#severine sauvageot

[snakemoltsiren]

💣 - do they get angry easily?

Not at all!

Sev is incredibly slow to anger in general. Even in the face of an astounding injustice her first instinct is to get frustrated and to do something about it.

When she gets angry it's usually because she is helpless. Or if the solution in her normal methods would take too long and the fastest solution is fury.

It's rare. But usually notable. She only allows herself to get angry if her anger will be productive.

Thank you @silentletterwords !!!

[lyndztanica]

a gift for Otolin Stone!

[set-in-stone-writing]

19. WHERE THE HEART IS

@severine-savage

It’s in her smile.

Her voice.

The way she places her chin atop your head, and folds her arms around your shoulders. 

Her laughter, the way it shifts and sings.

She’s always singing in some way. Somehow.

You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

It’s the way she walks.

The way she talks.

How she holds a crowd with a few simple words and an easy look. 

Remember when she serenaded the whole lot of Ul’dah’s rich and famous years ago? 

You don’t forget that.

Never want to. 

Your first job together.

Didn’t she dance with Raubahn? 

Yes.

Yes, she had.

No surprises there.

She’s always singing in some way. Somehow.

Her voice.

Her skill with the blade.

Her focus, her magic. 

She fights when she has to. Some of that has rubbed off on you.

For the better.

Everything with her has been for the better.

Always has.

Always will.

No better place for your heart, your love, your admiration, just…

Your everything.

[fist-and-fury-xiv]

The Hero in Your Head

The following story contains some violence and harsh language.

He’s been awake for hours.

Sleep always eluded him in their grasp. Not much has changed there.

“He’s… he’s still up.”

Youthful voices. They can’t be more than eighteen, or maybe even nineteen?

Hard to place in the darkness. 

Otolin doesn’t really struggle much. He’s not actually bound, but instead has been left to sit here in this old cell. The sound of running water continues, a steady stream that shifts through and over moss-covered rocks. It gives him an idea where he might be.

Not far from where the ambush had occurred, where their ambush had been… ambushed? Is “counter-ambush” even a word? A phrase? 

It’s these thoughts that keep him company. 

That, and those of his companions. His… friends. Closer than that.

Keep him from going mad.

It’s not the first time she’s done this, kept him locked off from the others and in the lack of company of his own thoughts, or whatever was in his head in those days, whatever they had taught him. 

“She’s coming!”

The youthful voices pick up, a quick beat, and then drop out. The silence is death, broken by the rust-covered creak of a metal door opening inward into his cell. 

He doesn’t move, keeping still in a sitting position on the floor, legs crossed underneath him. But his mind works, starts to churn through options: how easy would it be… to…

“I know what you’re thinking,” she says in that familiar low tone. 

Otolin doesn’t respond.

“You’re considering the ways in which you get out of this cell,” Emelyn continues, her feet moving against the old stones beneath them. “Each second an equation. How long does it take the door to open, and then close. How many people I have stationed outside. Down the hallway. Out into the courtyard, and then down the steps.”

Each little bit of Emelyn sentence is followed by a step, measured carefully. Her raven-black hair has been braided, keeping still about her shoulders, and the sneer on her features is uncovered by a small shaft of light that strikes through from above. 

Calling it a sneer would be doing it a service. It’s a smile. An angry one. A happy one. 

Otolin opens one eye, and just tilts his head. 

No response still. 

“Manners weren’t included, I know,” she goes on, tilting her head from one side to the next briefly. “But you were taught to respect your elders, weren’t you?”

“I thought I was the elder,” Otolin murmurs in response, barely audible. 

Finally a response. The sneer on Emelyn’s features grows a touch lighter, lips unfurling, and then she laughs darkly. “Please…” She groans, shaking her head. “Don’t be insufferable.”

“I picked up… learned everything from you, so…” He responds, looking up to her with both eyes open.

WHAM.

Emelyn’s fist finds the side of Otolin’s head with force, little specks of orange and purple energy circulating around her knuckles, but it doesn’t send him flying. No, instead, he just stays still, head shifting under the contact of her face to just stare.

Keep staring.

Unblinking.

His mother stares right back, features contorted with the sort of fury that can’t be matched. Her brown eyes are wide and teeth are bare. 

