#WondroustailsofffxivWriting

[tallbluelady]

Carbuncle

"Ah," Urianger cleared his throat, "Mayhap we should move on to my gift for thee."

"Oh, aye," Rowan found a stray tear on his face and wiped it for him. Who knew he'd react so strongly to a desk set?

He smiled and dug out a vaguely rectangular package from his pack. It was wrapped in a rather jaunty purple and white stripped fabric and tied with a bow. Removing the wrapping confirmed Rowan's suspicions that it was a grimoire. The cover was a luxurious soft leather, embossed with - of course - a rowan tree in full bloom. Each tiny blossom was painted white to show starkly against the dark purple leather.

Rowan let herself trace over the embossing rather than "apologize for her natural inclinations". Eventually, she opened the grimoire to a very satisfying crack and examined the pages within.

"Urianger... did... did you write this grimoire for me?" Rowan asked.

He gave a smile and nodded. "Aye. I do hope that thou canst read it."

"I can tell you wrote it in your more steady hand, darling..." She kept flipping through pages. "This must have taken ages to write."

"That, I will admit to. Pray turn to page 28."

Rowan could feel his excitement mounting as she turned the fine pages to the one she was bid to. "Oh, tis a diagram for a carbuncle!"

"I would have thee summon it ere we conclude our gift exchange."

"Did you put your amber carbuncle here?" Rowan asked. The pattern seemed subtly different than the ones she had seen before.

Urianger was shaking in anticipation. "Pray, summon the carbuncle forth. Its true nature shalt be revealed then."

Rowan gave a few chuckles, then took a deep breath to focus. While she wasn't versed enough in arcanima to use it comfortably on the battlefield, she had learned how to summon them at the guild in Limsa. Following the patterns on the grimoire's page, she drew her aether into the shape of a carbuncle. 

She had to blink a few times before she could believe the familiar before her. Twas shaped like most carbuncles, allowing for differences in tails and whiskers, but...

"You... that's... that's an amethyst carbuncle."

"Aye." He was smiling broadly.

"Did you... invent an entirely new carbuncle for me? Because I favor the color purple?"

"Twas an idle pursuit for a few summers, but aye."

Rowan's eyes flicked from the small glowing purple form on the ground to Urianger's smiling face.

"Once thou had placed the idea in my mind, I could not resist the challenge for overlong. If I found myself in a conceptual corner elsewhere, twas the project I would turn to to ease such frustrations."

"Oh you..." Rowan didn't quite have the word for what Urianger was, so she just hugged and kissed him.

[starrysnowdrop]

Wondrous Tails

Entry #4: Heartache

G’raha Tia waited there, in the shadow of the shining tower that once stood as a beacon of hope, now only saw the faint glow of light in battle with the gloom of the night sky.

He knew what he had to do. It was his destiny as the last bearer of the blood of Allagan royalty to see his mission fulfilled. And yet… his thoughts were with her.

He didn’t want to leave her, nor did he want to cause her any pain, but he knew he was going to have to do just that. And it was killing him at just the thought of what the morrow would bring. He could only stand there, tears rolling down his face, his body shaking from the pain of never seeing her ever again.

[dholwrites]

Letters on Our Skin

Soulmate au: the link between soulmates is that they can write on their skin and it would show up in the same place on their partner’s for a short amount of time. Sharing things like names does not work. But names of animals and plants do. Any attempts to hide names or meeting places within messages are blocked.

Erenville x (OC) Junior.

Spíra - sprout

@nijohirjesyho Thank you for the comm :3

His partner is cute. Erenville will admit that much from what little he knows of them. Spíra, as he comes to call them, travels the world for their job, loves plants, and, most importantly, has horrendous handwriting. It’s taken him years to decode the words and there are still moments where he is scratching his head at what has appeared on his skin. Is it supposed to be a dot or did his soulmate accidentally smudge their handwriting?

Another thing about his partner is that he is very helpful. Erenville has lost count of how many times Spíra would happen to know where and when to get common plants that researchers need. In return, he makes sure that Spíra doesn’t get scammed by every merchant they come across. Who would be foolish enough to pay twelve thousand gil for a simple hair tie? It was just his luck that he was able to put a stop to it before his Spíra was scammed of their life savings.

His attention snaps back to the student in front of him. The list of plants he needs to collect is probably long enough to circle around Sharalayan and the scholar is already strangely insistent on him getting it done as soon as possible. Scanning over the list again and recognizing only a handful of the names, he is already in for a long trip. He will have to track down and talk to fellow gleaners or do his own research to see where best to find them.

Some scholars really need to understand that handing over a list or just asking to bring in live samples doesn’t mean he will make it appear the next day. Nevertheless, he accepts the request, after giving the student a tongue lashing, and heads back to his office. Picking up an ink brush, he starts to write down the plants on his arm and already expecting a long day ahead of him. What he didn’t anticipate was for Spíra to write back. 

Next to Bitter Foxglove, they have written Coerthas Highlands and a warning that its poison is stronger than regular foxglove. Underneath it is the Rhea, Azim Steppe is written. Then again with Jhammel Ginger with the Lochs. For every region, his love had also included a set of instructions on when and where he could collect the materials he needs. Erenville hurries to trace everything his partner has written down before it vanishes. 

Staring at his arm, now practically covered in dry ink. The gleaner couldn’t help but be in awe of the amount of information spread across his skin. Spíra’s knowledge is astounding. He’s met plenty of coworkers who are well versed in certain fields, he himself is familiar with certain hopping amphibians after all. His soulmate is showing and proving that they are familiar with plants not in one region but possibly all of Eorzea if his guess is correct. The fact that Sharlayan doesn’t have someone with this mountain of knowledge in their halls is a grave mistake. 

Erenville wrote a short thank you on his other arm. The reply came so quick that he couldn’t help but smile. On his wrist is “any time” looping into a heart, a sweet touch that sends his own to skip a beat. Quickly looking around to make sure that no one is there, he brings his arm up and presses a delicate kiss over the words. He only hopes that his other half could feel even a bit of the affection he has for them. 

-

Thanks to Spíra, a three-day task became a day affair. As the moon start to reach its peak, Erenville was able to harvest the Golden Cocoons he needed. Spíra was right that their shine under the moonlight had made it easy to find. Thavnair is beautiful in the daytime, but sometimes it’s difficult to distinguish when there are bright colors on every ilm of the land. He wipes the sweat from his brow and pulls his pack over his shoulders, now significantly heavier than it was this morning. If he’s lucky, he would be able to make it to Radz-ad-Han or at least a smaller settlement and avoid having to camp out under the stars. As beautiful as the night sky is, getting attacked at night by bandits or wildlife is the last thing he needs. 

Putting one tired foot after the other, Erenvile starts to make his way back to the city. A waterskin in one hand, he uses his free hand to cup a bit of water to rub off the list on his arm. He quietly mourns the cute notes and draws before his ears pick up an unnatural rustling of a bush. His senses and heart kick into full gear as he continues down the beaten path, eyes flicking about to find the source of the sound. 

A green-haired miqo’te crouch over a collection of wildflowers. A botanist hatchet is strapped to his back and it doesn’t look like he has anything on him that could be used as a weapon. Stopping a few yalms away, Erenville is dumbstruck by the sight. He is shoving the plants into his mouth without a single care in the world. That… surely can’t be normal.

Seeing how harmless and strange the miqo’te is, he should just move on. Yet he can’t tear his eyes away. Erenville feels undeniably drawn to him, the frantic fluttering of his heart and urge to reach out pull him closer. He snaps out of his daze when a twig snaps under his boots and causing the botanist to whip around to look him in the eye. 

Bright purple and white eyes stare up at him, pure and curious, and it felt like Nymeia struck him at the back of his head. The goddess of fate has granted him a blessing. It’s him, his heart and mind cry, it’s Spíra. A familiar warmth from his chest, one that he only feels when seeing the words spread across his arms, fills from his toes to the very tips of his ears.

He is simply lovestruck.

[mirageofthecrystal]

Wondrous Tails: Primal

“She wishes to see you,” Artemoux announced as he appeared from the depths of the derelict farmhouse.

Faiolan furrowed his brow, finding this to be a strange, unwelcome honor. “And what is it that the Lady Iceheart would want from one such as me?” He asked, his uncle smiling and placing a firm hand upon his shoulder. 

