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Prompt Three: Uncertain Fortunes

Prompt:  Talisman  Characters: Revel Illari, Dust (NPC) Setting: Homebrew D&D Content Warning: None

Thick and cloying smoke hung in the air like a curtain as Revel pushed their way past the heavy drapery that led into Dust’s wagon. The grey skinned tiefling barely look up as the juggler entered the slightly cramped space. Visitors and gawking onlookers wouldn’t be prowling between attractions for hours yet. 

Revel’s tail swayed behind them as they looked down at the cards spread across Dust’s workspace. Black cards edged with fine gold, dimly flickered candles whose wax showed show tears of consumption down their tapered sides and onto the brassy holders that contained them.

“You don’t usually come in here willingly.” Dust commented as one clawed hand turned another card over on the table in front of them. The sudden scrutiny from beneath thick, dark lashes over Dust’s eyes had Revel shifting from foot to foot almost uncomfortably. 

The chair across from the Soothsayer was pulled out as Revel sank down into it, staring at the cards in front of Dust, and the other tiefling’s work with it. 

“No,” Revel said at last. “But Sylas, he sendin’ me off. Pick up a payment in advance of us gettin’ there.” They said quietly. Revel’s tongue passed across their bottom lip as Dust’s hand turned another card over sharply, glancing up to meet Revel’s mismatched eyes.

“Veld.” Dust acknowledged as they examined the cards that they’d turned. It was a simple spread of three. But it certainly wasn’t for them. They had known Revel was coming, after all. There was very little that the Carnival did, that Sylus planned, that Dust wasn’t aware of.

Revel never had been able to figure out if it was because Dust and Sylus talked a lot, or if it was because the Soothsayer just knew instinctively. Like how some people could predict the rain from an ache in their bones. One of Revel’s hands lifted upwards, fingers threading through the loose curls and waves of their hair, pushing it back from their face as they nodded. 

“Veld, yeah. Continental carriage, comin’ to take me soon.” Revel didn’t sound the happiest about it. They didn’t like being separated from the Carnival that had been wholly their life since, well, since before they could remember. 

“Then why are you here, Revel?” The younger looking purple skinned tiefling winced as Dust pinned them with another look. 

“Askin’ advice? You always see things, Dust. Always know.” It was well known that if Dust went looking for you, it was bad news. Maybe that’s why Revel had come seeking them first. Couldn’t have bad news delivered to you belatedly if you went hunting for it. 

Dust laughed, an almost grating sound as they lifted a hand upwards to thread clawed fingers through the many bones, feathers, and other trinkets that dangled from the ceiling of their wagon. Revel shivered, banishing the strange unease that accompanied the rattling of bones as Dust disturbed them. 

Revel had never asked before where the bones had come from, and Dust had never offered explanations. But then, it was the mystique of them that lured people in. It probably didn’t help that Dust leaned into that aesthetic and those mannerisms, even around the rest of them. 

“You want to know if I saw anything.” They stated, fingers closing around one of the bones before their grip fell free and dropped back down to the table and the cards strewn across it. Whatever they had seen, they neglected to offer Revel an interpretation. Better to make the other tiefling ask outright.

“Yes.” Revel said at last, acknowledging that it hadn’t been a question, but a statement. “Did you?” They turned their face down to the cards laying on the table. Death sat prominently in the center, flanked on either side by the Hanged Man, and the Tower. 

“Change is coming for you, Revel.” Dust said at last, turning to the side to open a small chest that sat on a side table beside them. “You cannot outrun it. You cannot escape it. Your destiny is coming for you, whether you embrace it or not. Resisting it is pointless. It will find you, like it or not.” Their fingers moved through the contents of the box, curling around a small bag inside it. 

They tossed it to Revel, and the juggler caught the bag reflexively, tugging at its drawstrings to open it and stare down inside. Herbs and their sweet scent mingled with bits of bone bleached white from the sun, were cradled alongside a pair of dice that had the side representing ‘one’ scraped clean and smooth faced. 

“What’s this?” Revel asked after a moment. They were still trying to digest what Dust had said. Because the fortune teller had never been wrong, and that was a terrifying prospect. Change. As if they hadn’t lived through so much change that their memories were scattered even as they tried to grasp them past their travel with the Carnival.

“A talisman,” Dust said, “for luck and and maybe protection.” Revel’s brows furrowed and they tugged the strings of the bag closed once more so they could tuck it into the sash at their waist. 