“You’re not maneuvering with enough space in the room to really… really throw that strike.”

WHAM.

Another.

Otolin doesn’t move.

WHAM. Another. WHAM. WHAM. WHAM. Three more strikes. Not a thing changes on the man’s face. He just keeps staring at her, still unburdened by the brutality Emelyn brings to bear upon her one and only son. 

WHAM.

A last strike.

She’s breathing heavy and backs away, fists hanging loosely by her sides. The conflict in Emelyn’s face is easy to see, the way she wants to just scream, to let loose on him.

Not a word. Otolin knows better. She’s always been like this, letting her temper and rage fly in a way that gives greater credence and creativity to her fists. Her feet. The way she fights and murders with ease. 

He doesn’t give her the satisfaction.

Severine would be proud, to some degree. 

“You’re still as…” Emelyn breathes, nostrils flaring. “Still as-”

“Still as frustrating? As… unteachable? As what?” Otolin says, cutting her off.

“As much of a pain in my ass as you were all those years ago…” She sighs, shaking her head and then closing her eyes. “Why didn’t I just kill you-”

“You could do that now, and you’re… you’re-” Otolin cuts her off again.

WHAM.

This strike catches him off guard. Most don’t.

He goes down in a heap, head nearly crashing with the stones beneath but his hands are there to catch him by some form of reflex. Something warm, familiar, begins to pool near the top of his head.

Blood.

His blood.

The smile is back on Emelyn’s face. 

“I mean, I could. I should…” She says, that smile widening, cheshire-like. “But I want… want our people to see your face one more time. To see that little shit-eating look of yours.”

Otolin turns his head to look back up at her, the frown on his features carefully wrought. There’s no sign of the pain from the cut she’s opened with her fist; just the frown, the furrowed brows, that trademark look he’s made his own.

“There it is,” she rasps, crouching down and leaning in before reaching out with a hand to take hold of his jaw and look him in the eyes. “There’s that fucking look.” 

He can hear it.

The anger that’s being barely held back.

“You’d kill me… me for leaving?” Otolin quietly asks, able to get the words out despite the hold. “Just… just for that?”

Emelyn’s eyes go wide, but her hold on his face keeps narrow. There’s something going on, something Otolin can’t read, but when she speaks, it’s with some form of humor in her tone, like she finds this all suddenly funny.

“Wait, you think…” She begins before pausing, her laughter barely held back as she continues. “You think I want to kill you for leaving? For fucking that? You… you don’t know, do you?” 

“Know… know what?” 

The question doesn’t need to be asked, because the answer comes to mind.

Otolin’s eyes go wide. 

Everything begins to come together, a puzzle that’s all too easy to piece with the context of the moment. 

His discussions with Severine about this past, about the gap in his memory.

The talks he had with Silvestre, the strange similarities they had, the things they seemed to know.

It was all about the why and less about the what. 

Emelyn laughs again, that smile turning shit-eating. She regards Otolin like prey, not letting go of the vice-grip she’s easily established around his jaw, and tilts his head from side to side. Her own head tilts up as though thinking, and then nods.

“I don’t want to kill you because you left, Otolin,” she chortles, shaking her head. “No, I’m going to kill you for killing us.”

“What?”

Otolin can’t get any other words out. He knew it was coming, but this… this is different. 

This isn’t how he expected it.

“Oh, how I’d love for you to tell you to not play fucking dumbass in this moment…” Emelyn rasps. “But I can’t. I just can’t. You weren’t you. The Garleans fucked with your head. It’s something they’re good at, and then they sent you after us.”

“I… I defended everyone when… when they tried to escape from them-” Otolin tries to retort, lips able to form words. 

It was the last memory he had. 

The Garleans, their forces ambushing the commune in the crevasses with that ruthless efficiency. Men, women, and children dying under a hail of gunfire. There had only been a few survivors, and Otolin was among them.

He had been a child. 

But age never mattered. It never did. He had been a child, but one who could kill. With ease. He had ripped and torn through the Garleans’ armor and their gunfire hadn’t left a mark on his, the steel-skin he had become so infamous for. 

