#plus being back in a military setting after their time with the garleans was NOT the move

[impossible-rat-babies]

rotating in my head the way the bureaucracy of the twin adders hates eyrie for weird legal situations

[endangered-liaison]

FFXIVWrite Prompt #11/13: Ultracrepidarian

[This is my fill for the Free Day, going back to Day 11 since I missed that one the first time around!]

A vaguely ominous but jaunty tune plays through your vox. After a moment, a voice, low and raspy, begins to speak.

"Hey. Today I have a Gridanian Emergency Ration, 7AE 2, cold-weather ready. It's pretty heavy, comes in two packs. The main pack weighs 2 ponze exactly, and the accessory pack weighs 1 ponze and 6 onze. Not a lightweight ration, yeah?

"The menu is number two type or whatever the fuck they call it in the Shroud: Peppered Popotoes. Prefer the number one type, that's a dehydrated stew as its main, but beggars can't be choosers or whatever I guess.

"Lemme open this up."

There's the sound of a knife being unsheathed, then a blade cutting through what sounds like a canvas bag or something similar.

"Alright. The main bag has the peppered popotoes main, uh. A bunch of jerky, dunno what meat and I dunno if they want us to know. Might be mutton? Somethin' to eat on the go, good salt content. Peppered popotoes is a no-protein meal so I'd guess the jerky is to compensate for that. The type one menu has dried fruit instead, so that might be an advantage to this menu. Fuckin' love jerky.

"Also got some chocolate, and some oat biscuits. Whole lot of filler. Makes sense, cold weather food's for either Coerthas or Ilsabard. Guerrilla fightin' the Empire or the Temple Knights, lots of food on the go. Just the one meal to sit down and eat.

"Accessory pack might be more interesting."

There's more ripping, cutting noises, then the girl on the vox makes a delighted noise.

"Fuck yeah! See, here's where it gets good. Standard issue Gridanian spoon; pewter. The Garlean ones are better, but, y'know, hard to beat them. These aren't bad though. Better than the Ishgardian ones. Fuckin' teaspoons to eat a meal with.

"And here's where all that weight comes in. Cold weather gear needs a lot of heaters. To melt snow for water, and to heat up their main, y'know? So they've got a fuckin' great fire shard heater unit, I love this design. This design's shared across the whole Alliance. The Ishgardians and the Mhigans have their own, and I dunno what the Domans have since I ain't tried a Doman ration yet, but the three core city-states all use this design. This one's got extra fire shards to replace the first set when they burn out, since you'll be usin' 'em for pretty much everything."

The sounds of something being pulled from the bag, and being pieced together.

"They've got a few light-tinged water shards too. Gives you water if you ain't got any other source, an' purifies snow water real good. I'll admit, these are better than the Garlean method. I fuckin' hate the taste of chlorine, an' these leave it all clean and fresh. Only thing is, if you leave the crystal in there and accidentally swallow it, it'll kill you or make you sick as fuck. So you gotta spoon it outta there, which is hard since it's the colour of water.

"Alright. Let's get this out on to a tray."

There's a cut distortion in the vox feed, before her voice returns.

"Nice. Okay, so. Got the popotoes heatin' up on the burner, an' I'd say it's time to try the jerky. Smells like mutton, looks kinda like it, so we'll see. It didn't have the type listed."

There's the sound of rough jerky being torn through, then chewing noises uncomfortably close to the vox.

Then there's a few seconds of silence.

"I can tell you one thing."

Her voice sounds vaguely pained.

"That definitely fuckin' weren't mutton."

She spits out whatever is left in her mouth, making discomforted noises. "I'll eat near fuckin' anythin', but that just...ugh. Is that diremite meat? Are they fuckin' feedin' their soldiers diremite meat? 'Cuz that's what it tastes like."

She takes another loud bite and chews on it anyway.

What the fuck.

Why.

"Okay." She speaks with her mouth still full. "Popotoes are smellin' pretty good. Actually smell pretty peppery, so that's a plus. Steaming real good, so...probably ready. Got my spoon, and..."

There's more chewing. A humming noise, so close to the vox it distorts over your feed. Ow.

"It...tastes of popotoes, and a little butter. The pepper was all smell. There's no fuckin' flavour to it, they're...bland. This was just a waste of pepper. Helps the smell, but...whatever they did to it to have it keep longer just drained all that flavour. I've had spicier food from Ishgardian menus. An' yeah, today's insult-Isghardian-food day apparently. It's a mess."

She chews on it for a few more seconds, then sighs.

"Yeah, this is useless. If I had this in the field, I'd be tempted to grind up a fire  shard as seasoning. Which, again, will kill you. Don't do that, even if it would be tasty."

Who is this woman? More accurately, what is this woman?

"Anyroad. The chocolates and the oat cakes actually won't be shite, so I'm gonna enjoy them while I go through my fanmail from the last moon."

She starts chewing on what you assume to be an oat cake, making happy little mm noises every few moments.

"Got a letter here from a Mister Calldew in Ishgard. He says I'm a tasteless heretic traitor, and a violent goon, and that Halone would be deeply shamed by me if she acknowledged my presence at all. Hah. Thanks! That's sweet.