“My dear boy, you have sacrificed and suffered much for the lies of Ishgard. I brought you here under the auspices of a truth, but it is not mine truth to tell. If you are to commit to this cause, to betray all that you ever knew, believed, or fought for… it must come from the lips of one far more apt to tell the tale.”

“But I trust your words, uncle. I do not, cannot, find it so easy to trust this woman reviled by our people to the point that she hides in a place forsaken by all, save the frost.” 

Again, Artemoux smiled, as if anticipating his nephew’s reticence. “See her. Listen to her. Understand her words. You might have accepted this path because I ushered you onto it, but I cannot in good conscience allow you to continue upon it without hearing it all, knowing the heart of our struggle. You were raised with noose of the Holy See already ‘round your neck, same as I. I fought for the glory of Ishgard, the safety of her people, for the duty that I thought mattered above all else. But in truth, I was only a murderer, a guardian to a lie, and a protector of the blind. Never would have seen this, known this, understood this, without the Lady’s guidance. Go and see her. I would not wish to waste her time with further discussion. She awaits you below.”

Artemoux would accept no other word, urging Faiolan to climb down the stairs, into the old stone cellar of the house. Candles illuminated the darkest corners of the room, and sat against the far wall an altar of sorts. The image it portrayed, from what he could tell, was a dragon and a mortal, separate yet intertwined, two beings and yet one. This must have been Saint Shiva and the dragon Hraesvelgr, if he knew the tale correctly. 

“And what do you know of Saint Shiva, Faiolan Penderghast? Or should I ask, what is it that the Holy See teaches you of her and her actions?” A woman stepped out from the shadows, hair as white as the now outside, eyes discerning and burrowing down into his very soul. She could be none other than the infamous Lady Iceheart.

“A heretic, guilty of lying with dragons, and the patron saint to traitors of the Holy See,” Faiolan said, a safe level of scepticism in his voice. This seemed to please the Lady, who stepped before the altar, standing just a few inches above him. “And do you think this to be truth? Or are you wise to the lies they’ve long been feeding to our people?” She still considered them her people, then, Faiolan mused. She did not seem to have qualm with killing them, even if that was the case. “Ah, but I see the conflict in you. You wonder how I can still wish for peace, even when the Holy See condemns my every action and breath as a sin. But that’s just it… I do not wish for this war to go on any longer. I regret each life that is wasted in this conflict, one so long that we have been forced to look away from the truth.”

“And what is the truth, Lady Iceheart? Or should I call you Saint Shiva, if the rumours are true…” 

“Neither. I am hardly a Lady in anything but the most mocking tone the Holy See can muster, and though I am an embodiment of Shiva’s spirit and she walks this world within my very flesh, I do not know that I can claim such a lofty title. You may call me Ysayle, if you’d like.”

“And, Ysayle, do you truly deliver the truth… or will you bend me to your will with the powers of a primal?” 

“I would not dream of it. None who stands here and fights alongside us does so because I have forced them to. They do so because they believe in the peace that I seek. And so I ask again… do you wish to know the truth?”

Faiolan hesitated, the weight of those words stifling the air between them. To know the truth, to know something so intimately transformative that it even rendered his own uncle to the service of this woman… how deeply, how profoundly would it change him as well? “I would,” he said after a moment of hesitation. “And once I have told you that which you have chosen to know, you will be given two choices: you may pledge yourself not to me, but to peace between man and dragon… or you may march back to Ishgard, and tell them where it is they will find their queen of the heretics.”

“I would think you confident of your truth if you did not already know that they would execute me as soon as listen to my words, for in their eyes, by their falsehoods, I am already one of you.”

“And once you know the truth, Faiolan, I believe that you truly will be. And you will wear the badge ‘heretic’ with honour, not disgrace.”

[gray-morality]

Wondrous Tails of FFXIV

Meeting the family

They spent a few days within the Shrouds, in that isolated cabin that was Bocquet's house - Seda's guardian. Thankfully, the tension of the first day had dissipated - unbeknown to them the result of the hard work of a certain rat - and thus the remainder of their visit proved to be far more enjoyable. Much to Fakhri's surprise, Bocquet demonstrated more acceptance than he anticipated. And that was in the broadest way possible. 

Fakhri's work, for starters, had been a source of worry for the man. Something he wasn't sure the Elezen would approve of. He had tried to keep it vague, to some extent, but Bocquet was anything but stupid. They most likely had an inkling as to the kind of "work" Fakhri and Seda did to be able to provide succor to people; money doesn’t grow on trees after all. It came as further surprise when the Wailer stated interest in visiting the couple in Thavnair. There were a few questions regarding Fakhri's boss, what sort of man he was. Maybe the viera could arrange a meeting? Would the Sahib make time for which was purely a matter of personal life? Nothing much to lose by asking…

Then came Fakhri's second worry, and frankly the most important - himself. In the moment he met with Seda's guardian, the viera became acutely aware of his own problems - addiction to many substances and alcoholism, his hyper-empathy syndrome, and the burden of a seer - which placed a great deal of doubts on his mind where acceptance was concerned. And, as expected, Bocquet had shown no small amount of reserve to Seda's choice of partner. That is, until they came back from their "moment of solitude" in the forest. Seda mentioned that Bocquet had erected a symbolic cairn for her mother, as her ashes had been scattered to the winds, and that they would spend time there when they had to think, as if asking the dead for their wisdom. Visibility her mother' spirit had imparted something to them, for Bocquet came back with an open mind; a very drastic change from their previous demeanor towards the couple. Not to mention a sudden affection towards Arak which made the viera ponder what had truly happened in the forest. A thought pushed aside for the time being. 

The remaining few days thus passed peacefully. Fakhri had a chance to show off his remarkable skills as a hunter, even if Bocquet's reserved demeanor was sometimes hard to read. He could still feel a warmth from them, some kind of affection that wasn't unlike a member of one's family. And Seda "felt" more at peace, happiness bubbling from her and filling the viera's heart with the selfsame feeling. Here in the forest, his senses not overloaded with the ambient buzzing that inevitably came with city life, he could rest a bit and savor those feelings that were only his, and hers. By the time they left the Shrouds to return to Thavnair, their bond had grown even more. Fakhri was well-aware of it but, was she? Theirs was something more than two people liking each other… so much more. He just couldn't say /what/ it was just yet. Where the emotional cacophony of the many residents of the city would muffle her emotions from him, now he could feel a thread between them. Was this good, or bad… He cherished that connection but such bonds usually went both ways; there would be very little secrets between the two of them as the union of their two hearts - maybe even their souls - gained in strength. What did Eorzeans say? “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there”?

“Ya, and we’ll cross it together, girl.”

[weatheredpileoftomes]

diversions

For Wondrous Tails of FFXIV, “toys” (from the NSFW prompt list). Set during Stormblood, but mostly only by crafting mats; ~3000 words (?!?). This is a fic about crafting but it is specifically about crafting sex toys; also contains canon-typical sexual harassment from Gigi the goldsmithing mammet and spoilers for drk jobquests through 50.

Some of the commissions the crafting guilds take are stranger than others.

“Oh dear!” Serendipity says, frowning at the piece of paper Jemime has just handed her.

“Is ThErE a PrObLeM?” It should be impossible for a mammet to sound excited about a potential problem, but Gigi manages it. Frydlona keeps one eye on him and the other on Serendipity.

“We have five commissions from important merchant families.”

For some reason, she seems to think this is a bad thing. Frydlona is definitely missing something here. “What’s wrong with that?”

Serendipity hesitates, tugging at one of her twintails. “Well…oh dear. They’re nearly all rather complicated, and I wasn’t expecting this many, and one of them is delicate. Do you think you could help me with two of them?”

“Of course,” Frydlona says, confused. “What do you mean, delicate?” She hopes it’s not gold leaf. She hates working with gold leaf, which sticks to her fingers but flies away if she exhales too near it.

Serendipity looks at Gigi, then hands Frydlona the list.

“OhOhO! aNoThEr MaMmEt FoR pErSoNaL pLeAsUrE, cRaFtEd FoR a NaRrOw-MiNdEd FoOl WhO cAnNoT aPpReCiAtE a MoRe—”

Frydlona picks Gigi up with her other hand and puts him in an empty supply drawer.

“Please be careful with him,” Serendipity says, but she doesn’t make any move to take Gigi back out. A few muffled words drift out to their ears.

