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16eggsforxio · 4 months

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anecdotal inspiration

Joshua x writer!Reader (anxiety edition)

3444 words, fluff

Summary: Joshua finds out who’s been writing books for the children in the Hideaway. It’s you, unfortunately.

Author’s note: Joshua who loves to read and reader who loves to write has been in front of me the whole time. I have been but a blind fool

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“Pardon me, but are you the one who wrote those?”

It had all started about a year ago. You had always been a daydreamer, maybe a little airy-headed, and you often found yourself penning down idyllic fantasies down into tattered notebooks since young. Growing up, you’d filled thousands of torn pages with your whimsical stories, leaving them half-complete before you began a new one, and it was a hobby that had followed you into adulthood. Now that you lived in the Hideaway, you surprisingly found yourself having more time for it. Embarrassing to admit, but you weren’t the most capable on the field, so you often had quick and short assignments.

And then one day you’d accidentally left one of your notebooks open at the library while searching for other books, and Harpocrates had chanced upon it. You had vehemently denied any relation to the notebook, and Harpocrates who had seen you walk in with it and place it on the table of course hadn’t believed you at all, but instead of mocking you or your scrawls, he had offered a suggestion with a wise smile. The children at the Hideaway, although only a few of them, didn’t have much to read. Children’s storybooks weren’t a priority to obtain, so they usually just had the same few to recycle over and over. Why not write new ones for them? Your handwriting was neater than sufficient, he had said, and your writing was pleasant.

Not knowing how to turn down his proposition, and also not being totally against it, you had agreed. Harpocrates then dedicated a row at the bottom of the shelf in one of the corners for you. It felt a little improper to you—there was no title on the cover since it was a notebook, only on the first page in your handwriting, and the books were usually worn out a little, but every time you slotted a new one onto the shelf, a few days later the children would come bounding to you with praises and enthuses of joy. Harpocrates must’ve told them it was you. You didn’t really mind.

Except, now, Joshua Rosfield had caught you sliding in your newest finished piece onto the bottom shelf.

“Uh—!” You managed a strangled noise.

You had never spoken to him before. Clive had brought him in a few weeks ago and introduced him in the Ale Hall one day, and you had bowed your head in greeting, and that was pretty much the only interaction you had with him. He mostly kept to himself, too. To be honest, he looked much too ethereal and you were afraid that if you stood too long around him you’d be incinerated to ashes just by his aura, so you didn’t try to approach him either.

Needless to say, you really wanted to run away. You stared up at him, wide-eyed.

He cocked his head inquisitively, and then you noticed in one of his hands was clutched a notebook that you’d finished writing in and put on the shelf for the children a few months ago. You hoped Leviathan would awake from its dormancy and swallow you whole right that instant.

“I’m sorry. I was just wondering if you are the author of those books,” he repeated, as if you didn’t hear him the first time.

Shoving your new book into the shelf, you leapt to your feet without meeting his eyes.

“Sorry—I have to go somewhere!”

“Ah, wait—” he began, but you didn’t let him finish.

Bowing your head and staring at the floor, you bolted right past him and out of the library.

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You escaped back into the dormitories, the largest common area in the Hideaway and where you figured it’d be harder for someone to locate you. Returning to your room was an option, but not one that you entertained; you’d been cooped up in there for hours in the early half of the day, revising your story before publishing it in the little corner in the library, so you were reluctant to go back again.

In hindsight, maybe you shouldn’t have run away and heard Joshua out. He had seemed curious about them, even if he completely wasn’t their target audience. It could’ve been nice hearing an adult’s opinion on your storybook, too… Or, alternatively, maybe he’d been very unimpressed by your books and was about to tell you off for wasting space in the library and to make way for some real books. Oh, god. You felt like you were going to vomit. You stopped walking through the corridor and paused to lean your head against the wall, focusing on your breaths.

“Miss!”

It was a young, chipper voice. Blinking, you removed yourself from your pathetic posture, standing up straight, and looked down. The children, your loyal recipients of your books, were eagerly jogging towards you.

“Miss!” They tugged at your long skirt. “Is there a new book yet?”

“Are you writing a new book?”

“I want to read a new story, Miss!”

“Hey, now…” You reached down to carefully pat one of the boys on his head. Children were a little easier to manage, you found. Or maybe it was because they adored you. “I just put a new one on the shelf, actually.”

They were positively beaming. “You did?”

“What’s it about this time? Is it romance?”

The girls in particular asked you that question fairly often, but you found yourself quite hopeless at it. Perhaps it was because you’d never had anything going on in your life romantically before, but the words just wouldn’t come out. How were you to describe what it felt like being in love, anyway?

