#robyn eastwall

[grumpy-limsan-customs-cat]

Robyn 💗

Drop me a character name and I’ll reveal my muse’s heart…

VISUAL ATTRACTIVENESS: 💗💗💗💗“Heh, Cutie ‘s a…well, a cutie! He’s so adorable ya jus’ want t’ ruffle his hair all day long!”

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL: 💗💗💗“I think we’re good! He’s told m’ some things, I’ve told him some things. I uh..’S not that I don’t trust ‘im, but there are some things I probably wouldn’t talk t’ him about, ya know? But I do like hangin’ out with ‘im, ‘s always fun when he’s around..”

SEXUAL DESIRE: 💗💗“Oh, uh…h-heh, I s’pose if he’d ask, I wouldn’t say no t’ some fun between friends, ya know?”

ROMANTIC INTENT: 💗“Nahh, I…ya know, he…he has Olive an’ I…I don’t really…h-heh, ‘s jus’ not m’ thing, aye? Jus’…not m’ thing.”

💔 Non-existent💗 Very low💗💗 A little💗💗💗 Hopeful💗💗💗💗 High💗💗💗💗💗 Maximum

#ask meme #ffxiv #rating meme #Walking Oak #Robyn Eastwall #Thank you for the ask! #where Oak just falls into a gigglefit when asked about feels #rotundbadgers

[olivehlke]

fuck you @solidseq

#solemn olive #robyn eastwall #stupid #shitposting #not rp

[solidseq]

“The strain on my limbs, the fire in my lungs; when I climb and run, I feel free.” Someone please stop this little adrenaline junkie

#ffxiv #balmung #robyn eastwall

[olivehlke]

Prompt #17: Fate

If Olive had to try and name the way she felt about fate, she would have never sounded as poetic as the two men she sat between. Robyn and Barrett were talking around her, both leaned forward. They certainly did not talk over her, and Olive enjoyed her height like it was a sense of personal accomplishment. In the past several days, the three had shared damn near every story that they could remember. Any experience was game for conversation. And Olive, herself, was starting to feel cramped. Even if it was two lovely people whose voices she loved to hear, she found her mind wandering out of the talk.

Until the gentle argument broke out. Barrett and Robyn were soft spoken as they argued. Like always. Neither of them were going to fundamentally change their personalities over a disagreement. But she could hear that they both disagreed and the increasing pace of their exchanges, the gentle rising of their voices made her feel even more cramped than she had already.

As far as she could tell, Barrett saw fate as a fickle, wicked thing that had fucked him. And she already knew the way that Robyn viewed his fate. As something that he clung to, as a sweet source of relief from the life that had been so arduous. Something that dealt him poor and dealt him well through the years. And she knew, now, that Robyn felt it dealt him well and that it dealt him her.

It became harder to ignore the occasional stares back to her, through time. Her silence was unusual. And so their conversation was punctuated by simple science. “Nothing happens for a reason. We can predict behavior but we cannot predict everything that will affect behavior. Everything is planned, to a point of unpredictable, mm? And those are the Calamitous events, the things that wipe the slate and alter behavior forever.” She added, finally with a simple smile, hoping to keep mediating, “Which is why it is incredible that you two are sitting here bickering about this right now.”

Featuring @desertguncatte‘s Barrett Thorne and @solidseq‘s Robyn Eastwall and a healthy dose of my anxiety about posting something RIGHT at the cutoff. But you know what? I still wrote and that’s what matters. WHEW.

#ffxivwrite2017 #LITERAL LAST MINUTE #solemn olive #robyn eastwall #barrett thorne

[olivehlke]

Entry #11: Mercy vs. Justice

“Take up the sword and the spell of justice. Enlist today!”

The poster on the wall of the Flames office looked like it came off the printing press long ago. The ink had been blasted by sandy desert winds over time and it gave the poster a faded, washed appearance. The Miqo’te adventurer on it may have been smiling proud, or he may have been looking sternly over the horizon.

“Justice starts with you! Have you seen any suspicious characters? Report today!”

Olive glanced over both posters with a low grumble in her throat. She tried not to think too hard on either as she went about her business at the office. Not the first call to arms, and especially not the call to action. The second poster featured a silhouetted figure that was certainly a Duskwight man, by the length and shape of his ears.

Justice was a strange concept to Olive. Surely, there were some few out there who truly enjoyed tormenting others. Yet every criminal who Olive harbored was the opposite. These were people who cherished life, both their own and the lives of their comrades, enough that they were pushed to commit crimes. They did things that they did not like, just to maintain life.

