#Porta Praetoria

[aethernoise]

"Is this a dream? It feels like a dream."

[coffeenewstom]

9-Euro-Ticket-Tours: Regensburg II - Castra Regina

9-Euro-Ticket-Tours: Regensburg II – Castra Regina

Castra Regina war ein römisches Legionslager. Errichtet wurde es für die dritte italische Legion im Jahr 175 als Hauptquartier, wo die obere Donau in ihrem Verlauf den nördlichsten Punkt erreicht. Castra Regina bestand aus dem Legionslager, aus der zugehörigen Zivilstadt, einem großen Friedhof und aus einigen Heiligtümern und Tempelanlagen. Die sichtbaren römischen Baureste des Lagers sowie die…

[aureliawisenri]

all hail the new lighting engine

[blackestnight]

1: road hazard

Prompt: Steer Word count: 1406 Honestly, Hanami probably needs to come with a permanent caution sign.

“Absolutely not,” Aymeric says, his scowl marred a bit by the fact that he’s obviously holding back a smile. The overall effect is that he’s very sternly sucking on one of those spiced chocolate candies she brought back from Tuliyollal and trying not to sneeze.

Hanami leans back against the Manufactory’s wall, insulated enough in her coat not to feel the chill of stone, and raises an eyebrow at him.

“I know,” he says, grave as any battlefield order, “how you drive that thing.”

“You have never seen my drive my motorbike,” she says immediately, and because she loves him with all the fury of a dying star she even withholds the you fucking liar she wants to tack onto the end.

“I have received numerous reports of your recklessness,” he says, crisp and clipped in a way that has a smile tugging at the corner of her own mouth. “And I have no desire to risk my own life by placing myself at the mercy of your driving.”

“Reports,” she scoffs, and twirls the little metal ring around her finger so the cermet keys clink against each other. Cid and Nero are still in the middle of their most recent engineering pissing contest, and apparently the only thing they can agree on about the bikes is that she’s their favorite test driver—you’re almost guaranteed to walk away from any catastrophic malfunction, Nero had sneered, which was a compliment coming from him. It cuts down on paperwork. Not that she actually needs all the motorbikes they’ve been giving her instead of actual payment, but it’s not like she’s going to turn them down since they are useful.

Which is why it’s especially offensive that Aymeric raises his hands, ticks off his first finger, and says, “Cid Garlond.”

“If he did not want me to wreck his bikes,” she says, “he should have built better fucking bikes.”

Aymeric raises an eyebrow at her—she wrinkles her nose—but he’s truly smiling now, even as he says, “You drove it directly into a cliff face. At speed.”

“He should have built a bike that could fucking turn,” she says, which is also more or less what she had told Cid at the time, and he’d thrown his hands up and stormed out of the Ironworks tent at Porta Praetoria to scream incoherently, but the next iteration of the G-bike could make hairpin turns at speeds that would make a chocobo jockey shit themselves, so she’d clearly been right.

Aymeric raises his eyes to the heavens, although she can’t imagine who exactly he’s praying to, and he ticks off a second finger and says, “Lucia Junius.”

“That was her idea,” Hanami says. To be fair, it was a good one. The Ilsabardian contingent had brought chocobos for transporting provisions, but they couldn’t actually take the birds out on long journeys unless the scouting parties wanted to haul around enough tents and fuel to close off and heat an area big enough to keep giant hulking horsebirds from dying of exposure. Hanami’s bike was smaller, and wouldn’t freeze to death on the icy wastes of Garlemald.

It also made Hanami essentially their only mounted cavalry until they could steal some Reapers, which was a little strange, but as it turned out if she could hook her scythe blade into…really any part of a hostile piece of magitek, the bike’s momentum would do the rest of the work of tearing it to shreds, even if she did a bit of an ungainly fishtail the first few times she tried that stunt.

“She asked if you would be willing to use the bike for scouting,” Aymeric says. “Not for combat.”

“She did not explain that to the colossi pointing cannons at my face,” Hanami points out. “And they were rude and would not wait for me to put down the kickstand.”

He’s absolutely laughing now, his shoulders visibly shaking even under the bulk of his coat, but he keeps his voice remarkably steady while he ticks off a third finger and says, “G’raha Tia.”

“Can fuck right off,” she snaps, and then hisses when her tail smacks against the Manufactory wall. “He has no room to talk.” Even ignoring the stunt with the light aether, which she was still mad about, or the nonsense with Elidibus, or the tower of Zot—by the time she’d found him and Alisaie on the Magna Glacies, he’d been halfway through calling down a fireball that would have made him black out after, and bleeding from half a dozen wounds besides. Whereas Hanami dumping her bike and letting it skid straight into the giant blasphemy’s legs had been quick and efficient, and immobilized the stupid oversized lizard, and a hastily-spun shield of shadow meant Hanami had rolled to her feet without so much as a bruise. “I notice you did not get a report from Alisaie.”

“Mistress Leveilleur was quite impressed by your driving,” Aymeric says, “which I feel only reinforces my point.”

Hanami snorts, and holds out the hand not occupied with her keyring, which Aymeric takes easily. “I would not let anything happen to you,” she says, and runs her thumb across his gloved knuckles. “I can be careful.”

Erenville would bitch about anything, but he’d only complained about the noise and the smell of the bike, not her driving. Lamat-chan had been delighted the first time Hanami had taken her on a ride through the streets of Tuliyollal, split between chattering about automated wheeled carts to ferry around citizens who couldn’t handle the endless stairs or hills and whooping in elation when Hanami kicked up the speed a little down the long straight of Talonmarch. Even Alphinaud was comfortable enough on the back of the bike, although he usually wound up with his face pressed between her shoulderblades when they bounced over rougher ground.

“I know,” Aymeric says, and lifted their twined hands to press a kiss to her fingers. “Though I do wish you would take more care with your own safety, and not only that of your passengers.”