Grimacing, you shook your head. “It’s an adventure story.”

“Oh, another one!”

“I wanted to read a love story, too…” One of the boys was pouting.

You laughed, gingerly tugging them off your skirt. “Maybe sometime.”

With hopeful glints in their eyes, they turned and began making their rambunctious way to the library, no doubt about to fight over the single unread copy on the shelf. You watched them leave with a faint smile, waving to their retreating backs, before frowning and sighing.

Really, how were you supposed to describe love?

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Maybe some of the books in the library had an answer for you.

So, the next day, you returned with a notebook, this one used to pen down ideas rather than hold finished tales, set on finding some sort of inspiration from some book.

Unfortunately, Joshua was standing at one of the shelves.

Of course, it wasn’t uncommon for him to be around. You usually waltzed past him, and, being too lost in the sprawling ink of the book, he usually didn’t notice you, or you assumed so. The last encounter had certainly… well, shaken things up, to put it in a crudely nice manner.

Stopping a few paces behind him, you shifted awkwardly, before clearing your throat. “Um, Lord Rosfield.”

Joshua looked up, turning his head gracefully to look at you. You were absolutely jealous. When someone interrupted you when you were deep in thought, you would always jump and freeze up like a frightened chocobo in a completely unflattering way.

“Yes?” Without missing a beat, he added, “Simply ‘Joshua’ would suffice.”

“Right, well, Joshua.” It sounded foreign on your tongue. “You see, about yesterday…”

You diverted your gaze from him to the floor, only catching the view of him in your peripheral vision. Ugh. This was so horrible.

Joshua blinked, turning to face you fully.

You moved your tongue about in your mouth almost peevishly, like you had something stuck between your teeth.

“When we met at the library yesterday…”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” he unexpectedly said. You stopped and looked back at him. He wore an apologetic smile. “I must’ve disturbed you—”

“No!” You shrank back immediately. You hadn’t meant for that outburst.

Joshua looked a little taken aback. “Ah, no…?”

“No,” you repeated, almost stupidly. Hugging your notebook to your chest, you bowed your head. “I—I must’ve come off as rude yesterday. I—it wasn’t my intention, I was just… well, I’m sorry.”

The words tumbled out of you in a rush before you could change your mind. Anyhow, that should get your message across. You raised your head hesitantly.

Joshua waved a hand dismissively. “No worries. You had something to tend to, if I remember correctly.”

No, there had been nothing to tend to at all. “...That’s right.”

“I hope you finished it with ease.” The smile he flashed at you was so brilliant you thought you might melt into a puddle of goo. “I was curious about the books in that corner. You’re the one who’s been writing them, I take it?”

In that instant, your brain fired a million thoughts simultaneously. What if you lied to him and said you were helping someone else? Then he’d ask you who you were helping. What if you said you had just finished reading it and were putting it back? No, reading a children’s storybook at your age was much too embarrassing.

Eventually, you settled on a sullen, “...Right, it’s me.”

On second thought, maybe writing a children’s storybook was worse than reading one.

But Joshua’s eyes only sparkled the same way the children’s eyes had the previous day. He took a step towards you. You uneasily took one step back, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Harpocrates told me someone had been writing for the children, you see,” he said, closing the book he’d been reading shut. You had never taken Harpocrates as a traitorous old man, but life was full of surprises. “I thought it was a wonderful idea, so I had a look at some of them. I hope you don’t mind.”

You minded very, very much. “No, it’s alright.”

“They’re very well-written,” Joshua continued, painfully enthusiastically. “The plotlines are simple, but novel. Most of the premises appear quite similar at first, but the ideas are actually all unique and fresh when you properly read into it, aren’t they? And the characters—they’re all so distinct and likeable in their own way once you really get to know them. Even when some of them come off as standoffish at first, they all have their own deeply thought out motives.”

You were holding on for dear life. “Uh… um…”

“And you took great care writing these for children, didn’t you? It’s all handwritten, but they’re all very neat. I spotted not a single mistake while looking through them. And the language used, the words you chose, your style of writing—they’re catered to the children, but even as an adult, it’s hardly painful to read. It was a delightful experience, if I had to describe it.”

“Well… thanks,” you managed feebly. Leviathan, any moment now…

“I’ll be looking forward to your next volume, too.”

“Right, thank you…”

But you had to admit: all your effort, every second of care that you had spent at your desk, hand cramping, felt like it hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. And it felt a little nice.

Joshua tilted his head at you like he hadn’t been off on a tangent praising you seconds before. “So, what brings you to the library? I don’t imagine you already have another one completed.”

You started. Right, your original purpose. “No, I don’t. I came to…”

It’d be a terribly awkward time to yank out a romance novel off the shelf and start meticulously studying it.

