#ffxivwrite 2023

[lady-protector]

19. weal

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“These should have been changed a bell ago.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps her own could do the same for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #6: Ring

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Not that I can recall."

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

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

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

"You may look at whatever you would like."

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

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

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

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

"A hunt linkshell?"

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

"I see."

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

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

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

"Organically?"

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

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

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

"Like Zenos."

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

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

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2023 14. Clear

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What were the circumstances exactly?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[minti-tales]

FFXIV Write, Day 13: Check

The voice of a Royal Volunteer, in a Choir.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[otherworldseekers]

FFXIVwrite 2023 prompt 2: Bark

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[antlers-and-omens]

FFXIV Write #26: Last

Every week, it grew more challenging to last through until the weekend, and the hunt awaited. He was strong-willed, but... supernaturally so? Not quite.

It was when his thoughts turned sour that he knew it was time to depart the Saucer - when lascivious thoughts became murderous ones; when creative thoughts became bloody... he was grateful for the space he'd made between himself, and everyone else.

How long could life last like this, though? How long until he had to tell someone... how long before he couldn't? He'd taken a deal only a dead man would make - because that's what he'd been. There were only bad options - die then, die later to the demon, or have the demon possess him fully in time. It had bought him time, but was it enough to find the answers he sought?

Were there answers?

Did he even know how to find them?

Who did he trust enough to ask? Would people be more inclined to put him down, than risk the power of this demon being free again?

And... was that the right thing to do?

He'd just have to hold out long enough to avoid having to answer that question.

[pangolinheart]

FFXIVWrite 2023 DAY 2 - BARK

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

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

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

“Miss Rhiki! Miss Rhiki!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uhh… Pixie apples!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help?”

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

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

“Need help?”

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

“Good work! Ready for the next one?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Lewtenant Nibbles,” Riqi-Tio corrected solemnly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah!”

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

“See that island over there?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s actually a big turtle!”

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

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

“How do you know his name?”

“He told me.”

“Turtles can’t talk!”

“This one can!”

[punches-and-cream-puffs]

7. Noisome

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then she turned to the skillet on the stove.

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

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

Very, very easy basics.

[blueberryaesthetics]

FFXIV Write 2023: 9 - Fair

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She does not have an answer.

The Lord Theroux can only weep.

[voidling-ffxiv]

4. Off the Hook

There was no way she was getting out of this one. Absolutely none, especially since the sun had already began to sink below the horizon by the time she'd found herself home, quickly shaking the flowers and petals from her hair.

Cover story, fast....fast... A dusting of snow tossed over herself, packed along her shoes. Cover story: She went exploring, and she got lost. Simple. No details to mess up, and it was a believable tale. Would she get in trouble? Of course. But it was a lot less trouble than what she anticipated for the latter. And it wasn't -technically- a lie...

Her mother would be much less worried about her getting lost here, than getting stuck there, in the land of everspring. Her getting in less trouble was just a bonus.

Quietly, she made her way into the house, feet carrying her to where her mother was. She was tempted to hide, to flee...but....her mother was probably worried sick. She'd only intended to be gone an hour, maybe two... not this long.

She raised her gaze up to the manor, enjoying what very well might be her final tastes of freedom. She'll miss you, gentle wintry breeze, and gentle kiss of snowflake against her.... Farewell, dear sunlight, farewell burgeoning moonlight... She sighs as her dramatic internal soliloquy comes to an end, before turning to head into the manor to face the music.

-------

Quietly did the voidling slip back into her lair, her haven, her room, the door slipping quietly shut behind her.

She hadn't expected the hugs. Or the forehead kisses. The worry, though....that had killed her. She was quick, quick, quick as a race chocobo to assure her she was fine. She was okay. See? No harm, please don't worry, she was alright. She just got turned around, please don't be worried. It's okay, it's okay, she's sorry; she forgot her linkpearl.

All in all, it could have been worse: A weeks grounding, and the lecture of a life time.... frankly, knowing just -how- much her mother had been worried was worse than any of that. She could survive a week in her room, and a week without candy or sweets. Besides, she had painting to do.

