#FFxivWrite 2023

[dawnslight-aegis]

19. weal

(cw for implied torture and general Vault-related awfulness.)

Grief hung heavy in the Fortemps household, an almost physical presence. Kaede endured it for as long as she could, but a bell before midnight she escaped out into the cold, desperate to be free of the guilt that choked and clawed at her throat.

Her steps took her away from the Pillars, through Foundation, and nearly to the city gates themselves before she could stop herself from running away. A part of her wanted to keep going – Haurchefant had been the entire reason she was welcome in the city, the entire reason she was safe, and now he was gone. She could simply walk out of Ishgard and return to the life she’d had before the Bloody Banquet. The temptation was there, to flee and to never look back.

Instead, she turned her steps towards the Congregation, the place still a hive of activity in the wake of the heretic attacks on the city and the chaos of the Vault. She drew stares as she walked through the halls, but no challenges – apparently dragging their Lord Commander from the bowels of Ishgard’s worst prison had earned her the right to pass uncontested. She had a mind to visit the infirmary – the act of cleaning wounds and changing bandages would do nothing to assauge her guilt, but at least it would be something to do. The first few rooms were empty, but the third open door she passed ground her to a stop.

Aymeric sat on the edge of the bed inside, papers dangling loosely from his hands, but he made no attempt to look at them. Exhaustion was writ plain in every line of his slumped shoulders, in the way his eyes were unfocused, trained on the floor before him, the blue irises all but swallowed by the dark circles that ringed them. White bandages wound around his broad torso, speaking to the extent of his wounds – though the fact that the last time she’d seen him, he could barely stand upright, had told her more than enough.

He did not look up until she had taken several steps through the doorway, his mind clearly far away. Kaede suspected they’d all left parts of themselves in the Vault, and Aymeric more than most.

His gaze found hers and he shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. “Kaede? Why are you –”

His normally smooth voice was rough with exhaustion – or perhaps overuse – and Kaede shoved aside the implications of that, refusing to think too hard on it.

“Shouldn’t you be at home, Lord Commander? Resting?”

Aymeric glanced down at the papers in his hand for a moment. “Perhaps. I told myself there was work to be done, but…” He sighed, the force of it traveling visibly through his entire frame, but the exhale quickly slid sideways into a hiss of pain as his shoulders flexed.

Raising her eyebrows, Kaede walked around to the side of the bed, heedless of the way Aymeric’s eyes followed her in surprise. Instead her attention was trained on his back, the gauze stained rust-red with old blood.

“These should have been changed a bell ago.”

“The chirurgeons have their hands full, and I am not in any danger,” he murmured, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

She waved off his protests as she collected a nearby basin of water, pot of salve, and roll of fresh linen bandages, secretly pleased at the glimpse of unbroken spirit. “Yes yes, fine. Just turn around and let me see.”

Aymeric hesitated for a long moment, looking at her with a strange, unknowable expression, then slowly nodded and turned his back to her.

Settling on the edge of the bed next to him, she wordlessly unwound the soiled dressing, carefully peeling it away from the gashes and weals left by whip and blade. Horror settled in as she saw fully the ruined mess the inquisitors had made of his flesh, and gods, it wasn’t as if she needed another reason to bury her sword in Thordan’s black heart, but he’d seen fit to give her one, regardless.

Kaede quickly yanked her mind off of that path, instead devoting all of her focus to keeping her hands steady and her touch light as she washed his wounds with clean water and liberally covered them in salve, mindful of every quiet sharp inhale or suppressed twitch of pain.

He did not speak until she had finished carefully securing the bandages in place, murmuring a quiet “thank you, my friend,” into the cool night air.

Four simple words, containing a bottomless well of nameless emotion, which made it clear that he did not mean them merely for the dressing of his wounds.

‘Twas for his benefit that any of them had set foot within the Vault, after all. A fact that doubtless caused him no end of guilt and pain, but that she could do nothing to absolve him of, burdened as she was by her own. But neither would she lay any blame at his feet.

She stood and took a step back. “You’re welcome. See that you get at least some rest, Aymeric. I fear you’ll need it.”

Moving more easily than he had before, Aymeric turned, eyes fixed on her as if searching for something. After a moment, he nodded. “We all will.”

At his words, her mouth twisted – normally she would stay either in her guest room at Fortemps Manor, or the inn room she had reserved with Marzanna, but one lay beneath a heavy cloud of despair, and the other consumed by a storm of guilt-fueled rage. Kaede was certain that tomorrow, one or the other would stir to life in the icy numbness of her heart, but she had no wish to hasten the process.

Aymeric’s grief was quiet, aimed inwards in a way that did not make her want to scream and rend flesh from bone, but his presence grounded her against the temptation to sink into her own thoughts that solitude brought.

Perhaps her own could do the same for him.

Instead of leaving, as she’d intended, Kaede plucked from the bed the paperwork that Aymeric had put down earlier, relocating it to a distant table as he watched, mystified.

“What, may I ask, are you doing, my lady?”

With a disaffected toss of her braid over her shoulder, Kaede pulled a chair near to, but not next to, the side of the bed. She settled into it, arms crossed and leaning against the wall before she answered tartly, “Ensuring that you rest.”

Aymeric tilted his head, eyes narrowed as if he meant to protest, but the longer he studied her, the more his expression softened, until he finally summoned the wan ghost of a smile to his face and laid down on his stomach. Almost the moment he was settled, his breathing deepened and evened, exhaustion bearing him away as soon as he relaxed his guard for even an instant.

Stifling a jaw-cracking yawn, Kaede allowed herself to be lulled to sleep by the quiet sound of it, holding the depth of the ache in her heart at bay for just long enough.

Tomorrow she would set aside a broken shield and take up her claymore in pursuit of vengeance, but tonight, she would take what rest she could find.

#oops I tripped and all this hurt/comfort came falling out of my pockets #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite 2023 #wolmeric #aymeric de borel #ffxiv fanfiction #tales from the dawn #look if the game is going to make the poor man suffer at least let us go visit him afterward

[blackestnight]

4: line and sinker

Day 4: Off the hook

Word count: 416

Obligatory Haruki fishing fill. As always, A’dewah is @fistsoflightning‘s problem, I just get to torment him on occasion.

It was the sort of lazy summer day where A’dewah felt like his bones were melting, but in a pleasant way, like the heat was softening him from the inside out and chasing the perennial chill from his fingertips. Maybe if he sat still long enough, he’d ooze into a puddle and take a nap.

Being a nap-puddle would make it hard to hold his book, though. Or his fishing rod.

He had his trousers rolled up to his knees so he could swish his feet in the water; the fishing rod was held in its mostly-secure place between his knees with one hand while he turned pages with the other. The dock was empty aside from him, but Haruki was out there somewhere, armed with a spear and Seiryu’s divine blessing; A’dewah didn’t mind that their river fishing trips meant so much time in technical solitude, because the sound of the current and the cicadas was soothing, and Haruki’s spirited retellings of his adventures to the riverbed were delights on their own.

Granted the serenity was disrupted slightly when a tug on the line meant he had to scramble for the rod before it fell in the river, but—well, he was probably overdue for a sudden spike in his heart rate anyway.

The reel clicked gently as he cranked the handle, and whatever it was, his catch couldn’t have been that big, because the line was coming in without a struggle, but A’dewah’s eyes widened as a massive pale shape emerged from the shadowy deep—

Haruki surfaced with a grin and a hearty flick of his hair that scattered water droplets all over A’dewah’s front. “Hey there, sunshine!” he said, delighted, and gripped the edge of the dock with one hand. The other, A’dewah noted, was pinching the fishing hook, which seemed to have been deliberately snagged on Haruki’s armband. “Come here often?”

A’dewah couldn’t contain his amusement completely, but he did manage to stifle it to what he was sure was a goofy smile, rather than a full-blown laugh. “You are the strangest fish I have ever seen,” he said. “Probably not good eating—I’ll need to throw you back.”

“Aww,” Haruki said, with a pout so over-acted he submerged up to his nose before kicking back up. “I thought I was a reel catch. Get it?”