“...I came to research something for my writing.” Not a lie.

Joshua’s smile lit up even more, if that were even possible. “Oh? What about?”

You cleared your throat, even though it was empty. “Just… stuff.”

“Would you like me to help you find anything?” He leaned towards you.

“No… thank you.”

“Alright.” He leaned back, and you finally took that as an opportune moment to leave. As soon as you turned, his hand shot out to grab your arm. You almost flinched. “Pardon my rudeness. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Joshua, Clive’s brother.”

Yes, you knew. You introduced yourself in a mutter.

Joshua let go of your arm. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance.”

You looked away sheepishly and mumbled something vaguely similar back.

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Weeks had passed since then. Now that that embarrassing introduction was out of the way, you found it much easier to slip into the library. Harpocrates always welcomed you, and even if Joshua was there, he didn’t bother you much. At most, upon first seeing you, he would quiz you on what was upcoming in your latest story. You entertained him as best as you could, and surprisingly, you found his questions becoming easier and easier to answer, but not because he was the one who changed. You never really saw him around the romance section, so you could always read in peace.

Or that was how it was supposed to be.

One sunny day, you had arrived at the library with your notebook in tow, as usual, and Joshua began asking you questions again, both of you sat down at a table, in a way that reminded you of the children who adored your books.

And then, out of nowhere, very casually: “Are you trying to write a love story?”

You choked on air.

Joshua frowned. “I’m sorry. Did I have the wrong impression?”

You stared at him, aghast.

“It’s just that you’ve been frequenting the section where most of the romance novels are kept, so I thought…”

He’d been watching you?

Admittedly, he’d been a good friend to you. He was always considerate and never pushed to overstep any of your boundaries. He was just… nice to be around. Like being near a campfire in the freezing winter. You could forgive it.

You folded your arms and looked away. “It’s—something like that. I guess.”

With that, he wore his excited smile again. “Really?”

Restraining a groan, you nodded. You did not look at him. “The children have been pestering me about one for a while, so…”

“I see. They’re at that age, I suppose.” Really? To you, they still felt all too young. “I might be able to help you in that department. I’ve read a number of them myself.”

“You have?”

You looked at him dubiously. He looked much too eager to help, leaning over in his seat.

“Yes, I have.” He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. If it were you, you would’ve died of embarrassment.

He certainly had never struck you as that type. “I’ve never seen you reading one, though…”

Joshua shook his head. “Not when you’re around. You would prefer to remain undisturbed when reading those, wouldn’t you?”

You had never said that out loud, but he was spot on. Biting on your bottom lip, you looked down at the table. “Yeah, I guess so…”

“How about it? Would you like my input?”

Something about receiving a lecture about love from Joshua made you feel queasy. “It’s… It’s okay. Thanks for the offer.”

“Alright.”

The fact that he was into romance novels surprised you. He usually had his head buried in some history book, although to be fair, he had just mentioned purposefully being aware of you when you had come to do your… studying…

This felt more shameful by the second. You slumped in your seat.

Joshua reached over to grab one of your hands on the table worriedly. “Are you feeling alright?”

You straightened your posture again. “I’m fine,” you blurted out, drumming your free fingers on the tabletop. The palm of the hand under Joshua’s was starting to feel sweaty. “Could I ask you something?”

He canted his head. “Of course.”

“It might be offensive.”

He pulled his mouth to the side doubtfully. “Go ahead.”

You opened your mouth, wrangled down the hesitation down your throat, and tried to look him in the eyes, but settled on the space between his brows.

“Why are you so interested in reading my storybooks? They’re for children…” Then you immediately added, “Not—Not that there’s anything wrong, with that, of course, it’s just… a surprise? No other adults read them… except Harpocrates, but that’s him. I guess. Don’t get me wrong—I’m really flattered that you enjoy them, but I was just curious.”

Joshua blinked at you owlishly. “That must be the longest I have heard you spoken in one breath.”

“That’s not… Could you answer the question?”

Joshua retrieved his hand to rest his cheek on it, elbow propped up on the table, looking at the ceiling thoughtfully. A finger on your hand that had been occupied until recently twitched. You felt like you could be honest with him. But it wasn’t too much of an invasion of privacy, was it? Maybe you should retract your question if he didn’t feel comfortable. You would hate for him to be put on the spot.

He finally looked down back at you. “Has Clive told you anything of our mother?”

Was he dodging the question? That would’ve been fine, but you didn’t know why he was bringing in another heavy topic. Word on the grapevine spread to you that their mother had killed herself in a fit of hysteria right in front of her sons, after all. Clive, personally, had said nothing to you about her, though.