She lets loose a tiny sigh through her nose, the showy irritation melting from her shoulders, and allows herself a real smile as she runs her fingertips down the line of Aymeric’s jaw. He has an adventurer’s spirit, even if his heart is sworn to Ishgard, but she doesn’t think he’s ever felt the same delight she gets from heart-pounding excitement, almost akin to terror, kicking her pulse into overdrive and dousing her nerve endings in adrenaline. He so rarely turns down little adventures with her, but she thinks, if she could peer into his mind, he would be the sort with a voice in his head telling him to step carefully when walking along a cliff’s edge.

Her impulses have always been the sort telling her to jump. The rotten ones, the loudest ones, to try and find silence at the bottom—but the rest, the ones she heeds most closely now, just to enjoy the wind whistling through her hair during the fall.

“I know,” she says. “But I would not get myself into any trouble I could not walk away from.” Not when she has a choice in the matter.

And even when the choice was taken away from her, at the edge of the universe, she got up and walked it off anyway, even if it took some kind of bullshit akasa resurrection and a lot of physical therapy, so it isn’t as though she’d let something as silly as a bike crash keep her away from him, not when the end of days couldn’t manage it.

He comes to her easily when she tugs on his hand, and presses a kiss to her temple, the heat of his breath settling into her hair.

“Setting aside the matter of your driving,” he murmurs, his voice gone velvety in a way that warms her from the inside out, “I rather enjoy the romance of long walks with you.”

When he straightens up his smile is easy, and his fingers are twined even more firmly in her own, so she pockets the keyring and says, “You could have just said you wanted to hold my hand, you sap.”

“I thought it rather apparent,” he tells her, with another squeeze to her fingers, and she scoffs and pushes off the wall. It’s a long, cold walk to Whitebrim, but she’s never minded taking the slow way.

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 22: Threshold [FREE DAY]

a moment for aureia and aymeric on the threshold of change. aymeric x wol. stormblood spoilers. written for ffxivwrite2024. rated: mature 1273 words ao3 link

Aymeric sighs and sinks into the bath, idly watching the steam as it rises and curls towards the rafters.

It may not be the same as the pleasantness of a hot springs bath, but it is most welcome all the same. His body aches, his muscles stretched and worn. It is a concerning fact of his life how easy it is to strain himself not just from combat, but from a hard day’s ride. Some aides younger than he would find it easy to pin it on his age, but mid-thirties is not old, especially for an Elezen. This is the consequence of countless hours spent at a desk, in meetings, and otherwise remaining stationary.

Guilt twists in the pit of his stomach. He has not been lax, with his life or his duties. Aureia would say he has never once been lax in all the years she has known him, and could benefit from “going rogue”. He has kept regular training, though not as intensive a regimen as many knights can afford. He simply does not have the time. And yet he can and will grace the battlefield, when it is required of him.

He has not once put down his sword. He is both soldier and politician. The latter he is secure in, but the former…? Fighting Garleans is a different beast than fighting dragons. His skill feels eroded. Weathered. Not what it once was.

And it is certainly nothing compared to the tempest that storms the battlefield at his side.

He groans and shifts his position, water sloshing about him as he digs his fingers into the tense muscles of his calf. The bath is a wide rectangle pool sunk into the floor, surrounded by rich red and gold tile. A little ledge runs around the edge for bathers to sit on, carved from the same stone that was used to build Porta Praetoria. A brass chandelier hangs from the ceiling, its glow hazy in the steam. A few climbing plants stand scattered about the room, vines and leaves spilling over the lip of their pots and dragging on the floor. It must have been some time since anyone thought to care for them.

The Ala Mhigan resistance spared no expense finding the Alliance leaders the best rooms to be found in Porta Praetoria. He almost resisted, insisting that he can sleep in the tents the same as his troops, but—as always—his thoughts went to Aureia. She would not join him, if that was the case, for the sake of her own privacy. And so, a week out from their planned attack on Ala Mhigo, they have found themselves lodged in a room nicer than most Ala Mhigans could ever afford, enjoying amenities most of their soldiers will never have access to.

Who was this chamber’s last occupant, he wonders? A wealthy merchant? A Garlean spy? A distant scion of the Mad King? Perhaps Prince Zenos himself stayed in these rooms, though he cannot imagine it. Garleans think little of the people they conquer, their so-called “savages”. Why would he take refuge in Porta Praetoria when he has a whole palace available to him in Ala Mhigo?

Aymeric sinks deeper into the bath, allowing his legs to float up in the water. Ala Mhigo. It is impossible to block out now, even here in the safety of this room. The far wall faces east and the windows are shutterless, the remains of their wood still clinging to the window frame. Ala Mhigo looms on the horizon, beyond the sea of tents, beyond the dark waters of Loch Seld, its palatial silhouette glowing orange and red with the light of Garlean magitek.

A knock on the door. “Aymeric?”

Aureia. Her voice cuts through the din of his thoughts, and relief washes over him.

“I’m in here,” he calls.

The door creaks open and she slips inside. He raises his head and his shoulders sag with disappointment—she is still dressed in armour, her hair tied back in a tight bun, her weapon strapped to her back. The staff glitters, sharp and lethal, a blue-green focusing crystal interwoven with its deadly blade. A custom design, forged by Cid Garlond from salvaged Allagan tech and crafted to be used interchangeably as a black mage’s armament and a dragoon’s lance. It is impossible to know if she is coming or going.

“Heading out?” he asks gently, careful not to let his disappointment show.  

She shakes her head and moves further into the room, favouring one leg. Is she injured? “Returning,” she replies. “One hells of a scouting mission. Thancred…” She closes her eyes and sighs. “Never mind.”

He pushes himself up. “Are you hurt, Aureia?”

“No.” She crosses her arms, one hand gingerly brushing her side. “I’m going to bed. I wanted to see you before I did. Say goodnight.” Her eyes flick across the room, distracted by the sight through the window. “If I can even sleep with that fucking thing out there.”