“Thank you, Dust.” Revel said as they pushed to stand. They didn’t quite smile at the older figure, just inclined their head. Dust’s attention turned away from them almost immediately, in dismissal, and without acknowledgement of the thanks. 

Revel pushed back out into the early evening a moment later, a deep breath taken in to inhale air that wasn’t so thick with smoke and uncertainty. A hand went to the talisman now carried in their waist sash, and they frowned as they headed back for their own wagon. 

Change. They could only hope it was for the better.

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Prompt 2: Growing Up

Prompt: Ostentatious Characters: Helionne Gevair   Setting: FFXIV Content Warning: None

“No. Not that one.” Helionne gestured to the maid who was helping her select clothing for her twin sons. 

Their nameday was barely more than a sennight away, and Helionne was still trying to decide what outfit the twins would wear for it. Ivaurault had, in this, decided to defer to her choice in taste. 

Probably because she wasn’t prone towards ostentatious clothing for infants. Simple, warm little dressing gowns for them to be passed around among family in. Besides, the party itself would be grand enough, wouldn’t it?

At barely a year they'd probably be gifted more finery than they'd ever know what to do with. Such was the trend with small children who would one day vie for the position of Viscount de Courcelle.

The maid laid out another outfit and Helionne smiled. Simple fabric. Soft like cloudsilk.

“This one..” Her hand smoothed down the child sized gowns, and she turned to glance back towards the cribs that held the two boys. It was hard to believe they were already so old, both of them still so tiny. 

They would look practically cherubic in them, with their dark auburn ringlet hair, their faces covered in freckles. The tiniest, most noble little gentlemen at their nameday celebration.

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Prompt 1: White Stained Red

Prompt: Resilience Characters: Ghyslain Cairfaux Setting: FFXIV Content Warning: Blood, violence.

“Fuck.” 

The hunter’s voice was quiet as it cracked the now silent air. He’d dropped to a knee in snow scattered the splash of crimson from the vampire he’d just killed. Ash crumbled into pieces beneath the blade that he was holding onto to keep himself upright. 

Two of a nest of four. Why were so many of them clustering up into covens now? This was the third or fourth in Ishgard alone that he had managed to disrupt. He only had a few seconds to process the pain that was blossoming in his side from the scrape of claws that had come from the vampire he’d just ashed. 

He didn’t have more than that before he was having to struggle back up onto his feet to meet the charge of another vampire, of teeth and claws reaching for him outstretched as the vampire lunged into his space. 

Ghyslain spun, claws screeching down the length of his sword as he deflected the blade off the gleaming metal, the sound a grinding screech in the night air. His breath came in ever increased pants, clouds of mist forming around his head as his breath, hot, hit the evening air. 

Any onlooker would have had a hard time tracking the movements of the three fighting. Of the lunges and swipes, of the bites that found home in leather and the swift punches that knocked them free in the wake of them. 

Of the whirling movements and footsteps that could have been choreographed for how well each read, predicted, and countered the movements of the next. Of the gleam of silver in the lamps overhead amid the swirl of snow. Of the splatters of blood, his and theirs as they danced a dance more perilous than any ballroom waltz. 

He was nothing if not determined. If not stubborn. 

After all, now that he’d given up on killing the person who had sired his sister? Now that he had acknowledged the futility of it, he had nothing to dedicate himself to but the extinction of every night hunter that made the mistake of preying on the innocent. 

They might have all been better off if he had stayed true to that former path. It might have spared more of them. But now? With nothing tethering him, no singular revenge? Every fight was as furious as if it might be his last. One would think it would have made him more reckless. Nihilism and hopelessness what drove him to his end.

"Live a little, Hunter." The voice plagued his nightmares and dreams alike. The cocky Nightkin that kept inserting himself into his life. Reminding him that there was more to life than revenge. But revenge was still a damned fine place to start, wasn't it? Was this living?

For once, it didn't feel like an endless chore. He was delighting in this battle. Perhaps it hadn't been what the Vampire had meant. But it worked for him regardless.

Single-minded resilience drove him onward. That finally had him catching up with the vampire whose heart now lay split open on his sword, the end of it pierced into a nearby brick. He left it pinned there as he turned to deal with it’s fellow while it's body sat body limp on the sword, frozen by the paralysis that gripped their kind when the most vital organ was disrupted.

Three down. One more to go. His now empty hand lifted to wipe across the back of his mouth, gloved hand smearing red and ice cold snow across the split as he smiled with considerable ferocity and lunged at the last remaining vampire.