A’dewah covered his face with a hand, looked to the sky to hide his chuckle, then planted his bare foot on Haruki’s forehead and forced him back underwater.

#ffxivwrite 2023 #final fantasy xiv #writing - mine #oc: haruki hagane #a'dewah #haruki is at his most powerful when he is making awful fishing puns #s: persimmon trees

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #6: Ring

"Livvy," said Zero, so quietly that she almost hadn't heard her amid the bustle outside Meghaduta.

"Yeah?"

Zero's face was characteristically hidden by her wide-brimmed hat, but Ahtyn could make out the barest trace of a frown underneath. "I believe my linkpearl may be broken. If you would be willing to assist me, I would be in your debt."

"Pffft." If the maintenance and repair of linkpearls was a matter of debts, the Garlond Ironworks would not be facing nearly as many financial challenges. "Don't worry about it. You can just treat me to some more curry later."

Zero nodded - almost immediately - and dropped her linkpearl into Ahtyn's palm. Almost at once, it gave a chirp and a small vibration.

"It has been activating almost constantly. I have found the command to silence it, but if I were to do so, I would not be informed of messages from you and your companions. Given the urgency of our tasks, that would be unacceptable."

Ahtyn examined the linkpearl from the outside. For all intents and purposes, it was identical to her own: the same make and model as the one Minfilia had given to her nearly ten years ago. "Looks like all the bits are where they should be. You haven't dropped it, or anything?"

"Not that I can recall."

"Gotcha. So from here, the first step that most people will tell you is to turn it off and back on again, but let's be real, we don't have time for that."

Zero tilted her head in confusion. "Is it not worth an attempt?"

"Nah, it's fine." She brought it a little closer to her face. "Mind if I check some of your inbox? I promise I won't look at anything private - I just want to see if there are actually messages coming through every time you get a ping, or if it's alerting you to nothing."

"You may look at whatever you would like."

There was a lesson in there somewhere about friendship and trust, and how there were some friends (like G'raha) to whom she could show her entire search history without any negative repercussions, and some friends (like Urianger) with whom she would sooner never speak again than show a single saved image on her tomestone, but Ahtyn was too distracted to make it into a coherent point. Zero's inbox was in shambles.

"How many people have you given this number to?"

Zero had to ponder this question, which was not a good sign in this context. Ultimately, however, she said, "Only the Scions. And one formidable hunter of elite marks."

"That's it, then. Looks like whoever they are, they've signed you up to a hunt linkshell."

"A hunt linkshell?"

"Not a very good one; there's way more chatter than callouts happening." Ishgardian court drama, complaints about aetheroil prices, dispatches from the Quicksand, and a recurring stream of lines and hashes made to look like fat cats. "I think it's safe to mute this until we're back from the void for good."

"I see."

Ahtyn pressed a few buttons to mute the awful linkshell but did not yet hand it back to Zero, as she could sense that the reaper had more questions. "Linkshells can be handy for meeting people, especially people with shared goals or interests. But they can be a bit too much for me. All it takes is one annoying person to ruin the vibe, you know?"

To her credit, Zero nodded in immediate understanding. But of course - she herself had been something of a leader of her own little community in the void. "You are not in a linkpearl for meeting other women?"

For a moment, Ahtyn's brain went completely empty. "Uh, no," she stammered. "No, I prefer to meet people more… organically."

"Organically?"

"Like, I want to get to know someone in person before I talk to them."

"Strange," said Zero. "I would think that talking to someone is the only way of getting to know them."

"I mean to date! Dating is way different from friendship, and I've always felt most comfortable being friends with someone before I think of them as a possible romantic partner."

"Like Zenos."

The only emotion she could summon was a deep relief that none of the others were around to hear. "…There are lots of reasons why Zenos and I would never have been… romantic partners. But in theory? Yeah. Sort of like that."

Again Zero nodded. She held out her hand for her linkpearl, and Ahtyn returned it. As the reaper walked away, evidently deep in thought, Ahtyn filed away a mental note to make a few long overdue calls.

#FFXIVWrite #FFXIVWrite 2023 #Livvy Ahtynwyb #Zero FFXIV

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2023 14. Clear

Characters: Lucia Junius, Artoirel de Fortemps, Jannie Eyradoux, Honoroit Banlardois, Emmanellain de Fortemps, U'rahn Nuhn, Aymeric de Borel Expansion: Endwalker (No Spoilers) Rating: T for Nuhn Notes: N/A

“Ser Junius, we have come at your command. How can House Fortemps assist you?”

The Temple Knight commander didn’t look up at Artoirel and Jannie as the two approached her desk. Her fair cheeks were flush, eyes unable to meet the young couple as young Honoroit giggled in a chair behind her. The elder Fortemps shot a glare to the boy, getting the pageboy to be silent as Lucia composed herself.

“There was an incident in the Jeweled Croizer, involving your younger brother and U’rahn Nuhn.”

Jannie sighed, while Artoriel cursed under his breath. Lucia was taken aback for a moment by the lack of initial concern for the two’s well-being. Clearing her throat, she moved to stand then looked back to Honoroit, “Anyroad, it seems they were victims of a rather juvenile prank which resulted in…indecent exposure.”

“Indecent…The Fortemps name is sullied isn’t it? This is the end of our great house…” Artoriel breathed out, looking up to the ceiling.

Jannie gently took Artoritel’s arms against her to comfort him as she looked to the Commander, doing her best to comfort him as he reeled. 

“What were the circumstances exactly?”

“I think young Honoroit here should explain the details,” Lucia answered sternly, stepping aside so that the couple could focus on him.

The teen was stifling his amusement, swallowing his laughter with a deep breath. “I offered to treat Master Emmanellain and Master U’rahn to a meal with the royalties from my recent publication. In a moment of youthful indiscretion I thought to play a prank upon them. I should have known better, seeing who they are.”

“Out with it! What did you do, “Artoriel demanded.

“Well, Master Emmanellain fancied himself a new coat and we found ourselves in the tailor. I happened upon an empty hanger and then inspiration struck. I held it out before me and told them what extravagant fabric I had found. Of course they were perplexed at my findings, yet their nature prevented them from being entirely skeptical. I proceeded to explain it was made from a rare plant in Coerthas that once harvested and spun into fabric, only the most heroic of men could perceive it. Well, of course they then proceeded to proudly proclaim they both could see it.”

“Seven hells..,” Artoriel groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

“Surely they didn’t,” Jannie started before letting out another sigh,, “Of course they did. Oh, Honoroit. This is mischief worthy of Violet. Why did you not stop them!?”

“I did try. Honest Ms. Eyradoux! Before I could step in they were fighting over a hanger and making a scene. I offered a second hanger to resolve matters and in a flash they’d paid the confused shopkeep then disrobed and pantomimed putting on their ‘heroic’ vestments before running out into the street.”

“Where we then in turn swiftly apprehended them and brought them to their cells. As you can imagine we’ve had a bit of trouble convincing them they have been victims of mischief,” Lucia sighed.

Artoriel glowered at Honoroit while Jannie shook her head. The boy shrugged, “I cannot help that I’ve built up a reputation as the straight man to Master Emmanellian’s antics. It made for the perfect storm of hijinks.”

“It seems it has,” Jannie hummed, unable to prevent herself from cracking the slightest of smiles. 

“Don’t you dare give this any life. Commander, where are the idiots?”

“Right…this way,” Lucia answered, cheeks flushing once more, leading the two down to the cells. 

Approaching, both smallclothed clad men hurried to their bars, looking up eagerly to the couple. U’rahn’s tail danced around behind him with excitement as he looked up into Jannie’s eyes while Emmanellain did the same toward his brother.

“Great tidings my brave, heroic brother. Please tell the Commander here that surely there has been some mistake and you can see the dazzling coat I am in,” Emmanellain begged.

“Yeah Yeah! You’re a Warrior of Light light me! Jannie! C’mon C’mon! Tell her there’s a mistake.

Jannie simply smiled, letting Atroriel put his head against the bars, eyes burning with rage to the point that both men cowered, “Lady Commander, I do not see my brother here. Nor Master U’rahn. These miscreants should be left in here to never again see the light of day.”

