#i feel better again. as simple as that. i love ffxiv

[noxtivagus]

"in your darkest hour, in the blackest night…think of me…and I will be with you. always. for where else could I go? who else could I love but you? " FFXIV DRK

[myreia]

15 Lines of Dialogue Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you’re free to include those as well!

thanks for the tag, @thevikingwoman and @bearlytolerant, ty frens!

tagging: @roguelioness @lilas @galadae @ellstersmash @fourteenthz

@tsunael @birues @ardberts @gatheredfates @anneapocalypse

@impossible-rat-babies @coldshrugs @gefiltefished @consulaaris

sorry if you've been tagged before, I have... lost track of who has done what. 😂 No pressure, ofc! 💖 tags also for anyone else who would like to share their writing! Feel free to tag me even if I didn't tag you or even if we're not mutuals, I'd love to see what you're working on!!

These are from published (and one unpublished) ffxiv fics. Because a lot of my favourite Aureia lines happen within the context of banter, I had a hard time deciding what to cut and where.

— 1: Far From Happenstance [ARR]

“What’s that thing on your arm?” “This? Ah… well… Perhaps this conversation is best saved for later, perhaps in a less conspicuous place?” “Or we could have it now. Your choice.”

— 2: Uncertainty [ARR]

“Tailing unsuspecting women about the city is nothing to be proud of.” “I have done nothing of the sort! Our meetings have been no more than happenstance, a quirk of nature drawing us to the same spot at the same time. I assure you, Aureia, I am not following you—” She stifles a snort, laughter tugging at the corners of her lips. “Oh…” He blows out a breath. “Oh, you’re joking? That was a joke. You have an unfair sense of humour…” “Don’t make yourself such an easy target next time.”

— 3: To Ash and Ember [ARR]

Lahabrea stares at her, startled out of his victory, mouth twisted with contempt. “How—” Aureia raises a hand, palm sheathed in blinding light. “Get the fuck out of him, you bastard.”

— 4: Sand and Stone [ARR]

“This is good for us,” she says quietly. “The Scions, I mean. We’re exposed here. Ascians, Garleans… it’s only a matter of time before they try again. Mor Dhona will afford us some means of protection we’ve lost.”

— 5: Bitter Frost [ARR/HW]

“You press on,” she says after a moment. She cups her palm between them, subconsciously pulling on the aether around her. A faint flame sizzles to life, warming her fingers. “Guilt can only carry you so far before it bleeds you dry. Just know that the next time… the next time will be different. Better.”

— 6: Divergence of the Heart, Chp 5 [HW]

“I don’t care what they say about me. I’m a hero to some, a villain to others. I can live with it.” “You should not have to. If there was a way—” “Please, Aymeric, I’m begging you not to draft a new statute on my behalf. You can’t decree change and expect centuries-old beliefs to shift overnight.”

— 7: Divergence of the Heart, Chp 7 [HW]

“Happiness? What makes you think I’m happy with this? With any of this?” “You’re the Warrior of Light. Defender of Eorzea and a beacon of hope. Blessed by Hydaelyn and beloved by all. What possible reason could you have not to be?”  “Oh, fuck you.”

— 8: Divergence of the Heart, Chp 8 [HW]

She blinks. It shouldn’t be more simple than that. Does he not comprehend why this is so profoundly embarrassing? “And..?” “And how would this fact be of such radical importance that it would be the sole cause of a change in my opinion of you? Do you believe it so crucial to your identity that I should judge you differently for it?” “No, I don’t think that at all. I suppose I feel I’m… a failure, somehow. As a person.”

— 9: For All the Truths Left Unspoken [HW]

“Oh? Because you seem a little haggard, Thancred. Why don’t you look me in the eye and tell me what time you went to bed last night. Or if you went to bed at all, for that matter.” “It is not your concern—” “No, but you could have at least done the decency of admitting what was going on before you started fucking my friend.”

— 10: A Question of Desire [HW]

She cuts him off with a kiss. [Aymeric] groans softly, leaning into it, and she laughs with delight. “Save it for later,” she murmurs against his mouth.

— 11: Bound by Faith, Chp 2 [ShB]

“Under pain of further admonishment, I told her what I could.” “Nothing unfavourable, I trust,” she says drolly. “Who do you take me for, Aur?” “An idiot, if I’m being honest. Next question?” “…stumbled right into that one, didn’t I?” “Yes.” Her eyes sparkle with fondness. “You did.”

— 12: Bound by Faith, Chp 2 [ShB]

“There. That’s it. Aureia was a name I took by chance. Not because I wanted it, but because I needed it. An alias intended for Ul’dah alone, one I intended to relinquish the moment I could escape the city. But then you called me Aur and it… stuck.” She hesitates, her voice breaking. “I don’t know why it felt right, but it did. You gave me a name, Thancred, without even realizing that that was what you were doing.”

— 13: Bound by Faith, Chp 4 [ShB]

“They don’t hurt. At least, not like this. Sometimes, with astral fire…” She closes her eyes and swallows hard. “He did something to me, Thancred. Whether it was his intention or not, he left a mark that is more than skin deep. Like a part of his aether was seared onto mine. It makes me powerful, yes, but… my magic is not always controlled. It’s never been the same since then.”

— 14: Untitled Post-5.3. Fic, Chp 2

She glances at him and finds him glaring at her. It’s not a real glare—behind the dark look and mock exasperation is a knowing smile. “She’s taken full reign of the apartment. Mess everywhere. Looks like a tempest went through the place.” “Far too easy to imagine that.” “I don’t know where she gets it from.” “Oh, I know for certain. That’s the influence of your bad habits, not mine—” “I—listen here, you ass—” “Oh, an ass, am I? Bit early to deteriorate to name calling, no?”

— 15: Untitled Post-5.3. Fic, Chp 4

“Aur… that suite I mentioned earlier… I was quite serious about it.” “The suite or the sex you want to have with me in it?” “The whole matter.” She pauses, holding the soup out to him. “You should finish it,” she says quietly.

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2023 Day 13: Check

C’oretta seemed oddly subdued as she left the Quicksand, Iyna thought. Holiday celebrations continued, though the petite Miqo’te hardly seemed to notice.

Iyna had assumed the festivities were the reason C’oretta had taken this particular job to Thanalan; since Gage Acquisitions’ move to the Twelveswood, trips to Ul’dah were not as frequent, even for the teleport-capable employees. There just weren’t as many reasons to return, though Iyna found the dry, sandy air almost refreshing despite the heat, simply because it was now a change from what had become the norm.

Their job was complete, however—a simple courier trip, handling some of those leftover Corpse Brigade that sometimes liked to harass Little Ala Mhigo, when the vile fools remembered their origins to be more than mere bandits—and now they were on their own time.

Still; she had rarely, if ever, seen C’oretta look so…normal. There was none of the spring or pep she usually associated with her pink-clad companion as she walked out of the Adventurer Guild and down the street.

So Iyna followed. Discreetly, at a distance.

It wasn’t difficult to keep C’oretta in sight, nor to find her again when crossing through crowds or around corners. Iyna did not expect to turn a corner and find C’oretta waiting for her, arms crossed, scowling up at her—which was honestly adorable, but Iyna wasn’t going to tell the kid that.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think you know and it’s not polite to follow someone off on personal business.”

“I know how sneaky I am, Kitten, you’ve just gotten better at picking up a tail.” Which was, unfortunately, true. Damn the girl’s observation skills, and probably some of that combat-prescient Echo of hers. “And you could have simply mentioned you had something to attend to, instead of trying to sneak off, from a sneak.”

C’oretta frowned more, which looked utterly alien on her typically cheerful face. “Maybe but it’s complicated except not really it just feels that way and it’s been too long since I’ve been back here what with the move and everything.”

“It’s nothing dangerous or illegal, right?” Granted, Ul’dah’s rules in the latter regard were often lax if one had the money and influence. Still, there were some things by general Eorzean agreement one steered clear of.

“It’s not and if you’re so curious you might as well come along and see but no blabbing to everyone,” C’oretta sighed, turning and walking on.

“You know I won’t.” Iyna followed along.

She was not expecting C’oretta to lead her into a sanitarium. The man at the desk welcomed C’oretta warmly, waving off her apologies. “It’s a good day, I hear. She’ll be happy to see you, and meet your friend.” He turned a careful smile to Iyna. “But don’t be surprised if you’re forgotten by the end of the visit, or unrecognized next time you accompany Miss C’oretta.”

Iyna only nodded, as her friend still hadn’t explained what this was about.

It became clear once they went upstairs and into a room, filled with carefully-selected personal belongings that did not hide its hospital functions. A Miqo’te woman sat inside; only just started to reach what one might call middle-aged in the shorter-lived races. She had red, gray-streaked hair, big green eyes, fair skin, and was about as petite as C’oretta, several facial features the same between them.

She looked up from her writing or drawing by the window and beamed as she saw her guests. “Oretta! Oh, and a friend, how exciting, hello!”

C’oretta plastered on a fake smile as she bound across the room with a facsimile of her usual energy. “Hello Mama! Yes this is my friend Iyna we work together and came to check on you I’m so sorry it’s been so long since I stopped by.”

“It’s fine, darling, your schooling is important, but the sun will set soon, and Papa will be home and we can watch the fireworks together with your friend. Won’t that be lovely?”

C’oretta managed not to flinch, but her smile wavered. “That’ll be wonderful Mama.”

Iyna bit her lip, staying quiet as C’oretta visited with her mother, understanding now why the girl kept this to herself.

She couldn’t decide if her own orphaned situation was in the end preferable after all.

[thefreelanceangel]

(from sealrock) List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers (ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡

Ooo, I get to do this again? Fab.

Laughter. My entire life has basically been a Sequence of Hilarious Mishaps, and when you are comic relief, you gain a deep appreciation for laughter. I love to laugh, and I love that my house has someone laughing at any hour of the day. We're silly here, we nurture whimsy, and laughing with someone over something genuinely funny (not nasty jokes or mean pranks) is a lovely bonding experience.

TANITH LEE. My Goddess of Prose. I have two shelves dedicated only to her books and I still want more. I cried when she died, I remember her every year, and I recommend her books to everyone, all the time. There is no other author who means as much to me.

Stephen King. I just trust this guy to tell me an entertaining story, you know? I think I probably reread King more than any other author because his prose is clear, simple, and easy to read, his characters feel like people and I feel like he's gotten better with every year. I've got two shelves of his books, too, and I'm collecting more. (I think I've read probably 60 of his books.)

Decorating! I've gone hardcore on the nesting in the past couple of years and really leaned into it this year. I like perusing shops for interesting things that might add a little more personality into the apartment, finding ways to personalize the place without painting the walls (damn renting restrictions) and just... creating an environment that feels like HOME.

FFXIV. No, seriously. This game came into my life, hit me upside the head with a bat, and left me reeling. The themes, the visuals, the story, the gameplay... This is the first MMO where I've done more content than RP and where I've found myself genuinely wanting to do hard end-level content just for the experience. (And yes, GPose... I pay SE my monthly fee just for a glorified photo studio. I'm not sorry.)

[elliewiltarwyn]

FFXIV Write 2023 | Prompt #6: Ring

not about engagement!

6. Ring (661 words)

Lily turns it over and over in her hand, rolling it between her fingers like she’s seen Thancred occasionally do with his knives. The linkpearl is much easier to trick with and much less likely to slice her open, though.

She studies it carefully, gently, repeatedly tapping her finger against its side, careful not to press any of the buttons. It would be so simple to tap in the right sequence; they’re burned into her muscle memory by now, and she’d just have to slot the linkpearl against her ear, and then… It certainly would be easier than the struggle to defeat a manifestation of deepest nihilism and despair at the edge of the universe.