“The canyon? Oh, is that what they put in your fucking head?” Emelyn teases, reaching up with a hand and poking him right in the cut she’s opened with a jabbing finger. “Because that’s not what happened. You think yourself our fucking hero?”

She lets go of him and stands tall above.

Too many thoughts.

Too much to process. 

The blood continues to pool and stream down Otolin’s face, running through the crevasses of his weathered features. He can’t bear to look at her, gaze instead on the stones below, watching the red viscous liquid run down the cobblestones and ease up at his fingers. 

That laugh echoes. 

“You’re not a fucking hero, Otolin.”

The rust-covered creak. 

“You’re a villain. Our monster…”

The door slams shut.

“... And I’m going to kill you for it.” 

@severine-savage @geimhleag​ @witchesandlotuses​ @loadedmemory​

[deviri]

Anger

I hate them. Those three words beat themselves against his skull, leaving an imprint that deepens each time he thinks it. I hate them, and Uncle Aelis was right.

The trip through the aetheryte had been a mistake; no sooner had Regulus come out the other side had he dropped to his knees in the center of the plaza, empty the contents of his stomach all across the stone. A concerned citizen had been in the area at the time and had thankfully gone to get a guard, who had been patient as he helped Regulus limp his way to a doctor. The man had tried for answers to what had happened, he really did, but each attempt was met with a snarl and a command to keep walking. No sooner had the clinic come into sight did Regulus tell the man to shove off and limp through the door.

I hate them all. His anger raises with each poke and prod of the doctors. They want to know who did this to him, what happened, is he safe? No, he wants to scream at them. No, he isn’t safe in this gods forsaken land, filled with uncivilized people who think it’s acceptable to attack and stab someone over an insult and then sit there watching. People who leave him in an obviously hostile environment.

Van Baelsar was right. This land needs the steady hand of a Garlean to keep it in line. 

“Do you need somewhere safe to stay?” His doctor takes his face in her hands, tilting it to the side to get a better look at his broken nose. Her glossy eyes are filled with a patient understanding and guilt settles deep into his gut. He thinks of his mother, of her servants and their families, of the people of the Runner.

“No,” He answers, attempting to shake his head and groaning with the result. “I have an apartment in the Goblet that I can go to.”

A nurse shuffles in with a cart and the doctor orders him to lay down so that they can work on his side. The cauterization, while well done, is a danger and the wound needs to be cleaned properly to avoid further damage. From there, she explains, they can see about fixing his head wound. Since they can’t risk putting him under due to a possible concussion they’ll have to give a localized anesthetic. She’ll talk him through the entire process if he wants.

“Do we have anyone to call to come to get you when we’re done?” She waits.

He thinks.

Mother. Father. Uncle Aelis. Aunt Modesta. Gavril. Ulrike. 

He thinks.

Avenai. Xiaohu. Oosra. Avenai. Stone. Severine. Avenai.

Avenai.

Avenai.

Avenai.

“No.” He answers truthfully. “There isn’t anyone.”

(( mentions & hints: @thanidiel @avenai @cynfuldax @otolin-xiv @severine-savage @hactenusinvictus @astrolevitation @atomicdeke}}

[serwynterwulf]

"My turn!" (Bryt and Severine)

Bryt Duval and Severine Sauvageot have joind the party!

Starting Dungeon: “O-oh. Hello there! Something tells me whatever is ahead of us stands an even lesser chance of winning now.”

Assisting: “This might be an explosive shot. Watch your head!”

Being Assisted:  “Ah...Thank you. That was a little too close.”

Idle Dialogue:  

“Say, not looking for any Magitek of Garlean or Allagan design are you?”

“You haven’t seen a small, blue most likely screaming mammet running around....have you?”

“This is enough work to get a big appetite. Know of any good places nearby?”

Witnessing Severine KO:  

“Ouch, that is not good. Hold on!”

Being KO’d infront of Severine :  “Knew I should have brought the heavy armor...”