“If you’re sure Lord Fortemps,” Lucia answered with a light bow.

Jannie and Artoirel exited, leaving the two duped fools to cry and beg. Hours later when Lucia broke down and brought down the Lord Commander himself to flusteredly assure the two they were indeed half-naked, they finally began to doubt themselves and see through young Honoroit’s ruse. 

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #ff14 #ffxiv oc #ff xiv #u'rahn nuhn #lucia junius #artoirel de fortemps #emmanellain de fortemps #honoroit banlardois #aymeric de borel #jannie eyradoux #ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite 2023 #clear

[cadrenebula]

Prompt #27: Sole

It was just another day for this small portion of the Troupe. Just Ely, Fen, Aryn, and Ronove in Ely's apartment. Just relaxing and enjoying each other's company. Well mostly relaxing.

"Well, it's o-fish-ial," Ely crows from where she's curled into the corner of her sofa, the fire crackling merrily in the hearth. The rain beats down on the window panes and the troupe group had gathered in Ely's apartment to exist quietly with one another. "Fangs, you're formally a fin-tastic fish father." She looks smug.

Fen, reading a book on the other sofa, sighs fondly.

Aryn is groaning from where he sits near Fen drinking a cup of tea. "Seems a bit fishy to me."

"You betta believe it." Ronove smirks as he messes with his fishing kit he'd bought recently. It was better then the basic one he had started with. An his new friend was planning to teach him to make food for his fishy friends. "I dislike anchovies though, they're a little fishy."

"Maybe think about tackling jellyfish next?" Ely hums thoughtfully, "We wouldn't want them to get jelly!" She pauses at beat and then adds, seriously, "And some of them are bioluminescent, which might be pretty at night. We do like sparkly things here."

"Perch-ance," Fen pipes up, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he stares, stubbornly, at his book, "would it have krill-ed you to not start a pun war Darling?"

"Excuse you! I have no ink-ling of what you mean Fen! My puns are ex-squid-ite." Ely pouts at him.

"It's de-beta-bowl how skilled her puns are tonight." Aryn smirked as he sipped at his tea. "She takes every oppor-tuna-ty she can get."

"Needs more e-fish-ency. I'm going to need a minute to mullet over." Ronove was doing his best not to crack up laughing as he closed the fishing kit.

"Wow! Re-puffed by my own family. I sea how it is…" Ely pouts theatrically. "It would be shell-fish of me not to share in my gill-orious puns." She sniffs, "It's not my fault you two are all crabby."

"I'm not crabby at all. I'm scaling back on my puns for your sake. Some of your puns can be rather a-trout-cious." Aryn giggles as he makes sure he doesn't spill his tea.

"Don’t try to gill-t trip me." Ronove snorts as he grins with fangs on display. "Maybe you just need some more vitamin sea, Ely."

Ely makes a deeply offended noise, "I can't believe you're trouting my talent! The of-fin-se! I've obviously got you hooked on fishy puns now."

"Now, now. You're just trying to take advantage of every oppor-tuna-ty." Aryn waves a hand in a comforting motion towards Ely. "We can't help that it's just very catchy."

"I think she's the jelly one that we're catching on just for the halibut." Ronove smirks as he thinks. He was definitely feeling like this was something he would have done in his mortal life. Just having fun with puns. "I'll just throw her some hooks so she can stop floundering."

Ely glares at them, "You two think you're so so-fish-ticated, huh? I'll make you feel my wrasse, wait and sea, just when you least expect it."

"These puns are kraken me up," Fen says, absolutely deadpan, "The conversation is a bit lost at sea but at least you're pretty con-fin-dent in your improvisation skrills. Very oar-ganized too."

"Oh dear… She might be the sole survivor at this rate. We're sunk." Aryn laughs merrily. "If we live, we're going to need a minute to mullet over."

"We're not royally scrod yet. This is not the last craw. No surrender!" Ronove thrusts a fist into the air comically. "We'll snapper out of it before long. Because we're not fin-ished yet!"

"How gill-ant of you." Ely sniffs, "You're krill-ly a dab hand at this." A impish smile steals over her lips, "I guess you're just full of carp, huh?"

Aryn was glad he'd set his cup down. He couldn't resist laughing hard now. Waving a white handkerchief in the air as he laid there laughing. Clearly he was calling it quits.

"Oh, for heavens hake! He's drowning now. He's such a Paci-fish-t he couldn't handle it anymore. Done in by the squidding around we're doing. Should we have mercy on him or make him walk the plankton?" Ronove reaches over to poke Aryn's side as the viera is too busy laughing.

"Hmmmm…" Ely taps her chin thoughtfully, "I think we should be ab-sole-lutely sure he's really schooled, you know? We're piranha roll now and we should make sure he's not just playing koi. Make sure he's not throwing us a red herring."

"I think we've reached the fin-ale." Ronove smirking at Aryn laying there holding his sides. "He definitely seems fin-ished. And I think I've clownfished enough that I'm running out of puns myself. I'm out of practice."

Ely pouts, "I see how it is! Now that I've mussel-ed up and you two can no longer bubble-team me you've decided to shrimp out…"

Ronove chuckles and shrugs. "You win this round? I'll prepare better for the next round and then we'll see what you're aboat."

Ely sighs and tips side ways, like a maiden in a Thorne Period novel, "I guesssssss."

"You three are ab-sole-lutely hilarious." Fen hums, lips quirking in amusement, "I had a whale of a time, though I thought I might have to coral you a few times, but you stayed octo-mistic about your abilities and powered through to the fin-ish. I'm very proud of you."

Ronove snorts before sticking his tongue out at Ely and Fen both. "Apparently Fen just had to fin-ish us off. Hook, line, and sinker. I think I need more tea now."

#FFxivWrite 2023 #FFxivWrite #Prompt 27 #Prompt Sole #Please enjoy the Fish Pun War #Or suffer it lol #Whichever :D #About Ronove #About Aryn #Ely helped me with this one since I am terrible at coming up with THIS many puns #The Blue Moon Troupe #What happens when the four of them are bored and trapped inside cause of rain #Friend decided to help my lousy night with amusing fish pun shenanigans #Cause my neck is giving me a killer headache atm

[otherworldseekers]

FFXIVwrite 2023 prompt 2: Bark

When Severia Zetsuen disappeared in a flash of light, bound for another world, Nero Scaeva had thought it would be like the other times they had been separated. When he had woken from his post-World of Darkness convalescence to learn of her flight to Ishgard, or when they had spoken hopeful words of parting after the launch of Omega, and every time Severia had left on Scion business thereafter. Since meeting, they had spent far more time apart than they had together. It was practically their normal state. 

And yet, as he stood there staring at the empty place where she had only just been standing, Nero felt a sense of emptiness. The feeling was an old friend, but in the few months that he and Severia had spent as a couple, he had almost forgotten about it. It was more painful than he remembered.

Tataru, Biggs and Wedge stood nearby trying to offer him words of encouragement, but he tuned them out. His gaze snagged on a glint of red on the ground farther into the precarious pile of rubble. Carefully he climbed toward it, ignoring Biggs’ warnings, and when he knelt down he was surprised to discover the little scanning device he had thrown into the chasm years ago. He barked his knuckles on a rough slab of stone as he picked it up and brushed away the grime. 

Awakening in the camp of the Sons of Saint Coinach weeks after NOAH’s foray into the Crystal Tower, he had found everything changed, not least of all himself. Too much had happened to him in that brief time for him to go back to his old ways. Throwing the scanner away had been a promise to himself, that he wouldn’t walk down the same path anymore. He liked to think he had made good on that promise. And now the scanner was not a temptation, a symbol of his old life, but a shard of memory. A reminder that he had indeed changed and for the better. 

Nero pocketed the device and began to climb back down the rubble heap. As he did so, he saw Cid approaching from down the trench. 

“Hallo, Garlond, lackeys told you I’m up to no good?”

Cid crossed his arms. “They did seem to think you might be trying to do yourself an injury.”

Nero scoffed. “Utter nonsense. I’ve too much to accomplish.” He crossed his arms. “Besides, Severia would never forgive me.”