…Nope, she’s still more scared of this. It’d be hilarious if it wasn’t so pathetic. Hadn’t she already promised herself she wouldn’t falter on this sort of thing anymore, too? That she wouldn’t hold back on letting the people she loved know how much she cared for them?

…Well, the first person I did that for not actually reciprocating how I felt did kind of put a damper on that. She groans and drops her head back on her pillow, letting the linkpearl fall from her fingers and bounce off her cheek, thumping on the mattress next to her. The stunned expression on Yugiri’s face, in the immediate moments after Lily had confessed her feelings for her, is an image that is going to haunt her for a long time—it already has for moons, really. She’s surprised she had been able to hold herself together enough to focus on the war with the Telophoroi… or the crisis in Garlemald, and the revival of Zodiark… or the Final Days. Truthfully, at this juncture, she’s just so incredibly grateful the empty feeling in her heart hadn’t driven her to the absolute depths…to become a blasphemy. She shudders at the thought.

…We risked so much, came dangerously close to oblivion. She herself had entered oblivion, briefly; she has very vague memories of the moment when she, along with the other Scions, gave herself up to the dynamis in Ultima Thule, so that her best friend in the whole universe could walk unto the end. But she knows it was a sensation she never wants to feel again.

And that this emptiness in her heart is disturbingly close to it.

They’re safe now; the song of despair is over. They’re all free to live how they want now.

So, she thinks to herself, what do you want for yourself in the aftermath of the Final Days, when we finally have the leeway to be who we are; when oblivion is finally in the rear view, and you and everyone you love are triumphantly forging ahead to a peaceful tomorrow…

Lily sighs, curls her fingers around the linkpearl. Takes a deep breath. Lifts it, slots it against her outer ear. Even if this goes wrong, she thinks determinedly, ‘tis better than oblivion. And she punches in the sequence of buttons, and she waits.

The linkpearl rings once. Rings twice. Rings three times.

She lets go of the breath, which she hadn’t realized she had been holding, when a flurry of noise comes from the other side… and then the deep alto she’s been yearning to hear once more, ever since they went their separate ways from the Mor Dhona aetheryte. The voice of her best friend in the whole world. “Hello?”

Lily smiles, and a tear rolls down the side of her head. “H-hi, Ellie. It’s Lily.”

“I—oh! Lily, oh, gods, hi! I—wow, that’s crazy—I was literally just thinking about you.”

Her heart flutters like a butterfly. “What? Really?”

“Swear to the Twelve. It’s just…been a while. I miss you.”

Lily chokes back a happy sob at the words, her heart warming her from the inside out, and she lets the positivity and her hopes bubble to the surface. “...I miss you too, Ellie. Do you…do you wanna get some coffee?”

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

I’m still in the mood for word violence, so you know what?  Nobody asked, but he’s been in my brain, so why the fuck not.

Zenos bingo

*inhale*

Alright.  Fun fact about me.  During Stormblood, I was a low-key Zenos fan.  By the end, not so much.  I know SE said they basically plan out the story cycle but this man got presented with so much fucking potential and GOT DONE DIRTY. I am of the firm fucking belief Yoshi-P went to Ishikawa-san and dropped this man on her desk and went ‘rehabilitate him’.  Ishikawa-san looked at Zenos, looked at Yoshi-P, and went ‘I can’t rehabilitate him, but I can at least make him viable.’, and Yoshi-P said ‘Do it.’

So much potential!  This man shows up in Rhalgr’s Reach and BEATS EVERYONE! INCLUDING US, THE WARRIOR OF LIGHT!  We’re fresh off ensuring Gaius (presumably) has a nice dirt nap, ending the Dragonsong War, kicking Nidhogg’s ass, killing Asicans, annihilating primals, we’re the beloved hero of Eorzea, and look at what happens?!  The severe psychological implications ALONE are most delicious fanfiction fodder!  The political implications even more!  This man was touted to be a fucking tactical genius, subjugated Doma, was up to his neck in unethical and fucked up experimentation, KICKS OUR ASS AGAIN A SECOND TIME, pretty much enables Fordola and had he been allowed to continue doing so we probably would have been given the most hyper-violent couple in FFXIV and the mayhem would have been glorious!

INSTEAD HE BASICALLY SITS ABOUT IN THE BACKGROUND FOR ALMOST THE ENTIRE DAMN GAME LIKE A FUCKING BOND VILLAIN (Bloefield to be more specific do not @ me I grew up watching James Bond I’ve seen every one with the exception of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service and I know the gist of that one).  ALL HE NEEDED WAS A FUCKING CAT TO GO WITH THE SAMUARI SWORD GOLFBAG.

‘do you expect me to talk?!  no, warrior of light, I expect you to die!’

*sigh*

I was disappointed.  And it’s not just Zenos, it’s the entire Galvus family.  I was personally looking forward to quite a bit of content (in game!) regarding them.  Hell I wanted to personally beat the shit out of Varis! While he was still living!  I wanted to kill the man personally but I had to settle for Cid’s crazed mind palace while unlocking Bozja!

And like so many characters in Stormblood, Zenos would have come off a lot better if they’d just released the background information IN THE GAME instead of well after the fact OUTSIDE it. 

I admit my interest was stoked when it was revealed he could possess primals.  (to the tune of Hear, Feel, Think... What. The. Fuck.), but then he just came off all creepy stalker and the moment was lost. 

The body jumping...that was a surprise.  Legit.  And then once again he just decided to lurk in the background (which to be fair, he couldn’t really do anything else) during Shadowbringers.  Elidibus is running around in his body, he’s outside of Illsabard, so he’s gotta hoof it the old fashioned way.  I would have loved to have read something on that. 

My interest got stoked again inbetween ShB and EW, but from a historical standpoint.  ROME IS BURNING AND NERO FIDDLED AWAY WHILE IT DID (side note: Nero actually didn’t fiddle while Rome burned, he rolled up his sleeves and actually helped with the firefighting).  Zenos came back, he reclaimed his body--but surprise, he’s got jack shit interest in the throne or in ruling!  He just wants another throwdown with us!

(Enter Fandaniel.  I agree with @autumnslance​‘s take on him, he and Zenos worked well together.)  It’s also at this point where okay, if Zenos is going to be the creepy stalker of the WoL, let him be the creepy stalker.  It’s nice, simple and clean.  Fandaniel’s surely the bigger problem.  Right?  Right?  RIGHT?!

(may I present in exhibit A:)

IN

FROM

THE

FUCKING

COLD

FINALLY THEY LET THIS MAN SHINE.

I screamed.  I was hollering.  I was begging ‘PLEASE DON’T HURT ANYONE PLEASE DON’T HURT ANYONE PLEASE DON’T HURT ANYONE OMGOMGOMGOMG’  And finally, I could put a lock on his character.  One and half expansions later, I finally had something that put Zenos squarely in my villain list and invest me

And on that bombshell.

Side note:  To the Zenos fans. Um...are ya’ll okay?  Need anything?  This is fandom we live and let live and don’t judge, do what brings joy but...I’ve seen some things, and just...um...

You know what? NVM. 

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #25: Silver Lining

Silver Lining – an advantage that comes from a difficult or unpleasant situation

The date had snuck up on him.

Dahkar rolled out of bed feeling grumpy and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. He had no plans for the day, no diplomatic engagements that he would have to suffer through, no foes to deal with, no responsibilities he found boring. The day was his to do with as he pleased.

So why did the prospect of leaving his room seem so daunting, so pointless?

Something tugged at his mind, a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something. He looked over to the calendar on his wall, a simple one that Tataru insisted all of their rooms in the Rising Stones have.

Oh.

Oh.

It was the anniversary….of the day the man he loved died.

Shite.

He’d forgotten. With everything that had been going on, he’d somehow let himself forget that the worst day of his life was approaching.

He’d forgotten him.

No you haven’t

He groaned and flopped back first onto his bed. I’m really not in the mood for this, Fray.

Too bad. Whether you like it or not, I am a part of you, here when you need me. Right now, you need me.

He rubbed his temples. Can you not just let me be sad and lonely in peace?

Not if you are going to lie to yourself, no.

I’m not lying to myself. I haven’t thought about him in moons what with everything going on. I’ve forgotten him. I almost forgot the anniversary of the day he died. I claim to have loved him, and this is how I’m honoring his memory. I deserve this misery and you damn well know it

Are you done?

Oh will you just fuck off. You told me you didn’t think we’d ever talk like this again and here you are. lying to me.

I told you I didn’t know. I didn’t. I certainly didn’t think you’d tell lies to yourself thinking you needed to be miserable. As if that’s what he would want. As if ‘not thinking about someone constantly’ is the same as forgetting them. What a lode of shite, really. I thought we were smarter than this. Clearly you still need me.

Dahkar scoffed What the hells do you know about what he would have wanted?

Do you really need me to answer that? Or should I say ‘need us’?

Dahkar screamed in frustration, covering his face with his hands to muffle the sound.

Feel better?

No, but since you seem to have all of the answers, what do you suggest I do?

You’re being petulant, and you know it. My suggestions are still you knowing exactly what to do. But if hearing me say it will help you realize it, then fine. Get up, get dressed, go to his grave, leave some of those lilies, and tell him how much we love him and miss him. And then move forward. We both know he’d be quite cross with the idea of you holding yourself back from real happiness because of what happened to him. So accept it and let yourself love again already.

He sighed. For being my inner darkness, you’re weirdly romantic.

Do I need to drag us back to the Sea of Clouds so you can hear the moogle’s song again, or are you going to accept that because I remember it, you certainly do?

No, Gods no. Fine I’m going. And I’ll….think about the rest

That’s what you’ve already been doing.

Shut it.

A few hours later, Dahkar knelt at Haurchefant’s grave. While he still carried Nothung on his back, he’d eschewed the dark plate armor he normally wore as a Dark Knight, instead donning the mail of a House Fortemps Knight that he’d worn the Grand Melee with the Eorzean Alliance. It felt like a fitting tribute to the man he was here to speak to, even if it was so light he almost felt naked.

“Hey, Haurche. If you’re watching,I reckon you’re probably yelling at me. I’m sorry for letting myself be miserable with sadness. I know you don’t want me to do that. You’d probably tell me something like ‘You have so much love to give, let yourself do so!’. And you’re right. So I’m gonna try my best. There’s actually this girl in the Scions, she-“

The loud CRACK of a flintlock discharging interrupted his words and his side exploded in pain. He screamed and went down.

“Well well well, boys. Look what we got here. Another bleedin’ heretic comin’ to pay respects to his heretic kin.”

The voice was young, male, angry, but strangely somewhat refined. He rolled over to look at his attackers, trying not to cry out at the pain the act caused him. A group of elezen youths, four boys and a single girl, all well dressed too. The leader held a flintlocke, still smoking, pointed at him. “What…” he coughed. “What the hells are you doing? This is no heretic’s grave!”

“Oh it isn’t? Oh, well my mistake then. I thought this was the grave of that bastard Haurchefant Greystone, who brought outsiders into Ishgard that up and utterly destroyed the very foundations our great nation was built on! Now we have another bastard as our leader who let fucking dragons into the city and let the fucking commoners have a voice equal with their betters!” the leader spat, lowering his gun. His cohorts nodded or shouted agreements,

“Ah, I see.” Dahkar spat blood onto the snow, trying to get to his knees so he could at least defend himself. The shot was well placed, though, and he was struggling to overcome the pain of it. “And what might you plan to do if it was?”