“The city may be a reminder of what’s to come, yes,” he replies. “But perhaps we should think of what our deeds will achieve once it is liberated, rather than what it is now.”

“I’m not talking about the city.”

The water’s gentle lap at odds with the fierceness of her voice. She speaks of Zenos—there is no one else she could mean. No one else who raises her ire. No one else who threatens to overtake her mind. He does not know why the crown prince figures so largely in her life. He is a Garlean legatus—a powerful one, of course, but she has laid low powerful legatuses before. The streak of vengeance in her voice gives him pause. It is too powerful, too twisted to simply be anger directed at the general who defeated her at Rhalgr’s Reach.

And a shade too close to the venom with which Estinien once spoke of Nidhogg.

Aymeric meets her eyes. She stares at him, her gaze sweeping over his body but seeing none of his nakedness. Any desire she may have for him has been pushed aside, locked away. With anyone else he could imagine this moment turning into a charming evening, a last romantic encounter between two lovers on the threshold of change. And perhaps it still could be.

“It’s a quiet night,” he says softly. “Why don’t you undress first? Come speak with me for a while. We may not have many chances left.”

Her jaw clenches. “I don’t feel like talking.”

“Then sit with me, then.”

She stares at him, eyes narrowed. With her hair drawn back so severely and her pointed ears on display, she is all angles—sharp and keen and stinging. If he could go to her, he would—to hold her, kiss her, tell her that it will be all right. But he dare not now. Not if she does not want him to.

“I don’t feel like that either,” she says at last, her voice low and ragged, as if she is on the verge of tears. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Aureia—”

“Good night.”

His heart pangs. He rises from the bath, water rushing off him, but it is too late. She slips back through the door, taking care to close it without a sound. A gesture, one of her many perplexing voiceless ways of communicating.

A way to say “I’m sorry, I’m not angry with you.”

A way to say, “I’m sorry, this is not your fault.”

A way to say, “I’m sorry I’m not enough.”

He would have preferred if she had slammed it.

[avampyone]

Prompt #9: Outsider

Characters: Arazul De'fleur, Gabriel Devrau, mentions of Cecilia De'Fleur.

Synopsis: Gabriel is shocked by new revelations about his long time rival.

Setting: Gyr Abania, Porta Praetoria

Warning - Language, blood, gore, death, dark and suggestive themes.

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

-Help me if you can It's just that this, this is not the way I'm wired-

The earlier memory continued to replay itself in Gabriel’s mind eye like he might be able to glean extra information, or had he overlooked something? He had been different – but he knew it had to be him. A well-dressed gentleman with a purpose elegance to his steps, heading out of the gates of Ala Mhigan quarters. He pocketed something – A bottle that looked to contain a milk white liquid within it, several of them in fact. The sniper rushed further ahead to get a better look and ensure his eyes were not deceiving him with desperate panted breaths escaping in heavy gasps. Yet, the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.

Gabriel had seen the now white-haired doctor pause to turn his head, the uncovered eye looking straight at him even at such a distance with such a fiendish grin occupying his features that caught him off guard. A smile was rare for Arazul unless in the company of those he found agreeable, even then it depended on his mood at the time.

Not one to dwell, Gabriel’s metal hand tightened about the long length of the barrel of the rifle he carried to displace the bad feeling welling up in his chest that told him something was amiss. The pause only lasted moments before he went back to sprinting after him with the heavy imprint of his boots leaving tracks in the reddish-brown dusty sands below.

Once he neared Porta Pretoria, Gabriel growled deeply and mustered all the strength he could to run faster whenever he heard the noisy pop in the distance in a small explosion that took place causing debris to scatter in all directions. The fumes and flames were all mitigated beyond the walls of the checkpoint past a few crates and barrels still smoking from the blast. Soon, the blonde wildwood began to feel the hot splatter like raindrops against his features.

A sudden shock gripped him when his pale eyes widened, reaching to press lifelike silver fingertips to his forehead to come away to reveal the droplets of blood – Blood raining down. Once the site of the explosion was in view, Gabriel’s walking slowed while he lifted his rifle with care with his brows furrowed in concentration when the dust began to clear away. There he noticed Arazul standing there from a distance, appearing down at the carnage below. He dropped empty glass bottles that lay broken at his feet- the heavy scent of milk root lingering in the air.

The ground lay in a messy mix of red misshapen clumps with trails of blood beginning to pool out beneath them, the broken remains of limbs and gore that was strewn about with bits of burning white cloth, like a researcher’s robes. Gabriel could at least make out the head of one middle aged man who had been balding before his sudden death – the one detail that brought his attention was the small pearlescent dot on his forehead, a third eye. There were bits of metallic pieces that lay there as well – Further up nearby the path down, he could see there was a single land mine that had not gone off yet. It appeared he had given them the medicine and left them to their own device.

Gabriel stood up to his full height with an expression of pure shock to look at the sight of absolute carnage and to Arazul – Everything he knew of the man far beyond what he had known. Even his usually immaculate clothing lay dotted with dirt and blood that bespeckled him, “What the absolute fuck?! I mean by the love of Thaliak’s beautiful arse – I know we have never seen eye to eye, but if you were so troubled, you know even I would have given you ample time to listen to your thoughts...”

“Thoughts, Gabriel? Imagine me coming to you to ask to speak of my thoughts like we were ever so close – You would have only laughed. It does not matter anymore anyway. There are many things that cannot be forgotten only by speaking of them. Too painful even to speak of.”

Lifting his gun up and away a little, Gabriel paused to consider all this – all which would be true he had to admit. He shook his head, waving away the image before him with a look of sorrow in his depths of all too knowing, “You know what? You’re right. Have always been right about me. But damn, you had it all going for you...and for what? I have no right at all to judge you..but what would Cecilia think?”