One of the requests is in fact for a Mammet Pleasurer #008D, a thing Frydlona shouldn’t be surprised you can just buy in Ul’dah but finds she is anyway. Another is for a wall-mounted chronometer that will not only display the day’s weather but predict the morrow’s. There’s a request for a music box that will let the listener choose between three different songs, and for a different music box to be topped with a clockwork ballroom scene featuring at least four couples in a round dance. The fifth calls for a tiara, earrings, necklace, bracelets, and rings, all with matching pearls.

“Which of these do you want to assign me?” Frydlona asks. The pearl set looks easy if the pearls can be found, and Aistan can probably help with that. It’s all the clockwork that will be a problem, and there are some apprentices and maybe even journeymen she’s not sure Serendipity wants to assign the Mammet Pleasurer #008D to.

“—OpPoRtUnItY—” Gigi insists faintly.

Serendipity takes the list back, her frown deepening. “You haven’t worked much on barometers, have you?”

Frydlona has to shake her head.

“I should have you do that at some point, but I don’t think… The time is so short. I think…oh, I think I’ll have Nanaren take charge of the chronometer, and W’arhll the parure.” She looks worriedly up at Frydlona. “You have done some mammet repairs in the past—would you be willing to work on the special mammet as well as one of the music boxes?”

Frydlona nods, considering. “If someone else knows the dance for the second music box, I don’t—it would be quicker if they could do that one.”

“Oh good,” Serendipity says, beaming. “I’ll get you the schematics for the other two, then.”

Gigi kicks the drawer open. “An OuTrAgE! yOu CoWaRdLy InCoMpEtEnTs! YoU fEaR mY rEjEcTiOn Of YoUr InAdEqUaTe BoTtOm AnD yOuR gArGaNtUaN hEiGhT!”

“Yes,” Frydlona says. “That’s it exactly.”

Serendipity turns back around with her hands full of papers. “Oh dear! Gigi, did you hurt yourself?”

The Mammet Pleasurer #008D turns out to be a simple enough design and not just a convenient thing to have around, once Frydlona actually gets a look at the schematic, though she is a little worried about how delicate the gears that work the vibrating arm are. It’s possible another metal would hold up better than mythril—she’d like to try it with durium, if she had more time, but that would call for stronger belts, and…hm. Best to stick with the original schematic.

The core is very simple, closer to the modified cores the Ironworks has used for a few of their magitek experiments or even the ones found in wind-up toys, which is probably why Serendipity trusted her with the commission at all. It’s for the best for more than one reason, Frydlona thinks. Some people might want a Gigi, but a lot of people certainly wouldn’t, and Gigi has strong enough preferences of his own to consider as well.

And speaking of Gigi—

“AdEqUaTe,” he sniffs. “FoR wHaTeVeR fLaCcId MeRcHaNt’S uGlY wIfE nEeDs It.”

“Now hold on.” Frydlona taps the final rivet into place. “You don’t know who ordered this or why. You don’t have to jump to the worst possible conclusion about them.”

“EhEhEhE. dO i NoT?”

“You really don’t,” Frydlona says, and starts polishing the metal to a satiny finish. She hopes it’s helpful to its commissioner. There have been times she wouldn’t have minded having something like it herself, but even if there hadn’t been, it’s just manners.

Geva is more direct, which isn’t surprising.

“Ever made a set of restraints for recreational use?” she asks out of nowhere while Frydlona is preparing alumen.

One of the apprentices knocks over an entire tray of tools. There’s an awful crash, and the slow sound of an awl continuing to roll across the floor. Geva doesn’t blink, let alone turn. “Pick it all up,” she says. “Now. Frydlona?”

Frydlona puts her alembic aside. “I’ve never made a set of restraints for any use.”

“That’s going to change,” Geva says. “This commission is going to put your skills to good use, and it’s not something Fen-Yll wants advertised as theirs nor something I want to have to explain why I didn’t put the Fen-Yll name on. You’re more than competent to do it well and you don’t work for Fen-Yll. Now, what leather would you use?”

What a question. Frydlona tries to think—she’s heard about people tying each other up in bed (or out of it), in tavern chatter in Limsa where it sounded interesting and in novels where it mostly read like the people getting tied up weren’t having enough fun to make it worth the effort. None of that helps, and the roomful of apprentices and journeymen watching Geva’s test makes her reluctant to admit she has no idea. She’d hoped they were past this by now.

Geva is watching her, arms folded.

“What scale are they being made to?” Frydlona remembers to ask.

“Good. The client has requested they be scaled to fit a midlander Hyur.”

The leather will need to be flexible enough to make fairly narrow loops that will hold up to strain, then. Frydlona would have recommended gyuki at once if they were being made to fit a Lalafell, but she does have quite a few more options for a Hyur, even a midlander. “And the budget?”

Geva nods. “As you can imagine from anyone who didn’t just hope to commission Fen-Yll, but would have, finance is no object.”

Frydlona considers it, still unsure. Everyone else in the guild is still watching intently, probably glad Geva isn’t asking them. She doesn’t know, and she’s not willing to try to bluff. “It depends on what the client wants. Hippogryph leather would be an easy and practical option that doesn’t sacrifice raw quality. If the client is most concerned with how it looks, coeurl skins make leather with a striking pattern, or chimera hide takes dyes especially well even after curing. Gyuki leather from Othard is very supple.” The client might want something less yielding, though. “Most of the saurian leathers are tougher. I’d say procoptodon if they want that and they’d guarantee the material costs, pteinosaur or pterodactyl if they wouldn’t.”

“Excellent,” Geva says. There’s a surprised murmur from the apprentices, and even a few of the journeymen look impressed. “And what other materials?”

“It still depends on what the client wants,” Frydlona says, much more confident in her uncertainty now that she knows what Geva is doing. There probably is a commission, and it probably even is for restraints, but Geva is using it to teach the apprentices, knowing that the initial question would get their attention. She thinks about her gathering wristbands and the way they used to irritate her skin when her work gloves hit them wrong until she started lining them. “Some kind of padding, unless they want the leather to leave marks. Maybe a soft cloth like silk over something else, maybe fur. Rings if they’d like to attach the restraints to something else. Maybe they want some jewels worked into the design.”

“Perfect.”

All the journeymen look shocked now. One of the apprentices is gaping.

Geva turns back to them and says, “Who can tell me what—Hob, close your mouth before I decide you’re offering your tonsils for tanning—who can tell me what you’ve learned here?”

Another murmur. Finally one of the journeymen puts her hand up. “Keep the client’s needs in mind?”

“And budget,” the young man next to her says. “Master Leatherworker Merlgeimwyn mentioned that twice, one time even after you said they could afford Fen-Yll.”

Geva nods to them both.

“And the properties of the leather,” says another journeyman.

“That’s the client’s needs!” the young woman who’d answered first protests.

While they argue about that, Geva walks over to Frydlona’s workbench. “I have the commission information here,” she says. “Good thinking on those questions—they’re all answered in there.”

Frydlona had not wanted to have to guess. “Good.”

“There’s good money in this, you know. It’d be better with a name to recognize, but if you’re ever looking for the easiest way to make gil as a leatherworker…”

Frydlona shakes her head.

Geva raises an eyebrow. “Too good for it?”

“I don’t want to have to check my clients that carefully.” Frydlona looks down at the notes—wrist measurements, ankle measurements. Chain—she can make that herself, rather than ask the guild suppliers. Dark leather, not black; neutral padding dyed to match. Moderate flexibility, nothing out of the way. “I trust you did, but I wouldn’t want to have to trust a stranger means well with these.”

She’s not sure she’s ever seen Geva look that taken aback before. “I—did, but thank you. And don’t let this lot hear you say that!”

“Your secret is safe,” Frydlona says, and gets up to start sorting through samples.

She has made dildos before.

The first time had been when a stammering Brithael had practically shoved a pretty client at the nearest smith in his shop, who happened to be Frydlona. Q’zanza was one of the easier customers Frydlona had worked with, and her request was fairly straightforward. She had a clear idea of the dimensions she wanted, and a fairly simple shape in mind.

Steel was easy to work with, too. Frydlona had been able to work up a wax model to be sure Q’zanza was happy with the design before casting it. Wax and clay were easy to model; showing a client exactly what they’d get was always good. Q’zanza had paid at once and in full, and come back for more standard blacksmithing jobs.

The second time had also been more or less an accident, at least as far as it being Frydlona’s job went. Corgg had asked her to see what was up with a suspicious-acting Elezen in lancer’s armor loitering near the shop. When Frydlona had gone out to talk to him he’d stammered something about a sensitive commission.