“Not really, no.”

“...Of course.” Uncharacteristically, Joshua looked down at the table. Usually you were the one to be doing that. You tilted your head. “She had always wanted for me to be the best in every way. I was already sickly as a child, and she prohibited me from overexerting myself on battlegrounds. She often ordered me to stay within the walls of the castle as well.”

She sounded awful, but you couldn’t ascertain his feelings for his mother with his vague language, so you held your tongue.

“I found solace in reading. I enjoyed books written for children, of course, being one—but my mother didn’t appreciate it as much.” He was wearing a forlorn smile. “She wanted no risk of my future position as the Archduke. At her insistence, I was to read less of those ‘silly stories’ and more of educational books.”

You felt personally insulted at that one. “She sounds a little rude.”

At the sound of your voice, Joshua lifted his head, eyes almost bleary like he’d woken up from a bad dream. “Perhaps she was.” Again, vague. He was still smiling—this time, it reached his eyes. “To answer your question, I’m not quite sure yourself. If I had to guess, perhaps reading them feels like making up for the lost time I had as a child?”

And then, catching you completely off guard, he snatched one of your hands from the table and clasped it with both of his hands. You did not have time to react.

“Thank you for writing them.”

Even through the gloves, his hands felt very warm.

You were suddenly acutely aware of how softly his golden locks fell over his face, the deep lapis of his probing eyes—every ridge and feature of him was striking you with vivid clarity.

You stood up from your seat abruptly, pulling your hand away and folding your arms tightly.

“It’s—It’s no problem. Sorry, but I should really get going.”

With a brisk walk out of the library faster than ever before, you forced yourself to ignore how warm your face was getting.

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“Miss, you did it!”

You had just returned from some field work, exhausted, sweaty, and generally feeling like you needed a hot bath, when the children had crowded you once again. It was right in the middle of the Hideaway, and even though there weren’t that many people around at this time, you still raised a finger to your lips to sign the children to lower their voices.

As usual, they paid no heed to you. They came and tugged at your skirt again. “You wrote about love!”

Behind, one of the boys feigned a disgusted expression. He’d grow out of it, probably.

You took turns patting their heads as always. “Did you enjoy it?”

Of course, you were in no position to write a full-blown romance novel, and that most likely wasn’t ideal for children, either. Instead, you’d just written another adventure story, like you always did, but this time dashed with garnishes of intimate feelings. Not enough to be the main focus, but enough to be visible.

“Yeah!” Then, looking a bit confused: “Why did you suddenly write about it, though?”

The sunlight streaming through the cracks of the Hideaway looked golden, too.

You inclined your head down at them and gave a silly grin.

“Maybe… you could say I had a little inspiration?”

#joshua rosfield #joshua rosfield x reader

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angelbellelc2 · 7 months

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Exploring Chinatown in Future London and the street names aren't that creative. Clive these are the best names you could think of for street names just colors with the usual street endings? I wouldn't be surprised if main street in Chinatown is just Rainbow Row/Road. What was he looking at while thinking of names a box of crayons?

Clivvy probably had trouble thinking of names and just looked at a crayon box with different colors for inspiration. "Ah ha! These are the perfect names for Chinatown's streets."

#professor layton #luke triton #detective luke #clive dove #future luke #professor layton unwound future #professor layton lost future #professor layton new world of steam #pl nwos

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pinkkittysaw · 9 months

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MY STAR

paring: clive rosfield x f!reader

summary: in a fit of restlessness one night, you come to clive’s aid

word count: 2k

content: (18+ only please!) established relationship, sex is mentioned but not in detail, a smidgen of angst, selfship coded heh heh heh um (//∇//)

a/n: was toying around with the idea of singing clive to sleep but couldn’t figure out a concept for it. the concept is so intimate and romantic to meeee :) THERE’S NO DENYING THE LOVER GIRL ALLEGATIONS!!!! i listened to this song from the soundtrack and- clive and i make sweet sexy love to this every night ummmm anyway, the song is what the title is based on ^_^ be careful looking it up on youtube though cause there are in game spoilers. the song made me bawl and continues to do so. square enix we have some words to exchange!!!!

dividers by @/saradika

It's a calm evening, a slight breeze passes through your bedroom. The stars shine brightly outside, while remnants of burning embers flicker inside the fireplace.

You and Clive are in bed, sweaty, and spent after an intense love-making session. He’s on his side, facing away from you, while you're on your back, sprawled out as far as you can next to his huge form.

The moonlight peaks through the gaps in the wall, reflecting off the love bites left on the peaks of your breasts, and if the sheet that was covering your waist was pulled any lower, a matching set of marks would be found on your inner thighs. A familiar ache lingers between them, but the feeling is a welcomed one.