Time to add another mark to his back.

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Fictember Master List 2025

Week One

Prompt 1: Resilience - White Stained Red Prompt 2: Ostentatious - Growing Up Prompt 3: Talisman - Uncertain Fortunes Prompt 4: Serendipity Prompt 5: Whisper Prompt 6: Ethos Prompt 7: Free Day

Week Two

Prompt 8: Meander Prompt 9: Sanguine Prompt 10: Precipice Prompt 11: Malignant Prompt 12: Brontide Prompt 13: Threshold Prompt 14: Free Day

Week Three

Prompt 15: Malapert Prompt 16: Nostalgia Prompt 17: Weal and Woe Prompt 18: Solicitude Prompt 19: Moonlight Prompt 20: Reverence Prompt 21: Free Day

Week Four

Prompt 22: Agita Prompt 23: Dissemble Prompt 24: Moxie Prompt 25: Verdancy Prompt 26: Somnolent Prompt 27: Refuge Prompt 28: Free Day

Week Five

Prompt 29: Fervor Prompt 30: Reflection

My contributions this year for Fictember, taking the place of the usual FFXIV Write event. Previous year's writings for XIV Write (and some key pieces of my writing) can be found below. This year will be considerably different as the writing will not just focus on XIV characters, but also different characters from other settings.

Previous Years: [ 2024 | 2023 | 2022 | 2021 | 2020 ]

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FFxivWrite2024 Participation Prize

I had the pleasure of drawing this amazing elezen and it was such a joy. Thank you @dischordant-skies for having such a fellow and for writing in ffxiv write! Thanks to @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast as always for organizing ffxivwrite, it's always so much fun every year.

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Annual Amorous Asks!

A random collection of OC asks on the topics of love, romance and relationships. From the sweet to the (mildly) spicy to the slightly strange...

How does your OC feel about pet names? Might they rather enjoy them with a partner, but find them excrutiatingly embarassing if used in public?

Does your OC remember their first crush? Would they ever admit to it now?

How much use would your OC be at helping a friend choose their wedding dress (or suit)?

Is there someone your OC has met who they would find physically attractive, if only their personality were not so repulsive? (Or that they find attractive and really wish they didn't...)

Do they enjoy reading romance novels or watching romantic dramas (or even romantic comedies)?

How important is it to your OC that a prospective partner is of the same social class or level of wealth?

What gift would they be most delighted to receive from a suitor or lover?

Does your OC need to be in love with someone to consider having sex with them? Or are the two things completely seperate for them?

What setting would they consider the most romantic to spend time with a partner? A beach at sunset? A private box at the theatre? An opulent ballroom? A private garden? Or something else entirely?

Has your OC ever experienced unrequited love? What is their relationship with that person now?

Has your OC ever read (or otherwise engaged with) a guide to romance and/or lovemaking? Have they had a chance to put this learning into practice?

What was the worst advice your OC has ever received on the subject of love and relationships?

Does your OC find other people's love lives interesting - or even compelling - to learn about? Or would they really rather not know?

If your OC were to dress up to show themselves off to their best advantage, perhaps for an existing partner, or in the hopes of attracting positive attention, what might they wear?

Would your OC be happy to be given flowers by an admirer or partner? What would be their favourite to receive?

Your OC is asked by their lover or spouse to write them a love poem. How do they respond?

Would your OC ever be confident in making the first move? Or do they prefer to wait for the other person to do so? If they are in a relationship then who made the first move in that instance?

What was your OC most surprised to find out about themselves in terms of sex and/or romance? Or perhaps what will they be surprised about in the future?

Is there a couple who your OC views as having a particularly healthy or admirable relationship? Would they hope to emulate this kind of relationship?

Does your OC cry at weddings? Did they cry at their own (if they've had one?)

How does your OC feel about virginity? And their own in particular? Is it something to which they attach moral or spiritual weight? Or is it a meaningless social convention to them? Did (or would) their first lover know about their virginity?

How would your OC respond to someone falling in love with them if they did not, or could not, reciprocate? Would they let them down gently and with kindness? Or would they sneer at them?

How well would your OC manage in a long-distance relationship? And for how long?

Has your OC ever discovered they have a turn-on or kink to which they had previously been oblivious? How did this become apparent to them?

If your OC is single do they find it difficult to relate to their friends who are married or coupled? If they are in a committed relationship then do they find it difficult to relate to their single friends? What makes them exasperated/jealous in either instance?