“Beatin doesn’t bite, you know,” she’d said.

“I can’t listen to him talking about how someone has to be the wood!”

Once he’d explained the commission, she’d had to admit he had a point. It might be a little uncomfortable to think about the carpenter being that involved in the finished product.

Still, again, the dildo itself hadn’t been hard to make, and although Ursulin wasn’t as clear with his ideas as Q’zanza had been, she’d at least been able to work out what he wanted by showing him sketches and measurements. Wood wasn’t like wax—she had had to be absolutely sure of every shaving she carved off—but she’d picked out a nice mahogany with a lovely grain that didn’t catch on her knife, and it turned out nicely enough, especially once she lacquered it.

She was proud of it when she finished, and Ursulin had seemed pleased too. It had been harder than the first, but she’d had more experience crafting things to order since then too. Some of the conjurers’ canes that Beatin had had her make were much harder to get right.

This, though…

“I simply don’t have time for such frivolity,” Severian snaps.

He looks like he’s been sleeping, at least. Well, mostly sleeping. He doesn’t look like he’s gone so long without sleep that he’s been seeing things again, anyway, which is probably as good as it gets for Severian.

“But what do they want?” Frydlona looks around the guild in case anyone else wants to help, but as far as she can tell nobody is listening.

Severian makes an impatient gesture. “Glassware.”

They have definitely made glassware before. The room is full of glittering beakers, vials, retorts, bottles… “For…parties?” Frydlona tries. “Or cosmetics?” It can’t be that different making a perfume bottle than a bottle to hold a potion or salve, can it?

“Does it matter?”

“Well, it’s a commission.” Frydlona glances at his workbench, but there are so many papers there that she can’t hope to make sense of which one this is. The topmost sheet seems to be mostly sketches of plants. “So if you need someone to make it, and you want me to make it, I need to know what it is, or I can’t.”

Severian makes a disgusted noise. “I suppose. It’s a waste of your time when you could be working on serious projects, though. You’ll gain no useful skills from crafting a phallus, and it won’t benefit—”

Frydlona holds up a hand. “I’m sorry. You said glass?”

He did say glass. It doesn’t matter that the client’s specifications are detailed and clear, he absolutely did say glass. The thought that it might break is a fair bit terrifying to Frydlona, even though she knows it probably wouldn’t be her fault if it did. If it were, if there were a fault in the glass—

The client wants it shaped like a series of stacked spheres, which doesn’t make her less nervous. She’ll want to use a few fire shards as well as the lightning crystals, to give a steady heat that will help melt each of the spheres together, but…

She abandons another test project.

“You shouldn’t be wasting your time on this either,” Severian says from behind her. “I must have a more incompetent apprentice somewhere.” He’s looking down at the scattering of spheres across her workspace.

Frydlona can smash them down and re-melt them, of course, but it’s still…well, he’s right. It is a waste. “If there’s someone who can do this better, please. But if there isn’t…” She shrugs.

“This is hardly an urgent necessity. It’s a toy.”

She starts sweeping the glass spheres into the lined bag for clean glass waste. “People like to do things that make them feel good. For some people that’s food or music or wine, but you’re not saying we should shut down every tavern in Ul’dah. Some people travel, or play games, or get a baby animal, or watch a match at the Coliseum. Some people have sex. People can’t just… People need their frivolities.”

“You don’t,” Severian says.

Frydlona opens her mouth to reply. Stops. Tries again. “I…I don’t what?”

“Get distracted. You’re reliable, even with all the…” He gestures. “All of that fighting business you keep having to do. The wars. When I send you a request you fill it, you keep improving at your craft, and the realm still seems to be in one piece so you must be doing your part there as well.”

“I do things that make me feel good,” Frydlona protests.

Fray, who usually leaves Frydlona alone while she’s making things, says, “Do you?”

’Shut up,’ Frydlona tells her. She’s fairly sure she didn’t say it out loud; she’s not sure Severian would notice if she did.

The glass is still not fusing well enough for her to be satisfied. To Severian she adds, “I’m going to try this again with some aethersand and see if it sticks better.”

He looks thoughtful—just what she’d hoped by making it about her process instead of his commission. “Aethersand…that could be interesting. Try everbright first; the residual energies of the lava should serve as an additional binding force. Have you tried incorporating dark matter?”

She hasn’t, but now that he mentions it… “Good idea.”

It takes another few days’ work before she has something that meets the client’s specifications and that she thinks will hold, but by the time she does Severian is pleased with the glassworking techniques they’ve had to adapt. Everyone else is just pleased that the job is done.

“Adopt a kitten,” Fray says afterward, leaning against the wall in Frydlona’s room at the Quicksand and not helping her pack. “Go have sex. Come to the godsdamned beach. Something!”

“I have meetings.” Frydlona folds a pearly-white cape and packs it on top of the gleaming gold of one of her armored tabards. “Alliance things. Maybe after that.”

“It’s been ‘maybe after that’ since—”

“Maybe,” Frydlona says, spacing out each word, “after that.” She ties her bag firmly closed and goes to pay her bill.

[leejafythe]

Proposal

"I'm sorry, come again?!" Leeja stared at the gunbreaker. "You heard me. When we beat the Final Days and everything settles down, will you marry me?" The miqo'te just blinked at him, unsure of what to say. "I... Thancred..."

"What's caused this all of a sudden?" She watched him. As he sighed. "What we have seen, what the Final Days has caused, it has made me realise that though I may not have a lot, the things I have are special to me. You, more than anyone. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so long as you'll have me." Leeja's eyes filled with tears at his words, honest and true and full of meaning and love. "How can I say no to words so true?" She wiped her eyes and smiled. "Of course I will."

[enwie]

Wondrous Tails of FFXIV 2022, Ancient Etheirys

There was a lone tree that had served as a meeting place of three friends for as long as each of them could remember, even after duty had one of them away more often then present. Whenever she came back, that was where they would find her first, sitting in the shade of the tree, her hood and mask lowered to better feel the gentle breeze that traveled through the foliage as she rested.

As much as Kalliope loved her being on the road, all the small adventures she got herself into, she had found that no matter how completely she forgot to be tired during them, the weariness would eventually catch up to her anyways.

Her eye-lids were heavy, and she felt like closing them for just a moment.

When she opened them again, the sun had clearly shifted on the sky and she felt a weight on her shoulder.

Turning to look, she found Hythlodaeus sitting next to her, head leaned against her, hair falling slightly over his face.

”I’m sorry, but the moment I saw you I realised you had the right idea, so I joined you,” he said without opening his eyes, a small, friendly smile on his lips. ”I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

”Of course not.”

Kalliope tilted her head to have it rest upon his and they continued to snuggle, both contented in the casual closeness.

”How were your travels? Any exploding volcanoes this time?”

”Not this time,” Kalliope laughed. ”I had a pretty peaceful time for once.” She paused for a bit, as if reconsidering, and followed with, ”Except, there was this one concept gone a little rogue—”

”And why has the Convocation not heard about this?” a grumpy voice interrupted. Kalliope’s eyes flew open, a wide smile quickly taking over her face as she saw Emet-Selch.

”Because it wasn’t that big of a deal, the situation was quicker to solve on my own,” Kalliope said. Emet-Selch sighed, clearly about to say more on the matter, which made her add, ”I was going to report it later.”

”Sure you were.” Emet-Selch gave her a sardonic smile, only to be met with a burst of chuckles from both Kalliope and Hythlodaeus.

”Moving on, aren’t you two going to get up? You’re hardly children who need to nap all day anymore.”

”On the contrary, the older we get the more naps we’re going to need,” Hythlodaeus said solemnly.

They could practically hear the way Emet-Selch raised a brow. ”Is that so?”

”Absolutely! You should join us, too,” Kalliope concurred and smiled up at him. ”I have another shoulder free.”

After a huff and a mumbled protest that it lacked dignity, which both of his dearest friends knew not to take too seriously, Emet-Selch sat down on the grass alongside them.

”Please, won’t you take the mask off? It’ll be nicer,” Kalliope coaxed, and seeing as he had already surrendered, Emet-Selch did as told and lowered his hood as well. Hythlodaeus wrapped his arm over Kalliope’s lap and reached for Emet-Selch, who had leaned his head on her shoulder as instructed.

Even though they continued to share more of each of their tidings since all three of them had last met, the warm sun filtering through the leaves had them drifting back to sleep eventually, cuddled together.