With his pale eye narrowing dangerously, Arazul said nothing when he advanced forward towards him in such a close proximity that only Gabriel’s sheer determination not to show he was at all intimidated by the taller man. With a smirk lifting at his features, the doctor’s gloved hand wrapped thin fingers around the barrel of his gun with such a slow and meaningful stroke downward that felt far too intimate with the way his fingertips dragged.

The blonde took the breathe he hadn’t realized he was holding to watch those fingers curl around in a threatening hold around the barrel, “And you...you could have had it all going for you. Why did you not kill me back then, Gabriel…The title and everything could have been yours. Or maybe you see as I see now. There is much more beyond riches, titles, or duty. The artistry of life…I have given these men not the medicine they needed, but the medicine they deserved.”

With one last lingering look of eyes that had seen far too much, Arazul released his hold on the rifle without another word and began to make off elsewhere – To where he knew not. On his back, there lay a heavy length of a dark steel blade emboldened with bright red runes he had never seen him carry before. A dark knight’s weapon of choice.

Lowering his gun, Gabriel cursed and ran a hand back through his short blonde locks in frustration and a complicated mix of emotions tainting his pale eyes, “You’re still an arsehole, you know! At least that’s not changed…”

-Help me understand why You've given in to all these Reckless dark desires-

[nhaneh]

forever reading Porta Praetoria as Porta Potty

[arhya-writes]

Day 2 - Horizons

(Written for @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast 's FFXIVWrite)

"Ama! Ama!" A red headed miqo'te toddled across the sands, chased by his mother.

"Aaaaand scoop!" The toddler giggled as his mother scooped him up, spinning him as he kicked his feet happily.

"A!" The toddler pointed towards the hill he'd been slowly making his way up and his mother obediently carried him, making her way towards the child's goal.

"There you are, Velore, is this what you wanted to see?"

Velore gasped happily, eyes sparkling as he looked out over the edge of the cliff.

The hill sloped away sharply, dirt and rocks giving way to greener shrub grasses and brush, down towards the beaches and the glittering green waters of the sound, stretching away to deep blue to where it met the horizon.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" His mother asked the stunned toddler. The child looked up at her, eyes as wide as dinner plates before looking back out over the water and pointing emphatically. "You want to go there?" His mother laughed "Not today, love, but one day. One day you'll cross that horizon...."

~~~

Waves splashed across the bow of the sailing vessel, the salt spraying across the smiling face of the red haired miqo'te as she looked over the waves.

"See it yet, A'rhya?" her mother asked, leaning against the railing of the fo'c'sle and looking out.

*'Not yet, but soon,'* she signed in return, eyes flicking across the horizon as she watched.

"Its quite a change, but hopefully it'll be the last for a while. Once we find somewhere to live we can finally stop living out of trunks."

*'It will be nice to find some stability,'* A'rhya signed slowly, hands half hidden from her mother as she thought back over the past months and the constant refugee villages.

*LAND HO!*

A'rhya's ears perked straight up at the hrothgar's gruff voice, eyes straining to find..... there!

Just visible as a bump over the water, the towers of Limsa Lominsa rose over the horizon, already imagined in A'rhya's minds eye. The pirate haven turned mercantile city state from the adventure stories of her teenage years. The throngs of merchants, ruffians, and adventurers crowding the towers and bridges. She smiled, imagining herself fighting pirates with her spell book in one hand, a floppy hat over her ears.

"Well my eyes arent good enough to spot it, but hopefully its not too much longer now then," her mother said, turning from the expanse to head back below deck.

*'A new home... Not much longer now,'* Arhya signed to herself as her eyes fixed on the slowly growing dot on the horizon.

~~~

A'rhya shifted the scarf over her mouth to better shield herself from the bite of the wind as she looked out into the snowy expanse before her.

"Well, its certainly a change, isnt it?" The white-haired girl beside her said, rubbing her hands together

*'Warm sands for icy snow. Not my favorite, but it will do,'* A'rhya signed back, her fingers fumbling over her words through the thick gloves.

She and Alisae looked over the rampart of the castle that was Ishgard, watching as a seemingly endless grey snowstorm swallowed the horizon over western Coerthas.

"Bloody idiot of a brother, getting us into this mess.. He needs to think his plans through better," Alisae sighed, cutting herself off. "They're ready at the manor, I think. Lord Fortemps wanted to speak to us."

A'rhya nodded as her companion turned, trudging back over the snowy cobblestones to the manor. A'rhya gave one last look towards the grey and stormy horizon before turning to follow

~~~

A'rhya sheathed her rapier, clipping her focus to her belt as she stepped onto the walls of Porta Praetoria.

The captured Garlean stronghold sat behind her as she gazed over the expanse of the lochs up to where the Ala Mhigo Palace sat at the horizon, the glimmering palace from her childhood almost mocking her, just as opulent under Garlean control as it had been before the Mad King was overthrown.

Soon it would be free of their grasp, the new center of government for a free Ala Mhigo. She turned her gaze down to where alliance soldiers were hard at work fortifying the newly captured staging point, readying themselves to rebuff any Garlean counterattack. She took a last gaze over the horizon before turning to head down the steps to assist in any way she could...

~~~

The air even smelled different here, A'rhya realized as she sat at the edge of the balcony. Even something as little as that being different surprised her as she gazed out over the strange new world she found herself in.

A purple canopy of trees spread out towards the horizon ahead of her as she gazed out over Lakeland. The landscape felt achingly familiar to her, the rolling hills reminding her so nearly of the Shroud back in her home world. She sighed, remembering simpler times, before Scions, and reflections, and Warriors of Darkness..

She turned and gazed up at the monument of softly glimmering blue crystal, a lone point of near normalcy in this strange land.

She thought back to the Exarch- yet another thing that seemed achingly familiar, but somehow Not- and his explanations of the world of the First, and all of the others beside it.

