#kae scribbles

(is this super self indulgent cuz i just got a tattoo?? yes. who caresssss it funnnnnuuhhh) pt two here!

Tataru Week 2026~ WoL & Tataru | Gen | 862 words | MSQ: 2.0 I decided to use the prompts as writing warmups earlier this month, no guarantee i'll get around to all of them during the event since i'm still really busy irl, but these have been fun so far :> Note: moro'a and tataru are close friends. i don't take any issue with shipping lalafells romantically, it just isn't what they are to each other!

Citing "important matters", Y'shtola had parted ways with Moro'a almost as quickly as she'd hailed him, though not without detailed directions on how to proceed onwards to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn's clandestine headquarters. When you arrive, look for Tataru Taru; rest assured you will be in good hands. I bid you good day…and welcome.

The path through the Footfalls was straightforward enough, but the dry desert heat hardly agreed, and it left Moro'a feeling more than discomforted. La Noscea could occasionally turn so humid that it felt as though one might drown in the very air, but he found that comparable to the way this heat sapped the strength out of him. And the dust, which gathered in hot gusts threatened to settle on every ilm of him, even his eyes. He dared not drain his last remaining sips of water in case of an emergency, but it left him parched and on the cusp of irritability.

About halfway through, he began to persevere if only that he might find respite from the elements at his destination, caring less about the promise of a new adventure with each passing moment. When at last he reached Vesper Bay, the cooler air drifting in from the coast brought some relief, though hardly enough. Right, past the statue of a lalafellin man made in unfortunate taste, near the waterfront. Moro'a hovered at the door for several more seconds, unsure if he should knock to be let into a secret organisation. His hand was a second from making contact with the door when he heard singing.

situationship!denki loves to tease you- ESPECIALLY when your out with your friends. you’d be sitting there, all dressed up in whatever pretty skirt you picked out that night, hair styled juuuust right. you’re always put together, but damn it almost bothers him how good you look. so denki- being denki- somehow managed to find himself in the seat right next to you when everyone finally decided to sit down. he really didn’t even have to say much; his eyes did most of the talking when they finally met yours. it’s like the two of you can have full blown conversation with just a look- this one being less deep and more “I’m horny and you look so fucking good.”

and although he looked better than ever, you weren’t going to cave that easily, (or so you thought), you wanted to hear it- maybe because his voice is sexy and you love the way he talks, or maybe it’s because with all the sneaking around the two of you do, it’s nice to hear some sort of confirmation. something like “hey i do want you- and this is how bad.” it’s like he could hear your inner thoughts, because suddenly his knee bumped yours- soft but tactical. “your distracting the hell out of me,” he muttered into your ear. when you roll your eyes with that little smile, it’s like he got you exactly where he wants you. “whaaat-“ he dragged out. “don’t give me that look.” he sighed, his hand creeping up your thigh, eyes flickering over to your as you squirm from the cold touch. “you know you love it,” he whispered. even though you sealed your eyes shut to avoid his shit eating grin, you knew he was still smiling as wide as the sun.

his fingers find their way to your pretty pussy, a wet spot already forming on the fabric that covered it. he rubbed gentle circles with his digits, pressing slightly onto your clit when you started fidgeting too much. you bit down on your lip once he got the confidence to move a little faster, resting your head on his shoulder when it got too hard to sit up straight. honestly, at this point, you were wondering if your friends were just dumb or choosing not to say anything- but luckily for you, they truly didn’t notice. “so wet for me, pretty.” his voice, low, snapped you out of your thoughts and made you realize you’d started rolling your hips.

“gonna cum for me?” he whispered, and all you could reply with was a quiet “mhm”. for some reason, it spiked even more confidence in him. he moved his two fingers faster over your clit, and you felt like you were almost there, your hand gripping onto his wrist under the table. “don’t stop- kami- I swear to go-“ you softly mewled. But then he stopped. he fully fucking stopped. Picking up his phone mid fingering and reading some texts, he finally spoke.

“shit- kiri we need to go check on sero, he’s definitely greening the fuck out in the bathroom-“ he laughed, carefully sliding his hand away from you. you really couldn’t believe it. you knew it was on purpose- he probably got that text 20 fucking minutes ago. your jaw was slack, eyebrows slightly knitted together, and he just grinned. “sorryy, baby.. I’ll make it up to you late if you let me,” he muttered. “it’ll feel even better if you’re waiting for it. trust me.” he pinched your cheek before you jerked your head away, pout plastered across your face. yeah denkis the worst lmao.