[lady-protector]

6. ring

(follows the epilogue for more than fear)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #2: Bark

This piece is set roughly two years before XIV 2.0 and reflects part of the aftermath of the 2020 prompt #30 Splinter.

The night before the imperial audit was due to the capital, the 9th Bureau offices of the IVth Legion resembled the aftermath of an explosion - a comparison with which Alma was intimately familiar. Sheafs of paper obscured most of the great meeting room table in Hyur-tall columns that might once have held some deeper organizational purpose but was now more a testament to the workings of imperial procedure than any meaningful function. The air, too, was thick with sweat and breath; the confidentiality of their task prohibited them from opening a window, and the odors that had gathered throughout the evening served only to inhibit concentration. Dona eir Quinta had retreated to the veranda for a smoke break, Sadr rem Albeleo was attending to a security breach elsewhere in the building, and many of the other staff with whom Alma was much less familiar had collapsed after pushing far past their twenty-bell shifts.

As such, when the legatus strode in to the office, only she and Menenius sas Lanatus were there to greet him.

"How fare the preparations?" said Noah van Gabranth by way of greeting.

Menenius bowed his head with much more certainty than Alma had seen from him only a few minutes prior. "Proceeding apace, my lord."

"Good." But he paid no mind to the carnage of bureaucracy transpiring around him. "Velius. With me, if you would."

Her pulse quickened, as it always did whenever he addressed her directly. She stood from the page she had been annotating - a note on the damage done to Dalmasca's historical sites during the bombings under Livia sas Junius - and made to present herself at attention.

"And bring a writing pad," the legatus added.

Menenius raised an eyebrow, glancing back and forth between the both of them with unabashed curiosity. Whether out of unflagging obedience or abject fatigue, he simply nodded, and he left Alma to follow behind his superior when the latter made a quick exit.

"The prisoner is a collaborator of the Dalmascan Resistance," said Gabranth as they walked the halls of Nalbina Fortress to reach the keep. "A powerful mage with connections to the void."

She understood then why Gabranth had not simply done away with the prisoner: void mages were rare - those with enough scruples to land them in Nalbina, much more so.

"She has rejected multiple offers of friendship over the decades; nevertheless, we believe non-violent interrogation may yield insightful results. For her records, copy down our conversation in full, without shorthand. Make note of her expressions and any movements of her limbs."

"Yes, ser." The instructions were basic orders for an interrogation of any sort. What she could not yet grasp was why this task proved just as crucial as a half-completed audit that needed to be aboard an airship bound for the capital by the time the sun rose.

That question remained even as the legatus opened the door to the oubliette. The woman within the cage beyond was greatly diminished; Alma would have to inquire later how long her imprisonment had lasted thus far, given that she had been made to hang. All the same, her features were striking: long waves of purple hair cascaded down over her brown skin, and her tired eyes still shone bright amid the single candle that cast its light around the door.

"Ah," said the prisoner. One of her ears gave a twitch, one that Alma supposed was more out of instinct than any true emotion. "The imperial hound returns, now with a shadow in tow."

After serving in the IVth Legion for more than three years, Alma had seen firsthand how Noah van Gabranth was a man willing to tolerate a great deal of uncouth behavior, even rudeness, so long as they came from a place of loyalty. The Viera voidmage's jokes were nothing Alma had not heard before, even from within the 9th Bureau's own ranks - but to hear them from a prisoner was something far different.

But Gabranth did not react to her impudence with anger or amusement. Instead, he raised both hands to his helmet and lifted it from his head to hold it at his side.

It was the first time Alma had ever seen his face - though she recognized it from countless lithographs she had seen of Basch. There, in the dim light of the fortress, he might have passed for his father's ghost.

"State your name, for the record," said Gabranth.

Only then, with the invocation of her role, did Alma remember that she had been brought here for a definitive purpose.

Again the prisoner's ear twitched, this time in the direction of Alma's pen scratching upon the paper. Her eyes were locked with Gabranth's in a way she had never seen before, not even from his officers.