Reviving Severine : “Hold on, hold on. My little gadget and friend here will get you up as the healer is screaming at our stalwart, sword and board companion about. “Not dying.”Revived by Severine : “Well, good to know I am not dying here. I owe you a drink.”Finished Dungeon:  “What an adventure!  Always surprised who I meet in these little jobs. If you need an Engineer, feel free to come to Ishgard.”Al thought Bryt and Severine have not properly met. Bryt’s friendly demeanor and weakness for other Elezen. Will make due with him being a helpful and supporting DPS in his mechanics. That is if she can withstand an occasional dorky quip here and there. His various gadgets assisting the other DPS increased damage or healing to help the healer to be a bit less stressed. Pending on her own replies and behavior in the dungeon might gain her a partner in crime.(( @entropytea Thanks for the asks!)

[thanidiel]

Character Summary - Xiaohu

art by @gyrabanian

alias/nicknames. Xiaohu, Chitora, 'Pretty Face', disposable identities

gender. cis female

age. 26 (by age of reckoning)

zodiac. Unknown (Scorpio)

abilities + talents. being an 8head

alignment.  lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

religion. Ancestral & Kami worship

sins. envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

virtues. charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

languages. Eorzean, Hingan, Doman, Garlean, Auri, Eorzean Sign Language.

family. Qiao (Mother); Jing (Father, deceased); Jian (Brother); Mei (Sister); Chenglei (Brother); Ai (Sister, deceased); An (Brother); Adrian Suzaka, Felore Soleil, Vander Thuun, Kowa Brimaine (Sworn Bonds)

(most intimate) friends. Breandan Ducaille, Otolin Stone, Yellow Rose, Severine Sauvageot, Kowa Brimaine, Vander Thuun, Ayla Thatcher, Elise Ebonheart, Evilie Voutellievre, Adrian Suzaka, Avenai Wyverne, Torithas Bloodtalon, Rhys Pent, Esen Dazkar

sexuality. heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

relationship. single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet / it’s complicated

libido. sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent / responsive

build. slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other

hair. white / blonde / brunette / red / black / blue

eyes. brown / blue / gray / green / black / other

skin. pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other

height. 5'2"

scars. Raking scar tissue on the left hemisphere of the cranium.

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword shield dagger or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future

A few songs that remind you of them:

Nightmare - Halsey

TV Head - Elliot Lee

That's Okay - Hush Sound

Isolated - Chiasm

Rise - Zamilska

[dragons-ire]

Character Summary: Breandan

alias/nicknames: Audthildr’s Bane became something of a figure larger than the knight who wore the epithet once upon a time. He accepts nicknames and shortenings of his name with acceptance, depending on how good faith the individual seems. gender. Goes by he/him.  age. ‘Adult’. Early 30s zodiac. Pisces abilities + talents. A consummate soldier and professional warrior, trained most diligently in lancework and military strategy. Dragoon Stuff (tm) Some passing familiarity with other weapons styles, largely academic anymore. An architect’s eye for ruined places, some hand at carpentry, a quiet love of stories of distant places and older times. 

alignment.  lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true religion. Faithful to his patron deity, Halone, in an idiosyncratic and superstitious way that’s a little more country than the rigid Orthodoxy of the city. He studies the examples of the Fury’s Saints (Daniffen, Reinette, Finnea, etc) and maintains a few backwoods Shroud beliefs he can’t quite seem to let go of.

sins. envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath virtues. charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience languages. Speaks Common Eorzean well, and the elezen dialects of Ishgard and Gridania. Sort of conversational in a Viera dialect from the Golmore Jungle. Knows some spicy Bozjan swear words (and maybe from a few other places, too)

. family. Brighid Ducaille (sister), Silvestre Vigneaux (brother-in-law-to-be), Severine Sauvageot (sister in all but name), Elphanse and Aramis Silmontaix and Egrine and Rhaya Mhakarraca (’Cousins’)

friends. A man who ‘knows a lot of people’ should be said to have many friends and connections. Breandan doesn’t consider himself a fast one -  his nature and career makes keeping those connections intensely difficult at times. He counts among them but certainly not exclusively: the magician, Mazin Khin and his companion Morgan O’Faolain, his coworkers Otolin Stone, Yellow Rose and Cao Xiaohu.

sexuality. heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other relationship. single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet / it’s complicated libido. sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent build. slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other hair. white / blonde / brunette / red / black eyes. brown / blue / gray / green / black / other (golden yellow) skin. pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other height. 6.9″. Perfectly average height. scars. A litany of physical ones, starting with the iconic one across one cheek and ending with any number of cuts and slashes or dragonfire burns. The scarred-over rasp of his voice suggests some internal damage there. The most recent of these isn’t even physical - a kind of crack in his aetherical makeup that at least seems to have been treated and is mending well.