"Next I've got...oh, one from Limsa. Sergeant Svalwhatever, I don't know Roegadyn names, that's my girlfriend's thing. Blah blah blah, stealing essential supplies from military warehouses, blah blah blah, serious criminal action, blah blah, if we find you we shall arrest you forthwith, blah, Llymlaen curses you. 

“To that I say: bitch, if you've got a direct line to Llymlaen, get that watery whore to buy you some better fuckin' locks."

There's a snap and chewing. She evidently just bit down on the chocolate.

"I'm Max1562. See you next moon, when I'll be coming back at you with something new. Or old."

The music fades in to the vague sounds of this strange girl loudly chewing on chocolate and oak cakes, and you begin to wonder if she actually knew anything about what she was talking about.

[theaetherhealerffxiv]

An Ascians Memories

A FFXIV fanfiction - One shot

Pairing: Wol/wod x Emet-Selch

Rated: PG-17 [for safety]

WoL/Wod is NB with female leaning [you/yours/etc]

Word Count: 2107

Summary: Emet is reminiscing about past lives of yours.

He watched you from afar, scurrying to and fro. Doing this and that for the citizens of the Crystarium. You had been ordered to rest by your companions, ‘Fighting Fit” was just a phrase he had used to describe you. He could clearly see the fractures in your beautiful soul. It pained him more than anything in the various shards. Your soul burned brighter after every cataclysm that they had caused, more whole than the other pale souls next to you. Beautiful and glowing, your light continually washed over him when he stood in your presence. Making him wish more and more to steal you away from your fate as a hero. To dote upon you to hold you close and hide you away from both Zodiark and the dreaded Hydalen. No more fighting, no more pain; no more fractures upon your soul. 

Emet-selch shifted as you ran under his hiding spot to another person. Sweat clear upon your brow when usually there would be none. He squinted, his heart aching, the final act was drawing close. What he would wish to pull you into his arms and kiss you - rejoining be damned.

Pain shot from the back of his skull as he thought those words, shifting he rubbed it. 

“And what if it comes into fruition! What if you bring about the grand rejoining and my soul is no more? That you cannot bring it back! Or that you sacrifice it?!” 

“I will not. Zodiark will bring them back, we just have to create an appropriate sacrifice.” 

Groaning he pressed his head against the cool stone of the building. That's right, everything will be right if he follows the original plan. Even your fractured soul will be healed, he had to believe in it otherwise everything would come crumbling down. His very soul would be overwhelmed if he did not believe. With the pain throbbing in his head he gazed back down at you, bent over in an alleyway trying to catch your breath. Emet knew he could easily port down there, wrap his arms around you and whisk you back away to his room. To force you to rest until you had gained back some semblance of your strength. But he knew it was futile, the plan was falling into place and he must play his part. And he knew his part had nothing to do with holding you close.

Leaning his head back he closed his eyes. There was a time of course that he would have done just that; forget his plan, forget the countless eyes upon him, he would steal away into your chambers for a passionate kiss. For a night of pressing his body to yours, of whispered promises and hopes. It had perhaps only been about one hundred years since the last time that the two of you had been together in such an embrace. He had possessed a child; grown and lived a life of a human. The life of Solus zos Glavus. A smile stretched across his face as he remembered.

Meeting you in the military academy, your eyes bright, your soul even brighter. Instantly he had assigned you as his personal guard. It of course had been the first lifetime in many years that he had been in a position of power while you had not. Why in the Allagan empire you had been his empress, and even later a fellow lord which he threw himself upon in times of trouble. Your arms had ever been accepting; but that lifetime as Solus had been truly special. Duty bound him, and duty bound you, but it never stopped you from sneaking him out of the castle at his request to have a picnic in the hills. To stay by his side during a battle and easily strike down anyone that had gotten close to him. You, instead of he, had set about the courting process. Emet-selch had founding amusing at first, but then found that he loved it. He loved being in your arms after a long day, your soft whispers in his ear telling him it was alright. That he could not please everyone, that even his family had no right to question his methods. You had been devoted to him, to the point that if it were not for status he would have wed you right away. No, instead his family wed him to a woman of pedigree, whom he had bed with disdain. After the act he would always steal away to the room that the two of you shared. Emet had even gone as far as to name you his consort. The people did not care; it was not as if the two of you could have children.

No, in that lifetime you had been male after all. The people found it romantic, you would not be mentioned in any history books as the royalty and lords did not like you, but the commoners would remember your heroic tales. 

In fact, thinking of such things reminded him of one specific memory…

------

It was a battlefield; together the two of you where in the Emperor's tent, and Solus was tending to your wounds.

“Such a foolish act, what if you had been killed Gyrus?” The Emporer chided you as you laughed, wincing as the man pull tight a bandage on your back. 