She slowly pushed herself to her feet to find the chocob- amaro roost. She was to leave for a place called Amh Arang to find Alisae soon and she could hardly wait to see a familiar face. She gave the unending harshness of the horizon a final look before turning to the mercifully dimmer interior of the Crystal Tower to head down from the balcony

~~~

A'rhya sank to her knees, holding her head as tears streaked her cheeks. She sobbed in the dark dirt of the strange floating island, gazing out over the abyss.

Before her stretched the strange kaleidoscope of colours of space, stretching out to the horizons in every direction. The only break the pale, glowing staircase stretching before her. Her eyes followed it up, the path her friends- her love had bought for her so dearly as it stretched to the planet hanging abover her.

She brushed tears fron her eyes and the dirt crunched under her feet as she stood slowly.

She gritted her teeth and put a foot on the glowing staircase and began to ascend. Her hands found her sword and her shield and drew them, ready as she walked onward to the end...

~~~

Waves splashed across the bow of the sailing vessel, the salt spraying across the soft smile of the red haired miqo'te as she looked over the waves.

"We're nearly there, love," Mersi said, smiling at her side.

*'Nearly,'* A'rhya signed back as best she could, hampered by the sling across her chest.

"Are you ready to see it?" Mersi asked her, resting her head against A'rhya's shoulder

A'rhya looked down at her love and kissed her on the head before looking down at the tiny white-haired miqo'te in her sling. She smiled fondly and looked back up to the horizon

*'Whatever comes across our horizon, we'll face it together'*

[f0xgl0v3]

The Octavian and Michael Quest; Story Snippet

Hahaha I’ve done it. I’m finally going mad, anyways after staring longingly at the Converse wedge high tops vowing to one day add them to my collection (and for some reason way more publicity on the post) I’ve decided that I’m making a like teaser for the Octavian-Michael fanfic I talked about all those weeks ago. Also I’m really bored this mid-winter break and I’m a mediocre narrative writer soo uh

Also if my google docs yell at me one more time because apparently the way I spell something is the British English way I’m going to scream. I’m sorry but it’s travelled. Anyways, I’d like to say again in no way am I an author nor do I think I write stories particularly well. There’s probably a reason why most of my big posts are formatted the way they are,

Also sorry no Michael in the sneak peak/ first bit I wrote, this is just the like. Set up? It’s mean to be short and sweet, enjoy! (also this isn’t proofread I’m so sorry),

I should’ve just chosen to use dice or birds primarily, Octavian thought as he pulled his dagger through another stuffed animal. It stung a bit, partially from the repeated weight of taking the golden blade through fabrics and partially because he had to. The dove between his hands looked pleading with its plastic eyes, the same sound of threads ripping apart while stuffing piled out. It caught in his ears again, the ringing that came before the voices. The same feeling of hair standing on end that Jason described when lightning was about to strike, and that’s when it began,

“Great strife shall befall the legion,” He had heard this voice before, the mixed harmony of several Gods murmuring before one truly broke through. It took awhile to get used to, his ears still rang after most of the Auguries, and Octavian could barely hear his own voice murmur in reply,

“What’s going on?” it felt odd to ask, Octavian’s own voice sounding desperate and panicked, though usually his tone reflected those of the Gods. The world around grew blurry while the harmony thinned out to one single melodious voice, humming in his ears, Venus, something in his mind decided,

“[the super duper cool prophecy that will be there at some point I pinky Promise]”

The world spun some more, and once Octavian’s vision settled the stuffed dove and his dagger had been dropped to the altar, his brows furrowed and breath a bit frantic while he tried to make some sense of what was just delivered to him. A prophecy. An actual prophecy. Octavian tenderly picked up the stuffed dove and dagger again, first giving the poor thing an apology and sewing it back up, gently holding it while he exited the Augurculanum. The blinding rays of the sun beat down on his eyes while Octavian made the run to the Principa from ground zero. His hand tightened around the dove, which was decidedly now named Beatrice. His boots crunched against the gravel roads that wound between most of the buildings. He opted not to walk on the main Via Principa; there would;ve been too many legionnaires walking back from the fields of Mars anyway.

Finally reaching the Principa was always a relief. It was great having most of the buildings Octavian had to go to in the Porta Praetoria; It meant everything was in arms reach. But also subsequently meant that heading to the Principa took longer and always felt more daunting (not to mention the Principa itself always felt impossibly big). Octavian rushed up the few steps and into the door, walking through the big halls and passing several doors and legionnaires before finally slipping into the main office. His eyes travelled to the Praetors; who snapped up once they realized he was there. Marcus spoke up first, already concerned,

“What happend?”

——————————————————————————

That’s it! Uh, I didn’t want to type up a giant thing so there’s the short and sweet version. It’s also a draft partially? It’s my first time writing this little section. I also tried to keep it from being like.. super ahdiajfbsj like how I usually write things. Also the actual one will probably be first person because that means I can do my super fun parenthesis bits in character and that makes me happy.

Anyway goodnight internet.

[beholderfromthenorth]

Day 13: Butte

From the top of a rocky plateau overlooking the great salt lakes of the Lochs, where steel and wood fencing encircled the peak and an observation camp was taking shape, Robert set his eyes upon the end of the journey. In the distance to the east loomed the great stone walls of Ala Mhigo; once a proud city, now grown small and sorry in stature under the shadows of the Garlean banners that flew from her battlements. One more Imperial injustice that needed to be redressed – and would be, all in good time. Robert turned to look over his shoulder to the west. Porta Praetoria, and Castrum Abania behind it, now belonged to the Alliance, and the logistical effort to turn it into a functioning outpost was well underway. The Twelfth Legion, beaten back after their losses in Castrum Abania, had largely retreated into the city proper, where a final stand was no doubt being prepared. Robert’s objective in the short term was to verify this; from his vantage point on this steep butte partway between Porta Praetoria and the city, he would command a team of scouts and organise their reports. If any pockets of resistance remained outside the walls, he would find them and see them dealt with. There was little hope of getting eyes inside the city for any clear picture of the enemy’s disposition there, he knew, but his superiors had accepted this risk. All that remained was to consolidate their gains, secure Porta Praetoria as a staging point, then begin tightening the noose. All other risk factors had to be accounted for and neutralised before a siege – and everyone knew, though few would say, that that was what it would come to – could begin in earnest. But when it did, there would be nowhere for that vile princeling Zenos to run. The hammer of Eorzea’s justice would soon fall upon the heads of the Garleans, and Ala Mhigo would soon be free.