Thank youuuu thank you for sending this prompt *checks calendar* almost 6 months ago <3

Leofard swore under his breath as he nudged at the smouldering pile of sticks. It'd taken him almost an hour to get an actual fire going, a feat that left him snarling with frustration and light-headed from the effort. The branches he'd managed to scrounge up were pitifully spindly, and damp, courtesy of the perpetual clouds that blanketed these lands. Words ran through his mind again, words he thought he'd only paid half-attention to: the things that kill off whelps like ye are those what ye can't see. Not beasts or beastmen, nor even the constant threat of an endless fall, but the elements themselves.

He knew that, of course. He'd made it through several Coerthan winters in Ishgard's underbelly, nights so cold his teeth had ached from chattering. But he'd also known the warmth of a blazing hearth and four solid walls. Gentle hands that had rubbed the cold from his smaller fingers.

The fire was going. He'd managed well enough with a good piece of flint and onzes of determination. The folks who lived here survived somehow. He and Stacia would figure out how to do the same.

A soft groan brought his attention to her, where she lay on the other side of the fire, buried under a layer of blankets. Still she shivered, her body running hot and high with fever as it battled the poison wracking it. He didn't know a cure; he didn't even know the name of the scalekin that had attacked them, only that it had been bleedin' fast, and that three bullets in its ruddy body hadn't sufficed to kill it. He doubted it would come back for them with such injuries, at least. Small mercies.

Stacia groaned again, her face scrunching up, and Leofard tensed, wondering if it was pain or sick this time. He hoped it was pain. He cleaned up what he could after each bout, but the smell still hung in the damp air, and he couldn't even say how much he hated it.

He heard a murmur—his name, maybe. He shuffled towards her.

"You called?" he whispered. When Stacia didn't respond, he frowned. "Oi." Nothing. He prodded at her cheek and got another groan, louder this time.

"Stop it," she growled, turning her face away. Lucid enough to complain, then.

"Are you goin' to hurl again?"

That earned him a glare, and a proper look at her face. Her forehead was matted with sweat, and he didn't like the way her hair looked more tarnished grey than silver, even under firelight. But her eyes seemed a tad less dull. "Not if…can help it," she croaked out. Weak, but still tough. Still fighting.

"Good." He might as well keep her talking. "Need some water?"

"I'm fine." Something dug in her voice, beneath the raspiness of her wrecked throat. "Would've been fine if you'd let me take another shot…"

He'd shot at that oversized moth to ward it away, but Stacia had wanted to kill. The girl still had a ferocity to her, the kind that ran through the blood of every Brume rat who'd had to scrounge and bite for survival. She'd made chase, and the beast had caught her unawares. "If you'd had that shot, chances are you would not even be here, spilling your guts out while I clean up after your mess."

Stacia glared at him again, and he wondered what she'd spit back this time. Gone too soft, perhaps, or too highbred to weather the stink. He was preparing a retort when she suddenly convulsed, and a wave of coughing overtook her. He was back at her side instantly, rolling her onto her side so that she could breathe more freely, so that she wouldn't choke herself.

When it was over, she slumped back down, looking a whole lot smaller under the thin blankets and coats. Leofard hesitated—and then leaned over anyway, reaching out to dab at her chin with a handkerchief. He brushed a sweat-soaked lock of hair from her brow.

A long moment later, he heard her say, "Leofard…'m sorry I messed up."

"You didn't." He hadn't even considered blaming anyone for this. And in all sincerity, he'd rather have her spit and hiss like a feral cat than mope. "It's a strange new land, eh? Can't help it if we run into a surprise every now and then."

"I promise I'll do…better next time…"

"You will," he said. There was a forcefulness in his voice that was still foreign to him. Something that ran deeper than authority or desperation.

Whateverrrrrr, posting something since it's still wednesday and i rarely remember to share something on this day of the week. tagging @ferrocyan @lavampira @thorinoakenbutt @stellarfatalism and anyone else who wants to play! mine's a snippet from chapter 3 of TKA, which i'm making progress on...slowly...

Tataru Week 2026 🌙 WoL & Tataru | Gen | 1.2k words | MSQ: Pre-3.0

"Look Moro'a, the moon! It's beautiful." The sky was rarely clear enough in Camp Dragonhead to see anything beyond impenetrable cloud or fog, but the cold was less bitter this evening, though he and Tataru huddled around the fireplace anyway. He glanced out the window, where sure enough, the night's watchful eye presented itself in a waxing figure.

So it was. He paid the sight another moment of silent regard before turning back.