Does your OC enjoy holding hands? Or are they too awkward to do this in public? Or possible too clammy?

Does your OC keep their eyes open when kissing?

Has your OC been planning their wedding since childhood? If they've already had their wedding(s) then did it live up to their dreams?

Has your OC mastered (or mistressed) the art of undressing in a seductive fashion? Or is it a slightly awkward performance?

How easy is it for your OC to keep the conversation flowing with a prospective partner on a date? Or if they are in an established relationship, do they still find plenty to talk about?

If your OC is in a relationship then what do they suspect they do that most annoys their partner? Are they correct in this belief? If they are single then what do they worry might annoy a prospective partner?

Is your OC a confident dancer? Would they enjoy dancing with a lover or partner? Even (or especially) in a public setting?

Does your OC consider themselves to be as handsome or beautiful as their partner? Does any perceived imbalance in this regard trouble them? If they are single then are they looking for a partner who is more, or less, attractive than themselves? Why is this?

Is it usual for others to develop a crush on your OC? Are they usually oblivious to this? If not then how do they manage such things?

Would your OC be any use in providing advice on love or relationships to friend?

Has your OC ever had a holiday fling or short lived romance whilst visiting a foreign place?

Would your OC ever attempt to cook a romantic meal for a partner or prospective partner? How successful and/or funny would this end up being in reality?

How important is it to your OC that their partner or lover has a good sense of humour?

Does (or would) your OC enjoy just cuddling with a partner or lover? Or would they intend (or at least hope) that this would lead to something more sexual?

What was the best advice on love and relationships that they ever received? Who provided this?

What has been the hardest lesson your OC has learned regarding love and romance?

Does your OC believe that more attractive people have easier lives? How much has this played (or not played) a part in their own experiences?

If a hypothetical fairy godmother were to visit your OC, then what would they need to alter with magic in order to help them win the hand of their handsome prince/beautiful princess (or beautiful prince or handsome princess for that matter)?

Does your OC have a sense of occasion? Or do they tend to dress and behave the same regardless of where they are or who they are with? Does this make it more or less likely that they will be seen positively by others? If they have a partner then what are their views on this?

Is your OC likely to hog the bedclothes and/or take up most of the bed?

Does your OC have views on combining food and sex? Sensual and pleasurable? Or messy and unnecessary? Or a waste of perfectly good food?

When was the last time your OC cried because of something in their relationship or love life? Or lack of either of these if they are single?

Is your OC a "gentleman" (or female or ungendered equivalent) when courting? Do they do things such as holding doors and pulling out chairs for their date? If they do not then do they expect the other person to do these things for them? If they do actually do them, will they keep this up once in an established relationship?

Would they be willing to try something for a partner that they either are not terribly into or that they are unsure they would be into? Are there some definite boundaries in this regard?

Does your OC believe they are easy to love?

Does (or did) your OC enjoy "the chase" or being "chased"? Or do such things appear to them like silly games? Or even as an unequal and unhealthy basis for a relationship?

Would (or does) your OC make a good "wingman" for their friends socially?

Has your OC had to unlearn any cultural or societal messages about love and relationships as they have got older? Was this difficult for them?

Does your OC get excited for others when they find love?

To what extent does your OC view their own parents (if they knew them) as a good model for how a relationship should work?

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Prompt 30: Resolution

Prompt: Two Heads Are Better Than One - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Kasimir, Fleurant (@roses-and-grimoires), Vedastus (@thedarknesssings) Notes: Continues from Reckoning

Kasimir struggled to push himself up entirely straight in the bed, covers sliding down to his waist. He’d heard what Fleurant had murmured to Vaast. Heard the strains of desperation in his voice.

The reassurance that he’d only been asking someone to collect reagents that he didn’t want he or Vaast to acquire was, he expected. Likely meant to reassure that he wasn’t sleeping with the young man that was recuperating in his lab. Not that he was sure either he or Vaast would have been entirely opposed to the idea anyway, but also he didn't think he was quite Fleur's type.

“Idiot.” The word was singular. Chiding. But not dismissive. There was a fondness to its syllables. To the way it lashed across him in that way that only Kas could manage it.

An idiot, but their idiot. He leaned, lacing his arms around Fleurant, sinking in comfortably against his back, pinning him into place against Vaast where the duskwight was watching them with pursed lips. 

“You could have told us anyway.” Kasimir corrected him firmly, unwilling to let Fleurant worm his way out of this. “Two heads are better than one for problem solving, so it stands that three are even better.”