"Hrjt - that's H-R-J-T - of the Graylands. Called 'Brotin' in the Viera tongue. And I would humbly request, for the record, an acknowledgement that the legatus remains unable to pronounce my name, even after nearly thirty years of our dalliances." Here, she inclined her head as deeply as she was able to Alma. "And what is your name, dear scribe?"

"She is of no consequence," Gabranth interjected, and Alma found herself grateful for the words. "But you, Miss Brotin-"

"It may help if you think of it as containing a D, as the R is what is known as a 'flipped' R. 'HED-yet.'"

"-you may yet rise above your name." Alma could not help but abbreviate nearly every word that came through, could not hope to capture in full the crosstalk flying fast between the longstanding adversaries. "To do so, I would present you with this."

A brightness emerged from Gabranth's side, even before Alma glanced up from her furious scrawling. From a pocket inside his armor, he withdrew a piece of auracite.

Hrjt went still in her chains. She took in a deep breath of the putrid dungeon air, deep enough for Alma to make note of it upon the page - and then, in a mere instant, her eyes reflected the selfsame stygian light.

"Dark and cold is this lover's embrace," she intoned. Her voice had dropped several octaves in mere moments. "I lie among the boundless detritus, piled high atop the ruins of the outcasts - a feast for those who cannot sink lower. Look upon me! Partake of me!"

Alma wrote faster than she had ever written before, heedless of all but the need to capture the words as they came to her. Then Hrjt coughed, and murky saltwater poured from her mouth, all down the front of her ragged and stained shift.

"I am here," she whispered. She now spoke as a Dalmascan man would speak, using masculine-gendered grammar. Alma could barely speak Dalmascan, though she knew enough of it from listening to Rabanastran radios for bells on end.

And Hrjt's speech conveyed only desire in its simplest form - words simple enough to piece together through the fervency with which they were conveyed.

"Where are you, my love? I feel you, yet you are not with me. Our son, you-" She turned, then, to Alma. "My son. Do not bring him here. He would only drown in these depths."

"Your son?" asked Gabranth. His voice was both hard and dangerously sweet - a horrific sort of invitation. "Who is your son?"

Hrjt did not reply; she merely coughed again and vomited even more water from some unfathomable depth. When she righted her head, it was with the great fatigue that one would expect of a prisoner who had been hanging by her wrists for nigh on a week.

"No more," she said. "I've had enough of your barking for now, Your Honor. Permit me to go, and I will let you live to howl another day."

Gabranth, inexplicably, thrust the glowing stone back into his pocket.

Hrjt breathed in a quiet, steadying breath - and in an instant, a wreath of dark aether enveloped and subsumed her. By the time Alma blinked to confirm what she was seeing, Hrjt had vanished without so much as a single trace.

"Again," Gabranth mused. "Ah well. We will find her again. She always returns to Valnain."

Alma knew better than to ask more questions about this woman, or to speak of the stone that had been brought to subdue her; and so she followed the legatus back to the office and returned to her work.

[wispofwillow]

Prompt 2: Bark

FFXIV Write 2023

Aerith (the cat) surveyed the length of her domain - well, one of her domains - stretching out her front paws with a yawn and a contented purr. This particular domain consisted of a cramped but neat greenhouse (a sunny glass palace with innumerable shady leaves and places for good jumping, with comfortable cushions just for her, as she saw it), striped through now with late afternoon shadow. And, of course, it also included the tall not-cat within, who knelt now (sadly - knees were less good for kneading and for curling up into balls of napping fluff on top of) by the wood table at the back of the room. 

At least the not-cat (though, confusingly, a not-cat with ears and a tail - grey, not like Aerith's bright white, vibrant orange, and sleek black) was awake and here this time. And this was part of Aerith's contentment as she stretched again, whiskers pointing forward as her back arched, and stood up on her shelf cushion (marked of course with layers of her fur). Aerith did not quite know what she meant by her not-cat (Wisp was what they were called by other not-cats, though the sounds meant little to Aerith) being not-here, even when sitting in that same spot they occupied now, head bent over some things or other that Aerith was not allowed in - but she knew when it happened and she did not like it. Especially when the not-here times came close together. 