Clive isn't faring any better. A set of scratch marks line the hard muscle of his back, followed by divot marks from your nails on his shoulders and a few haphazard love bites of his own, scattered throughout his chest where you often displayed your affections.

You’re resting in a peaceful slumber before being roused awake by your lover tossing and turning in bed. He huffs, unable to find a comfortable position, settling to face you once more, admiring the peaceful expression on your face.

Though you don’t open your eyes, your voice cuts through the open air. "Can’t sleep?"

You can’t see his face, but you can hear the frown forming on his features when he speaks. "I didn’t mean to wake you," he states, bringing a hand out to caress the skin below your rib.

"It’s alright," you reassure him, turning to your side so you'd both be facing each other. Your eyes are open now, and even though you can't quite make out his expression amongst the darkness, you reach out to him anyway. "Want me to sing to you?"

The first time Clive heard you sing was in the infirmary. He'd been confined there on Tarja's authority after returning with a severe injury from one of his outings.

You had developed a close friendship at that point. After being sent on numerous assignments together, you had grown a fondness for each other, though the lines of your relationship grew blurrier each day.

It was late in the evening when you returned, the moon taking its rightful place amidst the stars. You had scurried over to the infirmary, practically begging Tarja on your hands and knees to let you see Clive after having not been able to visit during the day. She took one look at your pitiful state, and with a heavy sigh, she caved, giving you permission on the premise that you wouldn't disturb the other patients. You nodded enthusiastically in agreement before turning and opening the door to the infirmary.

A few bearers were scattered amongst the rows of beds, with Clive all the way on the other side of the room, closest to the window. You skittered across the room to his bed, taking care not to disturb the others. Kneeling by his side, you make note of his condition. He'd been heavily sedated due to the severity of his injury, fading in and out of consciousness. You couldn't tell when he was awake and when he wasn't.

Taking hold of his hand, you press his knuckles to your lips. "Please be alright," you whisper, clasping his hand in between your own. Bringing your interwoven hands to your forehead, you recite a silent prayer in hopes of his recovery. You were able to maintain some semblance of faith; he was stronger than any other man you knew after all, but seeing him here, like this, in such a fragile state, you wavered. Calling upon the gods to keep him safe from harm, to let you hear his voice once more, and for him to live another day.

You lay his hand back down on the bed once you've finished before recounting your day. "Sorry, I'm so late today," you whisper, "I was sent out early this morning for resource hunting. It was laborious and boring as always."

"I wish you were there. You always make even the blandest of assignments more tolerable," you smile down at him, both your silhouettes bathed in moonlight. "Torgal kept me company, though, so I wasn't too lonely."

The exhaustion from the day's work catches up with you, a yawn escaping you in the midst of your tale. "I guess I should get some rest then."

"I'll visit you again in the morning."

You get up to leave when Clive becomes restless in his sleep, discomfort etching itself across his face. His hand twitches around yours, tightening his grasp. You're quick to kneel beside him once more. "Shhhhh, it's alright," you murmur, "I'm right here."

Against your better judgment, you climb into bed with him, both of your bodies smushed together on the small mattress. Making sure to keep your voice low, you sang him a lullaby from your childhood, one that your mother would use to ward off bad dreams in the night. When the song ends, you decide to stay by his side and watch over him.

It's early the next day when Tarja finds you and Clive curled up together. She smirks to herself, shaking her head in amusement before starting her morning rounds.

The first time you sing him to sleep occurs shortly after you first start seeing each other.

He was fidgeting, panting, and shivering in his sleep, tossing and turning, trying to escape the terror of his dreams. You were beside him in bed, his movements disrupting your sleep. You peer over at him, checking on the commotion. Seeing his state, you reach out and caress his shoulder, shaking him slightly. It takes a while, but he finally awakens with a sharp inhale, as if he's been starved of air. He sits up wide-eyed, taking in his surroundings, sweat covering his brow as he heaves for oxygen. You reach up from your position on the bed to stroke his back delicately, the muscles continuing to rise and fall under your ministrations.

"Are you alright?" you mumble against the pillows.

He gives a short nod in response: "It was just a bad dream, nothing you need concern yourself with."

You let out a simple "hm" before opening your arms up for him to crawl into. "Come," you beckon. Despite his earlier reluctance, he does little to resist your request, all hesitance melting from his body as he falls into the comfort of your loving embrace. His head comes to rest on your shoulder, and strands of inky black hair tickle your face. Your hand strokes up and down on his shoulder while cocooned in the silence of night.