A memory wormed back to Olive of being at the Spine. She was a child again as she watched an even younger child from another tribe creep up and steal some dried meat from a crate. Olive stepped up with the intent to scream at this child. If she screamed loud enough, her father would hear. He would know that she was not soft and weak. Yet, as she got closer, the child’s eyes grew wide. Sallow, sad, reflecting the hunger and the desperation. And the fear. Olive never wanted to be feared. All she could bear to do was pull a few more lengths of jerky and put them in the child’s arms. She whispered a sharp, “Leave,” and turned tail before either of them got caught. When she turned back around, nobody was there.

In continuing the staring match with the poster, Olive remembered the time that she went to the public ledgers and skimmed through until she found Solid Sequoia’s name. For bells, she read the lists of terrible things her friend had involved herself with. Olive knew the name of every person who Solid had involved herself with. And for what? The only thing that it did was make her feel disgusting in her gut. Not a disgust towards Solid, but a horrid disgust towards herself. The pain of a betrayal she knew she had committed. Solid lived in poverty and ran with the wrong crowd long before Olive was even born. Was there any justice that could be brought that would change what had been done? The sick feeling came back to Olive’s stomach as she remembered that she could not un-read or un-tell, as Solid could not undo.

And then, she followed the outline of those ears, and Javert came to her mind. Another elusive, slippery criminal who she held in her heart as a friend. A man who had not served for the things he did, but his life was a sentence. She knew the tales of his family, of the Adders who had persecuted him. And she knew of the way that he struggled to stay in line. “You are terrible at your job,” Olive told his parole officer, a man who clearly did not know the half of what he had been handed. She thought of the way Javert’s arrow could fly through an ilm-wide hole in a cactus and how she never felt unsafe by his side. And what use would it do to turn him in? To remind him of his crimes and send him to gaol, where he could not be an expert marksman? How would that change what he had done?

Olive’s mind went to Istelle. She knew the woman was a “suspicious character,” as a personal victim of Istelle’s. Olive remembered her first days in Ul’dah where her pockets had grown significantly lighter and she had been repeatedly duped by the temptress. By the Duskwight woman who, too, was branded a criminal from just the way she looked. Olive knew that there was something Istelle did that she did not know. Books were cooked, somewhere, for the woman to have lived so long and not have a single piece of documentation leading back to her. But what use would it even serve? Olive could hear, in the dead of the night, the way that the woman gave comfort to the banshee she took in. Yet another Duskwight, who could not have possibly lived independently.

And finally, she put her thoughts on Robyn. The man who had stolen from her, who had picked and chosen his favorite books from her first library before he ran off into the night and did not return for years. When he came back, he was so buried in leather and dirt that she hardly recognized him. He came only to sneak the books back into the shelves, and Olive hardly stood for it. She caught him, she made him take a bath. And she remembered him apologizing as she sat against the tub, at his request, facing the wall across the room for her own comfort. How many sorrys had to hit her ears before justice ended with her?

“Looking to make a report?” A Flames officer who had watched Olive get lost in her mind finally piped up – it was a young desk clerk who had already taken out the paperwork and a big rubber stamp. He was a little too enthused.

“Ah, I am all well, thank you. Just here to sort out a company ledger...” Olive trailed off, handing over a page of names she found in storybooks from the library.

Featuring @desertguncatte‘s Istelle Arbeau, @solidseq‘s Solid Sequoia and Robyn Eastwall, and @javertdelacroix‘s Javert Delacroix.

I was a little stuck on what to do for this one - so I’m handing it in at the last minute! @_@ Feels like college again.

#ffxivwrite2017 #solemn olive #robyn eastwall #istelle arbeau #solid sequoia #javert delacroix

[olivehlke]

Entry #9: Linkpearl

As the sun set over rocky edge of the Goblet, Olive found herself reminded of the time by the orange glow that filled the sky. The light from the window casted a long, bright rectangle across the floor. Her eyes moved from her work, to the light, to the linkpearl that sat on her desk. Her gaze finally landed on the chronometer that ticked quietly on the wall.

Should she call yet?

Olive could work fine without her assistant. All the ledgers had been sorted for the day, and now she focused on her personal projects. She flipped pages one by one with a sigh, reading but not absorbing. It was hard for anything to stick in her mind when she was already fully stuck on another thought. The linkpearl sat invitingly on the corner of her desk.

No, not yet.

Robyn often left in the day to run, to climb. Whenever she caught a glimpse of him flying across the rooftops, all the breath escaped her body. It was amazing to watch – it amazed her. She trusted his arms and his legs the same way that he trusted them. Yet, she could not shake the thoughts sometimes, of him falling into an unseen alley. Other times, she imagined his ankle twisting on a landing. They had already had a talk about how much she should worry. Robyn already promised to call, should he need help. And yet, she felt herself fully incapable of thinking anything else but him sitting bloodied against a building and trying to walk home alone.

Books closed, head down, arms stretched out like a petulant student, Olive rolled the linkpearl between two fingers.