“Well first, we’re gonna gut you and spill your blood over this place. Then we’re gonna dig that bastard up, shatter whatever bones he’ s got left in there and spread em around so the beasts can have em, and whatever’s left of you. Then we’ll shatter that stone and toss it in Witchdrop where it belongs. How’s that sound to you, heretic? Don’t answer, we don’t care.”

The group all drew a series of blades, knives and daggers, and slowly advanced on him. Dahkar tried in vain to get to his feet, or at least his knees, any position where he could try to draw his sword and defend himself, but the strain was getting to be too much, and he nearly blacked out. A splitting headache overtook him as he tried to block out the noise in his mind.

Noise that he belatedly realized was a booming voice

GIVE ME CONTROL. LET ME IN, DAHKAR. I CAN END THIS, GIVE ME CONTROL

“WILL YOU SHUT UP, FRAY?” he screamed. He seized the darkness within himself and pushed it out, as if trying to excise the voice from his head.

Miraculously, it worked. The yelling stopped. He sensed a growing pool of darkness nearby. Opening his eyes, he looked over. A pool of dark aether had gathered next to him. From it rose a shadowy form of a hyur, glad in black and blue, gold-trimmed armor. On his back was a Deathbringer made of darkness. The Shadow looked to him with glowing red eyes

“Neat trick” it said in his own voice.

The youths had began to back away, screaming threats or oaths. He used that time to reach into the Armory and summoned his plate armor. With a flash of light, it appeared on him, the damaged mail gone. The cuirass clamped down on the would, reducing the blood loss.

The shadow offered him a hand, and he took it, getting back to his feet and drawing Nothung.

“Don’t kill them.” he said to it.

“Mercy? They’d have shown you none.”

“They’re angry and stupid. Everyone should get one chance to move beyond that”

The shadow, Fray, laughed. Or Dahkar did. It was impossible to tell, and in the end it didn’t matter.

Both lept at the elezen youths, who screamed in terror.

[crystalsexarch]

Twenty-three: Soul - E

“Too early to talk, hm?”

"Not too early to get you up, though.”

“I understand you do not mean to suggest I get out of bed.”

-

Ambiguous WoL/G'raha. Post 5.3 on a lazy morning, the Warrior of Light [REDACTED]s G'raha's [REDACTED].

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2021 FFXIV Writing Challenge

Not all sex has to feel like the end of the world. Sometimes it feels like tuning a harp or drawing a flower in the sand. It can feel simple like setting a table, natural as skipping a rock, standing barefoot by the creek—easy little things you might or might not do every day. The beauty is there’s no pressure, and it really doesn’t matter whether you do it or not. Life goes on. Love gets made today or tomorrow in any way at all.

You are old enough to know now that an orgasm shouldn’t change the course of history. You’ve had your share of that. Now in G’raha, you have found a present worth settling down in.

G’raha teaches you so much about patience, patience and hands. Until the last moment his are always light on your body, and that lightness weighs heavy. You’ve come to believe in less is more. He bruises on special occasions, bites once in a blue moon. It feels better to want when you know you won’t want all for nothing. His presence is a promise fulfilled, a wish realized, a dream dragged into reality. He’s here on the Source, outside the Tower, flesh and blood and bone, before your very eyes, against your very lips. G’raha Tia! Raha! Sometimes, you could shout it to all of Mor Dhona.

Or you could whisper it. And you do. At his neck with a hand down his smalls. Middle of a lazy morning, end of a wet dream. He’s hard. He’s smiling. He’s calling out to you, kissing like he doesn’t see how well you want to eat him alive, how keen you are on sucking until you taste the sweetness of his soul at the head of his cock.

“Well, good morning,” he says, stretching his legs. Already an arm finds its way around your shoulders. Another thing like so many that fall into place when he’s around. “Sleep well?”

You grunt and tug him from the base, rubbing an indignant expression upon his bare chest. He smells sunny and delicious, like browned butter just pulled from the stovetop.

“Too early to talk, hm?” he says.

You snicker. “Not too early to get you up, though.”

“I understand you do not mean to suggest I get out of bed.”

“If you do, I’ll come with you.” You work your way up into a straddle bit by bit, lumbering left and right like the pull of sleep is struggling to tug you back into the covers. Ultimately, you prevail and set your hands on G’raha’s belly. On his chest, right at his sternum is a pink half-scar. You both agree it almost resembles a bullet wound, though this body has never known such an injury. Either way, that’s the spot you kiss before slinking down his legs and taking the covers with you. When you settle at his knees, he’s fully exposed to the elements—or he would be, if he’d pull down his smalls. The shape of his stiff cock beneath the fabric warms you from the inside out. You want it so badly that you laugh.

He laughs, too. “Hm? What.” His dick tenses, bobs. Surely his doing. “Is something funny?” Another twitch, perfectly timed. It’d be hilarious if you weren’t so horny.

“I’m going to put it in my mouth.”

“In your mouth! My…” He lifts his head to look, as though he isn’t sure what exactly you’ve roused between his legs. “That doesn’t sound so bad, actually. I’ll allow it.”

“Good.” In days past, you might’ve sassed him. But you’re just happy, so fucking happy. You’ll take it however he gives it to you. He’ll give it a thousand ways before you get bored.

Moments later, your lips close around his clothed cock with a low moan. In the haze of your early lust, you want him leaking through the fabric before you set him free. You greet his tip with your tongue, and he curls his fingers in your hair—doesn’t even touch your head proper—just hovers his hand close, fraying a single strand between his thumb and index.

“Pretty,” he says. “Your eyelashes.”

You flutter them closed. His smalls are soon slick with your spit. You can feel him tensing his thighs every time you lap down the whole length. You know he wants more, but he also likes wanting. What’s the rush?

“Have you been up long?” He lets go of your hair, goes for your neck instead. Feather-touch, nearly a tickle. He keeps his nails short.

You slowly shake your head, your mouth locked upon his cock. Those lips of yours have made many lovers lose their patience.

G’raha’s breaths are loud and long, getting shorter by the moment. “I suppose there’s not much to do today...something with the…” He clears his throat. “Rowena was asking…”

“Mm.” You turn your head sideways and run your lips along his length that way, adjusting the pressure with your jaw. He shudders beneath your ministrations, and it isn’t long before he hitches a thumb in the band of his smalls. A subtle hint, but a certain one.

Who are you to deny him? You suck a little more then let off to tug down the fabric to his knees. He pulls one leg up and out entirely, giving him opportunity to spread a bit more.

The thing that springs free is wet and warm, full and swollen. “Pretty,” you say, staring directly at the bulb of precum on his slit. “Your eyelashes, I mean.”

“Ah-hah…” He blushes and swallows. “Thank you, Warrior.”

“Of course.” You return a smile, this time looking him in the eye. A quick shimmy and you’re once again taking him to the root. The bare taste of his skin makes you want to go faster, taste harder. All of your senses are intoxicated by his raw body, the musk, the moans, the shape of his dick, the way it fits against the roof of your mouth, the way he rubs behind your ear. You could suck his cock all day and have a good time, even if he kept all of his cum to himself.

But he won’t. You know him well enough to recognize the sound of pressure building. That he’s gone quiet is a sure enough sign. He starts holding his breath, shifting his thigh, gripping the mattress. With one free hand, you form a ring at the base of his cock and rub what you can’t always fit in your mouth. Faster, faster, faster, your ears train on the slickness. Your mouth leaks moans of its own.

You really love this man.

You love his dick, too. He’s near coming after you start thumbing at his balls, carefully rubbing down the middle and pressuring his taint with the rest of your fingers. He hikes one leg up and twists you half-sideways, so he can slot himself in and out of your mouth at his own pace. That’s where his touch grows harder, right at the precipice, right at rapture, when he hopes to give you every onze of seed he can offer. You picture each burst at the back of your throat, a mess of sticky white coating your tongue.

He calls your name then gives you something bitter to drink.

Your heart flutters. You swallow.

And swallow again.

He rolls back to his back and wipes his forehead. You move with him, mouth holding his tender cock until he stops adjusting. Before you lean away, you kiss his tip, which twitches. He flinches and laughs. You laugh, too.

“What a treat,” he says.

“I should say the same.”

“Hm…” A happy, thoughtful sound. He grazes your thigh with his fingers, grazes then squeezes. You can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. He can feel your affection at the bridge of his nose, where you’ve set your gaze. “An auspicious start to the day.”

“It always is.” You put your hand over his. “Do you feel like nodding off again, now?”

He fakes a yawn. “I wouldn’t mind resting for a moment more, now that I’ve exerted myself.”

You remove yourself from his legs and crawl back into the covers. Things fall into place, arms, legs, expressions. The pace of his heartbeat. His capacity for patience. Maybe even yours. You trace him from bellybutton to collarbone. “I’ll allow it.”

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Synthesis of Aether

#FebHyurary Day 17: Food + Day 18: Music

A/N: So I had too many ideas for yesterday, but knew for today touching on Synnove’s aether synesthesia would work well, and then I said, “DT YOU FOOL YOU CAN COMBINE BOTH DAYS FOR HER AETHER SYNESTHESIA.” And lo: a fic! Mostly dialogue, I haven’t done a dialogue heavy ficlet in a loooong time so I feel a bit rusty, but this was a fun exercise!

RATING: T WORD COUNT: 1455 WARNINGS: None!

---

[Installing SCAEVAN SYSTEMICS operating software.]

[Installation successful, running update cycle.]

[Updates complete. Archive Node Unit 453 now online. Please specify primary user.]

“Synnove Greywolfe.”

[USER: SYNNOVE now registered. How may I assist you today?]

“Please stand by for audio recording.”

[Standing by.]

The node’s lights dimmed from bright grass green to soft seafoam as it partially powered down, its northern and southern hemispheres slowly rotating in opposite directions.

Synnove lowered her hand and glanced over at Rereha. “All right, you can babble now,” the Highlander said.

Rere took her hands off her mouth to tug at her braided pigtails and beamed at her. “Whatcha doing?” she said, in the sing-song tone of someone feeling exceptionally nosy, rocking back on her heels.

Synnove rolled her eyes and set her hands on her hips. “Y’shtola’s working on a compilation of aetheric synesthesic perceptions as a downtime project,” she said. “She asked me if I was willing to contribute, to which I obviously said ‘yes.’ But because I’m not often able to spend much time in Revenant’s Toll that doesn’t devolve into Warrior of Light or Ironworks business—”

“—audio recordings you can send or give her are more convenient.”

“Careful, Rere, or other people will begin realizing you’re smarter than you pretend to be.”

The lalafell gasped. “Madam, you wound me!”

She received a satisfied smirk in reply as Synnove added, “And what better way to create an audio recording than with my new archive node?”

Rere pulled herself up onto Synnove’s desk, sitting on the edge and kicking her feet back and forth as she leaned back to rest on her hands. “Did you liberate it from the Ironworks?”

“I purchased this fair and square, I have a bill of sale from Jessie herself.”

“Nero’s OS?”

“The fact you know that term is vaguely frightening, but the man does have an unparalleled understanding of Allagan technology and if you tell him I said that, I will hang you by your toes from the edge of the Steps of Faith.”

Rere mimed locking her lips.

“Hand me that stack of paper, please.” Synnove pointed to Rere’s right. The lalafell snagged it and dutifully handed it over.

The arcanist shuffled through them, humming tunelessly as she did, before she came across the correct page. “All right,” she said, mostly to herself. “Start with Y’shtola’s list of baseline sensations today and go from there.” Louder now: “Begin recording.”

[Audio recording now live.]