Cid smiled in sympathy. “She’ll be back.”

“Of course she will. Or I’ll never forgive her.”

#FFXIVwrite #FFXIVwrite 2023 #wolnero #Nero tol Scaeva #Severia x Nero #my writing #Shadowbringers #All My Tomorrows

[mintibunny]

FFXIV Write, Day 13: Check

The voice of a Royal Volunteer, in a Choir.

You stay an adventurer for long enough, you get to meet a whole heavenly host of folks. Lots of people who wanna take you under their wing for a bit, then clap you on the back and send you right off a cliff, with weapons and gear and a stone.

It's to see if you can fly, of course. Doesn't matter if you do, their job is done the moment your feet leave solid ground. "Aw, rough stuff, kiddo," they say when your arse hits the ground and you break near every bone in your body. "You gotta get back up there and practice, practice, practice!" String your fancy-pants words and swings together properly, right, without more than a few moments of thinking. Check your work, see if it knocks a hamza more than a few inches off its feet.

That kinda shite is hard, friend. 'specially when you get one of those extra fancy-pants stones what let you skip the baby steps and go right to the big stuff. Talk about walking off a cliff, it's like taking the helm of an airship and going for a flight to Kugane when you've never flown a ship a day in your life!

Which is why I like Grandpa so much. "Grandpa" is what I call Radovan. Big Hrothgar who was a prisoner of the Garlean Empire, once upon a time. Now, he's a proper mercenary, and a gunbreaker too. Took an exiled viera on as an apprentice gunbreaker. Real nice gent.

You didn't know about viera goin' into exile, did you? Don't know if I got time to go in ta' all that business. It's messy, it's got Garleans in it. You'd get sad. You don't wanna be sad today, do you?

Shite, I'm rambling. So, Grandpa adopts the young lady (Minti), introduces her to Sophie, another viera what's adventuring partners with him, and bing bang boom, traveling the realm happens. Rights Minti's ship when it's drifting to the side, teaches her how to ground herself, what keeping your word means. Nice gent. Real nice.

I know, I know, there were other teachers in Minti's life. The lady got around a lot before Gage Acquisitions happened - can you blame her? But Radovan was special because he taught her to be reliable.

You can be the sharpest blade in the arsenal, got the smartest spells memorized, but if you're not able to keep your wits about you under fire, then what in the nine hells are all those weapons for? They're only pretty trinkets if you panic.

Which brings me back to what I was sayin' earlier, about getting kicked off the cliff. When I'm working, when I'm plummeting down that cliff, I got more than a real chance at surviving. At thrivin'. I bring my all to bear, best you believe. I'll hit the bottom, get the hells back up and go "Again."

Now let me be, before my words get all tangled up. You have need of me, you know to call on me.

#final fantasy xiv #final fantasy 14 #final fantasy oc #ffxiv #minti wol #final fantasy viera #minti chocolate #gunbreaker #radovan #ffxivwrite 2023

[miqojak]

FFXIV Write 2023 #5: Barbarous

(( Hey there! You might want to check the tags for trigger warnings - I rarely go too in-depth on triggering topics, but I do briefly mention uncomfortable stuff!))

I think about it endlessly, in the days that follow - I force myself to look at my own point of view as if it were another's, I try to step away from my own past, my own hurt; but that's like asking someone to step out of their own skin - I simply cannot.

Every night I fall asleep, and I see their broken bodies. I hear their screams - I feel the boots in my ribs, the hands grabbing, the chemicals burning under my skin; among other things that I can't even speak the words for, things that no person should ever endure, or even have to witness. I can't even blame the survivors who eventually went on to take their own lives, despite attaining freedom in the end - the things done to us, to dehumanize us... they're hard to live with every single day.

And in fairness, I even tried. I tried once, by my own hand - and many, many more times have I chased Death, snapping at its heels, hungry for something that could conquer me. Take me down. Something powerful enough to make it all stop.

I excel at surviving, however - unwilling to truly give up the ghost - and now here I am, still surviving in a world in which Garlemald has fallen, and I am told that this land of hateful bigots has innocent people in it... but I cannot find them. I don't know how else to tell him that I've walked their wastes, when I still cannot bring myself to walk the sands of my own homeland. I walked among them.

I let them prove to me what they are - their rhetoric about us hasn't changed, despite the loss of all that matters to them. Even as they starve, and freeze, they are full of hate for that which is different than them -

"Beast."

"Savage."

"Beastman."

When the words that fall from the lips of the so-called 'innocent' sound just like the ones my torturers spoke at me... what makes them 'innocent'? When they listened to their little radios and cheered the slaughter of my people on... how are they still innocent? Why shouldn't I exterminate every last one of them, if that's the future they're going to build - another one of hate? One where teenage girls will know only pain, terror, and loneliness... where they have to learn to get by like a beast, where they must engage in the unthinkable... because that's what they spent their life being reduced to?

My life will never be what I wanted it to be, in truth - not really. Not in full. Because of Garlemald - and I know my Wolf is right when he says that who we might have been no longer matters - but the people who took that future from me are still alive. And that matters. They can take futures from others, given the opportunity to recover.

Were my actions taken in the frozen wastes of Garlemald barbaric?

Undoubtedly.

Were their actions taken in the sands of my desert many times more despicable and barbaric?

Absolutely.

But I think on it. I try, as hard as I can, to push those feelings down, and weigh the words of the only person whose words are heavy enough to carry weight. Would it be wrong to pursue poisoning the supplies meant for the Garleans? It's what they'd do to people like he and I, in an instant. Even now. Even if it meant they perished too, they'd opt to slaughter anyone that wasn't a Hyur - or enslave us. Use us like beasts of burden.

I know what they made me. And much of that is immutable - but how much? Can I change? Can I be something - someone - else? My aether itself is distorted, and... would fixing that fix things in me, or simply make me someone else?

"Why does it matter what they think of you?"

I draw their faces in my sketchbook, even as his words sit on my shoulder, waiting - I draw the hatred that burned in their eyes, even in their final moments, and I know that what they think of me isn't important... but those emotions will be the seeds for future horrors. What happens when they've rebuilt? When they've got an unstoppable army again? When they still believe in a master race that should rule all others?

What then?

I stay my hand, all the same - I dislike the concern in my Wolf's tone, and maybe he's right? Maybe I'm still looking at this all from the wrong angle. Maybe I'll never see past the fury.

And maybe, even when the guns have been silenced, the mechs no longer function, and the scientists no longer commit atrocities on women, children, and anyone in-between - maybe there are still no easy answers.

#ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite 2023 #ffxiv writing #tw: suicide mention #war crimes #ffxiv oc #ffxiv #garlemald #ala mhigo #ffxiv rp #miqo'te #[The Jackal and the Wolf] #mentions #Ketsuchi Kotetsu

[liminal-storage]

#3: Quiver (Free Choice)

Prompt: Free Write 

Characters: Kuni Content Warning: None Notes: Kuni, a late night, and a strange little cavern room in Priarch's basement. Vague mentions of characters belonging to @thedarknesssings.

-----------------

It never failed.

Every encounter with Helios or Urien set her blood to boiling, her limbs to restless wandering. Pent up anger and violent urges, and all the words she'd had to bite back put a sense of tension into every one of her movements.

Even hours after they'd gone, and with the buzz of alcohol skipping through her veins, she found herself clenching her teeth in anger and she knew she needed to go for a walk. It was the only real outlet she had for such energy at the moment, and getting away from the bar seemed like a good idea.

Why her steps then carried her deeper into the halls of Priarch, rather than out, she would never truly know. Maybe her words to Lyrin'a about hidden nooks and crannies had instilled some vague curious hunger, and curiosity was certainly better than anger at the moment. Regardless, it seemed that some exploration was in order, if only to cool her head.

There were certain doors she would not open, hallways where venturing was completely out of the question. The oubliette, Spider's sanctum, and Celestin's wing of the infirmary were places you didn't simply go without an invitation (or at least without a hell of an excuse to back you up). And so she had to venture even deeper, into lower levels and darker halls.