He heard the intake of breath as Fleurant started to open his mouth to protest, and shook his head. “Nope. No excuses.” This time, Vaast had chimed in in agreement with him. “Afraid or not, Kasimir is right, you’ve been an idiot about it. As if we wouldn't have figured something out.” They weren't exactly a trio of fools here, outside of being fools over love.

But there was a reassurance in his words as much as there was accusation and even threads of frustration. Upset because he’d tried to hide things from them, but not the exact nature of what it was that was being hidden. That seemed to bother them less than the fact that he wouldn’t rely on them.

After all, none of them were exactly strangers to things gained questionably. 

“So let us help you, Flower.” Kas muttered again. It was an affectionate nickname. Softer than perhaps most would use for the scarred man. But perfectly suited for the context Kas used it. In some ways, Fleuerant was the most fragile of them where it counted after all. The delicate confines of his heart.

And if that meant the other two had to help shield it, even from their own loss, so be it.

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Prompt 29: Temptation

Prompt: Free Write - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Ghyslain, Keldrin (@roses-and-grimoires ) Content Warning: 

His return to Ishgard had taken longer than he’d intended it to. 

Between his period convalescing in bed and then making sure to delicately side-step the mire of whatever was going on with his teacher and his teacher’s partners? Ghyslain had been busy in Sharlayan for nearly a moon.

He’d finally, only just returned to the city. And now? 

Now he was staring down the length of the sword he held out in front of him, pointing at the mouthy duskwight–the mouthy nightkin–that was attempting to push his blade aside and get up into his space. 

“I could have given you a far worse greeting.” He said flatly.

It was only vague familarity that had held his blade still from the initial strike he would have given anyone else attempting to get the drop on him. He was jumpy, and rightfully so, and the other man should have known that.

The blades he carried were shifted back down. Keldrin was probably the one vampire he didn’t think he needed to worry about in terms of a sudden about face.

Not that he’d have called him a good vampire, exactly. But he at least respected the mortals around him.

“I took a brief vacation.” The words were dismissive, undercut what had kept him away from his task for a little while. Revealed none of the very real weakness that had driven him from the city. 

“But you talk like that, though, and I almost think you missed me.” 

He smiled, and there was something almost coy in the expression, grey eyes raking across the shorter man to take in his appearance. Well fed, as usual. Less dressed than someone ought to be in the cold.

But then, he expected the whole blood-drinker thing conferred some benefit, even if he was familiar with the fact that Keldrin actively had a pulse.

“Especially if you've been waiting for me.” Ghyslain stepped forward as he slid those dual blades he carried back into their respective places at his side.

“What's wrong, Keldrin. Everything else too boring?" His head inclined just slightly, so he could murmur a touch closer to the vampire's ear.

"Or did you not get enough of dealing with me the first time when I pinned you against that light?" It was a cutting offer, sharply edged and sarcastic.

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Prompt 11: Across the Sea

Prompt: Surrogate - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Nikos Content Warning: 

Fingers curled around the railing of a ship as a young man with long ears leaned to stare out across the open blue expanse of the water around the ship. A few feet behind him, a stouter man reached to grab the back of his shirt and haul him backwards with a laugh. 

“Careful there, lad.” Sthalurs warned. Nikos leaned back from his perch, his feet once more meeting the deck as he flashed a sheepish look up at the Roegadyn sailor that had tugged on him.

“Sorry!” The apology came quickly but carried with it the usual exuberance that the sailor had come to realize meant that in a few bells he’d just have to drag the young man back from his inappropriate perch again.

A grunt sounded when he probably should have offered genuine admonishment, and he ruffled black hair tinted with a vibrant green. “Just be careful lad.” He cautioned and turned to tend to his task. He was working on tying off some nearby rope to secure a sail recently lowered.

It wasn’t often that a ship was taking a run all the way across the sea in this direction, clear to the shores of Hingashi. But then, Sthalurs made such trips more regularly than most. And the older man wasn’t surprised when Nikos followed him the few steps he’d gone to his task.

“Are you free enough for me to ask more questions?” Nikos’ tone was eager, and Stahlurs sighed, nodding his head slowly after a moment. 

“Haven’t I answered enough?” Stahlurs asked. Not that he thought his refusal would have reduced the other’s exuberance or the frequency with which he asked him things. He’d made the mistake of admitting the once that he’d been traveling the world for a while, and the younger man’s questions had assailed him ever since.

Nikos considered him with a frown as he stared him over, dark brows knitting over pale violet eyes. 