Just to be extra sure, Aerith threaded her way through and around the potted plants and trays of seedlings with surprising grace for such a round creature, headed with determination towards her Wisp. With a noisy thunk and an accompanying mmrp? (it would not do to go unannounced - well, at least not when she wanted attention), Aerith jumped down off the last shelf, back up onto the table, and waddled her way between the trays off moss and sheets of (oh! crinkly!) paper, to plop onto her behind just in front of the not-cat. They did not have that stiff not-fur layer on their face right now, so it was easier to look up to meet their eyes and see themselves reflected back. "Mrrp? Rrrawr."

Wisp made a credible (if non-sensical - not-cats were so silly) imitation of Aerith's greeting back to her, and offered a hand for Aerith to sniff. Aerith did so, politely (earth smell, like always, honey…sadly not the fish treats), before ramming her head into that hand. The mossy softness that not all not-cats seemed to have made a nice cushion against her face. But, lately, there was a hardness under that moss, like the bark that Aerith scratched on in climbing (illicit! Not allowed, but fun) outside that was nice for scratchy chin rubs, but not as much for accidental hurts in head bonks, so it needed to be approach with caution. Today, though, it did not seem bad, and Aerith could see the extra relaxation in the expression on Wisp's face that meant a purr.

Good. Her not-cat was doing well. She had done her job. 

Nevertheless, she remained for several more minutes for appropriate pets and chin-scratching (a good reward, and Wisp did not always allow her to sit here, if there were that shiny glass, or that crystal that made her fur bristle - or sometimes sharp-smelling plants), before hopping down again, to walk the length of her domain. 

Here and there she stopped for a sniff, or to set her paws in soft dirt (but not to pee, for apparently this was discouraged by stern noises from the not-cat, except in the separate box with softer sand that was set aside just for this, which was fine). Interesting smells abounded - dog, for one, and the other not-cats - the one that smelled of batter and butter, one that smelled…dustier?, others that also smelled of dirt and earth, but different dirt. All familiar smells. 

Except…

A strange smell…no, not a smell…

Aerith paused in her rolling perimeter of the room, fur lifting, nose to the air, pointed toward the wood-framed door that led to the outside of the little glass house. Something…No, not a smell…but a-

Bark. Bark bark bark!

Aerith dropped flat, ears twitching, little round tail poofing out to the size of a Moogle pom.

Dog! With its loud dog language.

Wait…a familiar bark, a familiar dog. She sneezed, readiness to attack or run easing just as a little excited whining whimper, followed but the snuffle of a nose at the door crack, reached her ears. It was not until the quick rhythmic tap at the door, also a familiar pattern, that Aerith heard her not-cat look up and shift in those swishy robes. Wisp called some kind of greeting, and Aerith dutifully trotted forward to receive the requisite licks from the blur of tan fur and curled, violent fan of a tail that burst in almost before Wisp finished speaking. Despite the excessive bathing (tolerated, one should not say enjoyed), Aerith pointed her whiskers forward: a small price to pay for the warmth of the cuddles offered by the Dog (Gidget was what the not-cats seemed to call her) when she finally wore herself out (how did dogs have so much sprint in them? And so much energy just in their tails). 

Properly enjoyed were the surprisingly gentle head and chin rubbing offered by the not-cat that followed Gidget, calling a cheerful greeting back to their own not-cat. For a creature with such long ears and such energy himself - and such a boisterous companion as Gidget - this not-cat was exceedingly good with cat language. 

Well…mostly properly enjoyed. But it was hard to sink even into well-applied chin scratches with that sense of - not a smell, but something…off. Wrong. Like food gone off. Not entirely familiar, but not entirely strange, either. Coming from somewhere out that door.

Aerith looked up as the long-eared not-cat moved past her at the faint, scarcely-heard whine from Gidget. Whining again, the dog looked at her - it was a Look, even across species.

Something out there was not right.

Aerith (with a curiosity said by some to be dangerously native to her kind) wanted to know what it was.

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2023 27. Sole

Characters: Themis/Elidibus, U'rahn Nuhn/Gelos/Azem Expansion: Endwalker Rating: M Notes: Mild petting, Dialogue from raid at the end

"Please get your feet off my desk."