[italiasparita]

Mario Gabinio (1871-1938)

Aosta. Porta Praetoria

[ecosystem-administrator]

Fair

Timeline: 4.5-5.0-ish, no spoilers Pairing: Maxima/Riol

As an exiled Garlean, Maxima is at the very bottom of the social ladder in the reclaimed Ala Mhigo, and making himself useful means taking on the most unforgiving and unwanted tasks. Unfortunately he's not used to the climate, and Riol is upset after he collapses from heat exhaustion on a courier run.

Consciousness was slow to return. Maxima’s head was pounding even before he was fully awake, enough to keep him from opening his eyes immediately, instead processing his current condition and environment in stages. He felt miserable, sore and sluggish and fevered - he had been working, hadn’t he? They’d had him relaying messages to the salt flats and the workers there…

Someone was speaking in a raised voice, just far enough away to be a little muffled. He focused his attention and realized he recognized it: Riol, the Scion who’d been helping him settle in and gently extracting information about the Empire in the process. Not that Maxima minded, at this point, he’d freely answered any question the other man had thought to pose. Riol had been away scouting for a little while, though, so it was a relief to hear his voice, even clearly upset as he was.

“-lucky he made it back close enough to collapse in the shade!” he was saying. “Because none of ye bleedin’ fools took the care to make sure he knew when to take breaks!” The responding voice was indistinct but sullen. Riol was clearly having none of whatever excuses they were making. “Aye, and the Coerthans know to ask for goggles too, because they come from the snow! I notice no one’s lettin’ them work until they fall over.” Another indistinct mutter, a little more vehement. “Go take it up with the General, if yer brave enough to admit you almost lost us a valuable intelligence asset because you couldn’t be arsed to treat ‘im like every other worker.”

Slowly, Maxima forced himself to open his eyes and raise his head, wincing with every movement. He could vaguely recall the dizzy spell that had started to set in halfway back to Porta Praetoria, and the malaise he felt now was a distant echo of the sweating misery that had seen him stumble into the shadow of a tent at the edge of camp, desperate for anything that would give him a moment’s respite from the beating of the sun. The infirmary was blessedly dark and cool, set into a cave in the cliffside, and he managed to focus his gaze on clean white sheets and a simple curtain between his bed and the next one over.

Footsteps approached, and the curtain rippled. He sat up a little further, in time to catch Riol entering the recovery space. “Easy now,” he said, speaking much more softly than he had been a moment ago. “Take yer time… They told me you were in a bad way when the guards picked you up and hauled you in here.” He looked Maxima up and down, visibly wincing with his one good eye. “You look like shite warmed over.” Nodding to the bedside table, he added. “Think you can down some water?”

Maxima turned to see the glass and pitcher on the little tray table beside the infirmary bed, and nodded numbly, reaching for it with almost unseemly haste. Now that he was awake and aware, he was desperately thirsty, but his hand shook unbecomingly as he lifted the glass.

Riol steadied his arm with a gentle hand and helped him bring it to his lips. “Careful, careful. Get maybe half of that in you, and then wait a minute. If you take it all you’ll just end up losin’ it again.” He reached up with his other hand as if to place the palm on Maxima’s forehead, and Maxima couldn’t help instinctively flinching back before his third eye could be covered, splashing some of the cool water across his arm and the sheets. “Hey, hey, steady. Just tryin’ to check your temperature.” Riol grimaced and shook his head a little. “Sorry, I didn’t think. How’d your mum check if you had a fever?”

Oh. Of course. He lowered the glass, and with his other hand grasped Riol’s wrist, guiding his fingers to press against his forehead at an angle over one eye, from eyebrow to hairline, while avoiding the third eye entirely. “I’m all right,” he managed, and grimaced at the hoarseness of his own voice.

“Still burnin’ up, though,” Riol muttered, withdrawing his hand and laying it lightly between Maxima’s shoulderblades instead to help steady him. “Those dumb bastards… They should’ve known better than to send you on that run in the bleedin’ midday heat. It’s the absolute most godsawful time of day to be workin’ out there.”

“That’s why I was the one they sent,” Maxima agreed quietly, letting his focus slowly drift around the room. He wouldn’t normally say such things so openly, but his head still hurt so badly he could hardly think straight, and the conversation was a welcome distraction. “Of course I know what they think of me, but what else is there to do but start from the bottom and earn their respect? I can’t be an outcast to everyone forever, and I can’t go home.”

“And so you let them walk all over you, to give them their petty revenge and prove you can bear up under it.” Riol shook his head. “Dammit all… They almost killed you for it, you know.”

“Only by neglect, at least. Judging by the looks I get on a daily basis, that’s…progress.” Maxima sipped a little more of the water, feeling his stomach turn in warning but relishing the coolness nonetheless.

The silence that hung in the air in response suggested that Riol was trying and failing to come up with a response. Eventually he just sighed and gently took the glass from Maxima’s grasp to set it aside. “Get some more rest, all right? I’ll let the healers know you’re up - and I’ll be back in a couple bells to make sure they’re actually treatin’ you.”

Maxima smiled weakly at Riol as he settled back down into the bed, letting his eyes fall shut again. “Thank you, Riol.”