“Do you want to ask me something, instead?” He offered. Stahlurs stared down at Nikos a bit, his gaze narrowing on the young man. Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea. “Sure. What kind of life’d you have growing up?” Maybe the answer would provide him some insight to that boundless curiosity. He knew where he’d originated, but not much else.

Nikos laughed a little, and reached up to ruffle his green tinged black hair. “Me? Sure. It was pretty normal, I guess? Me, my dad, and sometimes mom.” He explained, and then paused. “Well. Mom was a pretty special case, I guess? Mom wasn’t the woman who gave birth to me.” He clarified. “Dad lost her a few months after I was born.” But not during the birth. Stahlurs nodded a little in understanding, a brief shadow passing across the older Roegadyn’s eyes. But he continued to listen attentively as Nikos continued.

“I don’t remember Mom a lot, exactly? But I miss them. I remember.” He trailed off, staring out across the ocean. Now, introspectively, he leaned against the railing, his voice quieter. Calmer. 

“Mom took me to a lot of places. Cared for me when Dad was struggling to raise me alone.” A little grin. “I got to see my first chocobo thanks to Mom, even though they’re not native to Tural. Mom’s also who taught me not to be afraid of thunderstorms.” There was a smile on his face. A kind of melancholy reserved for someone going off the thin scraps of a youth’s memory, and from things that had been told to him second hand. 

“It’s why I’m going to Hingashi.” The word came out accented, thicker than he might have meant it to be. “Mom was Hingan, so I’m going to go look there first. And if I can’t find Mom there, I’ll head to Eorzea.” 

Stahlurs continued to listen, as Nikos continued to ramble. It was interesting, to get the lad’s perspective on his Mom. A practically mythical figure in his head, one that had been built up. He couldn’t blame him; he’d done the same with his daughter after her mothers passing. Perhaps that’s why he continued to indulge the questions and rambling alike. He could see the same youth between them both.

The cracks of thunder above were what finally broke up the conversation. Another of the harsh storms that often plagued the ocean was brewing. And that meant all passengers had to venture back down below. 

“Alright lad. Enough. Down below, and you can finish telling me about your Ma’ later.” Nikos huffed as he was waved away towards the entrance below decks. He wasn’t afraid of the storms like the others. This kind of thunder and lightning was nothing compared to what he was used to hearing. The endless crash and clash that shook the skies. 

But he went below decks all the same. They still had a long stretch of the sea before they reached Hingashi. There’d be more times for conversation later. More questions about the world he was going to be traveling. More questions about the places Mom had called home.

Maybe the old Roegadyn could explain to him what a ‘priest’ was the next time they talked.

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Prompt 28: Shards of Broken Glass

Prompt: Deleterious - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Meallaire Sergenaux  Content Warning:

Meallaire stepped into the office that she kept at Priarch and could feel her chest heaving. It had started as a vague, growing anger from the moment she’d heard Inwa’s request, and it had continued to sit there, heavy as a weight on her heart as she had talked to Keldrin. She hadn’t lied to he and Inwa, not really. 

She did want to move on from her anger over what Garlean soldiers had done to her children. Over what they had done to so many children. An entire nation, consumed by the hubris of its empowerment, and what remained afterwards was a shattered people, scattered.

In some respects, those who remained weren’t really all that different from the Gelmorrans who had been uprooted from their homes. And didn’t that rankle her on some level, considering? Frustration welled in her as she considered that she’d have to go into a Castrum. She needed more information on the mission she had agreed to go on, but that she was frustrated was no small or insignificant thing. That frustration could and would easily build into something violent if she gave it the chance to.

While she wanted to move on, some damage left its mark. Just as she had told them tonight. Some of those many deaths, she still mourned. Rather than hitting and risking damaging the wall, she did the next best thing. 

The vase on her desk that held delicate white roses was lifted, the flowers within carefully set to the side. And then she watched with satisfaction as she pitched the fragile glass vase across the room and saw it shatter against the stone wall of the clinic’s front greeting room. 

Satisfying. Fleeting, but satisfying. For just a moment, it slaked that need for destruction that ran rampant in her heart. Eventually, she would pick up each shard and the remnants left behind. Eventually, all parts of her would heal and she wouldn’t feel this simmering rage every time Garlemald was mentioned. 

Eventually.

But perhaps not just yet.

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Prompt 27: Heartbeat

Prompt: Memory - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Marcelloix Bontensont, Tythelie Content Warning: Blood loss, death.