Dark enough that she vaguely wondered whether those paths had always been there or not, or if her half-drunk mind was playing tricks on her. Dark enough that only her keen night vision allowed her to see a way forward at all.

When at last she came to a stop, the smell of damp stone surrounded her. Kuni found herself having to blink and come back to herself, for she could not remember what turns she'd taken to get here, or how deeply she must've descended. Gathering a deep breath, the woman reached out to lay a palm flat against the nearest wall. Not just the scent of stone...it was stone, the natural curve of some underground cavern meeting the warmth of her skin.

Strange.

She let her fingertips trace over the cool surface, along dips and bumps and one small crack until they met the edge of some sort of seam. She blinked some more, squinted and focused on the spot where her fingers came to rest. The surface felt different. Smoother, slightly warmer. Polished, almost. Wood?

There was a door here.

Caution and apprehension rose up, clashed violently against curiosity and intrigue. She ought to turn back, forget her find. Crawl into bed at home and declare this one of those things better left alone. It'd be easier. Safer. Probably more advisable than what she was about to do. Who knew what waited behind that door?

Carefully, her fingers found the knob and gave it a tentative turn. Met with no resistance, she followed the inward swing of the door.

Red eyes squinted against a sudden burst of light. It wasn't exactly bright, but it was unexpected enough to have her vision momentarily blurring. She could tell immediately where the light came from, oddly enough. Hot wax and the whooshing whisper of countless tiny flames told her it was nothing more than candlelight.

One eye peeled open, then the other, and sure enough her sight was met by the warm glow of dozens upon dozens of candles. Their light outlined dark pews, dark stone, and the shape of what appeared to be an altar.

Thin shafts of light filtered down from above, struggling to squeeze through the gaps between lush green vines dangling through a crevice. Beyond the faintly illuminated pews, the darkness seemed to swallow all other light. Hungry. Yawning. Oppressive. It was not just a room, but a larger cavern, the air cold yet thick.

No iconography decorated the space. Aside from what seemed to be an offering bowl upon the altar, she couldn't see any other ceremonial tools. But only a fool would miss the thin stream trickling down through the crevice to pool in a stony basin of fathomless, dark water. No iconography, but she remembered well the talk of black water.

This place must be for the Secariots, then. Or for the strange shadows residing within them, along with any followers of theirs.

Aside from the gentle rush of water and the candles' soft whispers, all was quiet. Not a soul moved within the space, or at least none that she could sense. But then, who had lit the rows upon rows of candles? The thought sent a brief shiver down her spine, not at all helped by the shadows which seemed to stretch out towards her like reaching fingers. Was someone preparing for a sermon here in the burgeoning dark?

She should probably leave, didn't want to be seen as defiling the space simply due to her curious presence. But it was quiet here. So strangely peaceful in spite of the faint chill of unease. Something about the cool air flowing against the walls quieted the rage in her head. Something in the pattern of the flickering firelights calmed her heartbeat. Here, so deep below the main building, so far away from the sights of the bar and the harsh lights and the lingering sickening feeling the night had left her with, there came a soothing ease. The same sort of ease that came with lying in a cold, dark room to remedy a splitting migraine.

It was enough to coax her forward to kneel by the water's edge and lay her forehead against the cool stone. She wouldn't think too hard about what was worshipped here, or the possibility of other souls arriving. She liked the way this cavern quieted her rampant thoughts.

All she really wanted was a moment; a few more breaths of peace before something inevitably came to interrupt it. And if the stewards of the space decided that was a sin?

Well, she'd just have to pay penance, she supposed.

#ffxivwrite 2023 #ffxivwrite #ritz writing #Kuni Muinvel

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 2 - BARK

Rhiki could never say no to Riqi-Tio. She's not a monster.

I tried to write something cute for this one! It's a little outside of my usual wheelhouse, so I hope it turned out okay.

Rating: General Genre: Fluff Characters: Z'rhiki Irhi (Warrior of Light), Riqi-Tio Word Count: 2021 Content Warnings: None

“Miss Rhiki! Miss Rhiki!”

The combination of the small voice calling her name and the tugging at her sleeve woke Z’rhiki from her daydreaming. She looked down to see a pair of big blue eyes looking up at her.

“Oh, hi Riqi-Tio! I didn’t see you down there.”

The girl’s pupils widened. “Y-you remembered my name!” She said, her voice brimming with awe.

In the face of such earnest excitement, Rhiki couldn’t help but beam. “Of course I did!” she responded. “It’s the same as my name, after all! Well, sort of.”

“I-It is!” Riqi-Tio had evidently not considered the similarity in the sounds of their names before, and appeared all the more eager for it. She still hadn’t released Rhiki’s sleeve.

“Yup!” Rhiki nodded, still smiling. “Now, what can I do for you, other-Riqi?”

“Uh…” In her wonderment it appeared that the girl had forgotten what it was she had wanted to ask the Warrior of Darkness. “Oh! C-can you help me? Eirwel and Arkil said that you’re too busy and I shouldn’t bother you, b-but…!”

But a few minutes ago, Rhiki might have agreed that she was quite busy – between assisting with Ryne’s efforts in the Empty, contributing to Eulmore’s reconstruction, and participating in the search for a method to return the Scions to the Source, she had a lot on her plate and more on her mind. In that moment, though, she could think of nothing more important than helping little Riqi-Tio with whatever it was she was endeavoring to accomplish.

“Of course I can help you! We Rhikis have to stick together, after all!”

She hadn’t thought the girl’s eyes could get any larger, but they certainly seemed to. “O-Okay!” She rustled through the pocket on one side of her long pastel coat, then switched to the other. Rhiki waited patiently until she finally retrieved a piece of paper, which she held up for Rhiki to read. It appeared to be a hand-written list. Riqi-Tio pointed to one of the entries, “I don’t know what this one is….”

Rhiki knelt down so the girl could more easily show her the unfolded parchment. Upon closer inspection, it looked to be a list of herbs and other ingredients, written in the neat, swooping script..

“Miss Chessamile gave me this list. She asked me to bring it all back to the infirmary,” Riqi-Tio explained. “But, I don’t know where to get ligan-… ligna….”

“Lignum Vitae bark,” Rhiki supplied. She glanced at some of the other items that had already been marked with a check; bright flax, lime basil, harcot, light gerbera…

“Did you know where to find the rest of these on your own?” She asked, impressed.

Riqi-Tio shook her head. “No. But Miss Chessamile said a real Warrior of Light always asks for help! So, I asked other people, and they helped me.”

Rhiki nodded sagely. “She’s right. Miss Chessamile is very smart, isn’t she?” It always broke her heart to hear children talking excitedly about wanting to become Warriors of Light. She couldn’t stand the thought of them having to bear the burdens of an entire realm, or being forced to witness all of the pain and tragedy the world had to offer. But she also didn’t have it in her to crush their well-meaning dreams. She was glad, at least, the Chessamile was using the moniker to teach the right sort of lessons. “Hmm… I think Lignum Vitae trees grow in Lakeland….”

“All the way in Lakeland?” Riqi-Tio chirped. “But… I can’t go to Lakeland by myself….”

With one hand Rhiki reached up and mussed the girl’s soft, white hair. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got me to take you, then!”

“Really?” The young mystel’s voice came out as a gasp, her stubby tail standing on end. Rhiki could almost feel her vibrating with excitement. She grinned.

“Sure, why not?” She paused, “But, we should probably ask Miss Chessamile, first.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Is that one?” Riqi-Tio pointed to one of the passing trees from her place on Lieutenant Nibbles’ back.

Though Chessamile had been dubious of the proposal at first, and had pointed out that Lignum Vitae bark could be obtained from the botanists in the Crystalline Mean, Riqi-Tio’s enthusiasm for the trip had won her over. Besides, she and Rhiki had reasoned, if one couldn’t be safe traveling in the company of the Warrior of Darkness, when could they? So, with a solemn promise to return the little girl unharmed, they had set off on their errand. Not wanting to overly tax her charge, Rhiki had offered her a ride on the back of her chocobo, which she had eagerly accepted. The Lieutenant had always been a patient, responsible sort, and didn’t seem to mind carrying such a tiny rider.