“But I am fine my love!” You teased leaning back to peck him on the cheek. For a Garlean you always found the emperor to be comically small. He scoffed and slapped your wound, causing you to cry out, then devolve into a chuckle. Watching him pout as he washed his bloodied hands in a bowl of fresh water. “Solus,” You murmured as you watched his shoulders slump. “Solus I am fine, my dear Emperor, please I beg of you turn to face me.” Standing you suppressed a gasp of pain that shot through your shoulder; you had thrown yourself in a way of an assassin that had snuck behind your battlements. You had of course been prepared for such an attack by the enemy. Regardless of what you had not anticipated was that they had company. Reaching out you wrapped your arms around Solus, who leaned back into your embrace with comfortable ease.

“Gyrus you fool.” He grumbled in your arms. Was he, crying? You frowned and pushed back his greying hair. No, his golden eyes stared at you with frustrated intensity. Leaning down you pressed a kiss against his third eye. The Emperor shivered and twisted in your grasp until he could plant a firm kiss upon your lips. Sighing you leaned back and pressed your forehead against his. Your third eyes gently rubbing against each other. 

“A fool for you,” You teased, your voice breathy. Another stolen kiss; your bodies pressed up against one another in unfulfilled passion. 

Suddenly a cough came from the entrance of the tent. Solus pulled back from you reluctantly and called out to them. It was a messenger to tell the two of them of the battle ahead of them…

----

A bird landing next to Emet shocked him out of his memories, then he heard someone call his name; there was only one person that would actively call out to him. Turning he expected your face, instead he found one of the twins, the female. He frowned, but teleported from his resting place to an area in front of her. He glared down at her. “Yes?” He asked folding his arms before him as the young girl clenched her fists as she stared at him. The Ascian knew what she wanted to ask; her face showed it. Turning away he frowned. “If I knew how to properly deal with that overwhelming amount of Light I would have told you all already.” He waved his hand at her, answering Alisaes question before she even had a chance to ask. Tears brimmed in her eyes before she turned on her heel without a second word and stormed off. He couldn't help but frown at her retreating figure, when had she been told about your condition? He had thought that the woman Y’sthola was trying to keep it a secret from them. When she vanished from his view he turned away raising his hand to his chest he gazed down at the floor. His chest burned; regret. Emet-selch knew a few tricks to mitigate the light, but that girl knew he would not share them. He also knew he could not aid them in such a way. Clenching the cloth at his breast he felt a torrent of emotional pain; tears threatening to form in his eyes. 

You had been Gyrus just a mere one hundred years ago, before that? Ellana, and even further than that Inomina - he could name every single one of your reincarnations. Each one special in his heart. But Emet cast his mind further back even still, back to when your true home had still stood. Before the final days. When the two of you walked the pale streets, studied various methods of creations… had weaved your magics together to create life. Pulling himself back into the darkness he found himself once again perched high up in the buildings. Even though he fought back tears he found himself blushing at the memory. Your magics had been strong, but even though you two had always tried to weave new creations you always fell in each others arms. 

Every lifetime he thought. In every lifetime the two of you had easily fallen into each other's arms. Passionate kisses, touches, and bodies often pressed against one another. Instead, in this lifetime, perhaps the final one you two stayed away from each other. Perhaps, he thought, it was best this way. 

Best for you not to become attached to him. For him to be the tag along, the plus one to your merry band of Scions. Sure, you two had stolen kisses and touches from each other in this lifetime. But compared to the others it was minor. You would not be too affected when the time came. If he won, he would cradle your body until you passed into the final Lightwarden. In fact he would stay with you until the moment this shard was no more. Perhaps even then he would find a way to steal your soul and hold onto it until he could find a way to make you reincarnate. But, if you won he would perhaps ask you to kiss him one last time. Perhaps he would touch your face as his body disappeared. 

Wincing once more at the pain in the back of his skull he sighed. He could not lose of course, for the sake of the thousands of dead. He could not have the fleeting whimsy of wanting to love you when his goal was so close. Emet knew he would have to succeed if he wanted to bring you back. He had too. Gazing down he found that you were gazing up at him, sweat clinging to your beautiful face. Emet sat up quickly as he noted that there were more fractures in your soul. Your eyes strained with pain and without a second thought he willed himself from his seat to before you. 

You smiled weakly as he appeared in a cloud of darkness before you. His face surprisingly wild, his golden eyes searching yours. “Ah, I saw you up there and was wondering if you wanted to go get something to eat?” You asked. Sure, the deal with the Greatwood warden had hurt you more than you had wished to admit. Everyone was starting to see that it was affecting you, but true to your word you did not want them to worry. Your smile vanished as you felt his arms grab you and pull you into him. His hands digging into your clothing. You raised your hands to hug him back. “Emet, what is wrong?”

“Nothing hero.” He responded quickly pulling away and producing a handkerchief from his pocket. Gently dabbing away the sweat on your brow. “Do you have a place in mind you wish to try?” Emet asked sticking the damp handkerchief back in his pocket. 

“Oh yes!” You exclaimed with forced energy. Throwing your arm around his you pulled it close to your chest and grinned. “There is this place up the way that sells delightful sandwiches. I wanted to and the little Oracle but they already ran off somewhere!” Pouting you tugged his arm. He sighed dramatically and allowed you to pull him along.

Perhaps, The Ascian thought. Just a little longer…