighs. “…just understand she died afraid, in pain, and with things left undone. My sister didn’t even resemble herself at the end.”
Cenric is very still. Thinks carefully.
“…I wish it could have gone differently,” he says at last.
Memesu’s mouth slides up in a small, crooked smile. She tousles the neat, ear-length hair before her. “So do I.”
Eclipse - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic
It ends at Elidibus’ untimely arrival.
“Lord Zodiark,” he says, so smoothly that were he not searching for it that the anger would be undetectable, “appreciates your attentions.”  His gaze does not waver from Lahabrea as he speaks. “But there is work to be done and I’m afraid there are words I would have with your Speaker.”
They disperse.
Nabriales, careful and curious, folds himself out of sight beyond the chamber then makes his way back to its edge.
Lahabrea, farthest from the exit, attempts to steal some small dignity. Turns to face Elidibus.
The Emissary makes him wait. Expressionless red masks matched by those who wear them.
Then, with more speed and force than typical for his demeanor, the Emissary closes distance to trap his colleague against the wall.
“It was my error,” hisses Elidibus, leaning in, “to have stayed silent upon rescuing you. A mistake I will remedy now, so we can be on no uncertain terms.”
Lahabrea lowers his eyes. Nabriales notes that despite the dread they all share of such reprimands, the man does not brace.
“You know as well as I that these words offer less succor to our Lord than action,” continues Elidibus, his fury quiet and no less sharp for that, “just as we both know your thoughtless action is the cause of repeated missteps these past centuries. Make no mistake—for all the strides you’ve made, your fixation and your impatience have cost the rest of us considerable time.”
Silence.
“Do you truly think this is your best service to Him?” asks Elidibus. “To us? Compromising your ability to fill the hours? Even Emet-Selch agrees these displays are disgraceful. You have ever borne them poorly, but being a 'paragon among paragons' naturally you continue ignoring your own better judgment with ours to continue this exercise in futility. Idiot.”
A twitch of the head. Almost a flinch.
It is one of few moments Nabriales has seen the Emissary express his anger so openly. Even after the Thirteenth fell to Igeyorhm’s error, Elidibus allowed the Angel of Truth to lead and voiced his own reproach with a more typical icy demeanor. Scathing though it was.
“I can be of use,” says Lahabrea softly. “Only three of us remain, and I—“
“You,” Elidibus snaps, “cannot follow the most simple instructions for the good of us all. Not for Him, not for Amaurot, not even for yourself. Your pride has made you not simply an embarrassment but a liability.”
Neither man speaks for several moments after that.
And then, at length, Elidibus exhales.
Says the Speaker’s name.
Receives his attention.
“What would you have me do?” the Emissary asks. His tone now is almost weary. “Clearly it would be unreasonable to trust you’d simply listen. Must I mind you like a child?” This is what breaks Lahabrea’s composure.
Knowing the man’s temper, Nabriales had expected him to lash out. Even on the back foot their orator is perfectly capable of defending himself from insults.
Instead, he embraces Elidibus fiercely—face just within the bounds of his pauldrons. Jaw locked shut firmly enough to hurt. Expression downcast.
Elidibus remains perfectly still at first. In the absence of conversation it is possible to hear the rush of Lahabrea’s breathing. Only through the nose, withheld briefly between each inhale as if that offers some means to steady himself.
As if that would make it better.
Tentatively, Elidibus holds him back. Lahabrea's fingers contract, and though he remains upright when his knees begin to give it is the Emissary who helps him kneel.
“Easy,” he murmurs, and Lahabrea removes one hand to run it reflexively over his face—coming against the mask.
Nabriales finds himself staring, searching. A puzzle with missing pieces whose image he may yet divine
“It was not,” says Lahabrea roughly, “my intention to…”
Elidibus reaches beneath the other man’s cowl, finds the hair and skin beneath. Draws him in once more.
Naught that would be shared with or among the Sundered. Nothing so personal as that.
Nabriales has worn his own share of flesh. Bedded lovers, adopted companions and families of vessels to fulfill a purpose. Passable enough, perhaps, but never for him. Not in truth.
It’s as if he looks upon two strangers.
Parched - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic
The door closes behind them. Lahabrea, projecting his preferred likeness over the host, waits on a couch within.
It’s admittedly a surreal sight. Ishgardian finery with its gilded edges, its elaborate wallpapers and marble floors. A collection of creams and blues and greens, fine furniture with velvet seat cushions. All ostentatious in the extreme… and then Lahabrea. Masked and cowled. Pouring three glasses of La Noscean arrack.
Elidibus freezes, and though none of them can see his eyes the confusion is clear enough.
“What is this?”
“Your turn,” says Emet-Selch, lightly but less flippant than he might have been.
