#ashoix

Memory Meme.

This happened in my younger days, at a period of my life I slept only during the daylight. Clients all night long, and if I finished a little earlier than expected – someone had to get home before the wife got suspicious, or wanted to get to the chapel at first bell in order to beg Halone for forgiveness, or whatever, then I got a little time to myself that I spent reading or just getting blackout drunk. So, this was before I went to bed in the morning. I sat all wrapped up in blankets on my bed, reading by lamplight. This was before the great freeze, so that was enough, I only used the stove in winter. Feeling as though I was being watched, I looked up and saw a little face in my vanity mirror.

Not my own reflection, I swear it – a little face.

The flutter that went through Llewannth as a sharp edge was scraped -less than an ilm- along his throat wasn’t born of normal origins. It was strange to consider if even for a moment, that gut-reaction. Where the skull’s spark-laden meats were calm and restful, the spine was sending imperceptible transmissions.“So,” his words came soft, not daring to press too far with volume into the pricking blade. “Who did I piss off this time?” His eyes lidded down, dark lashes hiding the movement of his gaze as it flickered around.They were alone, the backstreet vacated in small hours, one he often took. He chided himself for his own carelessness– it’d been a few days since he’d changed up his route. All the while he could hear his heart, thunderstorms in his ears, amplifying his own racing thoughts. Blade to his throat– not dead yet. Not bleeding out quite yet.“…What do you say, we make a deal?”

♡- Maril: Be there for her when she needs you. Maril lives a life in the fast lane, she focuses a lot of her time and efforts into her career, which sometimes puts her at risk, but also most definitely tires her out. Falling into a pair of strong arms at the end of the day, and reassuring her that if risks come knocking on her door, she’ll be safe. But whatever you do don’t treat her like a damsel in distress.

♡- N’idawa. Be the strongest Nunh. That’s right, I said it! She is a traditional seeker, and she absolutely favors Nunhs who keep it together, who are strong and adept at leading the life they’ve chosen to lead. This does not mean however that she’s just magically going to gravitate to the next “new and improved” version she sees- Being a dick and trying to push her current Nunh away isn’t going to win any points so long as she is happy with her current situation.

Gold by Imagine Dragons

Statues and empires are all at your hands, Water to wine and the finest of sands. When all that you have's turning stale and it's cold, Oh, you'll no longer feel when your heart's turned to gold. Who can you trust? When everything, everything, everything you touch turns to gold, gold, gold. Everything, everything, everything you touch turns to gold, gold

Narin: 

Tani is silent for a long moment. Claw-tipped fingers extend, and tap-tap-tap a drum’s rhythm onto the edge of the sticky counter beneath his arm. A dreamy smile touches to his painted lips, and his head tips, slowly, to one side. His curls come spilling over a shoulder, and a slow breath comes drawn in past his lips as he narrows his eyes until they crinkle at the corners.

“You know, it’s strange.” He starts, softly. “Narin found me at a very low point in my life. I didn’t know it at the time, an’ I don’t think he knew it, either.” His free hand lifts, and moves toward the porcelain rim of his steaming teacup. He slots two fingertips against the edge, and he traces it; slowly, thoughtfully.

“I wished for somethin’, or someone to come along, an’ take me away; an’ there he was, dressed in leather under the Ul’dah sun.” A quiet chuckle spills past his lips, and he gives his head a thoughtless shake. “Wild, an’ wise in ways I’m not. He’s lost. He misses his home more than he’ll ever let on, because he doesn’t want me to worry, of course.” He murmurs, expression turning an ounce more sombre as his aether-bright eyes lower to the rippling surface of his amber-toned tea.

“..but he’s strong.” He nods, the movement slow; calculating. “A man doesn’t survive losin’ his family, an’ bein’ driven from his homeland without bein’ strong. It’s a quiet sort of strength, you know? Like a campfire, or-.. like a dagger in its sheath. You know what it could do if it had the chance, but-.. you also know you’d rather not find out.” He lifts his gaze, hand drawing away from the teacup.

“He notices everythin’, too. Sometimes I wonder if that’s part of bein’ a hunter — you’re trained to pick up on everythin’. If I look like I might be sad, if I’ve hurt my ankle, an’ I’m walkin’ strange, or if I’m tired— he knows. I don’t even need to say anythin’, an’ oftentimes, neither does he. He’ll walk slower, he’ll find somewhere for me to sit, he’ll take my bag an’ carry it for me, he’ll do somethin’ just to help, even when I don’t ask for it.” A smile sneaks across his lips, and a hand cords through his looping curls to sweep them from the crest of his freckle-dotted cheek.

“He’s wonderful, an’.. sometimes I think-.. if the night could be a person, if the night could talk back, it’d look, an’ it’d sound like him. You know? I’m sure that’s-.. silly.” He lets out a wavering laugh.

“But, that’s how I see him.” His smile fades, and his hands lower to cradle the bottom of his porcelain teacup. “..an’ you know us Keepers, hm?” He lifts his gaze, again.

“To us, the night is everythin’.”

Isende:

The mention of the healer brings a crinkle to the freckled bridge of Tani’s nose, and he tips his head aside, bringing the teacup to the painted bow of his lower lip to steal a sip as he shifts in his seat, tail flicking across his lap to curl in a heap of sandy fur tethered about his thighs.

“Isende.” He echoes, quietly. “I’ve seen snow before, you know? Durin’ Starlight, it always falls. It’s pretty, an’ it’s transient. No two snowflakes are alike, either, an’ that’s what makes them so.. wonderful.” His ears twitch, earrings click-clicking together as he lowers the teacup before him.

“Isende is like snow. Cold, calculating, there, an’ gone again; like he’s carried by the wind. He’s always been professional, an’ he’s always been attentive. I suppose that’s all the makings of a good healer, isn’t it?” His smile turns wry as he tips his head aside, and reaches up to catch a gold-spun curl between two manicured fingertips. He twirls it, aimlessly, between them. “..an’ I suppose that’s why I never made for an awfully good healer. No, too empathetic, too sympathetic, too chatty, too personal, too much. Always too much.” He says, tongue giving an idle click.

“I think he’s lonely, too. He’s a long way from home, an’ I know the Goblet is nothin’ like the home he knows. Ishgardians startin’ a clinic in the desert sounds about as silly as it is.” He says, withdrawing his hands from the table to smooth gilded palms along the lace front of his robes. “I know I’d miss my home, if I was in such a place.”

His tongue skates over the bow of his lower lip.

It would be the moment she stepped foot into the Studium and the Sharlayan colony.

Born in Ishgard, like most orphaned lowborn children Svanielle did not have a vast knowledge of the world and barely had any means of learning about it. So imagine an adolescent Svan, coming from a nation nearly if not entirely comprised of elezen, stepping foot into a colony not only different in appearance, but heavily diversified without a government ran by a Church. And on top of that it did not matter who or what you were, any capable child could be admitted into the Studium. (It is also the same for the Scholasticate, but the Sharlayans found her first.)

Needless to say Svanielle suffered numerous and varying degrees of culture shock, but this exposure shaped her way of thinking into the woman she is now.