He's already dozing off when you begin singing. Your voice soft and raspy due to the sleep that's still present. He's cradled in the sea of your warm, dulcet tones, similar to the night spent in the infirmary many moons ago.

The two of you had fallen into a little routine. Though less frequent since the two of you got together, Clive had been plagued with nightmares, sometimes so terrifying that he'd go nights without sleeping. He'd do anything to forget that dreadful night—anything to forget the look on his brother's face as he was torn apart by the dark eikon right in front of his very eyes.

His eyes flit over your form in the present, the scattered beams of moonlight illuminating your features. He feels a pang of guilt whenever he needs your comfort to sleep. The more he takes in your love, the more selfish he feels for doing so, as if allowing himself to indulge himself in the warmth you provide is somehow a sin. He cups the side of your face as his thumb strokes your cheek. "You don't have to, love."

"That wasn't what I asked, was it?" You tease, poking the tip of his nose before attempting to pull him closer. "Come, lay against me." Though he hesitates for a moment, he ultimately relents, unable to deny himself of you.

He rests his head on your breast, placing a few miscellaneous kisses on the lightly bruised skin, his hand caressing the soft flesh of your hip.

"I have a new song for you tonight,"

"Oh really?"

"Mhm, I kept this one close to my heart, but since you're so special to me, I've decided to share it with you as well."

"I'm honored," he mumbles, closing his eyes to fully rest against you.

Most of the songs you knew were ones you learned from other bearers during your time in the hideaway, save for the lullaby your mother sang to you as a young girl, but there was another song, one that always brought so much emotion out of you whenever you sang it. It was one from your home village, and you were blessed to have heard its enchanting lyrics performed by your mother before everything turned to ruin. Your home overrun by blight.

Starlight, say goodnight

Star bright, where have you fallen?

Starlight, say goodnight

Star bright, I hear you calling

Fire, a fire that filled the night

Fire that warmed-

You take his hand in yours and turn it so that his palm faces upward; Ifrit's flame set ablaze from his flesh. It's small while flickering in the breeze, illuminating you both with its warm glow. The flame is not too dissimilar to the one he's managed to set in your heart.

-and brightened my life

The flame is extinguished as you slide your hand up his forearm and into his palm, interlocking your fingers. The lingering warmth from his skin seeps into yours.

My guiding light, On high, my hearth, my beacon, and my hope

Clive flushes at this point, realizing that he's the subject of this song. He's the flame, the guiding light, the beacon of hope, and for once, the fire that's consumed him, made a home in his body, is associated with something good—with love and tenderness instead of destruction.

He lifts himself to press a tender kiss on your lips. "I love you," he whispers from above "I love you too." You meet each other's eyes, lovesick expressions on both your faces. He cups the back of your neck to pull you in for another kiss. One that's more passionate than the last, pouring in all the love he has for you.

On a different night, at a different time, perhaps he'd try to argue that you were more fitting of terms like hope and guiding light, saying that you had done more for him than he'd ever be able to repay you for. Instead, he indulges himself in the softness of your lips, the gentleness of your caress, and the warmth of your skin.

He rests against you once more, fully laying himself on top of you. His back faces the ceiling as he wraps you in his embrace, protecting you as a true shield should. His cheek rests on your sternum while his eyes flutter closed.

The song picks up again after he gets comfortable, his steady breaths cascading across your skin while your hand strokes his back.

A sky of scattered tears

A thousand years apart

Should they fade, I will not be afraid of the dark

For your flame still burns inside me, deep within my heart

Showing me a new tomorrow. Never too far

And when I cannot bear the pain,

I'll look up to the sky and pray-

Tears well up in your waterline, the lyrics ultimately getting to you. You recall the night in the infirmary, holding Clive's hand, fearing for his life, praying for his safety, his health, and for the gods not to steal him away from you too soon.

Your eyes skim down to his face, noticing that he's fast asleep against you. He's relaxed and peaceful, and you're thankful, as selfish as it may be, not wanting to explain why you've suddenly become so weepy.

You whisper the final lyrics in a wobbly voice, allowing the tears to stream down your face without fear. Admiring his sleeping expression, the love you have for him swallows you whole, consuming you, knowing that he's the one who’ll hold your heart for all time.

- That though our night is over, you shall always remain

Forever my treasure

My star

#clive rosfield x reader #final fantasy xvi x reader #final fantasy 16 x reader #final fantasy x reader #x reader #clive rosfield fluff #clive rosfield angst #final fantasy xvi fluff #final fantasy xvi angst #final fantasy 16 fluff #final fantasy 16 angst #fluff #angst #✰ミ angel writes

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mergeman · 1 year

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Inheritance

This is my first time using AI images let me know what you think

The deceased farmer could only morn as he spent year after year watching the land he had worked so hard for crumble to time. He had lived a full life to the ripe old age of 92, had six kids who in turn had kids, who they themselves had kids of their own.

