@ofplacidity-blog / ofplacidity-blog.tumblr.com
// It is done! My final fantasy multimuse blog is over here at @voxlilium
It contains Prompto ( @ofsilverguns ), Larsa ( @ofplacidity ), Titus Drautos ( @parricidalis ), Yuna, Rikku , Balthier ( @astrumpirata ) and Lunafreya ( @hayareach ).
I’m going through my mutuals on each blog to follow you again and if you follow back then I’ll simply continue our threads where we left off!
Thank you for your patience!
Ind. Vayne Carudas Solidor, hailed from Final Fantasy XII.
@ofplacidity
Five years ago to the day, Vayne Carudas Solidor bade a steel kiss unto his brothers’ hearts. Two mighty, would-be limbs of their noble tree had been rent by the very laws from which emanated their blood-right; no, the grim irony had not been lost him. His father, once the impregnable oak of their kin, was blighted by disease and rotted in crude dementia. Ailed by the sins of his siblings and the frailty of the emperor, Vayne knew of no salvation but himself. In time, all that would remain of House Solidor existed together in the quietude of their study.
“It wounds you still, brother?” Vayne observed, roused from his half-written speech. He did not shrink away from the sober atmosphere. It was palpable and difficult to ignore, but more so, Larsa’s sorrows were his own – such was the burden of a human heart, one his decriers in the Senate failed to espy within him. As was his keen disposition, the heir of the Archadian Empire attacked it without equivocation. The ink was yet to dry, much like what stained his hands mere hours prior to the poor boy’s exposure to the menaces of the world.
“Come, you needn’t hide it from me. Have you known me to break faith to father?” His smile was fond and true, not the cutthroat veneer he offered to obsequious shadow-whisperers in the pavilion. It was devious but fangless, a playful jest budded with warmth. “Ah. Aside from that incident with the Dorstonian vase, that is –– for which I owe you nothing, if not solace.”
Vayne was his world, or at least, a strong pillar that carried his world and supported the fundaments. It was terrifying that around them, Larsa’s world seemed to shrink. He didn’t know his other brothers that well, had been a very young boy, and they had been would-be-usurpers, no? Such was the official word, written in every history tome of Archadian history. Surely they had deserved death?
Hard to tell. Such drastic measures were beyond Larsa’s thinking.
But the loss of their father, that had been like a gash in his heart. It just kept bleeding, and Larsa knew not how to cure this ailment of his. Aside from Vayne, his father had been very important to what Larsa preceived as his content reality. With Gramis gone..nothing was well.
Despite the servants trying to remain discreet, word that Vayne had a hand in the sudden death of the Emperor did reach Larsa too. “No, certainly not.” Needless to say, Larsa didn’t deem that a possibility. The assassin was clearly sent by the senat. “It’s just..” With Gramis gone, Larsa needed Vayne’s company more than ever. But now that Vayne had risen as Emperor, he was very occupied. Larsa shouldn’t be interrupting him, though it was very late already. He worried Vayne was going to overwork himself, and wither away much too soon. Being the Emperor was anything but healthy.
A gloved hand shot up to tug at one of his own dark strands, a sign of nervousness. “I saw the light shining in your study, and the hour is quite late. You best retired for the night, no? What I wanted to discuss with you requires no haste.”
Larsa Solidor is tiny.
The sticky mess between his legs, pooled on the ground around his thighs, that was the only sensation Genji could focus on in the long moments since darkness had settled over his cell. They came, just two, and Genji was unsure if they linked to the others or if they were just fulfilling some weird fantasy that they’d had since they were younger; either way they had taken their fun with the bound cyborg multiple times since his capture.
It was unclear exactly what they were after in regards as to whether they were going to try and sell him or parts of him, they still thought he was an Omnic and the lack of flesh around the crotch had that secret still thankfully under wraps. He knew it was only a matter of time before someone worked out how to take him apart and found the person underneath.
The person that had crumbled inward the first time they’d pinned him down and… and— no, he couldn’t dwell on that if he had any hope of getting out of here. Thus Genji forced himself to focus on something else, the noises in the next cell where it looked like they had dumped someone else. Painfully, Genji placed his hands down and eased himself over to the wall, leaning down to the small vent in the wall and peering through to see someone else bound and captive. He looked close to tears, gagged and Genji wondered if he was njured.
So he tapped on the grail and waved, the best he could do right now.
The sound startled him, and he flinched, half expecting for his captors to have returned. Perhaps they had figured out who he was? But when no one arrived, he noted that the clinking sound he had heard had come from the left, and so he peered over, to notice a vent, and behind it, there was another person.