Synnove automatically straightened her spine and rolled down her shoulders in the same way she did before she began a lecture for the fourth-year arcanist students. In a clear, strong voice: “Synnove Greywolfe recording for Y’shtola Rhul on the 18th day of the Second Umbral Moon, 11 Year of the Seventh Astral Era, on the subject of synesthetic perceptions of aether. I personally perceive aether, in addition to visual manifestations, as both taste and sound. Occasionally, one sensation will dominate the other, and certain sounds and tastes aren’t exclusive to one elemental type.

“For this recording, I’ll describe the overall generalities I associate with different elemental aether; variance is high depending on factors such as location or origin, in terms of ambient or crystallized aether, or in the case of spells, if they are being performed correctly or are altered in some capacity.”

“How to spot the catastrophic boom just before the boom becomes catastrophic and it’s too late to do anything about it.”

Synnove sighed. Rere giggled.

“Y’sthola, remind me to recalculate the angle needed to ensure Rere lands in Silvertear if thrown from the highest tower in the Toll.”

“Hey!”

“You’d be fine, Hydaelyn likes you best.”

Rere pouted, lower lip pushed out to the point of exaggeration, which meant she wasn’t actually offended.

“To get back on topic: fire. Fire aether most frequently tastes like hot spices, such as peppers; coffee; red meat, such as buffalo; bitter chocolate; cherries; wine. Sound tends to be uniformly brass instruments such as horns and trumpets; very occasionally it can sound like metal striking metal.

“Earth aether is auditorily simple and gustatorily complex. The sound of earth is always rhythmic and steady, if not outright drumming; the sensation of it echoing follows fairly often, too. Taste runs a huge gamut: savory or sweet seasonings, such as cumin or cinnamon; white meat, such as pork; most vegetables, particularly green or starchy vegetables; certain fruits such as apples and figs; bread; cheeses; stews; whiskeys.”

“I’d call most of those foods ‘homey.’”

Synnove frowned thoughtfully. “That’s a fair assessment,” she said after a moment. “Earth aether tends to ‘taste’ comforting.”

“Does that mean Tyr is the ultimate comfort food?”

“Does that mean you want to go flying out of my office window into the harbor?”

“I’m going to shut up now!”

“See how long that lasts,” Synnove said under her breath while her sister smiled beatifically. “Where was I… Ah, wind.”

The Highlander frowned. “Wind aether is another oddity, taste-wise. Mint tends to present quite frequently, along with sweet chocolate, white grapes, vanilla, white wine, arak, olives, and scallions. Thankfully when it seems to be a combination of flavors, it’s complimentary…” She shook her head. “Sound is similar to flutes, chimes, whistles. Bit stereotypical, honestly.

“Lightning…” Synnove paused, frowning again. “Sound tends to be similar to specific string instruments such as violas and cellos; deeper sounds. Low notes on a piano or harpsichord, sometimes simple humming or vibrations. Taste does not tend to be strong, but most frequently has manifested as berries and/or stonefruits. Alcohols such as gin, palm wine, ouzo, and brandy.”

“That is not the element I’d consider boozy,” Rere said idly. She had lain back on the desk and was staring up at the huge arched ceiling of the tower office, twiddling her thumbs.

Synnove shrugged without further comment, already looking at the next item on the list Krile had transcribed on Y’shtola’s behalf. “Water is what one would think would be boozy but I have legitimately never tasted ‘boozy’ water aether before. Tropical fruits dominate; in terms of savory, as horrifically stereotypical as it is, seafood. But almost never in a way that makes sense, I once found a water cluster in a bluefin tuna’s belly that tasted like Coerthan oyster confit.”

“I remember that, you made the weirdest face.”

“I still can’t find the words to describe just how fucked up that taste versus visual dichotomy was. In any event, water aether also sounds like string instruments, mostly harps, dulcimers, and brighter pianos. Also, a very specific drum… Rere, what’s that staccato-sounding drum the Flames have been using in their parades of late?”

The lalafell picked her head up. “Snare drum?”

“That’s the one. Timpanis on occasion, too. And finally…ice. Sound leans towards woodwind instruments like the clarinet and piccolo, as well as bells. Any bell. Taste…hmm. Slaw, fruits that freezes well, fruit juices, Thavnairian sweet tea—”

“That is not tea, that is an abomination.”

“—some melons, cucumbers, white rum, wintergreen.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never come across ice aether that tastes like the Bismarck’s root beer float.”

“They introduced it to the menu last year.”

“So?”

Synnove sighed that heavy, gusting sigh everyone who spent longer than thirty minutes with Rereha learned. “Y’shtola, I see a note here about Primordial Light and Dark, but I’ll do that in the next recording along with variations and discrepancies, as first, I need to beat my sister over the head with a grimoire—”

Rereha hopped down from the desk and ran for the office door, shouting BYE Y’SHTOLA I LOVE YOU BEST over her shoulder as she did.

“—and second, I’m hungry and now is a good time to break for lunch. Recording end.”

[End of recording. Is there anything else on which I may provide assistance?]

“No, that will be all for now—ah! Before I forget. Please create new nodal designation of own choice.”

[Clarification requested.]

“Pick a name for yourself.”

[…]

[Accessing imperial Allagan databases for repository of birth certificates. Scanning records.]

[Archive Node Unit 453 rename complete. Archive Node Unit 453 is now Kleio.]

Synnove smiled, pleased. “It’s nice to meet you, Kleio.”

[…Thank you. Database scans are currently inconclusive as relates to instruments in modern usage versus those of Allag. What samples are available to provide edification?]

The Highlander cocked her head, staring at the silver-and-green node for a few long moments, before another smile, this one slow and delighted, crossed her features. “I have a few orchestrion rolls that include solos and chamber music that you could listen to while I have lunch, and I can provide lists of which instruments are used in each piece.”

[That would be satisfactory.]

“Perfect! Let’s get you set up…”

[kunstpause-archive]

FFXIV Write Prompt #29 - Paternal

“Why the long face? One might think you’d be down there with the rest of your ilk, celebrating.”

Emet-Selch’s voice ripped Cassia out of her melancholy. She was sitting on one of the higher-up walkways, leaning over the lower railing, legs swinging slowly back and forth as she watched the celebration down in the Wandering Stairs below.

“I’m not in a partying mood,” she replied softly. She expected one of two outcomes. Either he would ridicule her need to separate herself from her friends, or he would scoff at her, complaining how boring she was before leaving in an overly dramatic fashion.

She should have known better than to think that someone like him could be that easily predicted. Throwing her for a loop, Emet-Selch stepped closer before unceremoniously sitting down next to her.

“How come?” he asked simply, and for a brief moment, Cassia was at a loss for words.

She thought to tell a lie at first. There was nothing good that could come out of this if she told him something real after all. But the noises of the celebration below and their contrast to the strange quietness up on the walkways set a peculiarly calm mood around them.

“I miss home,” she said quietly.

His voice sounded skeptical. “You miss home?”

“I know, it’s a very quaint thing, being home-sick and all, but…” Cassia let out a sigh. “I haven’t seen my daughter in months.” She got regular updates and messages from home, even managed to speak to Bethany through Feo Ul’s help every now and then, but nonetheless, the ongoing separation was beginning to take its toll on her.

“Ah…” Emet-Selch said, his voice sounding much more understanding all of a sudden, and Cassia found her curiosity piqued.

“You’ve had children, over the years, right?” she asked, fully prepared for a scathing remark about how she should learn to mind her own business, but for the second time this evening, he surprised her.

“I did,” he said simply, his voice sounding strangely hollow. “Many times, actually.”

Cassia couldn’t help her curiosity. “With…?”

“Yes, with perfectly regular people such as yourself,” he answered her unfinished question before giving her an unreadable look. “Well, not exactly like you, I guess, but close enough.”

“Do you ever miss them?” The question left her before she could think about how wise it was to ask. Next to her, Emet-Selch scoffed lightly.

“My dear, what about your own experiences with my great-grandson gave you the idea that those were in any way positive experiences?” He sounded as condescending as usual, but something on his face felt slightly off, and Cassia couldn’t stop herself from prodding.

“So you never got attached at all?” She asked. “Not even once?”

He looked like he was about to give her another casual answer when his eyes suddenly locked with hers, and something shifted.

“Once,” Emet-Selch said quietly before looking away again, his eyes starting to follow the people dancing below instead. Cassia simply continued to watch him in silence, not knowing what to say. She hadn’t expected such simple, forthcoming answers from him, and it left her with more confusion than understanding somehow. Even greater was her surprise when he started talking again.

“I had a son once,” Emet-Selch said quietly. “He was… everything.” His words were surprisingly few, almost raw in their simplicity, as they stirred the feeling in Cassia that she was seeing something she wasn't supposed to. Something he kept carefully hidden at any other time.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

“What always happens to you mortal, incomplete races,” he said, but his harsh words lacked the usual disdain behind them. Instead, they sounded almost regretful. “He died. Thousands of years of knowledge and nearly unlimited magic at my disposal, and my own son dies of a mere children’s disease…”

As his voice trailed off, sounding terribly empty to Cassia’s ears, Emet-Selch shook his head. “Just as well,” he muttered. “It’s not like any of these broken shards are providing a life worth living.”

Cassia felt like the words should sting her more, but they sounded so empty, so devoid of any intent she could barely register them. It wasn’t like she had never thought something in that direction before.

“Sometimes I wonder if I made a terrible mistake by having a child when I did,” she confessed, looking straight ahead, focusing on nothing in particular as the horrible-sounding words left her mouth. “Not because I don’t love my daughter dearly,” she added immediately. “She is the most important part of my life, and I would give anything for her. Which is why sometimes I can’t help but wonder if I’ve condemned her to something awful.”

“I was under the impression you do not share my view of the state of your world at all,” Emet-Selch said with a curious look on his face. “But you sound remarkably like it right now.”

Cassia turned to look at him. “I don’t share your views, not even a little bit,” she said calmly, trying to explain herself better. “But I had a child during the heights of a war that cost her her father, and ever since then, I’ve been unable to provide her with a stable home and a guarantee that I will be there when she needs me.” Her voice was filled with sorrow at the thought of just how many times she had left Bethany behind somewhere. For her daughter’s own good, each and every time, but it didn’t make any of it weigh less on her. “She only has one parent, and that parent has to leave all the time to go and save the world over and over again. I do it for her, but…” But in the end, Cassia knew she wasn’t there when it counted.

Emet-Selch’s eyes hadn’t left hers, looking at her with a strange intensity before he softly shook his head. “You are going out to save millions of lives, and it somehow makes you feel like a bad parent?” he asked, and the incredulous way his voice shifted sent a small chuckle through Cassia.

“If you put it this way, it sounds kind of ridiculous…”

“It’s not ridiculous,” he said, and the solemn look on his face looked decidedly different from his usual, mocking smirk. “To wonder, I mean.”

Cassia let out a small sigh as she nodded. “I guess not.” There was a strange sense of understanding between them as they kept looking at each other before Emet-Selch suddenly leaned closer.

“A question, if I may ask?” He didn’t actually wait for her to give him a go-ahead before he continued, “Your daughter, Bethany, does she still smile at you each time you return?”

Cassia blinked for a moment before a smile settled onto her face. “Every time,” she answered softly.

There was a fragility behind the softness of his smile as he took a moment to look at her before he said, “You are doing just fine then.”

And somehow, despite all the odds, Cassia couldn’t help but believe him.

[mirroralchemist]

Untitled FFXIV Writings pt.7

Fandom: FFXIV Pairing: Haurchefant/WoL Word Count: 3684 Notes: So this is the completed version of my little snippet I did last post. Something feels off about it so I haven't uploaded it to AO3 but I wanted to get it out there since it's been on my docs for a while. So enjoy this raw writing.