None of these descendants though had visited the farm in the 79 years since he had passed, so the ghost could only watch as his lives work slowly disintegrated.

That was until she came along. The old specter could feel his blood in her veins and became excited to see her on his land. She had been coming for just over 2 years now but she did nothing but take sketches and wonder the old property. The farmer wanting to know what her plans were got closer then he ever had before only to discover she was drawing rows and rows of ugly little homes! He tried everything in his power to knock the sketch book from her hands. Growing more and more frustrated at his impotence the normally calm ghost let loose all of his anger and rushed at the young woman.

Claire's POV

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

It was another hot day on this god forsaken piece of shit land, my grand inheritance from my Great Uncle.

ugh..... Shivers

That was weird its been hot and dry all day long, where did that frigged blast of cold air come from? I crossed my arms as I became aware that I might not be alone out here.

"Hello?" I called out into the summer void

Mine!

Was the last thing I heard before my body spasmed.

It was just a moment and then I was picking myself up off the dusty ground. I stumbled as I tried to find my balance, my body seemed heavy and bloated.

I called out again. "hello? who are you? show yourself"

Mine! It's Mine, and you will not have it!

I doubled over as wave after wave of pain washed over me. I scrambled to find my cell phone in the dusty earth.

There!!!

It was hidden underneath the fallen sketches. I grabbed it and hit redial so it would call my fiancé Trevor. After the 3rd ring I hear a deep male voice say hey babe.

"Trevor you gotta come here now. Somethings wron....wrong... wi... wit.... with me!" My voice was cracking under the strain of the pain.

"Babe ill be ri" click

I look in horror as my finger hits the end call button.

Then something controlled my arm and threw the phone into the nearby bushes.

It's Mine, not yours! You will not take it!

Oh My Fucking God. The Voice Was In My Head!!!!!

Who the fuck are you? I thought at (it/him?)

No girl is gonna curse at me on my own land!

Oh I can now feel him invading me, changing me.

Get the hell out of me you fucking piece of shit.

I could feel him moving around stretching me from the inside. No mattered what I tried nothing seemed to stop him.

I was helpless as my body grew more masculine. Hair sprouted on my boobs which in turn were quickly changed into an impressive set of pecs. My torso widened and my arms got heavy with the added muscles.

Mine, I want it all, You'll never take my land

I could see him now! He's just an old man.

I use my will to push at him, but nothing seems to work!

In fact the more I push the less like myself I feel.

Get out of me you old codger.

My body kept changing as I could feel him taking me over piece by piece.

Most of what was me is fading fast. He was winning. Hell even if I could somehow remove him would i be stuck like this or return to normal?

These questions danced in my head as the last of me was being consumed.

Yes!! Mine It's all Mine, They will never take away our land again!

With the last of what's me I could feel the old bastard be consumed by someone else. No this was something new. No Someone new!

My bodies last bit of femineity died as my clit sealed up and reformed into a cock worthy of the man I'd become.

Everything was on fire as a bright flash.

Clive's POV

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

Fuck, I'm gettin old, I know 45 is not that old but when you've been working to restore your families farm for the last 25 years it sure takes a toll. What started it as a dilapidated farm is now one of the richest ranches in the state

It would have been harder without my husband Trevor, he has been my rock, and my right hand ever his folks kicked him out and he came to me to be my farm hand.

Now 17 years later we've adopted 6 kids and life couldn't be more hectic or fun. I owe it all to my Inheritance.

#merge #ai artwork #ai art generator #age progression #f2m #f2m transformation

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silver-wield · 11 months

Text

Ffxvi ending spoilers

I'll tag this too, but this is your warning, I'm about to rant about the ending.

Because I didn't like it.

Lemme preface by saying I loved the game! Love Clive, Jill and everyone else in the cast, except Annabel, she's a bitch and deserves to die. Main story is great, sidequests great, combat is fun and it's great. Except the ending.

It's one thing to pepper hints throughout the story when you have a hero who maybe hasn't done as much to earn the definitive ending you, as a player, expect, and wind up with some ambiguity as to their fate.

It's totally okay to have secondary characters' fates left up in the air and wondering what became of them because they are not your primary hero.

It is not fucking okay to throw out not one, not two, but four ambiguous ending hooks when a hero such as Clive has literally done everything humanly possible to earn the kind of ending you see in ffix, with our hero returning home to his loved ones.

Onto the actual ending. Last chance to dip.

No pics except at the end, but I will be describing what happened.