Elidibus's request was met with laughter and compliance from Azem as he sat up properly in the other's chair. The Emissary offered a light smile, seeing the Tracker's things in a pile beside him, a promise of a prolonged visit. Gingerly, he shut the door behind him then moved to join the other, sitting on the side of the desk.

"I brought you something," the red haired man said, sliding a box over to Elidibus's thigh.

"A souvenir from your recent journey?"

"More or less a reward for my heroism. Remember the island I saved?"

"You've brought me the fabled grapes then," Eldibus asked, lifting the lid to his prize to find himself right.

"You see through me as always. Such a promising young genius."

Azem laughed again while the Emissary frowned, then plucked a single grape from a vine to push against the laughing man's lips to silence him.

"I am only a moon younger," he reminded the Traveler, "We are alone, Gelos."

Azem's face burned at hearing his given name, bravado faltering. His hand gently rested on the Emissary's thigh, hand shaking into the box before offering a grape in return. Elidibus parted his lips obediently, a blush too, appearing across under his mask. Gelos removed his own, setting it on the table to look at the other properly with his golden eyes.

"I know it was my idea to drop our titles but it is still melodic, yet unnerving to hear you say my name. I fear Emet-Selch will burst in to scold us any moment."

"That is because he is always scolding you."

"Hey hey! He's not always scolding me. Sometimes it's Loghrif," Gelos protested, taking the younger man's ankle gently into his hand to remove his shoe and sock.

"What are you doing?"

"Checkin' to see if you've healed properly,” he answered, hand glowing lightly with his warm aether.

Elidibus lowered his mask as he watched the other gently turn his foot in his hand. Gelos frowned, rubbing his thumb against the joint. The Travler  jumped as the other soon wrested his foot from his grasp then slid it up his thigh.

“Themis…” 

“It has long been healed. You cannot fret over each little injury that comes to be when we cross lances. Would you deny me a chance to spar with you again for fear of hurting me? I would be sorely disappointed,” Elidibus cooed softly.

Gelos frowned then slipped his hand up his love’s calve, face red as he felt the other’s foot rest on his groin, awakening him promptly. “You are my heart. You fill me with joy that I can continue to smile and make me want to be the perfect hero.”

With that, he pulled Themis forward into his lap, letting the other lower down to steal a kiss. Eyes closed, the two palmed over one another’s robes, opening and letting them fall aside, Gelos bare beneath his. The red-haired man chuckled lightly as he earned a disapproving look.

“Do you ever have on clothes?”

“You sound like Lahabreaha now. The robes are so hot and impractical otherwise. It’s one or the other and robes seemed to be the preferred choice of garb. As long as I don’t get fancy with the gymnastics no one notices. And I guess I have to sit right in my chair at the meeting. I can change if you want.”

Themis thought for a moment, looking down between them before kissing Gelos again, hand raking through his hair before resting against the other’s firm chest before sighing, “Yes…but first the inevitable.”

-

“How long were you going to keep this from me?”

Themis stared into the red sky as Gelos glared at him from behind, not answering him.

“Well!?”

“Until it came to pass. We knew what you’d say. Who told you?”

“Methe…Venat confirmed it. Themis, you musn’t. I will find another way to save our star!”

Themis shook his head then turned, unable to meet Gelos’s gaze, fist balled.

“There is no time to argue. The Convocation has decided, even if you dissent, I will become the heart of our God and save at least half of us. It is better than nothing.”

“It is not! Even if it were just your life it would be an unacceptable loss! There must be a way! There will be a way! You just need to give me time,” Gelos pleaded, “If you…if you give up your heart for the star’s…then you’d be giving up mine as well.”

“How do you mean?”

“I love you,” Gelos said plainly.

“I love you too,” Themis replied before turning back to the sky, “So much that I would see you continue your adventurers in service of our star that I know we both love.”

“And if it doesn’t work? What then? What will this hurt be for?”

“It will work.”

“But what if it doesn’t!?”

The other’s gaze didn’t falter, “That I could stand by your side forever...I alone can bear this as I am the chosen Emissary. Gelos, I promise you that I shall never die.”