[efrmellifer]

Wondrous Tails 2022: Two

Erotica/Discovery/Anonymous (Mature, bordering on Explicit) Etien finds a stash Estinien keeps

Etien entered Estinien’s room, the pile of his clean clothes balanced carefully on one arm so she could push the door open.

She set the garments each in their place in the chest of drawers, layering the shirts one atop the other, settling trousers into the wooden drawer beneath that one.

When she was done with them, she moved to the desk on the other side of the bed, gathering up and sorting letters, notes from Radz-at-Han, leaves of parchment that looked a little more personal. She opened a drawer to place them inside in their discrete bundles, pausing when she saw what rested within.

Art of a woman in a rather suggestive position, the neckline of her dress falling, its hem high up her thigh. Etien would have thought it was someone else, if it had been missing the scar across the bridge of the nose.

But it wasn’t. Faint, but just below level with the corners of the eyes, straight across.

This was a drawing of her.

She lifted it from the drawer with her free hand, looking for a signature. She didn’t know Estinien could draw so well. Then again, she’d never really asked.

Ah, no, this bore a Far Eastern name in its corner. She tipped her head, ears swiveling back as the floorboards creaked behind her.

“What do you have there?”

She turned. “I could ask you the same, Estinien.” There was mirth in her voice as she held the drawing up.

Estinien blushed to the tips of his ears. “I hadn’t intended those to be seen by anyone. Other than myself, I suppose.”

She sat down on his bed, patting the mattress to ask him to sit with her. “I’m not upset, I promise you. Just curious.”

“it started when I was in Kugane. While you were on the First. I was in the Shiokaze Hostelry when an artist sat down beside me, working on… well, that.”

She hummed. “I see.”

“I asked him if I could buy it when he was done, and I suppose he told his friends, because I’ve found artists in a few places now willing and eager to sell me their depictions of you.” He sighed. “I know we were not yet partnered to each other when I bought the first one, so I understand if you’re—”

“There’s no use being anything but flattered. I’m glad they made it into your hands, where they’re safe.” After a beat, she laughed. “Wait, I have a silly question.”

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for it.

“...do you think Krile knows?”

“I fervently hope she does not.”

Another little chuckle. Leaning forward, Etien scooped the rest of the artwork out of the drawer. “So, tell me about each.”

“I was told this one was designed to be printed on a long pillowcase, but I didn’t take the woman who drew it up on her offer to have someone do that printing for me.” He set it aside. “This is one of the ones I requested anonymously—well, through correspondence and under a pseudonym, at least. I figured if they didn’t have to look me in the eyes, and didn’t know my name, they might allow themselves a little more freedom.” He set that one aside too, shifting in some aroused discomfort as the next one was uncovered. “And as you can see, they certainly did.”

This one was far more explicit than the first few pinup types had been. Etien’s tail in the picture disappeared off the edge of the page, as if wrapped around the person whose point of view it was drawn in.

Estinien shifted on the bed again, then cleared his throat before speaking. “When I see these, I’m made aware how unfair this is. That this is all fantasizing onto parchment for them, and I’m,” he snorted a little bit, “reaping the benefits of it and getting to call you mine.”

“Well, you earned that right,” she replied. She blinked slowly. “What makes you realize that?”

“You’re drawn too perfect.”

Etien’s eyebrows knit.

For a second, Estinien scrambled for words, but then just pointed to the art. “They’re missing the scar across your back. They wouldn’t know about it, certainly, but some part of me always wonders if they would ignore it if they did know.”

“Oh.” She leafed through the rest of the pile. “Do you have a favorite?”

Estinien’s cheeks took on more color again. “There is one from Radz-at-Han…” he shifted the pages around, pulling out one that was much bigger than the others, folded into quarters to fit in the pile.

When he unfolded it, Etien gasped.

“It is still speculation on the artist’s part, but it feels the most authentic.”

It was also one of the more tasteful ones—a nude, but one where the focus was not on her bare breasts, or drawing attention to how the curl of her tail around her body censored the rest of her. Her gaze was lifted as if drawn to another figure, pleased, interested.

“That is how I picture you in my mind,” Estinien piped up when the silence had stretched on a bit. “I like to imagine this is you looking up when Aymeric enters the room, perhaps, turning your attention from me to him for a moment, the same love in your eyes. And the love makes it. Even without all your scars and the spots only we would know of on you, the love is what makes this one you.”

[nafisabast]

@wondroustailsofffxiv  Prompt 3: Sharing Clothes TW:  None Notes: Na’fisa is a bit of a kleptocat, but it’s what sisters do. Super short one for this prompt!

---

“It’s not my fault everything looks good on me.”  Na’tahna just stared at Na’fisa. The dark hallway of the Quicksands made it hard to see, but Na’fisa’s Sun seeker eye’s didn’t need more lighting to really take in her sister’s surprisingly neutral face just staring. She got this sisterly-look enough to know exactly what Na’tahna wanted to convey.  It’s true though.  Na’fisa pout her lip forward and crossed her arms. “We share a room, ‘Tahna! All you have to do is take it back.”  “Did you add yellow to this one?”  “Gold!” Na’fisa hissed. “You look good in gold. But no. As usual with most clothing we share, you just have to take it back. You don’t need to hunt me down or get all huffy at me about it, it’s right there!”  “And the things you modify? You are smaller than I am.”  “It’s also not my fault you’re tall.”  “You shortened and tightened my favorite skirt! Do you know how hard it is to find a skirt I like?” The younger sister exhaled exasperatedly and threw open their inn room door, marching in and across directly to Na’fisa’s mess of costumes, clothing, and fabric.  “I can make you a new one.” Na’fisa sniffed and hopped up on to the bed. Folding her legs under her and smirking at her sister plucking up the missing silken cloth- found exactly where she told her it would be.  “You can make yourself one.”  “But then it wouldn’t be yours.” Na’fisa purred instigatingly at her sister, flopping over putting her chin on her arms, right on top of the mess of clothing.  Her response is more staring.  “...You’re the worst.” Na’tahna finally decided out loud.  “The best, you mean.” “Don’t forget to get Aislinne’s clothing back to her, too!” With that, Na’tahna lashed her tail and made her way back to their room door. 

[tallbluelady]

Sleeping In

After her first night with Urianger in the Pendants, Rowan found it hard to sleep by herself. By all accounts, she never liked sleeping with another person in the same room, never mind in the same bed. Never mind ending up pressed up on them in a tight embrace until they dozed off, only to find herself held again later. But she supposed she had never been in love with the people she had been bedfellows with until Urianger.

She had to keep the windows open lest she'd overheat. She had to kick at least one foot out from under the covers lest she get sweaty.

But to have his arms around her, to hear his steady breathing, to feel his pulse against her... no vision of crumbling cities nor regret of lives taken could come to her when she was in his embrace. She was well and truly safe with him.

And it made waking up far more tolerable. She always liked seeing Urianger's face and to have it be the first thing she saw in the morning was a treat she was loathe to give up by sleeping alone. And to see him so relaxed in repose or smiling as she woke up! Little wonder he never complained when she snuck into his room.

After sleeping in one morning, Urianger asked Rowan about her dreams that night.

"Was I more fitful in my sleep last night?" Rowan asked, "Sorry if I kept you awake."

"Nay, I only need to reach for thee before returning to my slumber. But I am curious about thy visions if thou hadst been granted any." Urianger started tracing patterns on her shoulder.

"Hmm, most of them are... vague, to put it best. I think last night I must have been fighting Garuda again."

"Doth it bring thee anxiety to fight against the Primals again?"

"Nay, I've slain them before. Tis easier with allies... and you were beside me. Though mayhap you had the Echo? Or I was thinking that they were more similar to the Light Wardens..."

"Why Garuda, I wonder... mayhap thou art wanting to channel thy ferocity in some manner..."

"Darling, I think it's due to the windstorm last night," Rowan laughed.

"An apt reading, and likely the true one..." He looked rather disappointed in that, though.

Rowan traced his jaw, "What did you dream about?"

"I was not blessed with visions last eve. There is naught that could compare with thy presence." He kissed her hand.

She smiled and sighed. "I don't know if I'd call myself blessed with the bizarre images I see when I eat my mother's mun-tuy before bed..."

He looked further disappointed in that. Rowan had to scramble to bring him back to a happier mood.

"Have you had any dreams of import? You're far more apt to recognize signs of portent than I am."

Urianger gave a small smile as he recognized her attempt to cheer him up. "In dreams I would oft find a new interpretation of calamitous prophecies. And oft I would find reoccurring themes."

