#kae scribbles

[thinkdenki]

hold still! !?(･_･;? tattoo artist!dabi texts- suggestive jokes, mentions of vaping

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

[morocosmos]

Day 1: First Meeting/Light

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.

Deep in the desert of my heart…a lonely flower blooms...

It was a pretty song and a pretty voice, light with simple joy. Moro'a listened, his hand still held in mid-air as curiosity got the better of him. More than likely this was Tataru, and he really should knock before anyone saw him and mistook his intentions. The decision was made for him as the voice suddenly grew louder, and the door swung open.

Instinct compelled him to skip backwards, praying that he would appear as though he was only just coming up to the entrance. At the same time, a lalafellin woman dressed in a pink tabard and a large red hat looked up at him and jumped, scattering back a similar distance. "Oh!"

Moro'a recovered first. "I was told to come here, uhm…Miss Tataru?" Quick as a flash, the woman's gaze sharpened, and though he was easily twice her height, and she apparently unarmed, he sensed a fire behind those eyes that reminded him of Rubh, moments before a razor remark left her tongue. "Y'shtola sent me and told me how to find this place," he added quickly.

Seconds of silence passed as the woman regarded him. "That's Mistress Tataru to you, and failing to address me as such carries consequences in these parts." Her voice was icy, and Moro'a's stomach dropped. A poor start, and he'd only just arrived. An apology was forming at his lips when the woman threw her head back, punctuating the air with a full-bellied laugh. "Oh, the look on your face!" she cackled. The fire in her eyes banked instantly, replaced with sparkling pink as she beamed up at him. "Sorry, I could not resist. You must be Moro'a! It's a good thing you mentioned Y'shtola, though, or else I might have actually been suspicious. Come in, then!"

She beckoned him beyond the threshold, and after a moment's hesitation he followed, surreptitiously wiping beads of perspiration from his forehead that were now the combined result of the ill climate and Tataru's unexpected jest. "I'll need you to fill in some particulars," she said, hurrying to and fro as she gathered a stack of parchment and a quill. "Just some basic details—oh, but where are my manners! You must be exhausted, coming all the way from the city!"

She left the table again, returning this time with a tray of cups and a pitcher. "The bar on the other side just got a shipment of fresh La Noscean oranges." Pouring a generous amount of juice into a cup, she pushed it towards him.

After the first surprise, Moro'a was almost just as bewildered. "I'm fine, really," he tried to assured her, but she shook her head. "Nonsense. Even if you were not clearly parched, Ul'dahn hospitality compels me," she countered with a polite, ironclad smile. "Go on."

Well, if she could not be denied…he accepted the drink from her this time, bowing his head gratefully. The sweet-sour tang soothed his throat instantly. The flavour was oddly nostalgic, bringing to mind long days at the orchards, summer sunshine and torrential rains. Before he knew it, he'd drained the cup. "Thank you."

Tataru nodded, satisfied. "I do need you to fill in this form now, and then I'll show you in. But I expect to enjoy a proper Ul'dahn welcome with you sometime once you've settled in. It's been a while since someone joined our merry band. Do you like tea?"

Moro'a smiled, knowing better than to refuse this time.

[nyotasaimiri]

Many thanks to @midnightsramblings for cheering me up with the mental image of Miran with a mug of hot chocolate. This might not be what you meant but it’s cute anyway~

[thinkdenki]

(˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵) tattooartist!dabi texts pt2- suggestive jokes, smoking mentioned, hooking up mentioned :p

(see i uploaded it smh love me now)

[thinkdenki]

(｡ì _ í｡) 18+ mdni. mentions of greening out lol, public fingering ig- NO SHAMEE??

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.

[morocosmos]

Prompt: poison 💖

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.

More softly—unsure if he wanted her to hear it, or if that was more than he could bear, he added, "There's no one else I'd rather have by my side for this adventure, Stace."

[morocosmos]

wip wednesday

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...

"Where to now?" He favoured Moro'a with a smile as he waved the rest of the guild goodbye. His mood was already improving as they left the stuffy heat of the forge, stepping out into the cooling sea air. "I recall Gerulf saying he had a good price for cod, if you wanted fish tonight." "You mean you want fish." A small smile touched Moro'a's lips, like a fine crease along silk, stretching out from one side of his mouth. Koh'sae's eyes lingered on it, unwilling to stray away. It took considerable effort to swallow, but he pulled himself together. "Hey, I know what I like," he said, pouting for good measure. "You're the who always shrugs and leaves me to decide!" "Not always," Moro'a retorted, the crease now folding over into a small frown. Reserved as he was, he could be surprisingly easy to poke and prod, now that Koh'sae knew where to do so. "More often that not, which counts in my books. Why, it's a wonder you manage to eat anything at all. Where would you be without me dragging you around town for dinner, eh? Eating whole olive miq'abobs." He grinned. This was where his friend would groan at the foul memory that culinary affront, a reaction so uncharacteristically strong that it never failed to put him in a mirthful state.

[morocosmos]

Day 2: Moon/Hats

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.