Rhiki squinted at the tree, then glanced down at the gathering log she held open in the hand that wasn’t wrapped in the chocobo’s reigns. “Uhhh… I don’t think so. The wood looks too light. Let’s look for a different kind.”

“Okay.” Riqi-Tio settled back into the saddle and resumed diligently scanning the landscape for candidates.

“Oh, what about-“ the girl suddenly stopped short, before pointing fervently again, this time to the south. “Miss Rhiki! Look! That one’s moving!”

“Huh?” Rhiki looked up in the direction Riqi-Tio was indicating. “Oh! That’s not a tree. It’s a violet triffid. It’s an animal… Well, sort of, I guess. It’s a seedkin, anyway.”

“Triffid,” Riqi-Tio repeated, eyes still fixed on the lumbering giant. “What does it eat? People?”

Rhiki giggled a bit, nudging Riqi-Tio with her elbow. “Don’t worry, I don’t think it eats little mystel.” She said. “Actually, that’s a good question. What do violet triffid’s eat? I’m not sure.... Maybe… purple carrots?”

It was Riqi-Tio’s turn to giggle. “That’s silly!” She pointed out.

“Well, what do you think they eat, then?”

“Uhh… Pixie apples!”

The two continued to speculate about the dietary preferences of violet triffids, until a copse of dark-trunked trees caught Rhiki’s eye.

“Oh, those look like the ones we want!”

“R-really?” Riqi-Tio scrambled  out of the Lieutenant’s saddle, almost falling sideways off of it before Rhiki caught her and set her gently on the ground.

“Careful!” She reminded. Pocketing her gathering log, she reached over to the girl. “Here, take my hand.”

When one of Riqi-Tio’s small hands wrapped around hers, Rhiki led them closer to the small grove. Up close, she could see the distinctive grooves in the bark that the log had indicated. “Yep, these are the ones we want!”

“Yay!” Riqi-Tio beamed. She stretched her free arm out to run her hand along the trunk of one of the trees. “But how do we get the bark off?”

“I’ll show you,” Rhiki offered, releasing her hand and shrugging her pack from her shoulders. Riqi-Tio waited patiently while she retrieved a knife and a sack for collecting their prize.

“Like this! First, you have to make a little cut, and saw back and forth.” She demonstrated, shuffling to kneel next to the tree so that Riqi-Tio could watch. She dug the blade of the knife into the tree with a bit of effort, then wiggled it to pry the bark loose from the wood. “Then, you can grab the bark that’s sticking out and pull down!” Following her own instructions, she grasped the tab she had created with the knife and pulled, until the strip of bark tapered off and broke from the tree. “See? Not too hard.”

Riqi-Tio watched with rapt attention, nodding after each sentence to demonstrate she was listening. Rhiki offered her the sack, then the strip of bark she had just harvested, which the girl dutifully stowed away.

Rhiki nodded approvingly and had started her next incision, a few ilms away from the first, when Riqi-Tio interrupted her.

“Can I help?”

“Uh…” Rhiki considered this for a moment. “Sure! How about this? I’ll make the cut, and then you can pull the bark off. Sound good? Be careful, it’s a little rough – you don’t want to scrape your hand. If you need help, just let me know.”

“Okay!” Riqi-Tio waited until the beginnings of a strip had been cut loose, then reached up to peel the bark down. Rhiki watched her struggle to pull a piece free, smiling warmly.

“Need help?”

“No! I can do it!” Riqi-Tio insisted. She pulled harder, leveraging the entire weight of her tiny body, and finally managed to pull a portion free. She displayed the fruits of her labor to Rhiki, who clapped enthusiastically.

“Good work! Ready for the next one?”

Riqi-Tio shoved the scrap into the sack she had set aside. “Yeah!”

The next strip was easier, and the one after that still easier. They moved to a different tree, not wanting to cut too much bark from a single one, and repeated the process. They worked in tandem, cutting and peeling bark, for quite some time, before Rhiki noticed Riqi-Tio’s energy beginning to flag. She glanced down at their haul and found the bag to be at least half full.

“All right, we should have enough! Let’s do one more, then we can go back to the Crystarium.”

“Okay! Can I ride on Mr. Nibbles again?”

“It’s Lieutenant Nibbles,” Rhiki snickered, digging her knife into another piece of bark. “He worked hard for that rank!”

“Lewtenant Nibbles,” Riqi-Tio corrected solemnly.

Distracted by her amusement, Rhiki angled the knife incorrectly and it slipped through the bark, nicking one of her fingers where her hand had been braced against the trunk. “Ow! Shi- I mean, Wicked White!”

“Are you okay?!” Riqi-Tio gasped while Rhiki pulled her hand back and waved it wildly at her side to cool the sting of the cut.

“Ow, ow!” She hissed, placing the tip of her finger to her mouth and tasting blood. She looked down at the small slice in her finger pad. It hurt, certainly, but she could tell it was nothing serious. To Riqi-Tio she said, “Yeah, I’m fine. No need to worry! It’s just a little cut. See? This is why you have to be careful with knives!”

“Can I see?” the small girl reached both hands up towards Rhiki’s. “I can help!”

Rhiki hesitated for a few seconds before proffering her hand to Riqi-Tio. “It’s okay, really. Just a scratch, see?”

“No, I can help!” Riqi-Tio repeated, resolute. Reaching deep into one of her coat pockets and fished out a small roll of bandages. She grasped Rhiki’s injured finger with one of her small hands and, with some difficulty, wrapped a bandage around the tip of it with the other. Fondness bloomed in Rhiki’s chest as she watched the young girl work.

Riqi-Tio pulled the edge of the bandage free from the roll and tied it in place with surprisingly adroit movements. “Ta da! All better!”

“Wow! It is all better!” Rhiki marveled in exaggerated wonder. She reached out with her newly bandaged hand to once again pat Riqi-Tio’s head. The little mystel’s ears wiggled in delight. “You’re going to be the best apothecary ever.”

Riqi-Tio was aglow with pride. “Yeah!” She exclaimed as Rhiki set back to collecting the last piece of bark. “When I grow up, I’m going to make the best potions in the whole world! And then I’ll give them to you so you can be safe on your adventures!”

“I can’t wait.” Rhiki grinned. “Well, shall we head back to the Crystarium and deliver all this bark to Chessamile?” She plucked the sack from the ground and held it up for Riqi-Tio to see before stuffing it, along with her knife, back in her pack.

“Yeah!”

Rhiki slung her pack back over her shoulder and walked with Riqi-Tio over to where Lieutenant Nibbles had been waiting, uncomplaining, watching the proceedings. She helped the child onto the chocobo’s back, and they set off back in the direction of the Crystarium, chatting.

“See that island over there?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s actually a big turtle!”

“Nuh-uh! There’s not turtles that big!”

“Yuh-huh! It is! His name is Bismarck.”

“How do you know his name?”

“He told me.”

“Turtles can’t talk!”

“This one can!”

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite 2023 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #shadowbringers #riqi-tio #rhiki tag #this is late once again #but i really wanted to go to the beach so i took a break haha #hopefully i'll be more punctual when the deadlines start #anyway I love little riqi-tio #she deserves the world

[dawnslight-aegis]

6. ring

(follows the epilogue for more than fear)

A full sennight after her return from Ultima Thule, most of which she had spent sound asleep, Aymeric walked into his – their – chambers to find Kaede awake and mostly alert, leaned back against the headboard as she sat staring contemplatively down at the ring that adorned the third finger of her left hand. A smile tugged the corner of his mouth at the reminder that yes, she had in fact agreed to marry him, but he set the still-fresh joy aside as he settled onto the bed beside her. “I hadn’t the chance to ask you yet – do you like it?”

Blinking in surprise, Kaede transferred her attention from the jewelry to him, her blue eyes nearly lost in the darkened flesh that surrounded them. “The ring? It’s lovely. Though, I must admit, considerably more ostentatious than I expected from you,” she murmured, her voice still a touch raspy and words coming more slowly than usual, but stronger than any she’d uttered thus far. The improvement was wonderful to see, even if the reminder of how badly she’d overextended herself still sent a sharp spike of worry through his heart.