"Oh?"

"Aye. When naught could bring about any positive change, I would myself falling into the purest of azure skies -" he kissed her fingers again, "- and despite falling rapidly, I would land safely in the bows of a rowan tree."

"Really?" Rowan's voice squeaked with suspicion.

Urianger nodded. "I speak true. When I first took to astrology in Sharlyan, I had always interpreted the tree as the Bole. To trust in our forebears and to use mine own cunning to rescue an imperiled world. But then I met thee in the Waking Sands. Named after the very tree that would catch me in the highest peril.  Twas a rather common name amongst the spoken races, so I thought naught of it. At least until thou hadst implied the Padjal wert unlikely to teach thee conjury. Once I removed my goggles and saw that thy complexion matched the sky of my dreams, I knew that thou wert the Warrior of Light we so desperately needed."

She scoffed, "That is far too romantic to be true, ser."

"Rowan, I hath dreamt of thee for twenty-nine summers before I had met thee. Mayhap it it doth seem to be unlikely, but we are currently residing on another shard than the Source. Life hath a way of proving the unlikely true."

She smiled at Urianger. "I suppose it's about as unlikely as a prophet falling in love with a two-gil adventurer."

Then she kissed him before he could say aught else.

[starrysnowdrop]

Wondrous Tails

Entry #3: Comforting Each Other

Yume Aino x G’raha Tia (Crystal Exarch)

829 Words

Takes place immediately following the level 76 Shadowbringers solo duty “When It Rains”.

Brief mentions of @transcendentafflatus’s Listelle and @traveler-of-light’s Astrid

After a long, hard fought battle against the sin eaters that Vauthry had seemingly sent to Lakeland to attack the Crystarium, Yume slumped to the ground, all energy drained from her. The blood of the fallen, along with some from her own wounds, stained her clothes and covered her katana that now lay at her feet. Raindrops continued to fall upon her head, but she hadn’t even really noticed the weather… her mind was still on the innocents that she had failed to save. There were many that survived, but not enough… not nearly enough.

Soon light footfalls came closer, but the raven haired Raen hadn’t even noticed them until she heard a very familiar voice calling to her.

“Yume! Are you alright?”

She looked up to see the Crystal Exarch looking down at her from his shrouded face, and though she still couldn’t see his eyes, his voice had an intonation of concern.

“Exarch…” Yume sighed, “You should check on Lyna and the other guards instead of me. They need you.”

“Well, I have already made my rounds. Lyna took the battle pretty hard, but she will be alright, she’s strong. Many of the guards are being moved to the Crystarium as we speak for medical attention. So, that leaves me with checking on you.”

“No, I’m sure you are needed elsewhere. Do not concern yourself with me, I’m not important right now.” Yume looked down at the ground and placed her hand on the hilt of the katana, though she hadn’t moved it back into its sheath just yet.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Yume looked back up to him just in time to see the Exarch smiling softly down at her. “You will always be important to me.”

Her sapphire eyes widened as her heart quickened in her chest, her breath caught in her throat.

“Why?”

He tilted his head to the side. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“Why do you say such a thing in that manner? Am I not just a Warrior of Darkness to you?”

The Exarch’s mouth fell open as Yume shook her head. She was fighting back tears that threatened to overflow.

“I am merely a means to an end, a weapon to banish the light from this world, a sword of darkness. Is that not why you summoned us in the first place?” Yume could see the Exarch frown as she continued, “If it were not for Hydaelyn’s blessing, the Warriors of Light would not be here. Hells, I am only one woman who certainly does not have the aetherial control that the others have, and I can’t even do any kind of magic without it blowing up in my face. You don’t even need me. I’m here because I was summoned with the others—“

Yume was interrupted mid sentence with the Exarch getting on his knees and pulling her into a tight embrace. After a few seconds of silence between them, Yume was struggling to process what was happening. The Crystal Exarch held her close to him, her body pressed to his chest as he spoke, in a manner that she could only describe as affectionately, into her horn, “Do not speak so lowly of yourself… please. I… care about you too much to allow you to say such mean things.”

Her hands began to shake, she struggled to hold herself together and not break down in a flurry of tears; instead, Yume wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder. He felt warm and familiar, and she didn’t want to let him go. To her surprise, he didn’t pull back either… he just continued to hold her and comfort her.

“Pray forgive me if I ever made you feel as if I only wanted you here for the Blessing of Light. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I know I haven’t given you much of a reason to trust my words, but I sincerely hope that one day, you will come to trust me that I speak the truth.”

A single tear fell from her eye and fell onto the Exarch’s shoulder as she rubbed her hand on his back. “‘Tis alright, I do trust you…” Yume said gently as the Exarch settled himself down on the ground next to her.

“Thank you, Yume…”

The two then pulled back from the tender embrace, but Yume continued to sit next to the Exarch with her head settled on his shoulder. She couldn’t see that he started to smile as he wrapped his arm around her.

Unbeknownst to them, two other Auri women, Listelle and Astrid, were about to call out to them to see if they needed help, but they both stopped dead in their tracks when they got closer. Listelle put up a finger to her lips, and Astrid nodded in response. Then they turned around and went back the way they came, leaving Yume with the Exarch in a comforting embrace.

[dholwrites]

A Confession

Erenville attempts to confess his love.

Relationship: Erenville x (OC) Junior

“I want to confess someone,” Erenville states, staring intensely into Junior’s eyes. The seeker returns the stare, slightly tilting his head in curiosity. The Viera is starting to hope that he understood. “I’ve tried different courting gifts, like clothes, food, and flowers. Even tried to take him to the amusement park as a date. I’ve been dropping hints for a year now and he still hasn’t said anything.”

Junior, in response, shoves a full spoonful of ice cream into his mouth while tail wiggling away like no tomorrow. The slight pause in his movement doesn’t escape the gleaner’s attention and couldn’t stop the small hope from blooming in his chest. He watches closely as he mused over his words. Eventually, he set his utensil down and say, “have you tried telling him directly? Like take him somewhere just the two of you and tell him ‘I love you.”

Erenville barely forced back his laugh. His eyes dart around to look at the cafe they’re in. It is a hot spot for couple dates, there is even a local myth that eating here would guarantee a relationship to last. They have even set up booths for people to take pictures to post online. With all the romantic stuff everywhere, he would think that someone would at least get a hint. 

“I can certainly try that,” He stands up from his seat, cupping the miqo’te soft cheeks, and leans in until they were a hair away from kissing. Erenville could practically taste the sugar in every exhale. His voice speaks out the words his heart has been fighting to say.

“Junior, I love you.”

One moment passed. Then another. Erenville releases those red cheeks and settles back into his seat with a smile on his face. There is no way that he would miss thi-

“Exactly, just like that!” Junior burst out, scrambling to pick up the spoon and continue his ice cream. “You did it so well that I nearly fell for you.”

“By Twelves.”

“If that flies over their head like migrating birds, then they are much too stupid for you, Erenville.” He finishes with a wave of his spoon, looking almost pleased with himself for offering the advice before turning back to finish his half-melted ice cream. 

“Junior…”  Erenville buries his head into his hands and lets out a hefty sigh. Why is he in love with an idiot?

[mirageofthecrystal]

Wondrous Tails: City-State

(Finals are over, which means I can finally ease back into writing. Lots of other hectic stuff happening, like job hunt, moving in a few months part way across the country, and the usual depression. I'm hoping to pound out some entries over the next few days, but don't want to pump out anything that I don't find to be quality. This one is a bit shorter, but I enjoyed writing it thoroughly.)

Ishgard. How long had it been since he’d last seen it? Since he’d last suffered the Coerthas chill brought on by the terrible Calamity, or laid his eyes upon the most majestic towers and parapets of his home? Somehow, both too long and not long at all. And yet, Faiolan was a different man than the one who had stolen away in the middle of the night, claiming his freedom while he had the chance. Since then, he’d walked a different path, a perilous path fraught with dangers within and without. Hunted by Inquisitors, by men who saw his successes by the blade as an affront to their coin purses, and hounded by his own inner demons. The loudest of that cacophony of voices, which existed only in his mind, looked upon the city of Ishgard and where Faiolan almost wished to weep, it snarled.

They betrayed us, the voice reminded him.

They cast us out, the voice told him.

They blamed us for crimes of their own making, to fill the void of their own sins, it claimed.

“I know.” 