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword shield dagger or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future A few songs that remind you of them: Dangerous - Son Lux

Underground - MISSIO

Time to Go - John Vanderslice

Change on the Rise - Avi Kaplan

Icarus - Bastille

tagged by: @brightrind

tagging:  @bookbornexiv @autochthonousone @tea-and-conspiracy​ @houserosaire​  (and anyone else who would like!)

[vermilionwinds]

Character Summary - Remeraux

alias/nicknames. Rem, the Crimson Corsair (briefly)

gender. cis female

age. On the cusp of 31

zodiac. Virgo

abilities + talents. Marauder, sailor, war veteran, resistance tactics, Red Magic (sort of), knot-tying, singing, fiddle playing

alignment.  lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

religion. Devout follower of Llymlaen, but considering the worship of her is mostly sailing superstitions, she doesn't spend much time in services. Lights a candle and makes offerings when she needs guidance, though.

sins. envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

virtues. charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

languages. Eorzean, conversational Hingan, conversational Bozjan

family. Birth Mother (Celestine, deceased), Birth Father (Pierrent, deceased), Sister (Rosamonde), Adopted Mother (Danifa Nadasch), Adopted misc parents (Xavier Folchambres, Athilda Glass) (Many others, deceased)

friends. Severine Sauvageot, Breandan Ducaille, Otolin Stone, Yellow Rose, Tohkta Qestir, Jeanne Castelle

sexuality. heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

relationship. single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet / it’s complicated

libido. sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

build. slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other

hair. white / blonde / brunette / red / black / blue

eyes. brown / blue / gray / green / black / other (violet)

skin. pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other

height. 6'8

scars. Many. Lascerations, bullet wounds, burn scars, scattered all across her torso, arms and legs. A thin line of a scar across her right cheekbone. A purple-tinted knot of scar tissue on her left-side, roughly the size of her fist.

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword shield dagger or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future

A few songs that remind you of them:

RUNAWAY- Half-alive

Sarah - Derina Harvey Band

Another Town, Another Train - ABBA

[snakemoltsiren]

Severine Sauvageot: Literature Aesthetics

Bold what applies to your character!

STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

ᴄᴏʙʙʟᴇsᴛᴏɴᴇ sᴛʀᴇᴇᴛs / ʟᴀᴍᴘs sʜɪɴɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴏɢ / ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴀʀᴍᴛʜ ᴏғ ᴀ ғɪʀᴇᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ / ᴜɴᴏᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ʙᴏᴛᴛʟᴇs ᴏғ ᴡɪɴᴇ / ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇɴsɪᴏɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢs sᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ᴀʀᴇ / ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛʜʀɪʟʟ ᴏғ ғʀᴇᴇᴅᴏᴍ / ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ ᴏғ ʟᴏsɪɴɢ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ / ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴠᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ / ɢᴜɪʟᴛʏ ᴠɪᴄᴇs / ᴛᴏᴘ ʜᴀᴛs ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ sᴛɪᴄᴋs / sᴇʟғ-ᴅᴇsᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ / ᴏʟᴅ ᴅᴏᴄᴜᴍᴇɴᴛs ᴛᴜᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ɪɴ sᴀғᴇs.