Last chance fr

Can't say I didn't warn yall.

After Clive defeats Ultima and destroys the crystal, we pull back to see it crumble. Now, if you were going for an ambiguous ending, at this point you would leave Clive there and not return. It's a stupidly high drop and it would leave his fate literally up in the air.

Nope. We see he survives the thousands of feet fall into the ocean and makes it to shore.

We rejoice, believing he'll be okay and keep his promise to Jill to return and actually save himself along with everyone else like she's been begging him this whole time.

Haha, you thought.

Clive attempts to use magic, only for his hand to petrify. He smiles, knowing he's succeeded for definite. And then come some last words as he stares at the star he recalls Jill making a wish on, and his hand falls to the sand in the typical symbolism for death, which we've seen multiple times not only in this game but across FF.

Cut to Jill, staring at the star, which winks out of existence. She bursts into tears and runs to the deck, fearful it means Clive's dead. Torgal howls, mourning his master, and that should be clue enough that Clive is dead because Torgal never gave up looking for Clive all the years they were apart.

Then, comes the pathetic trope of the "light of hope" as the sun rises, and we see Jill's tears stop as she looks at the horizon.

I saw someone say they spent a stupid amount of time looking for a boat and claiming Clive is rowing back to her, but you have to look reaaaaaaally hard to see it. That's because there is no boat. There is no boat.

Jill is recalling her own words and hoping Clive will return to her just like the sun rises, and that's what we're supposed to cling to. Her words, along with all the other "hints" left along the way about Clive saving himself, how he should hang up his sword and pick up a quill (and I'll get to that in a second) and all the plans he makes for a life once things are over are meant to make us hopeful he's alive, despite the previous scene of deathly symbolism.

Then come the credits. No, we didn't see anybody else at the Hideaway besides a short moment with Gav, Mid and Edda, so literally everyone's fate across the realm is left open ended, which is so fucking unsatisfying. As unsatisfying as the ending to ffxv when we see empty landscapes because most of the fucking population across the planet is dead bar a few pathetic survivors huddled in Lestalum, who we don't even see enjoying the "new light of hope" because apparently a view of a barren landscape is meant to be good enough (and then came the dlc with one alt ending and a novel with a "definitive" ending that erases the original canon one because they fucked up so much they couldn't even work out how to end the damn game. Showing a mostly dead world with a "hopeful sunrise" ain't it. Nobody's alive to enjoy the fucking hope!)

Anyway, this is not a ffxv rant, so moving on. After the credits is a short scene of a beautiful cottage surrounded by greenery and flowers with two boys and a smol dog. The elder boy has Clive's dark hair and the younger has Joshua's hair colour. They're doing chores without magic and lamenting that magic and eikons are fairytales and Clive's favourite play makes a reference as well.

We end on a book written by Joshua Rosfield that depicts the war of eikons that the boys are pretending to play out in the garden.

And that's our fourth "did he live?" moment, using Harpocrates words about picking up a quill, and taking on his dead brother's name so it might always be remembered the way he took Cid's name on, Clive writes about his people's deeds. But did he? Or was it one of the Undying who penned it and listed Joshua, their lord, as the author?

But you know what? I don't give a fuck about some distant future where Clive's efforts pay off and the world is free and safe. It was a fucking given that would work out.

What I cared about and wanted to see was the characters I cared about being free and safe.

Throwing some NPC children with Clive and Joshua's hair colours at us as some consolation prize while Clive finished either dead or unconscious alone on a beach and Jill is sobbing is not the ending any of us laboured for. We have no attachment to these children, and the weird fucking hint about reincarnation or whatever that was, is fucking stupid and undermines everything about them living and dying on their own terms. The idea that Clive and Joshua, having been imbued with the power of the phoenix will rise again in some distant and free land, undermines everything they did in destroying magic and eikons and crystals. It's not a good enough ending when it comes off the back of the absolute fuck all that came before the credits and reincarnations were never introduced as a concept in the entire game.

Maybe if they showed Clive alive and reunited with his loved ones it would be a further heartwarming moment to see his and Joshua's souls together in another life. Their bond is such a huge part of what makes the story so damn good, but as it is, it feels cheap and flatter than a pancake to end like this.

It's clear the devs teams eyes are on future dlc to pick up where this "ending" left off and hopefully provide the fulfillment we expected, but to have the canon ending at this point of their next gen mainline FF game be so disappointing and low note just isn't good enough.

And people can say there's hints all over and we just need to look, but after everything Clive went through, we deserved a little more certainty of his survival.

All we needed was a boat on the horizon.

#ffxvi spoilers #ff16 spoilers #final fantasy xvi spoilers #final fantasy 16 spoilers

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