They say that the first taste was meant to be sweetest. Like wine. Like honey. Like ambrosia. They ‘said’ a lot of things, he noticed over the years. How to feel. What to feel. When to act and react. He had performed this action so many times over the centuries now that it happened like rote.

Teeth elongated in his mouth, sharpening like daggers. They pressed to warm skin and he bit down. Like anyone would on any delectable morsel. His bites were tender things. Perhaps that, too, was something he had learned in that first time. If ‘sweet’ was a euphemism for unforgettable, it was funny that what he remembered was not that sweet first time he bit Tythelie, but instead the last.

 It had been lifetimes, but he could still remember the way her skin felt under his teeth, delicate like paper. Fragile. Gone from her was the kiss of youth and the bloom of vigor. What was left in its place was tiredness. Exhaustion that wracked her very bones.

The most vivid thing he recalled of it, though, was the sigh of relief she gave when the venom in his teeth began to course through her veins. The sound was singular. Like letting go before a fall. He would only understand it later. Only long after she was gone.

When he closed his eyes, sometimes, he could still feel the way her hands had pressed his head back down to her throat after he would have drawn back. After his urges and his desire to protect her started to outweigh his desire to feed. It had been a fight. One that had spilled precious crimson across his fingertips where he was gripping onto her. 

He held his Tythelie, his shining star, until the sun rose pale in the sky. His cornflower blue eyes had, by then, long since gone scarlet. Hers was the first life he had ever taken. It had left him changed. Not just for the deed, but for his loss. His fingertips rubbed together as he stared down at the man he held tonight.

Not his Tythelie, this man. This man had been beating his wife and son, and for weeks he had endured the sound of it, ringing through the walls of the apartment that he shared with Keldrin in La Noscea. A drunkard, a braggart, and a liar. The bite that he had given this man was not the one from his memories. 

This one was had come with a ripping ferocity, tearing flesh until blood flowed freely. The same blood that now dripped down his fingertips. Torn apart by animals in the wilds outside the city, the headlines would say. A few days later the woman would find some almost too well timed windfall. Something secreted away in her apartment. Easy to find. Her husband’s, of course. 

And she would, as they often did, as they nearly always did, pack up her life and begin to move on. It was a common story. One he could recite almost every line of, for the number of times it had ended the same. He was no avenging angel. He was no good soldier doing only what he could. He was a predator. A monster.

He was devouring a man for what lay in his arteries, and doing someone else a service in the process, to regain the quiet he had enjoyed before moving in with his young charge.

That those actions benefited another was mere circumstance and nothing more. No matter how the memories of either himself, or another might paint it.

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 26: Undone

Prompt: Zip - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Various Content Warning: Very NSFW

Zip.

The slide of metal down teeth set into leather. It brings with it a gasp as cool air caresses skin. As hands push and fingers pull. As palms grasp flesh and manipulate a body into place. The sound is an almost immediately forgotten prelude to hands that part thighs, to a tongue that sets itself to warm skin to taste desire made manifest in slick beads crawling down supple flesh.

Fingers weave into hair, tangling deep in feather soft strands to pull and hold. To assist the rise of hips, to bring the object of desire further into contact with what will ultimately drive it to its satisfaction. Rising cries proclaim an ever encroaching limit that will be shattered like spun sugar. Fragile. Ephemeral. Sweet on the tongue.

Zip.

Fingers pull the metal object down the side of a long leather boot, a foot propped between thighs with the toe too close to sensitive places, cradled in invitation. A head bows and lips brush against a newly bared thigh. That mouth trails its way down in unspoken adulation of the flesh it’s set to. It trails down a calf to an ankle, chasing leather until the heel of it clatters to the floor and lips begin their trail back upwards again. 

The kisses trail upwards, a sweep of tongue, a kiss of teeth until a mouth is met. Taken. Used. Abandoned as that seeking begins again, to find the other boot. Those kisses could last a lifetime. More of them could never come soon enough. The herald of rough moans in the dark as bodies strike against one another in an unyielding staccato. 

Zip. 

A sound that seems almost dissonant in the dark confines of a bedroom. A body writhes under the restraints that bind them to wrought iron bars set into sturdy, unyielding wood. Plastic bites into twisting wrists, holds them in place with teeth that won’t surrender their grip. Black leather sings through the air, strikes solid flesh, and the body twists. It arches, it rises. Away from the kiss of pain. Back into it again. 