But Kaede, more than anything, hated to be fussed over, so Aymeric swallowed back his impulse to tell her to rest. Instead, he took her left hand in his and ran his thumb over the large central sapphire, surrounded as it was by tiny shards of diamond. “To be quite honest, ‘tis indeed more extravagant than I planned, but the artisan required creative control as a condition of taking the commission.”

Her eyes narrowed in thought, Kaede regarded him steadily. “That’s…unusual, for a commissioned piece. Who did you hire to design it, anyway? I’ve been trying to figure it out for days now – I would have assumed that you would have gone to Serendipity, at the guild in Ul’dah, but it seems too finely made even for her.”

Aymeric ducked his head to hide a smile. “I did go to her at first, yes. But when I told her my goal – that while I did not wish to propose to you with a ring of your own making, neither would I consider presenting you with something of lesser quality than your own work – she was uncertain that she could reliably fulfill my request, and directed me elsewhere. Though acquiring an audience with Master Manderville was –”

Kaede abruptly leaned forward, her voice caught somewhere between amazement and outright horror. “Manderville? Godbert Manderville? When? How? The man doesn’t take commissions, he just…wanders Eorzea these days, looking for inspiration.” She waved a hand in vague disbelief, looking more animated than he’d seen in some time.

“Well, as I was saying, actually tracking him down was the difficult part. I had to enlist the sultana’s assistance for that, in exchange for a few less favorable-than-usual trade deals.” Nanamo hadn’t driven a terribly hard bargain, all things considered – he had gone in expecting to have to offer much more than he had. The negotiation had felt more like an uldahn formality than anything, but Aymeric had no doubt that had his request been for the benefit of any other woman, the outcome would have been far different.

“Aymeric, are you telling me that you exchanged political favors to get me an engagement ring?”

“No, I believe I said I exchanged political favors to obtain a meeting with the man I hoped to convince to make you an engagement ring,” he responded, his smile breaking into a full-on grin at her incredulous expression. “It is my opinion that Ishgard and Ul’dah are both sufficiently in debt to you that it shouldn’t be considered an abuse of power, and Nanamo agreed.”

With a deep sigh, Kaede shook her head and leaned against his upper arm, looking more tired by the moment, but still focused entirely on his story. “Alright, so Nanamo helped you track down the famously elusive Godbert bloody Manderville, the greatest goldsmith of our era, and then what?”

“Then I found myself in the surprising position of not needing to convince him of anything at all. When he realized that the ring was meant for you, he agreed immediately, on the condition that I permit him aesthetic freedom with the design. From the way he spoke, he thinks very highly of you, and some manner of assistance you provided his son? Honestly, I didn’t quite follow some of what he said, but he seemed a congenial sort of fellow. Odd, but most geniuses are, I suppose.”

“Important question: was he wearing a shirt, when you met him?”

Aymeric blinked, but there was no hint of playfulness in Kaede’s expression, only earnestness. “I… yes? Is that… unusual?”

With a grin at his obvious confusion, Kaede shrugged and tugged him down with her into bed. “Neither of us are remotely drunk enough for me to attempt to explain the absolute abyss of logic and reason that surrounds Hildibrand Manderville and his family, but suffice it to say, most of the times I’ve met Godbert, he was wearing little more than his smallclothes and his pince-nez. The man is insane. A genius, yes, but completely off his rocker. I’ll be damned if he isn’t a master goldsmith, though.” Her smile softened into something warmer as she settled in on her small pile of pillows, regarding him with a soft expression. “It sounds as if you went to a great deal of trouble on my behalf. You didn’t need to, you know. I would have been happy with anything, as long as it was from you.”

“I know that. But I wanted to. You deserve all the trouble I can spare, and more.” He reached over and smoothed a lock of blonde hair, tucking a curl back in among its fellows.

Smothering a huge yawn behind her hand, Kaede’s eyes drifted closed for a moment, then opened and fixed on him again, as if daring him to argue. “Fine. I’m making our wedding bands, though.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite 2023 #love and its decisive pain #wolmeric #this was silly but it's been floating around in my brain for ages #the only man on Etheirys that Kaede is honestly afraid of is Godbert Manderville

[punches-and-cream-puffs]

7. Noisome

It was the smell that had drawn her attention first; acrid and near sulfurous, in the quiet dark of the bakery.

Silver moonlight filtered in through the windows, lighting her way as she made her way down from her room, footfalls as quiet as she could manage as she followed the scent. Was something.....burning? No, no, she'd put all the fires in the ovens out before she went to bed; Koschei had helped with that. Maybe the pixies were getting into an argument again? Hrm...

But then she heard noises, clearer and clearer as she made her way down the stairs. The clinking of pans, the shuffling of utensils, and footfalls... The shift was subtle as she adjusted her footing, muscles tense, ready to spring into action. To take down who ever had come into their home to try who knew even what going by that smell. They'd regret ever-

There's a pause as she hits the bottom stairs, the sight of familiar red hair and tears effectively derailing her train of thought.

"Khetja? Khetja, what's wrong?" Something is definitely burning, but more importantly, someone is crying. A few sprinting steps carry her across the wooden floors, and a hop sends her vaulting over the brick counter.

"I....I wanted to surprise you and the others....I...tried to make pancakes. Practice, for the morning. I used one of your books." The ghostly pale viera wept softly, her voice breathy and barely above a whisper as she bowed her head, rubbing at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...."

"Hey, hey, it's okay, no need to cry." Teagan was quick to reassure, bopping her head against the taller girl as she drew closer. "I appreciate the thought; it was very kind of you... It's alright. There's nothing you've done that we can't fix." Gentle reassurances; it's alright, it's okay, you're alright, you aren't in trouble.

And then she turned to the skillet on the stove.

Oh she had spoken too soon. She wasn't sure -what- she was looking at, but... the skillet was done. The batter, or at least she hoped it was batter, looked molten and burnt and looked like it was breathing at points. And the scent....her stomach churned. Oh...oh good heavens...

She tries to school her expression, slowly putting a lid over the skillet. "....I'll get a new skillet tomorrow. We can work on some easier recipes to get you started on." Basics.

Very, very easy basics.

#ffxiv #ffxiv write 2023 #ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite 2023 #ffxivwrite #drabble

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #12: Dowdy

The captain of the Queensguard knocked on her door for the third time with far more forceful insistence.

"If you don't come out from there in two minutes," she snapped, "it'll be my head on the line."

Vera's lord husband was a patient man in many respects, but he did not abide tardiness in any form - unless, of course, it came directly from the emperor. Every bell of his schedule was accounted for; he even blocked out time for how long it would take him to traverse the corridors of the palace. He had expected the same discipline in Vera ever since their wedding, the same rigid punctuality, and would make it quite clear to her whenever she failed in his eyes.

And despite their name, the Queensguard very much reported to the viceroy.

"I'm finishing my makeup," Vera explained for the umpteenth time.

The doorknob rattled - then there came the sound of the inevitable key scraping in the lock, and the door flew open. Fordola stormed in with all the fury of an invader. "You've been 'finishing your makeup' for twenty bloody minutes. I've watched you do it in under five most mornings this week."

"Sometimes, believe it or not," said Vera, unable to keep her voice from rising, "people make mistakes. And outside of washing one's entire face, mistakes in kohl are not so simple to undo." Even now, she had to hope that no one would look too closely at the slight smear under her right eye.

Fordola levied one of her signature scoffs and crossed her arms over her chest. "Enough of this. You look fine - beautiful, even." The venom in her voice made it clear what she thought of such a distinction. "Is that what you need to get your arse moving, my lady?"

"I need," said Vera, "just another moment of silent concentration. Before my hand slips again."

Blessedly, Fordola gave it to her, and without any of the huffing Vera had come to expect. With only another couple of strokes of her brush and a single line of her pencil, she was finished, her shadows perfectly balanced. "And there we have it. I'm ready."

But Fordola did not move. She continued staring at Vera, and herself, in the ornate desktop mirror that had allegedly once belonged to Mad King Theodoric's mother. "Why even bother?" she muttered.

"What?"