    The loud warks and chirps sounded through the stables as I placed a hand on his beak. I tried to pet in a soothing manner, which only seemed to distress the creature further. 

“Come on Yusuke…” I muttered, “It’ll only be for a short while. I will not abandon you.” 

    He seemed unconvinced of my words and only flailed more at my attempts to calm him. I let out a small sigh at it all. It was quickly apparent that I would need means of flight to travel around. Which, to my unfortunate realization, my chocobo does not have the ability to. In turn it led to my decision to stable him in Ishgard for the time being. 

Yusuke, being by my side since he was first issued to me in Ul’dah, did not take well to said arrangement. 

His cries only seem to grow louder at my insistence. 

    My pets only seem to make the bird even more anxious. Admitting, my knowledge of Chocobos was lacking; only knowing the basics of how to care and train them. I was almost at a loss on how to soothe him. I really didn’t want to stable him either, if I was perfectly honest but the Black Chocobo given to me by Lord Haurchefant would be better suited for the journey ahead. At least for now. 

“Having some trouble dear friend?”

    I turned towards the sound to the very man himself, Lord Haurchefant. His face seemed relaxed as he made his way towards me. Belatedly, I realized that Yusuke stopped his flailing to stare right at the Elezen. I held on to his reigns a bit tighter, in case he was ready to attack. Lord Haurchefant didn’t look worried as he approached us. I couldn’t help the blush that started to appear on my face, remembering that this is the first time we’ve been alone since that night in Camp Dragonhead.

“Ah, a bit.” I admitted, “My partner is not agreeable to being stabled while I’m away. I wish I could take him with, but he cannot fly.”

    At the mention of the dilemma Yusuke started back his distressed cries. I frowned at the creature, while trying to pet him once more. Lord Haurchefant seemed amused by the scene, if the mirth expression on his face was an indicator. A gloved hand reached out and touched Yusuke where the cheek met the beak. Careful pats slowly reached up to his head. 

“There, there.” he cooed, “It’ll be alright boy.”

    The gentle pets across Yusuke’s yellow plumage with his soothing words quieted him down to gentle warks. Lord Haurchefant’s smile widely at his work. And me too. I stood in awe of the man. He had done something that I tried for minutes to do. 

“There, he should be more amenable now.” 

    The awe never left my face as Yusuke became more like his docile self. Lord Haurchefant turned to look at me, bemused by my open expression. His hand had touched my shoulder. 

“I can understand why he would be so anxious. The unknown feeling if the one you hold dear will return hale and whole? ‘Tis a sobering thought.”

    It’s sometimes easy to forget that he is a leader of an outpost. Maybe it is not new to not welcome those under his care. His hand soon moved from my shoulder to the small of my back, bringing me close to his person. My blush became more pronounced as we were just less than an ilm apart.

“Thank you for the black chocobo.” I spoke, “I am undeserving of your kindness thus far.” 

“Perish the thought. You are more than worthy of it and then some.”

    I looked up at him, only for him to meet my stare as well. Watching him, my heart tightened just a bit. 

“What ails you?” he asked.

    My eyes had widened before looking away. Now remembering in full what happened between us before I left for Ishgard proper, it tightened my chest a bit more. I was not ashamed of what happened. But it made situations awkward when I would see him.

“It is nothing.” I started to say.

I wasn’t sure if he believed it. 

    He was silent as his hand stroked along the shape of my spine, sending small shivers in response to his touches.

“Why?” I began to ask, “Why did you indulge me that night?”

“Because you are a cherished friend, Love.” he answered with no hesitation.

    He seemed so sure of himself as he answered. I was at a loss for words. A feeling settled into my chest. The same feeling as we talked that night. It wasn’t the unease of being around him, but rather unease that I could not identify this feeling. 

“Pray, forgive my forwardness but witnessing your feats to save my brother and then the trial by combat against two members of the Heavensward to clear your companions’ names has caused quite a stirring in my chest. If I may, may I kiss you?”

    For a long moment, I was silent. To let his request sink in. The blush became more pronounced as I soon realized what he had asked of me. Thinking on it, it was not that outlandish of a request. Quite tame considering what we had already done together. Slowly, I nodded. He beamed at my acceptance as he lowered himself to match my height.

And we just stared.

    Just looking at him made my heart stir. That feeling welled up just a bit more. He moved his head towards mines, closing the distance. So close, in fact, that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. In a flash our lips touched. Despite the chill of skin from the winter-like air, it was pleasant. 

It was a brief peck; as if he was testing my reaction. 

I found myself wanting more.

    Lord Haurchefant’s hand rose to touch my cheek, the chill from the leather clad hand causing a slight shiver to course throughout. His thumb idly stroked the length of skin. I leaned into his touch finding comfort in such a simple gesture.

“Haurchefant,” I spoke, “I would like that again.”

    His brows rose in surprise. From me asking for more or so readily dropping his title, I could not confirm. But he seemed satisfied all the same. He leaned in once more taking my lips into his, this time not separating so quickly. The air felt different, more charged. My mind raced as it came to realize what I was doing and I was content. His hand left my cheek to caress the back of my head; ministrations leaving my body in pleasurable tingles. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to just feel for the moment.

I couldn’t tell when it happened, but the kiss became deeper.

    My hands found a way through his hair, grasping at it as my body was pulled closer to his. I still wanted more. Soon wandering hands roamed down the back of my body, deliberately pausing to grope at certain parts. I would usually protest at such blatant actions, but I liked how it felt. A surprise mewl escaped my mouth as I felt myself suddenly lifted by my thighs, matching Haurchefant’s full height. Instinctively, I grabbed on by his neck to brace myself. He chuckled at my reactions.

“I confess, I had been wanting this for a time,” he said. 

    I could only nod. To hear him say such things was a touch embarrassing. I had never been the object of one’s feelings such as this. It was aweing to know it. Suddenly, I felt my back bump against one of the wooden beams. I was preoccupied in my own thoughts, I did not realize he had moved us for better leverage.

“It is hard to restrain myself when your reactions are so genuine Love.” 

    He soon returned to my cheek, peppering light kisses along my jawline. Each one brings a tickling warmth in my stomach. 

“Pray, forgive my lack of restraint.”

    I shook my head. I was in actuality quite content at the situation before me. I knew he would immediately stop if I showed discomfort, I felt safe around him. I wrapped my legs around his waist. Being so close, despite our layer of clothes, I felt the faint outline of his need. That in turn fed into my own needs. I held on to him tighter, slotting myself in the middle. A heavy silence settled as he began to sense my intent. His mouth gaped open in clear shock before I saw the tips of his ears tinged pink.

“Ami are you sure?”

“I am. Besides, you put me into this state.”

    He gave a light chuckle before pressing himself firmer into me. He made it known that the arousal was quite mutual.

A gentle wark brought us out of the moment.

    It had suddenly hit that we were being this intimate in a chocobo stable. My blush reached a new high as I loosened my hold on Haurchefant. He kissed at my temple before letting me down. I gave a wince at the crumpled state of my clothes.

“If you are still willing to continue, mayhap I recommend a place where we are not so easily disturbed?”

    He had asked this of me, still ever considerate. He still let me choose the pace of this course. I nodded. He returned it with a smile before grabbing my hand. There was a comfortable silence as we walked out of the stables and through the less populated streets of Foundation. My heart beat faster in excitement of what was to happen. Now that I could clearly identify my own needs, it didn’t feel as daunting to deal with.

I confess, running around discreetly as if I was a youth was a touch embarrassing. 

    Our steps slowed as we approached a small outpost. He had opened the door, it creaking as it swung away. The layout was fairly simplistic; a table, unlit lantern, and a cot adorned the inside. It looked to be able to house one occupant at any given time. 

“These small outposts are stationed throughout the city for our soldiers to rest through the more rigorous guard duty,” Haurchefant explained, “This particular one is seldom used nowadays so it should be suitable enough for our needs.”

    A part of me had wondered how he knew this information so readily. Regardless, I nodded as he closed the door and drew the lone shutters shut to grant us true privacy. As soon as he was satisfied with the surroundings, his lips descended upon mines once more. My hands found wanting to do something so they reached to his back to attempt to unlatch the metals of his armor. He laughed in the kiss as he took off his gloves; throwing them on the lone table. Bare hands soon went lower, reaching the hem of my top. Going underneath the garment he grasped at my bare skin. Those same bare hands crept upwards to cup at my chest.

I had gone without my support wraps this time, not expecting to be in battle this day. 

    He seemed surprised at my choice as well. Without the bandages, I could more distinctly feel the textures of his hands. They still held a slight chill at the fingertips and a roughness that years of fighting brings. They ghosted over the sensitive skin in a gentleness like he had over my bruises that night. I groaned at how much pleasure it brought me.

At last my hands found the fasteners that kept his armor together.

    We had only separated for him to place the armor away so it would not get damaged or we tripped over it. It was in those moments I got to look at him sans armor. I had truly appreciated his form. Even with the long sleeves of his undershirt, I saw the firmed muscles of his undershirt. Our eyes had met and he had smiled. It was always endearing to see him smile regardless of the situation. 

“Do let me know if I’m too hasty Love.” 

I nodded once more. 

    It was almost as if he had never parted in the first place. Being placed against the wall, I could take in his full presence.

“Come Love, I would take full responsibility for bringing you into such a state.”

    He lowered his head to capture my lips once more. Slowly he made his way down my neck, making sure to lavish what bare skin was there. I took deep breaths to calm my senses, fruitless as it was as it didn’t silence the mewls that escaped my throat. My body relaxed to become more pliant in his hands. His leg is situated in the gap between my legs effectively letting me sit on it. He touched my hips and looked at me, asking for permission in silence. I gave him a nod, punctuating it with a firm seating on his thigh. He hand kneaded at the muscles, a rush of familiarity coursing through me. I moved myself against his thigh, relishing the friction it brought. The familiar coil of heat tightened just like that night. I would glance at him, noticing that he stared at me. I almost slowed down at the movements before I felt a squeeze on my hips.

“No, don’t,” he said, “I am quite delighted to see you like this.” 

“To see me so debauched?” I asked between rocks.

“To see you become yourself.” he corrected.

    I stopped completely at my motions to fully stare at him. I started to say something, but stopped. He looked at me in concern.

“Speak your mind, Love.”

    I shook my head. It was the realization of the truth of his words that caused me to pause. How he had spoken it with such conviction to me. That I had to just be. I reached out to his face to bring him closer to kiss.  There was no doubt that my actions were clumsy at best. If he was disappointed at my experience, he didn’t show it. He seemed eager to return my affections. His hands firmed in their grip as he nudged at me to continue.  I separated from his face enough to give a nod as I pressed myself harder on his thigh. The soft groans that accompanied me with each movement seemed to spurn him on. He had started to help me in my endeavor to get off, angling his leg in a way that it would hit just the right spot. His hands glided along the length of my body eventually finding my bare skin again. The groans came quicker as he did not hold back at groping my chest. While I hadn’t been ashamed of them, my bust had always been a bit on the larger side. Feeling Haurchefant able to touch them directly was a bit embarrassing. Despite that, they sent tingles down my body directing in at my core. I felt myself dampen the more we kept going. 

The craving for more began to manifest.

    Haurchefant must have sensed this too for he stopped in his motions and carried me to the cot.  With a soft bounce I landed on said bedding and Haurchefant hovered over me. We stared at each other for the briefest of moments before he had descended upon my bare neck. His hand slowly moved downwards towards the fastener of my pants. His hand rested there, waiting for my permission. I stilled in the moment. I nodded. He had given me a smile in return before loosening my bottoms. A hand slid into said bottoms, under my small clothes to touch at my mound. It was my turn to blush heavily as that hand felt around. I glanced down only to witness the telltale lump of Haurchefant’s hand exploring.