FRANKENSTEIN, OR THE MODERN PROMETHEUS

ʀᴀɪɴ ʜɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴡɪɴᴅᴏᴡᴘᴀɴᴇ / ᴄᴀɴᴅʟᴇs ʙᴜʀɴɪɴɢ ʟᴏᴡ / ᴍᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴ ʀᴀɴɢᴇs ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ, sɴᴏᴡʏ ᴛᴏᴘs / ғʀᴇɴᴢɪᴇᴅ ᴏʙsᴇssɪᴏɴ / ᴀ ᴄᴇᴍᴇᴛᴇʀʏ ᴀᴛ ᴅᴜsᴋ / sʟᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀʜᴏᴜsᴇs / ᴀʟʟ-ᴄᴏɴsᴜᴍɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪʀsᴛ ғᴏʀ ʀᴇᴠᴇɴɢᴇ / ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴜʀɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀɴᴇss ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴀᴛʀᴇᴅ / ᴀ sᴇɴsᴇ ᴏғ ᴅᴜᴛʏ ᴡᴇɪɢʜɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ sʜᴏᴜʟᴅᴇʀs /ɪɴᴇsᴄᴀᴘᴀʙʟᴇ ɢᴜɪʟᴛ / ᴛʜᴇ ғʀᴏᴢᴇɴ ᴡᴀsᴛᴇs ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴄᴛɪᴄ ᴄɪʀᴄʟᴇ/ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴏғ sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴇᴄᴋ / ʟɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ sᴘᴀʀᴋɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ sᴋʏ.

THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

ᴇʀᴏᴛɪᴄ ʟᴏɴɢɪɴɢ / ᴘᴀɪɴᴛ ᴏɴ ᴀ ᴘᴀʟᴇᴛᴛᴇ / ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴄᴜʀʟs ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴏsʏ ᴄʜᴇᴇᴋs / ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇsᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴄʟɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜᴛʜ / ʙᴇᴇs ʟᴀᴢɪʟʏ ᴅʀɪғᴛɪɴɢ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴀss / ʜᴇᴅᴏɴɪsᴍ / ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋɴᴇss ᴏғ ᴀ sᴏᴜʟ / ᴀ ᴅᴜsᴛʏ ᴀᴛᴛɪᴄ / ʜɪᴅɪɴɢ sᴇᴄʀᴇᴛs / ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴘᴏᴏʟɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ғʟᴏᴏʀʙᴏᴀʀᴅs / ɢᴜᴛ-ᴡʀᴇɴᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜsʏ / ᴀ ᴅɪᴍʟʏ-ʟɪᴛ sᴛᴀɢᴇ / ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴄᴏʀʀᴜᴘᴛɪᴏɴ.

THE PRIVATE MEMOIRS AND CONFESSIONS OF A JUSTIFIED SINNER

ᴄʟɪғғs ʀɪsɪɴɢ ᴜᴘ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʟᴏᴜᴅs / sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴀᴍʙɪɢᴜᴏᴜsʟʏ sᴜᴘᴇʀɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ʟᴜʀᴋɪɴɢ / ᴇᴅɪɴʙᴜʀɢʜ’s ᴡɪɴᴅɪɴɢ sᴛʀᴇᴇᴛs / ʀᴇʟɪɢɪᴏᴜs ᴢᴇᴀʟᴏᴛʀʏ / ᴄᴀʀᴇғᴜʟ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ / ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʀɪᴠᴀʟʀʏ / ᴀ ʙɪʙʟᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴀɴ ɪɴᴅɪsᴛɪɴɢᴜɪsʜᴀʙʟᴇ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ / ᴀ ғᴀᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ’s ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴄʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ sʜɪғᴛɪɴɢ / sᴄᴏᴛᴛɪsʜ ʟᴀɪʀᴅs / sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴɪᴄ ᴍᴀsǫᴜᴇʀᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀs sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴘᴜʀᴇ.

DRACULA

ʟᴇᴛᴛᴇʀs ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪᴀʀɪᴇs / sᴜɪᴛᴏʀs ᴄᴏᴜʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ʟᴀᴅʏ / ᴄᴀsᴛʟᴇs ɴᴇsᴛʟᴇᴅ ᴅᴇᴇᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜɪɴ ғᴏʀᴇsᴛs ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏᴜɴᴛᴀɪɴs / ᴛᴇʀʀᴏʀ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴜɴᴋɴᴏᴡɴ / ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴡʟɪɴɢ ᴏғ ᴡᴏʟᴠᴇs / ᴀʀɪsᴛᴏᴄʀᴀᴛs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇs / ᴀ ᴄᴏɴsᴜᴍɪɴɢ ʜᴜɴɢᴇʀ / ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ʀɪsɪɴɢ / ʜᴏʀsᴇs’ ʜᴏᴏᴠᴇs ���ʜᴜɴᴅᴇʀɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ ᴀ ᴘᴀᴛʜ / ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ sᴛᴀɪɴɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ sɴᴏᴡ / ᴄʀᴜᴄɪғɪxᴇs ᴡᴀʀᴅɪɴɢ ᴏғғ ᴇᴠɪʟ.