Lahabrea proffers a cup from where he sits.
Elidibus neither moves nor speaks.
Emet-Selch approaches. Takes the drink. Presses it carefully into the other man’s hand.
“Don’t think,” he says smoothly,” that I won’t let you drop it.”
Mercifully, Elidibus has a good grip.
“Sit,” says Lahabrea, gesturing with his own glass to the sofa across from him.
Elidibus sits.
Emet-Selch sits.
Takes his own glass, perhaps a bit pointedly.
Elidibus’ mouth is pressed tight. It opens briefly, as if to speak. Shuts again.
“Explain,” the Emissary manages eventually.
Lahabrea meets his co-conspirator’s eye. Downs his arrack in a single attempt.
It is a long attempt.
It lasts several moments.
The other Ascians watch.
“Elidibus,” says Emet-Selch as Lahabrea endeavors to catch his breath in the aftermath, “Lahabrea and I are concerned that you may be experiencing some difficulties in recent years.”
“I’m fine,” replies Elidibus coldly. Holding his drink. “Why did you think this necessary?”
“Because—“ wheezes Lahabrea.
“Because you’re practically a mammet,” says Emet-Selch, picking up Lahabrea’s glass. Moving it just out of reach. “Truly. It’s been what, two hundred years? Three? Neither of us can remember the last time you so much as spoke of matters unrelated to the Rejoining.”
Lahabrea reaches. Elidibus pours his arrack into the other man’s glass before nudging it back toward him.
Elidibus makes eye contact with Emet-Selch.
“I remain focused,” he says evenly. “Nothing more.”
Emet-Selch gestures to the bottle.
Elidibus sighs.
Refills his own glass.
“There are matters I must attend myself. As is the case with each of you.”
“Undoubtedly,” replies Lahabrea more evenly. “But with few exceptions, you haven’t done so.”
A hard stare from behind the mask.
“What would you have me do? I can’t very well take time off.”
Emet-Selch sips.
“A negligible amount of time,” he says, “taken sparingly, may be forgivable.”
5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?
Lmao see this is a plus side/minus side deal. Minus side, it’s being asked just before I embark on a MASSIVE ASS FANFIC. And I basically am excited for all of it. Plus side, there are things I refuse to spoil.
So... putting it vaguely, in no particular order:
- Lahabrea and Hydaelyn meet a second time after Praetorium.
- Moonfire Faire
- Thancred
- Conversations over mulled wine
- Silvertear Lake
Some of these are sex scenes. Most aren’t. But I am very hyped.
7 notes · View notes
kivaember · 6 years
Note
could you answer all the character flaw questions? i just -clenches fist- love aza
ahdjaa oh goodness, I’m glad you like him that much…!!!!! okie i will answer the character flaw questions remaining, though they’ll be under the cut because they’re so long… 
Thanks for this, I really enjoyed writing these out ;;w;; 
🙊what would my muse say their biggest flaw is?
Aza tends to be very aware of his shortcomings, albeit in a very self-deprecating manner, so he would say his biggest flaw is his fear. His fear of everything. He gets frightened very easily, but he covers it up with a mean poker face or aggression, depending on the situation, and it does mean sometimes he tends to lash out or be overly harsh without meaning to. He hates being so fearful, so it’s a flaw he utterly despises within himself. 
⧱ what really is my muse’s biggest flaw?
Being eager to please. This is linked to his fear, so Aza has the right of it that it is his biggest flaw, but his desire to be likeable and useful to those he deems his friends and family, as well as being fearful that he’ll be left behind if he isn’t likeable or useful, means he neglects his own health, mental or physical, at times. 
With Bluebird, Atani and Aruci, it’s not as bad, because they see through that shit and make sure he doesn’t say ‘yes’ just to keep them happy (and, because, deep down, he’s fearful of being ‘too troublesome’ and being tossed out, a fear that he knows is irrational but one he has anyways). With the Scions in ARR, he had it BAD, trying to twist and cram himself into the role of Warrior of Light, to the extreme detriment of his own comfort and happiness, just so he measured up to these expectations that the Scions were beginning to have in him. Things are better with the Scions since SB, but yeah, if he likes someone, or wants to be liked by someone, he almost becomes a doormat. He’s gotten better since SB though. 
🤳name three physical imperfections my muse has (birthmarks, gray hairs, muscular definition, etc).
1. Heavy scarring all over his body. They’re stark, thick and pull across each other from time to time, and Aza thinks they look a little ugly, but also gets a dark thrill at ‘ruining’ the ‘beautiful body’ he was coveted for in his earlier years. With his body so scarred, he feels no one would want him like that ever again, which is a comfort…
2. His hair is beginning to prematurely grey, much to Aza’s dismay. So at the moment he has grey streaks in his hair, which are very obvious, and he can’t stop it at all. He hates visible signs of his age. 