“Have you ever done this to yourself before?” 

I simply shook my head.

“N-no.”

    He had taken his time exploring me. He had watched my expressions carefully, making changes if his actions caused a worrying reaction. It was difficult to discern if the ministrations were good or bad as never having a reference point before now. But I hadn’t disliked what he was doing. There was more of a heated feeling, steadily rising with each passing motion. My body broke out in a light sweat as I squirmed. Just as it nearly felt too much he had stopped. The involuntary whine that escaped me made Haurchefant chuckle as he pressed a quick kiss on my neck. His hands wandered to the tops of my pants and with some shimmying on my end removed them. Not long after I heard the tell-tale clinks and shifting fabrics of his own bottoms being removed. I covered my eyes to give some measure of privacy towards him. 

Even if in response he gave an amused chuckle.

    I felt his presence directly on top of me. Opening my eyes once more, I met with his stare. There was this sort of serene expression on his face as he leaned in closer to me. I felt the heat radiating down below as his member rested on top of me. Even if I wanted to, there was no hiding the intense blush that seemed to appear all over my skin. 

“I’ll be careful Love.” He murmured.

I gave him a small nod as I didn’t trust my voice.

    Small whimpers squeaked out as I felt him rub against the sensitive skin below. As his tip started to prod at my entrance, thoughts began to course through me. I had expected there to be a size difference. Considering I was a Hyur, a midlander at that, the difference was much more daunting against an Elezen. He had attempted to push inwards and my body jumped at the motion. A free hand had massaged my shoulder. It took a few moments but my body had calmed down somewhat. I felt he had attempted to gently push inwards again. My entrance would just not yield to the attempted intrusion. A strained whine left my lips. Slowly I felt him withdraw as he looked towards me. There was that clear concern on his face. I appreciated the gesture as I always had when it came to my dear friend. But frustration started to settle within myself. I had wanted this. I wanted to be with Haurchefant in this manner. And yet my body refused for one reason or another. The corners of my eyes began to prick at tears trying to fall at my failure for such a simple act. 

“Shh, it’s alright.” he cooed.

    He had taken his free hand to run it through my tousled hair before letting it rest on my cheek. His thumb had wiped idly at those minuscule tears that formed. Despite his words, I still felt guilty that somehow I had led him on with no reward.

“I can do this.” I told him, “I just need to relax.”

He shook his head.

“It is quite alright, I am content like this.”

“But-”

“Ami,” he spoke with a sudden seriousness, “You needn’t have to force yourself on my behalf. I would not have a precious moment to be marred with such pain. Pray, do not misunderstand, ‘tis not an outright rejection. Mayhap in the future we can try once more, if still willing?”

    I only nodded. That serious expression faded into his more usual smile. He pressed another kiss on my forehead. The thought again of why Haurchefant hadn’t been spoken for course through my head. Even knowing the context that his being was seen as lesser in proper Ishgardian society, my friend would still be a great partner to whomever he chooses.

That aside, there was still the very noticeable issue that we were both still too aroused to just stop.

    My hand glided down the side of his body to stop at his hip. I gave the skin a gentle squeeze and a push towards me. I had hoped this gesture would hint at what I wanted since our initial plan didn’t happen. He only let out a soft chuckle as he lowered his hips more flush to my own. Just like within Camp Dragonhead, we started this movement against one another. My arms found their way wrapped around his chest as his hardened length thrust forward against me. Feeling it rub against my body makes me groan out in appreciation. That coiling feeling tightening at my core. I shifted my body upwards to give him some more of that pleasant friction. Occasionally I would feel his tip graze at my opening; never enough to cause my body to shut down. I could scarcely recall how long we were like this. Just an unending flow of pleasure I was partaking with a dear friend. I felt myself let go as the pleasure became too much to contain. A deep moan rumbled from my own chest as I placed a hand through Haurchefant’s hair. He pressed a soft kiss on my forehead as he followed soon after me.

    We laid in mutual silence completely wrapped up within each other. I found comfort that in these private moments with Haurchefant, I can just be myself. I knew that soon I would have to go back to wearing the mantle of being the Warrior of Light. I leaned in closer to my friend, taking in his presence as we embraced into each other’s arms. I lifted my head towards him, only noticing he was looking at me as well. I could easily see the fondness and contentment in his expression. It made my own heart thump at how clearly I picked up on it. 

“Are we due back yet?” I asked.

“We can stay as long as you need to be Love.” 

“You have my thanks, for everything. May I be a little selfish and ask for one request?”

He nodded silently, waiting for my request.

“Once everything has settled down, I want to try this again with you.”

[autumnslance]

Hi Aeryn! I have a question. I’ve been told I make very defined characters but I don’t have a real goal or growth in mind. What do I need to do to develop a goal or have my character have growth? I hope you are having a good evening!

I have no idea what Aeryn's up to on her private island (I think Thancred's visiting), but I, Lyn, had a nice evening watching a pal play the opening of Lost in Random which is so far quite a charming game with a Studio Laika films vibe and look, and a unique combat system involving dice and cards. 😉

Honestly my own RP characters' goals always, to me, seem pretty vague and character growth/change kind of happens as story does. Especially in an open ended long term setting like a RPG-MMO. I find it much easier in smaller, more structured games, like tabletop RP, to determine a RP character's goals in line with the rest of the party and/or the GM's themes and story.

Or at least, I have a hard time describing goals in concrete terms a lot of the time; I maybe have a nebulous idea or feeling, but it's not something I can articulate easily--which probably sounds funny coming from me, but it's true.

Trying to plan character growth in detail is a fool's game to my mind; you can have an idea of how/where you want a character to move towards, but a good story may very well upend those plans, either in RP or in standalone writing.

I have had some GMs tell me that some of my characters are too reactionary, and need more assertion and drive and goals of their own, but that's an aspect of me and how I play. I also like to be support, even to just letting others drive the story and bouncing off them, discovering my own character's goals along the way. When I do have characters with existing driving goals and plans, it tends to be for a specific type, or reason, and even then are often simple and/or short term. Sometimes cuz I am running a game so my antagonists have goals for the party to fight against, or allies have goals for them to join. Sometimes cuz I am being a plot device for a GM, such as various characters I played when staffing our old Vampire LARP; I had control of my chargen and goals, but within very loose parameters set by the GM, which I built off of.

Aeryn's goals and growth are determined a great deal by MSQ, since I don't really RP her and have her as a fanfic WoL, so many things are predicated on that. Like, she wants to help the research into finding stable ways to travel to other shards so the Scions can see the people they love on the First again (particularly reuniting Ryne and Thancred). That's a goal that formed due to her particular connection to the Scions and the course of plot...which has been sidetracked by helping Vrtra's quest, which as both his friend and a Thavnairian is also important to her.

A lot of her growth has come unexpectedly as I puzzle out her reactions to MSQ and side story events, and sometimes they tend to surprise me. It was during a previous years' FFXIV Write as I was doing tank role quests in ShB and pondering the day's word that I realized she'd utterly lost any faith in divinity she once had. It's shaped a few other things since then. Also the relationship...wasn't supposed to happen, a goal I had was no shipping in just telling a WoL's story, but I also didn't fight it (too much) when it fell into place. Sometimes a character chooses a goal the writer didn't consciously intend, and it's better that way.

Dark Autumn tries to keep her FC running and support her comrades while always improving upon herself in some way. That's honestly it; she has what she wants. But she's also a bit of a wish fulfillment character and more put together than most.

C'oretta doesn't know what her long term goals are yet; she's very young, very freewheeling, and not thinking too hard about the future. So her focus tends to be quite immediate; learn a new discipline and make sure everyone else stays cheered up are about the extent of her plans for now. Maybe she'll 'grow up' someday. Haven't decided.

Iyna, for all her backstory details, really has no goals or plans at this time. She's kind of stewing in the background still, sorting who she is and how, and will likely need to be drug toward growth and new goals for herself.

It really just depends on the kind of player/writer you are, and how you mesh (or don't) with the folks around you. For standalone stories the characters should want/need something, goals to drive the plot. Even if that goal is simply to escape whatever fate has thrown their way; neither Bilbo or Frodo Baggins wanted to go on adventures after all, but they did, with a goal of eventually getting home again, though their goals shifted and they changed and grew through those adventures with their companions.

Character growth/development isn't always positive, either. Sometimes people get worse or regress through their trials (Laurentius learned nothing and fell in with a worse crowd for it, contrasted against Wilred who strove to become heroic). Some folks don't really need to change drastically; they know who they are, and/or have had their major growths before they go on their adventures, and it's about how they deal with current situations, perhaps caused by the fallout of their previous lives/actions, or perhaps just who they are now and how they handle things differently compared to how they would have in their youth (A lot of author Roger Zelazny's characters fall into this, and I tend to see Y'shtola and Gaius as this way too).

In the end though, while others may have critiques of your characters, the more important thing is, are you, their player/writer, happy with the characters? Do you know they have goals/plans/growth opportunities, even if you have a hard time articulating them? More short term wants than long term? Are you just letting the chips fall where they may and see how the character comes out of it? Are you writing more plot-driven stories where the characters are pulled along by the whims of fate and have to struggle for any in-world agency? That's valid, and while it may not work for everyone, if it works for you, I wouldn't sweat too much what others think about that aspect of your character development.

[corvid-lullaby]