How foolish of him, to have assumed he were alone here. He should have looked around for other captives sooner! Since aside from being gagged, he was entirely unharmed, he could be trying to see if there was someone else who needed more help.
He got up and walked over to the vent, slowly and cautiously, and then knelt in front of it. They had bound his hands but at least his legs were free and he could walk.
By the looks of it, it was an omnic. Omnics weren’t welcome in the empire of Archadia, but Larsa had met some outside of the empire grounds, and he did like them. Or rather, they had given him absolutely no reason to dislike them, or fear them, like others supposedly did.
So it was true, that the sky pirates had started selling and trading omnic parts? Was that lucrative? If so, then Larsa definitely had to help this one escape, or the omnic would be caught in an endless cycle of shady deals, until being taken apart altogether.
He moved so close, that it would be possible for the omnic to remove his gag. If only he was free of it, he could melt down that vent and he could see whether he might fit through. His small size was coming in handy, in their current situation.
“Mmh.” He hoped the grunt was understandable. There was nothing else he could say.
And so, House Solidor lives on.
ffxii.jpg
you’re giving the savior a curfew, is that it?
So where did you hear this fairy tale about “nethicite” ?
you know whats wayyyyy easier than writing? scrolling through tumblr for hours and hours and tangentially thinking about your WIPs but not Actually working on them
Larsa (FFXII).
(via )
“Your little Empress-in-waiting is a beauty beyond compare,” he assures after a long, savoring sip of his tea, having come to appreciate the Archadian method of preparation for what it is after these many years of the Emperor’s friendship.
The air of the gardens is humid from abundant vegetation and heavy with the roses’ perfume, a scent which Al-Cid has, and always will associate with him.
“A little meek for my tastes, but…” He lowers the cup held delicately between his fingers to a saucer awaiting it below, leveling his gaze with that of the younger man. Isabeta is younger still, a full year from sixteen, and womanhood– but after such time she will make a fine wife for Larsa. She is, after all, his favorite cousin.
“It is good, then, that she is marrying you instead of me, no?” He laughs heartily, as if at a private joke, although it is no secret to anyone that this Margrace will never marry. Luckily there is no pressure on him to produce an heir of any sort, though the idea there may be a number of illegitimate progeny scattered across the land is hardly unthinkable with the company he keeps, and how frequently.
“Meek?” Perhaps that was a good thing? Her character seemed to befit his own. A loud, outgoing wife would complement his own personality, but a meek, quiet wife would certainly cause for less quarrels. He couldn’t tell which one might be better. Surely some people would deem perfect harmony too boring. But as far as Larsa could tell, marriage wasn’t supposed to be a fight either.
Perhaps Al-Cid meant, a rozarrian type of meek. That would certainly still be considered interesting enough by archadian standards. And Larsa wanted to be fair and give her a chance either way.
Which lead him to the more uncomfortable parts of his want to speak to the elder. He cleared his throat and watched a firefly float over Al-Cid’s shoulder, illuminating his handsome face for a moment. “I doubt you will ever wed, my lord.” he chuckled, knowing it was true. Al-Cid didn’t have to, so unless he was falling in love, he probably saw little reason to tie himself to someone.
“She is..a maiden for sure, yes?” A woman of nobility had to remain chaste, in Archadia at least. “Please don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t mind if she weren’t.” he added hastily, not wanting to sound accusing. “It’s just, I fear she might be expecting too much...finesse of me.” He wondered whether the older was catching the meaning of his words. He felt his face turn warmer. “If she knows more than me, perhaps I won’t have to fear disappointing her so much.”
He had been careless, so he was probably deserving the predicament he was in. He was certainly old enough to know that not everyone was benevolent, especially not sky pirates who were notorously criminal after all. Clearly Larsa had spent too much time in noble company lately, and had assumed the situation was far less dangerous as expected.
To be fair, he had trespassed, and sky pirates or no, it had been an offence that would anger anyone. Sadly, all of his apologies hadn’t quelled their anger in the slightest; on the contrary. He had given his Archadian heritage away by displaying his thick accent, and his clothes were expensive, so they rightly assumed he might be worth more than expected. At least they only gathered that he was of nobility, and not who exactly he truly was.
So they locked him away, and were quick to realise that he was gifted when it came to magic, which promptly caused them to gag him along with tying his hands together. It looked like a futile situation, and he could do nothing but await further developements, as he tried not to panic. He took deep breaths and blinked the tears away that threatened to fall, reminding himself that countenance was going to help him endure any kind of situation.