Riol didn’t answer verbally, but the feeling of gentle fingers in his hair helped soothe his dizzy mind back into oblivion.

[ballads-and-dirges]

𝖡𝖤𝖥𝖮𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖲𝖳𝖮𝖱𝖬 (𝖲𝖳𝖮𝖱𝖬𝖡𝖫𝖮𝖮𝖣)

ᴹⁱⁿⁱ ᵂᵒˡᴹᵉʳⁱᶜ ˢᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᴾᵗ. ᴵ

ᴷᵃᵈᴹᵉʳⁱᶜ ᴹⁱⁿⁱ ˢᵉʳⁱᵉˢ ᴾᵗ. ᴵ ᴾᵗ. ᴵᴵ ᴾᵗ. ᴵᴵᴵ

ᵈᵉˢᶜ. ᵀʰᵉ ᵇᵃᵗᵗˡᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᴬˡᵃ ᴹ'ʰⁱᵍᵒ'ˢ ˡⁱᵇᵉʳᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ʷᵃˢ ⁿⁱᵍʰ. ᴮᵘᵗ ʰᵒʷ ᶜᵒᵘˡᵈ ˢʰᵉ ᵍᵒ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵃᵗᵗˡᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ˢᵖᵉᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵃ ˢᵖᵉᶜⁱᵃˡ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ…

She was eager to make it to Porta Praetoria as all their allies were waiting for her and the Scions. Everyone was eager to turn the tides and finally put an end to the Garlean occupation. As she rode into the encampment on her trusted companion Torgal, with her battle weary chocobo, Lavitz, by their side, she was greeted with roars of applause. Everyone chants her name, eager to see Eorzea’s champion. Everyone is ready to be at her side, to share in the glory of being on the battlefield with the Warrior of Light. Dismounting from Torgal, she turns him and Lavitz over to the porter for their own safety and makes her way down to General Aldynn’s station where she’s greeted by every city-states overseer. Nanamo Ul Namo, Merlywyb, Kan-E-Senna… Aymeric.

“There she is. Our champion!” General Aldynn says as he gives her salute. She looks to him with a smile, feeling triumphant from her last victory of rescuing Krile along with the Scions. Looking to the others she salutes them as well while doing her best to not look at Aymeric too long. The two shared a secret that no one was aware of. For months, as she traveled across the many countries and cities of Gyr Abania, Othard, and Higanashi the two kept in contact through a linkshell he’d given her before she left Ishgard. “Call on me whenever and I will be there,” he said as he presented her the Link. She remembers the first time she called on him, locked away from the others, reeling from her first ever defeat at the hands of Zenos. He listened to her for hours as she cried, finally allowing someone to hear the darkest parts of her heart… of how the title as Hydaelyn’s chosen was so much… too much. For hours he listened, never once taking his attention from her. From that day they would check in with each other as often as possible. Even he felt comfortable baring his heart, lamenting on the responsibilities and duties that now fell into his lap. So finally seeing each other after all this time, Kadenza felt small… Not in a since that she felt lesser but this constant pang in her chest every time their eyes met? She’s felt this before.

As General Aldynn dismisses everyone, each overseer goes to their warriors directing them on what is to come, Kadenza can’t help that her eyes fall on a certain Elezen man. Raubahn had always been a man to notice the little things and he had an inkling that something was holding the attention of his comrade. Walking up to her he places a hand on his shoulder with a knowing smile. This causes her to flinch but he only lets out a boisterous laugh before leaning into her, “Go to him. This will be a hard fought battle. Enjoy a moment’s respite before then.” Her eyes widen as he takes a step back with a grin on his face, “Off now lass, we are in our final moments before battle. Make it count.”

Biting her lip in contemplation, she takes his words in then looks up to him with an appreciative smile, “I will. Thank you, Raubahn.” 

With that she trots off to find Aymeric, going to Lucia to see where he had gotten off to. With a knowing smirk, Lucia points to a secluded area in the encampment. Thanking her, she makes her way towards the area looking around confused before a gentle hand reaches out to grasp her own. Whipping around quickly she’s nearly blindsided as she’s pulled into strong arms. 

“How I’ve long to do this… You have gone through so much in the name of the Goddess. Pray tell me, how do you fare my Light?’ He finally pulls back leaving a small bit of space between them as he gazes into her eyes.

“I..” She feels the hairs on her neck standing in eagerness before returning the hug, rubbing her cheek against his chest, “I am better… now at least. Aymeric?”

“Yes, my Light?” He whispers as he rubs her back lovingly, taking in the moment. He’s been wanting to hold her and have her this close for so long. He knew his heart was pounding against his breast and that she could possibly hear it but that didn’t matter, “Speak to me.”

Pulling back so she could look him in the eyes, she gasps at how soft his gaze was. This causes her to bite her lip and close her eyes. She has to take a moment to compose herself before speaking, “This pang in my chest is familiar… I don’t know if it’s love yet but I know that there is something.” Opening her eyes, she looks into his doing her best not to shy away, “When this battle is won… I’d like to explore it… with you. I don’t want to have any regrets..”

Aymeric falters at the confession, his heart soaring and damn near bursting from his chest. Unable to hold himself back, he leans down to press a chaste kiss to her forehead before holding her tight, “Anything for you, my Light.”

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Resolve

Set during 4.0. Agi is having some quality time with her friend Aymeric before the liberation of Ala Mhigo but cannot stop staring at his crotch. Oh dear.

Agnes Currai’s resolve was eroding quickly. Though she adored her friend Aymeric, she sometimes could not stop staring at him. He’s prettier than me for fuck’s sake! In this case however, she could not stop staring…down. Why must he always sit like that? Is he…no. No. No. That’s rude to even think about, let alone ask.

“My dear friend, are you quite well?” Aymeric chuckled, sitting opposite Agnes in his room at Porta Praetoria. Right. Right, we’re in his room to unwind after another day of preparation for the final assault on Ala Mhigo. He’s sipping wine or brandy or something.