This was clingy, needless concern. At least, that is what Olive tried to remind herself of as she listened to the gentle grinding roll of the pearl along the wood grain. Robyn needed space. She remembered the times when he had first come to her, years before, and she had tried too hard to provide for him. He was a bitter, cagey thing, back then. When the hand that fed was always the hand that hurt too, his reactions made perfect sense. Olive felt a fond memory of being cursed at cross her mind – it was the kind of memory that was only fond now, not then. Now that she had grown beyond the hideous pity of trying to fix him, and he had grown to know that she would always be a safe harbor.

The fond memories justified the moment that Olive reached out to pluck the pearl off her desk and almost put it to her ear. Now, it was not a call of concern. It was to tell him she was thinking about him, right?

Olive knew the answer to that before she had the chance to ask herself. Her eyes flicked back to the orange glow on the floor. It was not yet too dark for Robyn to see his hands. And this was the bargain they made, the space she had promised. She set the pearl back on the table, and set her head down with it.

With reference to @solidseq‘s character Robyn Eastwall, used with permission.

#ffxivwrite2017 #solemn olive #robyn eastwall

[olivehlke]

Entry #10: Slap

The sound of the waves slapping against the ship was enough to drive Olive mad.

The trip to the East was one that was several days long. Though the little crew they had assembled made it part of the way through the journey, it would be at least half as much time before they walked on land again. Olive had prepared herself a selection of alchemical cures for her nausea, but nothing for the sleeplessness that she could not predict.

One night, she left Robyn under a blanket on the top of the ship. It was well past either of their bedtimes. And Robyn was enthusiastic to be awake, eyes wide like an excited child as he pointed out each crew member and what they were doing to keep the vessel afloat. Every time that he inadvertently reminded Olive of how much work was put into keeping the ship on course, she felt her stomach drop. The slapping of the waves against the side of the boat was deafening.

Later, Olive would regret stepping away from her partner. A needless reaction of self-blame in the face of the horror he experienced alone that night. It would not even be all that much later, just a few bells, when a crew member delivered the shaking hyur to her. Nobody slept very much that night.

As she walked through the halls of the ship to her chambers, she found each step was echoed by the sound of the water hitting the boat. Sometimes she would hear the cargo shifting in the bay, boxes sliding. Olive was not even so concerned about the sake of her furniture as much as she concerned about her ability to stand her ground. Perhaps one day she would be above deck and she would slide right off, just like one of those boxes. The slapping sound continued and she passed her door to knock on Barrett’s.

Olive could not tell if she had woken the sailor from sleep or not. Barrett always looked tired, with sunken dark-rimmed eyes above a near ever-present grin. “What can I do for ya, lass?” And in response, Olive first opened her mouth with a concerned look on her face. “I hope I did not disturb you... but I suppose it does not matter, because, I already did,” she rambled. “I am ready to try your superstition. To be tied to the mast.”

“I would, uh, but it’s too late for that right now. Ya feelin’ the sea legs?” At Olive’s hesitant nod, Barrett opened the door to his chambers and offered a spot under the blanket with him. It seemed customary on the ship, maybe more than affectionate. The sea grew cold at night and everything always felt damp, even if it had not touched the water. The affection came when Barrett snaked muscled arms around her, squeezing Olive down in the same way the rope might pull her against the mast.

Even in Barrett’s arms, even under the blankets, even under the deck, the slapping sound continued. The rhythmic slosh of water against the boat that sometimes sounded like a whip. It pounded in Olive’s ears even now, and she let out a slow exhale of breath before she spoke. “Perhaps... not sea legs, then.” Barrett leaned his head towards her. His body responded to her words, yet his gaze was stuck on some spot on the wall across the room.

“Do you ever just... get overwhelmed when you remember that we are on a tiny wooden vessel? That we are utterly tiny compared to the vastness of the sea around us? And that there is nothing to keep us safe from it, because we need to use it to move forward?”

There was a brief silence where even the slapping of the waves went quiet, as Barrett’s eyes stayed firm on that spot on the wall. “Aye, lass. I know what ya mean.”

@desertguncatte‘s Barrett Thorne and @solidseq‘s Robyn Eastwall, with reference to https://solidseq.tumblr.com/post/167052724911/entry-1-specter

#ffxivwrite2017 #solemn olive #barrett thorne #robyn eastwall

[solidseq]

Screenshot dump! ft @northerndahlia / @khojin-arulaq

#ffxiv #balmung #solid sequoia #robyn eastwall #florentel jantall #northern dahlia #khojin arulaq

[solidseq]

Handsome Boys  ft. @erlanis-shadir

#adding to the little ladies' spam #ffxiv #balmung #robyn eastwall

[solidseq]

Throwback to freshly made Robyn

#ffxiv #balmung #robyn eastwall