WUTHERING HEIGHTS

ғᴏɢ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴏʀs / ᴇᴍʙʀᴀᴄɪɴɢ ᴏɴᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ɪs ᴀʟʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ / ᴀ ᴄʏᴄʟᴇ ᴏғ ᴀʙᴜsᴇ / ᴠɪᴄɪᴏᴜs, sɴᴀʀʟɪɴɢ ᴅᴏɢs / ᴀ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ʟᴇғᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴜɪɴ / ᴀ ᴛʜᴏʀɴ ᴀᴍᴏɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏsᴇs / ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ʟᴏᴠᴇ / ɢʜᴏsᴛs / ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴡʟɪɴɢ ᴡɪɴᴅ / ғʟᴏᴡᴇʀs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴅɪᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇɢᴜɴ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴛ / ᴡᴀsᴛɪɴɢ ᴀᴡᴀʏ / ᴀ ᴠᴏɪᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ’ᴛ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪғʏ.

tagged by: me. I'm starting it. :)

tagging: @dragons-ire @fist-and-fury-xiv @shroudandsands @ahollowgrave @the-hawkeyes @iron-sparrow @justatheo @gatheredfates @cindernet-explorer @thefreelanceangel @riftdancing - and YOU!

[lyndztanica]

The lovely Severine, for @entropytea

[yellowrose-ffxiv]

Character Summary: Yellow Rose

alias/nicknames. Rose, Fhil

gender. cis female

age. 35

zodiac. Sagittarius

abilities + talents. Immense physical strength and stamina, proficient in hand-to-hand combat, gardening, and farming

alignment. lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

religion. Follower of Nophica

sins. envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

virtues. charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

languages. Eorzean, Eorzean Sign Language (fluent), Hingan (conversational)

family. Spring Willow (mother), Fire Thorn (father), Red Lily (younger sister)

friends. Otolin Stone, Severine Sauvageot, Cao Xiaohu, Breandan Ducaille, Evilie Voutellievre, Egrine Mhakaracca, Remeraux Melret, among others

sexuality. heterosexual / bisexual / pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

relationship. single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet / it’s complicated

libido. sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent / responsive

build. slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other

hair. white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other

eyes. brown / blue / gray / green / black / other

skin. pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other

height. 7′8″

scars. Numerous puncture wounds across her back, small cuts and scratches over her forearms and hands

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword shield dagger or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future

A few songs that remind you of them:

Whole Lot Of Heart - Ingrid Michaelson

Bronze (Desert Mix) - The Woodlands

This Fffire - Franz Ferdinand

Tagged by: @severine-savage​

[set-in-stone-writing]

9. LUSH

this piece features an appearance by @severine-savage.

for reference, the song featured in this piece is called “Stars Fell on Alabama” and can be listened to by clicking HERE. 

It’s a little easier these days.

Tending to things in the garden. 

The sun shines bright overhead, but doesn’t bother. Rough and calloused hands work through the tender soil, pushing through lush leaves and into flowers of white, red, and gold. 

He’s quiet with his work, but doesn’t mind saying hello to the occasional passersby. Their neighbors in the Goblet have proven to be a rather friendly sort, or at least the ones who make themselves known. 

The sun slowly dips, cresting over the houses on the upper level and behind the dusty mountains; a sky of purple and orange colors comes into view, pushing away any threat of incoming clouds. It all works so well together.

Work comes to a close.  It’s easier these days. Just having the time to tend to the garden.

Otolin can’t help but smile as he admires his handiwork, rising slowly (and maybe with a little creakiness) to his feet. He watches quietly, and then hears… something near, close by, feels the rhythm of something soft with some swing comes into tune.

Who left the window open? And who turned on the orchestrion?

Who else would it be? A flash of blue hair and a wide smile sat on a face he can only adore.

Normally, he’d just listen but the solo to kick off this particular tune strikes him as familiar. So much so. He’s heard this particular one before, a few too many times, and some form of inspiration strikes him in such an odd way. 