Gelos huffed, stepping forward to turn the other to face him, staring furiously into the bright blue eyes of his lover. He kissed him, hard, trying to inspire any passion from the temperate young man. There was a brief return of affection, the slightest peck and then nothing. Themis did not move to embrace him, nor stroke his hands through his hair. He remained unmoved in the wake of his duty.

“If you do this…then I will have no choice but to abandon my position and work against you to save you.”

“You would abandon me for Venat then?”

“No. I will find a third path. The hero’s path that saves us all!”

Eldibus remained still, watching Gelos pull back and clench his fists before turning to run off in pursuit of his third answer. 

- “Free I’m no longer needed…” U’rahn ran up to Themis as he fell to his knee, the other weakly looking into his eyes as he started to aetherically glow. He frowned, feeling the other’s hand enter his. “Do not look so crestfallen, my friend. These few moments of clarity are more than I could have asked for.”

“But…I need you, Themis,” U’rahn found himself saying.

Leaning in, the Nuhn found himself kissing the other softly, feeling his aether leave his body and flow into the other’s. The Ancient lightly rested his palm on his shoulder, pulling back. “This warmth…Your aether… You’ve grasped the fraying strands of my being and tied them together with your own…”

“I uh…I’m not good at all that aether stuff. I just…sorta felt like that would work,” U’rahn answered, heart racing as he tried to avoid the stares of his party, “Did it work?” “A bit…Nevertheless, I fear that I am here on borrowed time.” “Yeah? Oh…” U’rahn answered, ears lowering as he stood up with the other. “Yes.  I only hope that I can see you through the last of our battles. Until then, I will cherish every moment..as I should have done more back then.”

U’rahn smiled weakly, “With Gelos…with…uh…me?” Themis looked up at the ceiling of the Convocation’s sanctum then gave a little nod, “Yes…and no. I am still Elidibus…the Emissary. As such, it falls upon me to judge Athena who would disrupt our carefully maintained balance to fulfill her own desires. I swear I shall not waver in this duty.

You are simply a reflection of the one I loved. Your warmth is his…but it also is your own. This gravitation, do not let it worry you. Just simply let it be and let things play out as intended and enjoy the moment while it lasts.

“Right Right…”

Themis nodded then turned to the exit.

“Let us return to Erichthnios and Lahabrea. There is much I would share with you before we embark upon our final ascent.”

U’rahn nodded then started to lead the other back, stopping briefly, something pulling him back to ensure the other could walk at his side, even if it were only for a brief moment.

[minti-tales]

FFXIV Write, Day 20: Hamper

The voice of The Firebird, in a Choir.

CW: Implied bondage, mental health, relationship discussion.

I love the way she bound us. The small one. You saw a smile on her face last night, I know you did. There was joy. There was opening to the idea of grabbing one's beloved and holding them fast, making them a thing to cherish. Even if the exercise was just "pretend," as she gracefully put it. "Sensual make-believe." I know she wanted more, but she wasn't sure if she should, like having another dango when you've already eaten one. I could teach her to welcome that feeling into her heat - make us inseparable. Beloved souls finding each other again and again in the night, our intertwined flames growing ever higher.

But, that's not what you want, is it? To possess. No, not like what you were put through. Your beloved is not a mammet, nor a wind-up toy, nor a guardian for your shrine. She loves you deeply, yet does not reside forever at your side. Tragic, I suppose, but there is a line between a fae tale and what is real. At least, that is what The Artist tells me.

I still feel frustrated. I want more of last night. I want to perform, to dance on the stage, unlike that stuffy hag, the Signora. You can't stop me from wanting, can you?

I do have to admit something - quite unusual for me, I'm very well aware. At the end of things, I'm just a voice in your Choir. One voice, out of all the others vying to have their say.

Tell me that it is alright to feel these feelings, these passions, these wants. Tell me that the small one will bind us again in lovely rope. Tell me that I have worth.

Give me your blessing. Please.

I beg of you, beloved.

[otherworldseekers]

FFXIVwrite 2023 prompt 3: Off the hook

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

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

“I was getting the bucket.”

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

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

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

“Experimenting…”

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

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

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

“So are you.”

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

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

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