It was the only reply Faiolan could muster. The voice was right. It was usually right, resonating from the very depths of his soul, from the depravity of the things he’d done and the blood he’d spilt. The voice always sounded the same to him, but it often spoke with different faces. Of men he’d killed in glorious combat for gil, of Ishgardian soldiers who upheld the vicious lies of the Orthodoxy, a particularly foul Inquisitor who’d almost claimed Faiolan’s life by the tip of his blade, and sometimes.. Sometimes it simply wore his face, when he stood in the mirror, haunted by what he saw. He was older, perhaps wiser, but most of all… exhausted.

It was not a homecoming that he’d expected. There was little fanfare, and nobody awaiting him save the reticent guardsman that let him pass onto the Steps of Faith. Faiolan clutched it in his hand, the simple piece of parchment that once more gave him passage and absolved him of sins that had never been his. Scrawled across the bottom of the pardon was a name, one that held some significance in his old life, and had now reshaped his new one. Ser Aymeric de Borel, who had once sat loftily both above Faiolan’s notice and far beneath him through gossip and derision of the bastard child that he was rumoured to be. 

Pardoned for all crimes and allegations of heresy, wrongfully administered under the auspices of Archbishop Thordan VII…

Restored all statuses and privileges of the noble house under which the bearer of this writ was born…

To be welcomed home with open arms, as a brother and a patriot, and a child of Halone’s everlasting love…

The words on the paper felt hollow to Faiolan as he read them again, hesitant to take those final steps and through the gates. What fate awaited him there, in the land that he’d given everything, that had taken even more than that, which had left graves of friends and loved ones and still tossed him aside at the behest of the foul and corrupt who pushed them along as pawns for their own personal game? Was it truly a home for him anymore? Or simply a gallery of memories for him to stroll through and be reminded of everything he’d had, and all those things that no longer mattered. Did one simply return to a life long abandoned and pick up where they’d left off, or was all there left to pick up all the broken pieces? Faiolan was not certain, and took all of his willpower to force one foot forward, and then the other, unto that long and painful march to whatever the next days held.

[gray-morality]

Wondrous Tails of FFXIV

Getting a pet

This sight was getting familiar; a view of the world with eyes on ground level, taking in all the garbage and the mud of a back alley. His cheek was burning, skin probably scraped as it laid on the pebbled road. To be fair, that was far from the only bit of skin that was giving him pain, not to mention the deeper aches brought forth by kicking feet and punching fists. For once, however, he hadn’t deserved this. Wrong place, wrong time. While this time he’d been a victim of fate, the desire to get up and live another day was swiftly leaving him. He’d been stripped naked, without even a pair of undergarment to protect the last shred of his dignity. He couldn’t care less about that, he’d lost his pride a long time ago, and had no gils to his name - not even any object of importance - aside one; his deck of oracle cards. And it was gone. Laying face first on the ground, pale butt towards the cloudy sky, he remained there until sleep draped him in a soft blanket of ephemeral peace. The cold of the stone pathway slowly seeping into him… Curtain falls. 

.

.

.

Except there was one person still in the audience; a rat. And a tenacious one at that. With an annoyed grunt, the old viera had tried to shoo it away, to no avail. Maybe the rat thought he was already dead and saw the figurative ‘free buffet’ sign slapped on his back? Possible, though he always considered those rodents to be more intelligent than that. But what did he know about rats anyway? Except that this one was hella annoying, that is! What was that noise, like the tiniest of wooden crates being dragged…

At this moment, he’d wished to have been given any form other than a tiny rodent. Oh, it had proven quite useful to sneak inside the tavern, listen in, observe… When the band of hoodlums had a drink too many, he took his chance, scampering between the legs of drunk patrons and busy waitresses. But when came the time to go dig into one of those men’s bag, the rat cursed his disadvantageous form. The wooden box had been located but.. How to get it out? Oh… oh! Why yes… he /was/ a rodent after all and thus made short work of that well-used bag, munching a hole big enough to pull the wooden box out. Hnnnggghhh! Carefully and diligently, the rat dragged the box across the floor, hiding under tables and chairs, using the shadows to his advantage, until he reached the front door. And then he waited. Thankfully he was good at the waiting game and, when an opportunity arose, managed to drag his prize with due haste through the door left ajar. Freeee! Though now he had to drag this damn box all the way to the back alley. With a tiny rat sigh, he resumed his task at hand.

Curiosity got the best of him and Fakhri opened his eyes, only to see a pale rat dragging a wooden box his way. He had a moment of amusement; maybe rats were stupider than he imagined. What was the point of dragging this box arou- “Holy fuck…” Barely a croak spilled out of the man’s lips as he gathered his strength to push himself to a sitting position. Disbelieving the sight before his own eyes, he merely stared at the rat as it got closer and closer, and then stopped at arm’s reach. His pale gaze traveled from the rat to the box and gently, almost reverential, Fakhri extended a hand to pick up the wooden box as fingers caressed the runes inscribed on its lid. With a practiced push of his thumb, he moved the lid aside, revealing his cards, the rose gold sheen of the ink visible even in the dimness of the alley. With trembling hands, he swiftly closed the box, bringing it to rest against his chest, as his whole body shook with each sobs that he could no longer contain. Beside him, the rat moved closer, until its tiny nose bumped on one of the viera’s legs. The next thing it knew, it was being lifted and smacked with a kiss on its head. “I’m namin’ ya Arak. From now on, and if ya okay with it, we’ll travel together. Whaddaya say, buddy? I’ll make damn sure ya’ll never want for anythin’ if ya stay by my side.” Fakhri looked at the rat, hopeful. As if it could give him a sign… And maybe it did, for Arak stretched, his front paws set on Fakhri’s face so he could lick the tip of the viera’s nose.  {You’re my Person now. A tall order, if I can say so myself, but I accepted the challenge. So let’s go visit the world, you and I, and I promise I’ll stay by your side.} Those words, Fakhri couldn’t hear, but maybe a part of him knew, regardless.

[weatheredpileoftomes]

let me in

For Wondrous Tails of FFXIV, “confessions”. Frydlona/Exarch and past unrequited Frydlona/Haurchefant, post-Shadowbringers (probably 5.2), spoilers through the end of 5.0 and for drk quests through 50, ~2200 words. Canonical character death, grief, survivor’s guilt.

Frydlona is tired of the lie.

“I was wondering,” the Exarch says softly, “if you would be willing to tell me of some of your adventures yourself.”

Rain taps lightly against the glass overhead. The lavender tops of the trees far below his favorite vantage point sway. A few children splash gleefully in a puddle, so small Frydlona can’t even tell what sort of children they are. She wonders how long it’ll be before rain in Norvrandt is a commonplace thing again.

How long before she doesn’t have a reason to be up here with him anymore.

“Which ones?” she asks, trying to sound as if she hadn’t been trying to catch him watching her just for the selfish glee of it. She shouldn’t. He deserves better.

“Oh, any of them.” A moment’s pause, then he adds, more slowly, “I have…wondered what happened just after we parted ways. Count Edmont de Fortemps’s memoirs said your arrival in Ishgard was just a few moons after I sealed the Tower.”

Of course bloody Heavensward has followed her even here, to another star. “Mm.”

The Exarch looks away, giving her the crystalline side of his profile. She wonders if the crystal soaks up the cool of the rain. “Pardon me. That was a painful time in your life, and I had no right—”

“We went back to Saint Coinach’s Find,” Frydlona says quickly. “It was…uncomfortable. Nero left right away, and that distracted Cid, but everyone else… We wanted to free you.”

She thinks he smiles, a little.

“But there was a lot happening with the traitor in the Immortal Flames and—well, in the Crystal Braves, too, but we didn’t know that yet. And I don’t really know anything about magitek or Allagan technology except how to break it, so I left the Ironworks and the Sons trying to figure it out and went to do what Minfilia asked me to.” Did he think she should have stayed, or wish she had? Is that it?

She must have hesitated a moment too long, because he says, “Of course,” as if it really is that obvious. “I hope…I hope you were able to find some respite between these errands?”

Frydlona shrugs. She wouldn’t describe Severian’s desperate quest as respite, but Serendipity had insisted she learn a few things about mammet repair, and Fufucha and Redolent Rose were always pleasant company. “I helped a few of my guildmasters with projects when I was in the right place for it. Did some fishing. I managed a quick visit home after Moenbryda died—it was good to see my family, and especially later I was glad I’d had the chance.”

“Of…course.” This time he sounds… She doesn’t know what to call it. Not uncertain, exactly.