He opens his scarred lips.

And smiles. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll… I’ll sing this one with you, Severine.”

How could he not with her watching? 

Knowing her, she’ll probably even join in. He begins to shift toward the open window, seeing her lean forward with her elbows on the windowsill and her face in her hands. Just watching. That big smile.

How could he say no to singing in her presence when he so often does, even in hushed tones in quiet places where only she can hear him. 

She takes the first verse, her tone, diction, and quality nailed in each note:

“We lived our little drama We kissed in a field of white And stars fell on Thanalan-a Last night”

The second verse is where he comes in, taking that role of the counter, shifting in and around her melody:

“I can’t forget the glamour Your eyes held a tender light While stars fell on Thanalan-a Last night”

Then the bridge. 

He takes the low parts, and she goes high with some improvisation. They both follow the other’s lead, unafraid of stepping on each other’s toes:

“I never planned in my imagination A situation so heavenly A fae land where no one else could enter And in the center just you and me”

To the chorus now. 

Severine takes the lead, and Otolin shifts around them; he leans on the windowsill, watching her carefully and closely, his head bobbing back and forth:

“My heart beat like a hammer My arms wound around you tight And stars fell on Thanalan-a Last night”

A second go at the bridge, and it’s Otolin’s turn to lead. He closes his eyes, breathes, and takes a go, able to keep his rumbling tone in time with the orchestrion’s pleasing tone:

“I never planned in my imagination A situation so heavenly A fae land where no one else could enter And in the center just you and me”

He doesn’t need to open his eyes to see Severine’s smile, but he does anyway.

How could he not?

But they don’t lose their concentration just yet. There’s still one last chorus:

“My heart beat like a hammer My arms wound around you tight And stars fell on Thanalan-a Last night”

It slows down at the end, the grand finale, and then fades.

Smiles are on their faces.

“I’ll… I’ll be in for dinner in a moment.”

It’s a little easier these days. 

No, not the garden.

Being with someone else. 

The leaves and flowers in their garden are lush, and so is life.

[fist-and-fury-xiv]

S A V A G E

C R A G

&

P I K E

@severine-savage @geimhleag

[deviri]

👎

“She’s so weird. I don’t know anything about her, she just has this air about her that’s weird and it makes me uncomfortable.”

Unforunately, Rhys doesn’t really know all that much about Severine so his experiences have been kind of soiled from the start. She’s an elezen, which everyone knows if one step down from hyurs so that’s balanced it out in some way. 

@entropytea

[redlily-ffxiv]

Character Summary: Red Lily

alias/nicknames. Lily, Big Red, Wheat Farmer’s Daughter, Rhot

gender. cis female

age. 32

zodiac. Virgo

abilities + talents. Lifelong singer and guitarist, bookkeeping, cooking, gardening

alignment. lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

religion. Follower of Nophica

sins. envy / greed / gluttony / lust / pride / sloth / wrath

virtues. charity / chastity / diligence / humility / justice / kindness / patience

languages. Eorzean, Eorzean Sign Language (fluent)

family. Spring Willow (mother), Fire Thorn (father), Yellow Rose (older sister)

friends. Severine Sauvageot, Otolin Stone, Breandan Ducaille, Cao Xiaohu, among others

sexuality. heterosexual / bisexual/ pansexual / homosexual / demisexual / asexual / unsure / other

relationship. single / partnered / married / widowed / open relationship / divorced / not ready for dating yet / it’s complicated

libido. sex god / very high / high / average / low / very low / non-existent

build. slender / average / athletic / muscular / curvy / other

hair. white / blonde / brunette / red / black / other

eyes. brown / blue / gray / green / black / other

skin. pale / fair / olive / light brown / brown / dark / other

height. 6′10″

scars. None

dogs or cats || birds or bugs || snakes or spiders || coffee or tea || ice cream or cake || fruits or vegetables || sandwich or soup || magic or melee || sword shield dagger or bow || summer or winter || spring or autumn || past or future

A few songs that remind you of them:

Wildflowers - Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, Emmylou Harris

Blue Kentucky Girl - Loretta Lynn

Why Not Me - The Judds