"I've been wondering, actually," Tataru asked between sips of ginger tea, her question punctuated by a spitting log, "are you not the religious sort, Moro'a?"

The Keeper's breathing came to a halt, then resumed through an effort of will. It irked him, honestly; how the sting never went away, no matter how hard he tried to forget it. Taking on a placid expression, he shook his head lightly.

"Oh." Tataru had keen eyes and an even keener mind, so he doubted it'd escaped her notice.

She visited him and Alphinaud often, claiming that her own room was too cold and sparse to while away the hours there, in spite of the various projects she'd picked up. He didn't object to her presence, but it could be…tricky, the way conversations with her could veer towards any topic at the drop of a hat when there were many things that were to him better left undiscussed. It was one thing to chat at the Waking Sands or Seventh Heaven, where the presence of others gave him an excuse to contribute to the conversation as little as he wanted, or fend off personal questions; it was another to do so one to one, within the four walls that were meant to afford him privacy, borrowed or otherwise.

But where she was usually quick to smooth over any social stumbles, Tataru remained tight-lipped, staring down into her tea. He knew he made for poor company, and uncomfortable as he was, he didn't want to make her day any worse. Tentatively, he asked, "did you take me for the sort?"

The question sufficed to bring Tataru's attention back, and she looked up at him with a reinvigorated expression. "Not really…I was just thinking that Keepers of the Moon like yourself tend to practice their faith quite openly, in my experience."

Fighting a humourless smile, he nodded. "We Keepers do take a certain pride in our faith." It was what their ancestors clung to when everything else was stripped away from them. What was it that Koh'sae had said to him once? That love—a loud and joyfully-proclaimed love, was the balm with which Menphina eased Her people's suffering.

"Una would hang moon daisies in her room on the eve of every full moon without fail. It would fill the room with the loveliest fragrance, and I would find excuses to visit her so I could smell them…and…" Tataru faltered, at war with the emotions surging within her, before finally resigning herself once more to despondence.

The lost hung between them. First the Waking Sands, and then the banquet…missing, Moro'a reminded himself. The distinction mattered. "Keepers believe that true devotion begets true love, and that each gives back to the other in a neverending cycle. Whether it was between us and our goddess, or each other."

"That is a nice thought." Tataru pursed her lips thoughtfully. "But you don't believe in that? Sorry, I don't mean to to pry, it's just…"

He adjusted his fingers around his mug methodically. A decade of unanswered ruminations ran through his head in the blink of an eye. The script had been rehearsed and amended many times over, but that didn't mean concealing the truth had stopped being difficult, even after so many years.

"Things were a little different from the Keepers you know where I grew up. They were stricter, felt stronger about certain things. Things I had a hard time reconciling." He inhaled. Exhaled. "Like the Echo. There was no explanation in our faith for the strange visions I experienced, nor the voice that no one else could hear. People thought I was going mad, or…that I'd been praying to someone else, something else."

Tataru's sympathy came readily. "I'm sorry," she said. "I do recall you mentioning you hailed from a remote part of the Black Shroud, far from the city." That was an outright lie; Moro'a said nothing, allowing his reticence to let the other party make up their own mind about what it meant.

He'd prayed every night to Purnama. She'd never spoken back. "Then I left for La Noscea. It happened gradually, I suppose. I just…stopped." Praying? Believing? Loving? Were they one and the same?

Tataru shifted in her seat, fingers drumming at her mug. "In those early, painful days after I became a lapidary's apprentice to support my family, I would scrounge whatever coins I could spare and visit the Ossuary as often as I could." Unsure where the story was headed, Moro'a watched her, feeling guilty for growing wary, yet unable to help himself.

"At first I would beg Nald to turn the tide of fortune for my parents. For my father, most of all. The loss weighed on him so heavily. I became so angry—furious even. Why wouldn't they answer my prayers, or the gil I spared for them when it could have put a little more food on the table, or perhaps even a sliver of joy, no matter how temporary? We were struggling every day, and many were worse than others."

Then, more softly, she added, "the thaumaturges nearly chased me out, once. I'd started cursing loud enough for it to echo through the halls." She laughed nervously, then drained the rest of her tea in one go.

Her confession surprised him. "And now…?"

"Well…I wanted to stay angry. But then I met Minfilia." Tataru set down her mug gently, before taking off her hat and squeezing it in her hands, smiling. "She gave this to me, you know? A nameday gift. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd received one. Eventually, I concluded that either the Twins had sent her as their answer, or that there was no sense in holding on to my anger, even if they hadn't."

She sniffled, and for a moment Moro'a worried she might falter again, but then she drew herself up, her eyes sparkling gently. "Besides, I think I've managed to do well enough for myself, all things considered. Present…circumstances and all."

Moro'a regarded her, feeling something warm grow inside his chest as he was once again compelled to reevaluate his measure of the Scions' secretary. "I think so, too."

That made Tataru smile—a full-bodied beam this time, and a world away from the brave ones she'd been struggling to don. "Thank you, Moro'a. I don't know if you're looking for a way to reconnect with Menphina, but if you are, or if it's something else you're wishing for…I hope you'll find it."