“I, erm…” Agnes mumbled and tried in vain to stare into her mug of tea and not at Aymeric’s crotch. He is sitting like THAT with loose pants…wait a second! Is that…? IS THAT HIS COCK?! Fuck shit balls…NO NOT BALLS! “All fine here, Aymeric.” Sip tea. Just sip the tea. And stop staring, Agi! Mum always said it’s rude to stare!

His cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol, Aymeric grinned. “If ‘fine’ means ‘having an internal conflict and possibly combusting from tension’ then yes, I’d say you’re fine.”

Fuck. You. Aymeric. Oh gods, now I sound like Estinien. I miss him so much. Don’t think about that. And don’t think about Aymeric’s… “Oh hush you!” Agnes giggled and sipped her tea. “I just have a lot on my mind.”

Aymeric nodded. “Aye, I know the feeling well. If there’s ought you wish to share Agnes then please do so. I would lighten your burden in any way I can.”

Great, now he thinks I’m having an existential crisis or something and not, you know, TRYING NOT TO STARE AT HIS CROTCH. Agnes squirmed in her chair. Oh fuck it. “Aymeric seriously, why must you sit like…” She opened her legs and gestured wildly. “Is it a power move to show politicians and shit that you’re in charge, or is it because you’re fucking huge?”

Stunned, Aymeric sat in silence for a few moments, his sapphire eyes widening.

Then he laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed some more.

“Aymeric!” Agnes squealed. “Please!”

He downed the rest of his glass and slapped his knee. “Forgive me, my dear! I…you are too funny!” He wiped his eyes and tried to regain some measure of composure. “For the record, it’s the latter.” Did he just wink at me?! No, he couldn’t have. “You try sitting ‘normally’ with a giant cock and balls, Agnes!”

A strangled high-pitched sound escaped from Agnes, whose face was bright red. Well, that answers that question…and now to wait for the ground to swallow me whole…

[minarcana]

happy new year write gaius

"I'm surprised you had the time to come here." Gaius stands off from the Heavensturn celebration, keeping an eye on the proceedings as Allie learns what is presumably the exact edge of 'possible without risk to people or buildings' from Rusi'a in front of a crate of fireworks. "Or the inclination, frankly."

Mina has better things to do, he can only assume, than visit the sticks for a holiday. Perhaps that's just the lot of the Warrior of Light, always where he doesn't expect them, sticking their nose into some business they don't need to waste their time on.

Or, it's not really a waste of time, is it? There's little things that are worth participating in, living for. Little chunks of the world where nothing's actively on fire.

Yet. Given the enthusiasm with which Rusia's gesticulating holding a large tracer, yet is the operative word. "I've been told they're going to make a show of it over the ocean once it's nightfall proper. You should stay to watch. Allie would probably appreciate it, and a room can be arranged so you don't have to travel in the night." It's not like anything could particularly threaten Mina if they wanted to travel back to Porta Praetoria in the dark, but he feels it's better to offer.

He shrugs, then beckons for Mina to follow as he walks towards the two he's been trying to supervise. "You can decide what you want to do while we make sure no one burns their eyebrows off."

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #9: Fair

Though Astodan would rather break his fast on nails than admit it, he rather appreciated Cahir. He certainly appreciated the man far more than his master, who he had known by reputation ever since his days in the Blackram Knights. If the self-styled Saintsmaker was a necessary evil, then their right hand - useless a term though it was for one whose limbs were constructs - offered him ample reminders of why he did not simply find another contact among the Undercity's many lords.

"Is the wayward Fiel driving you up the wall as surely as she is us?" Cahir asked. No pleasantries, limited tact, straight to the share of information.

Astodan chuckled. "No, because I make a point of steering clear of the witch." It was in his case a silent but deliberate statement, and an explicit threat in its own right: he had shown Élodie enough of his hand thus far for her to fear his connections to the viceroy. "Why? What has she done?"

Cahir rolled up the sleeve of his arm to reveal oozing welts blooming upon his ruddy skin. "Stinging nettle. She paid Fiadh to cover the Saintsmaker's bedding in it."

More likely Fiadh did it for free, and had jumped at the chance. Astodan had known few young women with a greater complex for martyrdom. Cahir, for all his virtues, was one to overlook children's misbehaviors, but now that his lord had been threatened… "I'll see that the girl's dealt with." After her antics in the Sprawl, and the explosion that had killed more Ala Mhigans than Garleans, precious few would protest to his form of justice.

Cahir nodded. "And inform me of the result."

Oh, but of course the mad-eyed wretch would want to revel in every detail. "Gladly." With the unsavory business out of the way, Astodan launched into the true purpose for their visit. "It's good timing, as well. I'm going to be away for a few weeks, perhaps a moon."

"Official business?"

It was Cahir's favorite euphemism for his imperial involvements. "That's right." Something in Werlyt, with details even he was not yet privy to. "I would expect far more patrols to the northeast, and fewer along Porta Praetoria. If you or your order have any supplies to transport from Ala Ghiri, next week would be the optimal time."

Cahir would never wish him luck, nor even grant him a blessing of the sort Astodan knew him to give to true believers of the Saintsmaker's half-baked little cult. That suited him perfectly well. The man did, however, offer him another nod, this one with far more sincerity.

"And," Astodan continued, "Maoin of the quartz quarry is with child. Their twin sister, lest you recall, was a Heart-Seer whom the Garleans took before her tenth nameday."

Cahir stared at him in something resembling disbelief, perhaps wondering if this glut of information was some sort of a trap. After a moment of that unexpected but not fully uncomfortable silence, he muttered, "My thanks."

"Don't mention it." Astodan turned his back gladly, and made off down the Skallic tunnel in the direction from which he had come. "Best of luck handling your nettle. I'll let you know what becomes of Fiel's."