3.  Poor joints and bone health. His childhood, with its rough living and malnutrition, coupled with the stress of living under Master Musa, then growing up on the Steppes and moving into mercenary life in his 20s, mean his body is just fucked. This is linked to the scarring, but Aza does have early onset of osteoarthritis as well as cartilage degradation that White Magic just can’t cure. His body is just close to done, and it’s highly likely that he will end up retiring from fighting in his forties, unless he wants to permanently cripple himself for good. 
🙈what’s my muse’s biggest blind spot?
Bluebird. Holy crap Bluebird is his biggest blindspot ever. Even though he’s aware Bluebird can be a massive asshole, especially to him and his friends, he fucking loves the hell out of her and thinks she can do no real wrong. Be petty and annoying, maybe, but not any real wrong. It does mean he can kind of be swept up in her energetic wake, and get dragged into stressful situations because of it…
😰when my muse is stressed, how do they act out?
 As mentioned above, he tends to get aggressive if he’s stressed out or scared. He finds comfort in projecting a show of strength and viciousness, and especially if that gives him space, because when he’s stressed he hates being crowded or fussed over even more. However, he knows that snapping at his loved ones is a bad habit to get into, so he tends to isolate himself and wallow for a while. He used to also drink himself into oblivion, but Aymeric put his foot down on that, so now he tends to wander to the closest Chocobo stables to let the birds calm him down, or do something with his hands like crafting or repairing his gear, or something. 
💚what does my muse get envious over?
People having their shit together, or carefree lives. Like, he’s so fucking jealous of Bluebird being so confident and fearless, and it burns him so bad that he’s still this frightened, jumpy little boy that he never really grew up from. He wants to be confident without an edge of terror of failing dogging his steps, he wants to be fearless just because it seemed so stress-free… so yeah, he gets jealous of that really badly. 
🚫what is one thing my muse wouldn’t want someone else to know about them?
His past. Holy fuck his past. It took over a year for Aymeric to learn about Aza’s past, and even then he doesn’t have hard details and Aza had been forced to tell him because of exceptional circumstances. The Scions? No. Nope. He’d sooner die than tell them. He has intense shame over what happened with Master Musa, as well as his hand in his sister’s death (that he still remembers unreliably…), and he’s terrified that if they know, they’d think him lesser, or deficient in some way… or pity him. 
If he could, he’d carve out that past from his history and burn it into nothing. But sadly, he’s gotta carry it, and only a scant handful of people that he can count on one hand, know about his past. Which he’ll keep that way, thank you very much. 
✍️does my muse have a learning disability?
Not a disability as such, but he does have a mental block when it comes to writing because of his past experiences. He struggles to write, and while he’s bullied himself into being able to scrawl very messy, short and poorly spelled words, he’s barely as literate as a young child. He finds this incredibly embarrassing, so he tends to go through convoluted ways to make sure he never gets shoved into a situation where he needs to write. 
🎒what was my muse’s worst subject in school?
He never went to school, which… is probably why he’s so academically apathetic about things. 
🙅‍♂️what does my muse feel insecure about?
EVERYTHING, practically. He’s insecure about his position in his relationship with Aymeric (”am I too troublesome? too high-maintenance? I can never do most of the things he wants me to do, my body is scarred and ugly, am I just chaining him down, etc, etc”), he’s insecure at his ability to live up to the expectations of Warrior of Light (”what if I fail? what if someone else I love dies? what if, what if, what if…”) and he’s insecure at just… being able to live. 
Like, all he’s wanted is to achieve happiness, feel secure and safe and be strong. But with everything happening in ffxiv, he sometimes feels he’s constantly backing off from that goal…
👾what was my muse’s childhood bogeyman?
MASTER. FUCKING. MUSA.
Even nearing his forties, with a good two and a half decades put between him and his experiences with the man, even mentioning or remembering him makes him break out into a nervous sweat. It’s why he hates Kugane, and Doma to a smaller degree. Everything there reminds him of Master Musa, and it makes him sick to his stomach and constantly teetering on the edge of terror and anxiety. 
He keeps thinking, even now, he’ll pop out from the shadows and be there. Even though Aza is old enough and strong enough to snap him over his knee, and even killed him himself before, the fear is still there. He still features in a lot of Aza’s nightmares, even now…
3 notes · View notes
codexofaegis-blog · 7 years
Text
Monday Chat #2 – Perfect Blue: The Avatar is an Illusion
Tumblr media
I suppose this is a bit of a spoiler for my “Currently Watching” segment, but last Tuesday I saw Satoshi Kon’s Perfect Blue for the first time, and it left me a lot to think about. So much, in fact, that I’ve decided to write about it here.