She doesn’t know what answer he wants.

“And then you were all betrayed.” The Exarch looks up at her. His Allagan red eyes are vivid against his pale face, faded hair, the rain-veiled city beyond. “Yes?”

“Wilred tried to warn us.” She’d been so angry at Wilred when they first met—what had he hoped to gain by summoning Rhalgr, except the deaths of everyone who followed him?—but she knows the Ascians better, now. She knows Wilred better, too. Poor boy. “They killed him before he could, and then…”

There have been worse nightmares since then, but the thing that still haunts her most isn’t Nanamo crumpling to the floor while the Warden’s Paean echoes uselessly in the air, or the hot spray of Raubahn’s blood across her dress, or even Merlwyb and Kan-E-Senna turning and walking away while Frydlona herself knelt on the floor in chains.

It’s the knowledge that if she’d had her wand with her when she went for her personal visit with the sultana, Thancred and Y’shtola would never have been lost for so long in the Lifestream. Hydaelyn might have taken Minfilia anyway, but perhaps she could at least have said goodbye, or Hydaelyn might have found someone else. They could have had more time with Papalymo. Maybe even Haurchefant wouldn’t have had to die.

“We were all betrayed,” she agrees.

The only sound is the rain, drumming on the glass, roaring down the gutters. The Exarch waits patiently while Frydlona prepares to tell the well-worn lie—she’d forgotten to seed it, earlier, hadn’t mentioned those trips to and from Camp Dragonhead as a respite. She probably should have. It’s certainly what Alphinaud and Tataru had assumed.

Menphina’s tears, she doesn’t want to. The truth is too ugly to give him, even if it would cure him of his infatuation, but maybe if she just…doesn’t lie. “We couldn’t think of anywhere to go except to hope for a welcome in Ishgardian lands after that. I didn’t know that the Admiral and the Elder Seedseer had their doubts, or that Lolorito”—she makes a face—“could be reasoned with. Not that we could have stayed in Ul’dah either way. Lord Francel didn’t have the resources to help us, really, but if Lord Haurchefant had refused we would have tried him instead.”

The Exarch opens his mouth to protest, then closes it again. He looks baffled.

She’s doing such a poor job of this. Nothing to do but go on. “He was…he was very kind. Much kinder than he had to be.” Her eyes are prickling. She has to breathe deep, swallow hard, but her voice at least doesn’t break. She hadn’t expected the truth to hurt this much, still. “He tried to make us welcome. Give us what little joy there was to give in Coerthas.”

Frydlona had thought the worst of him, grieving and unmoored as she was, and that is not a conversation she wants to have with the Crystal Exarch, or with Feo Ul again. Cold and cruel and heartless.

“It was lonely.” The strain of it rips at her throat. She can feel the tears running down her cheeks, hotter than the spray of the rain. “It was cold, and grey, and for all I knew most of my friends were dead, and he was—he was so kind, and he didn’t have to be. I didn’t expect—”

She does lose her voice there, breaking off in a sob.

The Exarch reaches out his crystal hand toward her, glittering through her tears, then jerks it back as if he’s been burned.

She doesn’t deserve his comfort. She shouldn’t even be crying; she has no right. “I’m sorry,” she says, as clearly as all her training will let her. Even so, her voice is still thick with the tears she can’t stop shedding. “I shouldn’t—I’m sorry.”

“You loved him.” There’s pain in his voice. She can’t look at him. “There’s no shame in grieving him still.”

“I didn’t, though.” Frydlona almost chokes on it, but she’s said it.

She thinks she’s said it, anyway. It might have been Fray, but Fray wouldn’t have stopped at a simple truth. Fray thinks Frydlona should take advantage of the Exarch’s devotion. Fray would have said—Twelve only know what she would have said.

“I…you…what?” He sounds lost, not angry or even disappointed.

The whole ugly mess bursts out, as easily as it had to Urianger. “I didn’t think he cared for me. I hated Coerthas, and Ishgard, and every wretched soul who let the Inquisition just slaughter anyone they wanted, and it seemed like he was part of that. He’d wanted me to save his friend—I didn’t think of that as brave, at the time, I was so disgusted by everyone else. And then we owed him such a debt for taking us in when we were outlaws, I didn’t know how I could ever repay it. It was…too much, if he’d just been looking for a mistress.”

The Exarch draws a sharp breath, but he has the sense not to interrupt.

“He wasn’t,” Frydlona says quickly. “He never—once we were in Ishgard, once his father made us wards, he even stopped flirting. I think he…guessed, a little.” She’d resented him so fiercely, and he had taken such care to never push her for a no she might have been afraid to give. “But the count making us wards was even worse, a bigger debt. Too much. I didn’t know what Haurchefant wanted, and I was so tired, and he kept…talking to me. Inviting me to things. I didn’t—I could have told him I was tired, instead of going and pretending I was having fun. Getting angrier and more tired the whole time.”

The sheer waste of it levels her. It always does. He had only wanted to spend time with her, give her a distraction to lift her spirits. See her smile. She’d made everything so much worse for herself.

“I thought I was… I don’t know. A funny hobby to him. I never took a single thing he said seriously, except the flirting, and even that I thought was just that any other adventurer would do as well, and I was just convenient.” She hadn’t been convenient. She should have known. “And then he died saving my life, and I—I never. If I’d been…kinder, better, if I’d done anything to—to make his life better while he still had it…”

She closes her eyes. It does nothing to stop the tears. “His family all thought we’d been courting. I was afraid to tell them we weren’t while he was alive, in case that was the only reason we were allowed to stay, and then once he was dead… They thought he’d been happy. They thought he’d died like a lover in a ballad, and it made sense to them. I didn’t know how to take that away.”

She wishes it had been true. She thinks maybe they could have been happy, if she’d let them be.

For a moment there’s nothing but the rain, still beating on the glass above their heads. Then, so quietly she can barely hear him, the Exarch says, “Ah.”

It’s for the best, really. It shouldn’t feel as if her heart is cracking again to know that she’s disappointed him. She’s never deserved him, when all she can want is the chance to do it again and do it right this time.

“Did, ah. Did you…have anyone to confide in?”

“Biggs and Wedge, and Cid. Urianger.” That still cuts to the bone, even after his apology. The first person she’d told deliberately, and what he’d done with it. “My family. Thancred, eventually. You.” Sidurgu and Rielle know enough to be a comfort, but the fact they’ve given it without asking for details is more comfort yet.

“Ah,” the Exarch says again, much sharper. “I…see.”

Far off, over Lakeland, thunder rolls and fades.

“Frydlona.” He waits. When she looks at him, vision still blurred, he’s twisting one hand around the other wrist. “May I offer my opinion?”

She’s afraid of his opinion. “Yes.”

He glances up at her, eyes the brightest thing in this storm, and then away again. “I think he would—you showed some kindness to him then, did you not?”

Haurchefant’s blood on her hands, soaking into her clothes. They’d been past saving, and she hadn’t much wanted to try. Such a simple thing, to hold the dying. Even she couldn’t possibly have denied him that. The barest kindness imaginable, but still she nods.

“That would have been more than enough for—for a knight such as he,” the Exarch says.

Frydlona, rather hysterically, supposes he would know if anyone would, as he’d just barely managed not to say. It’s the reassurance she’d so desperately sought from Thancred, that he couldn’t give her. That maybe it could be all right, that maybe that one dying moment’s mercy counted for something after all. That maybe, even if he had thought about it—for a minute, a day, a year, a lifetime—first, that Haurchefant still wouldn’t have changed his mind. That she doesn’t have to bear that.

“I think he would not have saved your life for that to be a burden to you, or for you to be miserable.” The Exarch is looking back over the Crystarium again, with nothing but the crystal side of his face visible. The stone doesn’t move, but his ears are drawn down.

She’d said as much to Ryne, in Amaurot, and still not thought about it. “A smile better suits a hero,” she whispers.

It feels…better, and worse, at the same time. If she could set another part of being the Warrior of Light down, if she could stop trying to be someone worth a good man’s death…

She takes out a handkerchief to dry her face and blow her nose. “Thank you,” she says, louder, for the Exarch’s hearing this time.

He glances at her again, and whatever he sees makes him smile with such relief the sun might as well have come out. Frydlona’s stubborn heart kicks at her ribs, still ignoring her. She can’t. She can’t. She cannot.

She still stays atop the watchtower with him until the rainclouds clear from the sky.