FFxiv Write: Prompt #9: Lush

Characters: Nishiki, Kiryu Warnings: Slightly gross Relationships: Just bromance Notes: During Y0, humor, illness Word Count: 1,104 FFxivWrite2020 Master Post

~~~~~

“Hey… Kyoudai-... I’m not feeling so hot.” The words were waverly and weak, coming from a certain young Dragon of Dojima. Kiryu was sprawled across the ground, parallel to the rather fine kotatsu that complimented Nishiki’s semi-luxurious apartment. Really, the koi never did spare a single yen when it came to this sort of stuff. Too bad that did nothing to comfort his oath brother, who looked to be on the verge of death.

An exhale of smoke was the initial reply, with the cigarette Nishiki was working on being snubbed out against the ashtray at the kotatsu’s center. Leaning over, in fact he flopped onto his side, he placed one hand at his own chin in thought, and his other hand’s palm lightly made impact with Kiryu’s forehead. Closing his eyes, he frowned, then nodded. “...Yeah you got a fever alright. What the hell happened to you? You walked out in the rain when I told you not to, didn’t you.”

Glancing up, Nishiki saw a rather pout-driven expression from his foster sibling. “I didn’t have a choice…” is what Kiryu mumbled with equal guilt in his voice.

Groaning, the ‘healthier’ one then sat up, hooked his arms underneath Kiryu’s at the armpits, and proceeded to drag him towards the bedroom. “Alright, time to take care of my kid bro--dang, did you gain weight or something-gah!” 

Kiryu’s body suddenly halted, thanks to the dragon grabbing the door frame from either side that he was currently being dragged through. Even at the angle Nishiki was at, he could see Kiryu’s cheeks were in full puff. Someone wasn’t happy about his last comment.

“Oh come on! I was joking!” A pause, but the grip didn’t change, judging by how he still didn’t budge when pulled. “Yo, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Ah, finally. The grip was released. Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t out of Kiryu’s free will. The poor guy had fainted.

Groaning again, Nishiki pulled his futon to the ready, and tucked Kiryu in. Thankfully it was a simple flu, and the fever had gone down to a more reasonable level by morning. Of course Kiryu still felt like utter shit, and probably would for several more days. At least he was conscious now.

As for Nishiki, he had an old standby of medicines and antidotes, but for whatever reason he was in the mood to experiment. To find something a little better, and more natural preferably. After asking around at local food and herbal markets, he was pointed to a specific but common vegetable; Malabar Spinach. Not actually a true spinach, but, as he was told, had a lot of vitamins and was even high on antioxidants. It sounded perfect for his sick sibling.

With that, he also got ingredients to make a classic dish that Kiryu enjoyed a lot when he was ill; congee. It was started immediately upon returning home. For good measure and easy edibility, Nishiki even took the time to blend everything into a finer consistency. He did notice something wry about the texture, but he didn’t look into it too hard. It was a different vegetable being played with after all, so whatever.

Eventually a cooled bowl was given to the poor, ill Kiryu, who was propped up into a sitting position against the wall. The dragon smiled down at it, knowing all too well the effort Nishiki put into it. He was a good cook, and Kiryu loved congee, so the young dragon was very excited to give it a try.

And try he did!... But his face instantly screwed up into complete disgust. Oh no, it tasted fantastic. That wasn’t the problem. The problem came from the texture. It was… the slimiest thing he had ever eaten. The entire thing was thick, sticky, gooey--like a literal mouth full of snot. And so, Kiryu simply sat there, petrified still with the spoon still in his closed mouth. He couldn’t chew. He couldn’t even muster the strength to remove the spoon. He simply sat there, frozen, his eyes clenched shut into thin slits, … and looking quite a few shades both paler and greener.

“H-hey… You alright man?” Nishiki looked genuinely concerned.

Finally, after a handful of minutes, although it felt like lifetimes to him, Kiryu finally swallowed. He made a sort of groaning noise, but it sounded… a little too moist. Bubbly, even. It only made both of them have their faces screw up even more, with Nishiki leaning to gently rub the other’s shoulder.

“I-uhh… Hey you don’t gotta eat it if it’s that bad, you know-”

“Naw, it’s fine. I can take it. You said it was really good for me, didn’t you?”

“Y-yeah but-”

Nishiki couldn’t finish his words before Kiryu’s hand shakily shoveled up another spoon full and let it slide disgustingly into his mouth. Was the shaking from him being ill from his illness or from the food? Your guess is as good as mine. Again his face screwed up, but worse this time when a piece of stray stem forced him to chew on it. Like the tough champ he was, he eventually finished the entire bowl.

A moment of silence, before, “You finished it.”

“Yeah…”

“...”

Suddenly Kiryu shot up onto his feet and made a bee line for the restroom. It was safe to say why, without detail. The grotesque sounds of heaving and liquid contact was plenty enough to paint a picture, to Nishiki’s dismay. At least Kiryu was proud to have kept most of it down and having finished the entire bowl.

Until he found out there was an entire pot left.

The koi insisted over and over that he didn’t need to eat it, but Kiryu couldn’t be swayed from his stoic personality. Over the next few days, even after he fully recovered from his illness, which moved on faster than usual, he still continued to eat it down to the last drop. Thankfully he grew accustomed to the texture by then. Being the type to conquer literally anything that looked him down helped. That and he genuinely enjoyed the flavor of the congee, so he was happy that he got to honestly enjoy it in the end. 

What was even more strange was something he noticed in the mirror after a few more days had passed. That morning, he leaned close to inspect his reflection. Kiryu was young, but his skin felt even more youthful and supple. Even his hair was more hydrated and healthy looking. Was it from that spinach? It could have been. He didn’t mind, though.

He was lush. ✨✨✨

[silvernsteel]

SEVEN ITEMS - SILF SILVERWOOD

Name 7 items your character has on them at all times.

1. Singing Blade: The silver rapier, thin and elegant, almost never leaves Silf’s side. The Singing Blade is an heirloom passed down thru her family and once was held by her mother, Petra. Given to Silf as a gift when she came of age, and proved she had honed the skills taught to her as a Blade Dancer. The filigree and design work around the Guard is intricate, showing elements of nature with leaves and vines blended into the metalwork. The focus of the blade, held in the off hand, mirrors the same design elements - though the bulk of the focus seems to be made of crystal that glows when active. The focus is imbued with aether, and coupled with the thin blade, causes a faint whistle to occur when the weapon is swung...hence where the name is derived from as the blade “sings” in battle. 

2. Woven Bracelet: This simple and thin bracelet never comes off Silf’s right wrist. The colors from the dyes have faded over many long years, and it shows signs of wear, tear, and some mending. If one were to inspect the bracelet closely, they might notice that the item seems like it was made by a child, and for a child...and they would be correct. The mended parts of the band were done so to increase the size over the years so it could be worn more comfortably by an adult wrist rather than a child’s. This woven bracelet, made of simple material, was a birthday gift from Silf’s twin brother, Fjorn, who also made himself one to match. Ever since he was taken away by the Warders, Silf has never taken the bracelet off. She not only keeps the bracelet on and close as a way of keeping Fjorn always in her thoughts, but also in a wishful hope that if the two were ever to cross paths again...they’d know each other by the matching woven trinket around their identical wrists. 

3. Worn Book: If you tried to peek over Silf’s shoulder at the book she’s reading, off in some forest grove or on a bench near home, she’d probably react with a surprised start and hide the book in haste. Silf is always book hungry and loves to read all sorts of stories, so most of the ones she owns are worn out lovingly. Having lived most of her life in The Wood, Silf didn’t have easy access to a lot of the fiction that can be found in libraries across Eorzea. Once novels became a part of her every day world, she ate them up whenever she could, all sorts from history books to fairy tales. And that hastily hidden book, the one she shoved back into her pack with a blush across her face? Well...she may or may not have a weak spot for romance, but she’d never admit it openly. 

4. Face Paint: In Silf’s pack you’ll always find a small pot of a thick, murky black paste. Using a tried and true recipe from her tribe, Silf makes her own face paints to apply her tribal markings. The paste can dry out after a lot of wear, and sweat will eventually cause it to fade off, so Silf keeps some on hand at all times for reapplication. It’s rare to see Silf without markings of some kind, as a part of her feels proverbially ‘naked’ without them. 

5. Flute: The wind instrument Silf keeps on hand is nothing fancy, but it’s one she started to carve herself. She had learned to craft such instruments when she still lived with her family tribe, and the act of wood carving became a meditative side hobby for Silf. Playing the flute is an act she does for herself and for herself alone, only pulling it out to either work on the carvings, or to play in solitude. The music is for no one’s ears but her’s and The Wood she sings too.

6. Gil Pouch: In Silf’s line of work, and really for anyone making a living in the world, a trusty gil pouch is never far off hand. Silf keeps hers safely tucked away in a hard to reach pocket at her hip. The thick, soft leather coupled with the pouch being placed inside another pocket keeps the tell tale jingle sound of coins to an almost imperceptible level. 

7. Wedding Ring: Much the same as the woven bracelet, the simple silver band is never seen off of Silf’s person. The band is usually found worn upon her ring finger, though Silf had a simple chain made in those times when one might find that a ring can’t be worn...or are better hidden. The ring has a simple filigree design (something akin to feathers) around the outside, that leads up to the setting where a stone should be. In this case, instead of a precious gem, there is a petrified piece of bark from the Golmore Jungle serving as a beautiful reminder of where her and Leona had first met and called home together. 

- Tagged by: @kich-rp , @yshai-tia , and @journeybetweenworlds - Thank you so much you awesome, beautiful peoples!! :3 <3 <3 <3 Took a lot of thinking to come up with these items, but it was fun to do! Thank you again! - Tagging: OH BOY. I was tagged by Kich so long ago for this so I’m sure most have done it by now! I’m just going to tag a bunch of you lovely beans - if you have done it feel free to ignore and just enjoy the ping love <3 if by some chance you have not, then GO FOR IT! And really just do it, tag or not, it’s a lot of fun! @ash-like-snow-xiv | @feralfm | @fair-fae | @lightdevoid | @lela-ffxiv | @carmen-ffxiv | @terugan-ffxiv | @paleshadeofrose | @a-sharlayan-abroad | @fairwindsandblueskies | @ff14vamir | @khaamara | @cigarettes-n-daisies | @anika-ffxiv | @ahlis-xiv | @voidwife | @jump-n-dive | @shofie-ffxiv  | @kazexvoss​ | @iona-xiv | @drachenlance | @maeltaa-ktemo | @nenet-ffxiv | @nightmaze  |  @lukelxiv    |  @whisperingdawn |  @under-the-blood-moonlight |  @mai-takeda  | @aethernoise  | @elezendad  | @rhalgr  | @alinteau  | @the-lady-bettencourt  | @hingashi-fox  | @lordsnark  | @theshroudwolf | @hikarinokusari | @yemyfuhai | @morneshade | @manaforged | @syerraffxiv | @lihzeh | @menphinasbow | @sokaffxiv | @clearsundays​ | @sinuntosea | @wood-warder | @wondereverlasting | @lavender-hemlock | @violet-warder | @captainkurosolaire | @keeperofthelilacs | @manabuns | @ter-avest | @dyri-lionroar | @leilani-ffxiv | @nheirexo  | @wayward-whelpling | @zhauric | @yuki-yukichan | @yuriveisffxiv | @shadiyah-ffxiv | @vexredain | @sola-ffxiv | @strayed-from-the-sun | @knightingale-xiv | @theceruleandream | @vysaldhe | @vylette-elakha | @arabeka-ffxiv | @avwalya | @miqojak | @fletchlingfletcher​

[crystalsexarch]

Two: Aberrant - E

“I’m going to die.”

“You’re what?”

-

Explicit. Specific male WoL Bas'ir Bahani. After the events of Shadowbringers, the Exarch ponders his strange new relationship with the Warrior of Light. Sometimes he asks questions with his body.

Also on AO3.

Part of the 2021 FFXIV Writing Challenge

When they fuck, they don’t talk as much as they used to, Bas’ir and G’raha. Many nights, G’raha wonders if that means they oughn’t fuck at all.

The Warrior will come home to the Tower, gloves dusted with blood and eyes heavy. He walks like a rumble in the earth, a lumbering threat or sleepwalking beast. As he shirks himself of scarf and coat, boots and socks, he might grumble or sigh, grunt in greeting. Until he reaches the bed, though, he keeps the firearm at his side. His stomach for banter—left almost always at the Dossal Gate.

This new Bas’ir, sullen and thinking, makes G’raha feel smaller. Delicate. Uncertain. There’s an old apology growing stale at the base of his throat, a green thing with ugly poison flowers. No matter how many times he clips it down, the roots remain tangled with something he has thus far failed to cough up completely. He knows there are plants that can thrive in darkness. If he’s watering this one, he doesn’t mean to. He has tended better gardens, and he ought to know better.