I’ll try to stray away from spoilers to the actual movie as much as I can here (though there’s plenty to talk about when it comes to the actual movie as well). Instead, I want to crack open the themes of Perfect Blue – more specifically, that of the avatar.
The idea of the perfect version of oneself never really hit me that hard until I saw this movie. In this Internet Age, we really do live double lives – the life we live and the life we want people to see. I try my best not to make them too different, but often I can see myself trying to frame things in a way that make me look better than I actually am.
It’s an interesting concept. The avatar is really a shell of the person – the tweets, instagram photos, facebook statuses, and even likes/favorites are all meticulously designed either consciously or subconsciously to hide the flaws of the person who uses it. In this way the fantasy of the screen is different from the reality.
Tumblr media
Though Perfect Blue does not really touch on how our virtual selves effect us (the movie was released in 1997, right before the internet received mainstream uses. Though a few years later Serial Experiments Lain does in fact dive into this conundrum), but it still keeps to the main theme of the avatar in a different, also still very relevant way. Mumi is torn when she decides to leave her job as a pop idol singer in order to pursue an acting career that holds more maturity. Firstly there’s the clear difficulty in the act of switching professions like that – especially someone who already has minor celebrity. But on top of that, there comes doubt – does she want to be an actress, or a singer? This creates a horrid complication where she must keep up the guise of her loving the acting world while in reality being completely distraught over who she is, until it finally consumes her.
Many times people insist on holding in their greatest problems and doubts in order to make the outside – the world the rest of us see – as clean and orderly as possible. But this habit – an ultimately self-destructive habit – only continues to fuel the fire of suffering. For when everyone acts like they are perfect, its hard to see imperfections; and in this way, it makes many believe that they are much weaker, because they do in fact have these imperfections. Then, the cycle continues. Just as Mumi turns down multiple offerings of help, the person behind the avatar often does as well – the show must go on, whether it be for a young actress or for the average person and their snapchat account.
Tumblr media
Still, more could be uncovered here. I admit that I have only really dug into this idea at the surface, and there is much more to talk about – especially in our modern, digital world. That’s why Perfect Blue I feel would be one of the few movies to really benefit from a reboot conceptually; given the right amount of everything else (director, writers, budget, etc. etc..), a new Perfect Blue could really expand upon the ideas inlaid in the first one while still staying true to Satoshi Kon’s original ideas.
Anyway, that’s all I wanted to discuss for the topic of the day. Now for the highlights:
Currently watching: In addition to Perfect Blue I also saw Baby Driver in theaters. It was pretty damn good – especially with that second half – but I felt like I got underwhelmed by certain aspects. I feel like a lot of my disappointments of the movie came from knowing so much about it before watching (such as watching the trailers, reading reviews, etc. etc.). The soundtrack was also pretty underwhelming throughout, which was kind of sad speaking that it was pretty much the most advertised part of the movie. Still it surprised me with how well the tense scenes were developed so that managed to get all it’s points back, and I still gave it a 9/10 (remember to check out my letterboxd at https://letterboxd.com/astuka/ !). As for TV watches, I’m continuing on with Twin Peaks, and if episode 2 for GoT is exactly how its described in the leak (which you’ll know by the time this blog comes out), I’ll probably just drop that show entirely. Honestly I’m tired of its stand still plot and boring characters, and with Twin Peaks on at the same time it’s a pretty obvious choice of what I’m gonna watch instead.
Currently playing: For the most part, this week I’ve only really been playing Rome Total War and Guild Wars 2. GW2 has got me back into action by re-enticing me into WvW, So I think its safe to say I’ll probably put another decent chunk of hours into that before I’m done. Also, since I’m back into MMOs, I thought now might be a good time to start up FFXIV again. When it became (partially) free, I got up until about level 8, then I was bored. But with the massive amount of people saying they’re super into it, I figure it deserves another shot. As for Rome Total War, my game keeps crashing because apparently it can’t handle elephants. And my army has a lot of elephants. Like, a LOT of elephants. Don’t ask why that is, it just… it is.
Currently reading: Nothing new, though I feel like dropping House of Leaves since nothing has really happened in it for awhile. I’m still reading the excerpts from my English book, as well as more on battle history. A particularly good excerpt written by Feynman in the English book has got me reading his Lectures on Physics series, though as of writing I’m not that far into it.
Currently listening: Since Tyler’s new album Scum Fuck Flower Boy just came out I’ve mostly been listening to that in terms of new music. I’ve only done one complete listen to that album, so I don’t really have anything to say about it just yet. As to what I was literally listening to while writing this, it included some classics such as Hope Sandoval’s On The Low and Billy Joel’s Where’s the Orchestra.
0 notes