At first, Vera could only interpret her words as referring to her impending meeting with the viceroy in the throne room. Then she saw where Fordola's gaze had fallen: to the ceramic bowl of kohl powder atop the table, its lid still off to one side.

"Don't be daft. I know you hear what they say about you - Livia and all the rest. You'll never be Garlean enough for any of them. It's why His Radiance married you off and dumped you here."

Vera did not stand from her stool. She stared back into the mirror at Fordola's face, at the bitterness clenched in the curve of her mouth, and realized only then that she could not find it in herself to be angry at Fordola for the words she parroted. "I don't wear makeup to look Garlean, Fordola," she said. "Besides, it was Ala Mhigans who invented it."

The young captain could only stare at her, as if she had spoken in some language that belonged to neither of them.

"Thousands of years ago, we wore eyeliner and eye shadow to protect our vision from the sun and, yes, intimidate our enemies on the battlefield. From our ancestors, it spread to Thavnair and Ul'dah through trade. Only now that the Garleans have deemed it a luxury do they think themselves the arbiters of its use." She made to pick up her brushes, to set the lid back onto the kohl, and hesitated at the look on Fordola's face. "…You should try it. See how you like it."

"Absolutely not," she snapped.

"I think it would suit your features."

Something in that statement stunned Fordola enough for Vera to guide her onto the makeup stool. For Fordola, she scarcely needed a plan: she employed bold strokes above and below the eyes, traditional yet masculine in a way that made her irises seem to shine with the same colors as the tattoo upon her cheek. She was finished within a matter of seconds, not minutes; all the same, Fordola took only a moment to admire herself before standing with a scowl. "We're late. And now everyone will see the reason why."

"Or," Vera shot back, "they'll see we look like warriors."

All the same, they rushed to the throne room with as quick of a stride as they could muster, turning the heads of the guards more for their haste than their aesthetics.

The viceroy sat upon the throne, much as he usually did at that hour of the day, and the first petitioner had already been granted admission. His words faded into silence as she approached, until the echoes of her heels against the polished tile filled the chamber.

"Vera," said Gaius van Baelsar. "My instructions were for you to join me for petitions at noon. The time is now twelve minutes past."

Behind his shoulder, Gaius' Undercity minder sneered at her. The prick in red armor whose name she could never remember whispered something to Livia, who bit back a snort of laughter.

Vera readjusted her stance, trying to channel every ilm of her father's posture. "I was tending to an urgent personal correspondence."

Gaius' brow furrowed. "More urgent than your attention to your people? The people for whom you and I are responsible?"

She turned back to the Ala Mhigan man standing, his hands clasped together in front of him, at the foot of the throne. "…No," she conceded. "I apologize, my lord."

But Gaius said nothing in reply, and merely gestured to the man before them.

To him, Vera inclined her head. "I apologize, countryman-" It would have to do, as she had arrived too late to hear his official imperial rank. "-that other matters prevented my timely presence."

The wording was petty, and she knew it; later, she would hear an entire lecture from her lord husband on accountability, and the burden of rule. There would be entire missives sent to Solus and her father about her impertinence, and her selfishness, and a host of other imagined failings. For the time being, Gaius merely sighed and said, "Fordola."

"Yes, ser."

"…See that vanity is removed from her daily schedule."

#FFXIVWrite #FFXIVWrite 2023 #Ashelia Riot #FUCKED-UP VERA AUS MY BELOVED. #This one has been floating around in my head for a couple weeks! Enjoy!

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2023 22. Fulsome

Characters: U'rahn Nuhn, U'rahn Tia, G'raha Tia Expansion: Endwalker Rating: T Notes: CW Nudity

U’rahn looked into the mirror, poking a bit at his arms, flexing in their wake. He frowned a little then dropped his arms and tilted his head at himself in the mirror. Stuck in his house, he’d been left with just U’rahn Tia who was rather limited in his conversation abilities. This left him alone with his thoughts, and they’d begun to spiral.

What if he wasn’t the Warrior of Light? Would his physical prowess have come so easily? Would the huntresses have given him the time day? Would he have had the mettle to keep up with the Scions, let alone as an adventurer?  Would Nyx have still found him enriching?”

“FaThEr. PuT oN cLoThInG,” U’rahn Tia called out, looking up at him.

“Wha? Since when do you care what I’m wearing,” he asked, turning to face his mammet son.

“FaThEr. PuT oN cLoThInG.”

“Okay Okay. In a minute. I’m flexin’ and stuff to make sure I’m…still fit and handsome as ever,” he answered, mumbling the last bit as his ears folded.

As the Nuhn looked back up, his door swung open, G’raha quickly entering.

“Rahn! We have gotten the readings back from Eurospehyne! I have come to collect you-,” the Scion started before going dead silent as his eyes bulged lightly then quickly flitted back to U’rahn’s face.

G’raha shut the door and left as fast and sudden as he arrived, leaving U’rahn to blink in confusion then look down to the mammet, deciding in the future he’d listen better.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #ff14 #ffxiv oc #ff xiv #ffxiv miqo'te #u'rahn nuhn #u'rahn tia #g'raha tia #ffxivwrite2023 #ffxivwrite 2023 #ffxivwrite

[blueberryaesthetics]

FFXIV Write 2023: 9 - Fair

"I don't understand," Olivier stares at the missive from his father incomprehensively. He's read it six times, seven now, but none of the words are any clearer. It's making his head throb, if he's being honest about it. The housekeeper fiddles with the band of her apron. That gets his attention even more than her words.

She has been close by since his infancy. He knows her behavior. Her habits. She does not fidget.

"Is he serious? Please, I would rather you tell me he has gone mad."

She shakes her head. "I'm so sorry, he speaks true. They have already begun the reconstruction there."

"For adventurers? It doesn't matter who they are?" He doesn't mean to shout, hardly ever raises his voice, but Fury overwhelms him for a moment and leaves his hands badly shaking. "What of our people? What about the families who have had to claw their way out of rubble, or sent their children to die for a chance at a better life? What about them?"

Madame Bassot does not waver. She closes the distance between them as the shaking spreads from his hands to his shoulders, to the whole of his body, and lays her hand carefully on his back as he covers his face with one hand and sobs.

"They've slaughtered o-our people for centuries and now they can take our homes? Live among us? What sort of victory is this?"

She does not have an answer.

The Lord Theroux can only weep.

#[muse: olivier] #ffxivwrite 2023

[otherworldseekers]

FFXIVwrite 2023 prompt 3: Off the hook

“Nero Scaeva! Come back… here right now… You don’t… honestly… think you’re… off the hook… for this one, do you?” 

Coughing into her elbow every few words, Severia managed to grab Nero by the belt and drag him back toward his disaster. Thick black smoke was billowing around Nero’s side of their basement workshop and laying a tarry coating all over the herbs Severia had spent the last hour carefully preparing for the draughts Nero loved so much. 

“I was getting the bucket.”

“The bucket is over there!” Severia pointed to the opposite side of the room. She walked over, grabbed the bucket, and poured it out over his smoking equipment. 

“I got turned around,” Nero suggested. Slowly the smoke dissipated. He winced when he saw the mess on her worktable. “Er… sorry?”

“What the hells were you doing?” Severia demanded as she refilled the bucket that they kept ever ready for emergencies from the sink and set it back in place. 

“Experimenting…”

“You know you’re supposed to tell me before you do dangerous experiments!”

Nero ran a hand through his hair. “I thought it was under control.”

Severia sighed. He did look sorry. She slipped her arms around his waist. “I forgive you. No, don’t kiss me. You’re covered in… whatever that is.”

“So are you.”

“And likely the whole house smells like it right now,” Severia said in exasperated tones. “We’d better get all the windows opened up to air out the place. Then a quick bath and we can go out for dinner.”

“So you are letting me off the hook after all?” Nero smirked.

“Oh no,” Severia said with a falsely sweet smile. “You’re still going to clean up this mess yourself. I’m not going to lift a finger.”

#FFXIVwrite #FFXIVwrite 2023 #Severia x Nero #Severia Zetsuen #Nero tol Scaeva #wolnero #my writing #Severia x Nero fluff #All My Tomorrows