This night, Bas’ir showers alone. He’s gone for about a bell. G’raha is reading in bed when the Keeper finally emerges from the washroom holding a towel up to his chest. Both his hand of flesh and hand of metal are folded where the fabric comes together. Even now, weeks after their lukewarm reconciliation, it’s rare for Bas’ir to move about without his prosthetic until the very moment he means to sleep.

“Welcome back,” G’raha says. His hand tenses around the spine of his book.

“My head is aching.” Bas’ir runs his fingers through the sheet of wet hair at his back. Shoulder-length, around this time. He’s been trying to grow it out since he cut the bulk of it off upon his arrival on the First.

G’raha shuts the book and sets it on the nightstand. “Shall I write you a prescription?”

“Use your magic to dry my hair.” Still clutching the towel, Bas'ir patters over to the side of the bed and sits himself down. G’raha doesn’t have to see the pout to know it’s there. That some things never change is a palpable relief. Little does Bas’ir know—

“Very well.” It takes hardly any energy at all to cast a spell of wind over the Warrior. Though Bas’ir bristles, he doesn’t squeak or yelp. The rush dries the Keeper easily, but not necessarily in a way he would find agreeable. G’raha sets his crystal fingers over his lips to quell his own budding laughter.

Bas’ir slowly turns over his shoulder. For a moment, there’s a spark of sinister delight in his yellow eyes—the hallmark of a man plotting petty, light-hearted revenge—but it fades quickly. Instead, Bas’ir falls back onto G’raha’s lap with a mighty sigh. “I suppose there’s no point in styling it, when it’s doomed to be a bloody mess on the morrow anyway.”

“Perhaps not.” G’raha sets his fingers on Bas’ir’s collarbone and rubs gently. The Keeper would never have expressed such a sentiment back in Sharlayan. This is what exhaustion looks like, the kind that permeates body and soul. “If it makes you happy, though…”

“I do not see the work paying off in any meaningful way.” Bas'ir fiddles with the towel and twists his lips. "I would not be opposed to a brushing, though."

The Exarch brushes Bas'ir's hair. Together they are quiet, even as tension rings loudly in G'raha's ears. Is there anything he can do besides completing these rituals? He wonders if the glide of comb through silver-blue is too simple a remedy for so complex a problem.

Not much is said before the two are settling beneath the covers, naked, warm, and close. In turn, the lights of the Tower dim to a hardly spoken glow. Bas’ir always removes his prosthetic before he sleeps, but it remains attached for now. By that, G’raha knows they are going to have another night of emotionally complicated sex.

“I’m going to die,” Bas’ir says at G’raha’s neck.

“You’re what?” The Seeker turns over his shoulder.

“I said I’m going to dye it. My hair.” Bas’ir has both arms wrapped around G’raha’s chest. Their legs are intertwined and shuffling against one another. “I’m tired of silver.”

G’raha is still blinking out the shock. “Back to true blue?”

“I suppose. Or blacker. Do you have a preference?”

The first smile of the darkness arrives quietly on the Exarch’s lips. “How considerate.”

Bas’ir shuffles at his back and grunts. A way of saying well?

“My preference is you,” G’raha says. “I don’t care what color you wear—nor what color you call yourself, for that matter.”

“Is that what they called me in your future? Did they call me Blue?”

G’raha swallows. Your future. “They...they called you Bas’ir. But I’d rather not dwell on those days.”

Bas’ir speaks no more. Not for a while. In the silence, G’raha thinks about the sharp little ego he wielded as a youth. It’s been whittled down to a blunt, misshapen thing for better or worse. But that change allows him to understand that once, some centuries ago, he thought to himself—Bas’ir loves me more than I love him. And he isn’t sure that’s true anymore. He isn't sure whether it matters.

As it happens, G’raha is the one who gets hard first. He finds Bas’ir’s right hand and slides it down his torso. Enough to suggest, to proposition. It’s an offer Bas’ir accepts. The Keeper adjusts so he can get a good grip on his oldest friend and soon begins jerking him off from behind, growing closer and closer to breaking the silence with an aching proposition of his own.

“I can feel you,” G’raha says. No clarity needed. The erection pressed against his ass speaks for itself. Bas’ir offers a blind whimper in return and swipes his thumb over the Exarch’s slit, wet with precum. It’s not good enough for G’raha, who rears back to tempt him further. “Have me,” he says. “Take me tonight. I want you.”

And you want me, too, don’t you? Bas’ir?

But Bas’ir can’t answer questions he isn’t asked. He does take his hand off G’raha’s cock long enough to point at the nightstand and whisper a command. Oil is retrieved. Fingers are inserted. One man is left wanting even as he gets what he wants. And the other’s desires? Unknowable to the Crystal Exarch, even in his Tower.

G’raha comes with a mouth full of pillow the moment Bas’ir settles inside of him. The Seeker's mismatched hands form twitching claws against the mattress as his seed collects beneath his body.

“Raha?” Bas’ir says, holding the position, then holding his breath.

“Yes, yes, I’m—” He jerks forward and back by the ilm, fucking himself on Bas’ir’s cock. “I was more pent up than I...than I knew.” He hopes Bas’ir likes what he sees. He hopes Bas’ir can feel each muscle squeezing with want. G’raha pities himself, and the pity is comfortable. The pity feels almost like the right apology. But it isn't enough.

Bas’ir kisses the back of G’raha’s neck and pulls him back to a sideways position. Fucking like that is easy, lazy, but far too quiet still. G’raha listens carefully for whispers hidden between his partner’s moans. If there are words they aren’t filled in with color. They aren’t written in a language G’raha recognizes.

When Bas'ir is close. G'raha knows it by the teeth on his neck and the clench of metal at his hip. Soon, Bas’ir rolls the Exarch to nearly his front, going deeper, deeper. The head of G'raha's cock presses against what he's spilled onto the mattress already. He winces, but in the next moment new wants, new desires replace his unsteady thought. He wants to have his arms around Bas'ir's neck. He wants to kiss him, tell him everything is fine, or that it's okay to feel otherwise. He wants to understand what he couldn’t in Sharlayan, and most of all in the moment—he wants to feel Bas'ir spilling all he can offer. He wants to feel wanted again!

"Please," the Exarch begs, one eye shut tight. "Please."

Bas'ir delivers. Once then twice. The first time, he hisses and leaks at G’raha’s deepest point, nails digging into skin where they aren’t scraping against crystal. Instead of collapsing, Bas’ir heaves himself almost entirely off the bed to fuck G’raha from an animalistic squatting position. That’s how he comes the second time, after a frenzy of new sounds—tearful groans punctuating the silence over the sting of slick skin on skin, the rock of bed frame to wall.

G’raha comes a second time, too, when he realizes Bas’ir wants to try for another orgasm. But G'raha's comes quietly. He’s so focused on putting on a pleasant show, he hardly notices the drip of white from his slit until he’s reeling in the rapturous afterglow. Ultimately, the miqo’te tire around the same time...but neither is quick to move in any meaningful way.

How many times did G’raha fuck Bas’ir, back in those days before burden? Too many times, perhaps. Or not enough. Their needs have changed over the years, over decades in G’raha’s case. While he could count his past five partners on one crystalline hand, he isn’t sure where Bas’ir stands or what other options the Warrior of Light might have available. These days are as terrifying as they are fruitful, but G’raha fears he may have poisoned the fruit.

"I want you," Bas'ir says. Did G’raha voice some question, after all? Or have they known each other for so long that some questions needn’t be voiced in the first place? "I want you slowly. My...heart cannot take too much at once.”

“Bas’ir…”

“Call me weak, and I will still crawl back into your bed a night from now. And the night after that." He pulls out and tucks his chin against his shoulder, gasping. Cum drips from G’raha’s hole to his inner thigh, slow like quiet crying. A few heartbeats more and Bas’ir has caught his breath. “I will always crawl back.”

The diction is dark, and the ache is abundant. But to hear those words—I want you—maybe that’s all the Exarch needs to know for sure. Want is a promise. Want is a fertile patch of land. Perhaps this plant also grows in darkness and takes a great many seasons to blossom.

[songsofbloodandfire]

ffxiv write 2020 - Prompt #5: Matter of Fact

((New character alert! Who would have figured the altaholic would have another character...))

<”Where have you been?!”> 

The terse words caught A’soye off guard, making the fur on his tail bristle even as his ears flattened like that of a child caught doing something wrong. Over twenty-five summers old and his mother could still make him feel like a wayward kitten. Though given the things he’d witnessed the old huntress living through, he suppose she’d earned that right and then some. 

She’s sober again, I see.

A’soye loved A’sharae, but the woman had spent more time in her cups the last few years than she did out of them. At least when she was in a drunken stupor, she was content to either chase anyone who would take her into their bed or sleep the days way. Sober, she was unpredictable and surly at the best of times, almost suicidal and violent at the worst. 

“I have to work, mother. If we want to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies, I have to work.” The matter of fact tone was more suited for a parent chiding their child than the reverse, but it seemed to quell the initial rush of frustration the older Antelope expressed. 

A’sharae paced along the well worn wood floors of their apartment, years of tenants having left scars in the pale surface that were likely older than he was. It wasn’t a glorious place to live, but it was clean and safe, which he couldn’t say for some of the places his mother had chosen for them over the years. The bitter thought was suppressed quickly by a rush of worry when he realized just how agitated his mother was. This wasn’t just withdrawal induced frustrations, but something much clearer and focused. 

It wasn’t like A’sharae to allow anything to bother her this deeply. Not enough for her to let him see it. 

“What’s wrong?” It was a simple question, but he could almost feel the weight of what he knew was surely going to be a loaded answer. 

A’sharae didn’t respond at first, glaring at him for refusing to speak in the Antelope tongue. It’d become a point of contention for them over the last few years. She wanted him to use it and keep it alive, just as she had passed all of the skills and traditions she knew as a huntress over to him to ensure they would survive. While he appreciated that, he also felt little connection for a tribe that had fallen before he’d even been born. 

“I did it finally. I destroyed the caves, but that isn’t the important part.” Her last few words were sharp to head off protests or concerns he might have had given A’soye hadn’t been thrilled with her desire to destroy them to begin with. “That isn’t all. Your sister is alive.”

The same matter of fact tone he’d used on his mother only moments previously was used against him, dropped on his head line a tonze of bricks. He knew he’d had siblings, half siblings given his father hadn’t been the Nuhn of the tribe, but some nameless and faceless Highlander. At least they assumed it had been a Highlander given his build and height was bigger than normal for a full blooded Miqo’te. As far as he had known, since it had been what his mother knew, all his siblings had died. 

“Which one?” He knew the names of his siblings, but he’d never gotten the chance to know their faces. Granted, given the less than stellar job A’sharae had done in raising him, he doubted she knew them either. 

“A’sana. She was…” The older miqo’te trailed off, frowning as she dug through her memory of a time in her life she tried desperately to forget. “Maybe five summers old when the tribe fell. According to A’dorel, she’s alive. She has to be...the old magics on the tribe’s land were active…” He had stopped listening when she mentioned A’dorel. A’dorel Nunh was dead, as dead as the rest of the tribe and from what little his mother had spoken of him it was for the best. The man had been a fool who’d barely been capable of leading the tribe, let alone producing children. The fact that his mother spoke of him meant she’d likely been hallucinating and it made him question if she’d actually managed to carry out her plans to destroy the once sacred place of their tribe. 

“Ma...why don’t you go lay down, hmm?” A’soye knew better than to question her. A’sharae’s mind might have been fractured and damaged, but she was still a dangerous woman when pushed and he didn’t want to find out if she’d turn on him given the chance. “Go lay down and rest. You look like you haven’t slept in days. When you wake up, I’ll have dinner for the both of us.”

A pained look managed to break past the agitation of the other miqo’te, something that almost looked like betrayal. “I’m fine!” The woman’s tail flicked for a moment, her ears pulled back as fangs flashed in frustration but the show was over quick, replaced by tired resignation. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll try to find A’sana. She needs to know the truth before she ends up undoing everything I’ve done.” 

As much as A’soye wanted to tell his mother no and try to get her to understand the delusions she was likely experiencing weren’t real, he instead simply nodded. “I will, ma. Go rest.” 

He would have loved to tell himself that he simply wouldn’t do it but he knew he couldn’t let it be. Something didn’t set right with him, not with A’sharae still so visibly upset even as she retreated to her room. He’d look into it, if only for his own peace of mind.