It plays hide and seek with what rains down upon it, hiding this bit of skin, offering that one, until trembling legs part, hips arch and lips part to beg for the satisfaction that sits just at the edge of their peripheral, stalking them like a predator waiting to pounce. It only needs a guiding hand in its pursuit.

Zip.

The sound of metal is furious now, lost in the shuffling of fabric, the pushing of clothing. The motions are frantic, hurried. There is no calm pursuit of a crescendo here. There is only the manic chase of someone hurtling after their next high. After the next drowning kiss. After the next surge of pleasure. After each one that follows the first. 

It is the single minded goal of the needful, the lustful, the eager and desirous. It blinds and consumes, devours reason and sense and envelops with a hazy pleasure until nails bite into skin and hisses of pleasured pain mingle with the rough sound of cries in the dark. Until bliss brings them floating back down from their frenzied rush.

Zip.

A herald. A harbinger. A promise. A threat. A vow.

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 25: Reflection

Prompt: Perpetuity - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Leodaire Content Warning:

Blonde hair was ruffled by the wind as Leodaire stood at the edge of the railing lining one of Ishgard’s many outer paths. He’d made it back into the city after finding out about the birth of his best friend’s children. That Ivaurault had asked him to be a godfather to his children wasn’t entirely surprising, though they did have an entire slew of family to get to before he was ever even considered for such a thing.

And it was only after that conversation that reality had set in for him. He was being asked to be the godparent for two young lives. But how many young lives would he continue to be able to watch out for? He knew that Dravanian’s were a long lived race. He’d heard of their deaths from violence. From extreme old age. 

But his own father had lived to see the beginning of the Dragonsong War. Even as someone who shared only half that heritage, it was a terrifying thought, that he might simply live ‘forever’. Whatever forever was meant to be. He leaned to consider the empty air beneath the railing, staring into the swirl of snow and wind below.

It was a terrifying drop. One he had considered more than once. Not for any real want to take the plunge, but because it often felt like his life, as much as Ishgard, sat on the edge of a strange precipice. He had been born and raised in Tailfeather and in many ways, Ishgard still felt overwhelming, both as a concept, and as a place. 

The idea of any place that continued in perpetuity was like that, though. When you lived only a short time, the thought of a place that had risen and still stood nearly a thousand years later made it seem like it was forever and without end. But time was still relative for him. Stolen moments and heartbeats between one experience and the next. 

He straightened finally, easing back from the railing and turned to head back onto the path that led towards Courcelle manor. His introspection could wait. There were new lives to greet, and much older ones to take joy in entwining his own with.

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 24: Banished

Prompt: Bar - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters:  Helionne, Ivaurault (@roses-and-grimoires) Content Warning:

She had become a mother. Or, more specifically, she had given birth. Months of waiting. Months of infirmity. Of being so swollen she could barely move. Of struggling furiously with the incompetence of her own body. Of denying cravings that she had with desperation, but that were ‘bad for the babes’. Of all the things she could have been chastised away from, the last of these things was probably the worst of them. 

She was in no state yet to be where she wanted to be; out in the yard, sword in one hand and a shield in the other, starting to regain what the months had stolen from her. Instead, she was in the kitchens of the Courcelle manor, a place where she likely ought not to have been. 

And as she had done so long ago as a wee youngling first drug in from the streets, she stood with a bowl of shrimp that was no doubt intended for a celebration cradled in one of her arms, the other hand working to help her devour them in bites that weren’t at all careful. 

One of the servants behind her made the mistake of interrupting, calling her name with confusion. 

“Lady Helionne?” The words were light, as if the kitchen maid was hopeful that she could direct the no longer pregnant lady back out of the room where she definitely was not meant to be, and back up into her rooms. “Surely if you’d like, we can bring..” 

In a flash, the bowl was down, and Helionne held in one hand the longest wooden spoon, meant for stirring cauldrons, and a lid that wasn’t fit to be a proper shield, but that she was managing a good approximation with. The maidservant lifted both of her hands in surrender and stepped backwards. 

“I have been restricted from all I want for moons, and I will not see anyone bar me from this indulgence. Do you understand?” Helionne’s accent was thick in her throat as she chewed and swallowed the last mouthful she’d been devouring when the interruption had come.

“Y-yes my Lady. I’ll just fetch Lord Ivaurault.” The maid continued backing away, stopping just long enough to bow before she darted off into the halls as Helionne turned back to her impromptu feast. 

She’d finished off the entire bowl by the time that Ivaurault arrived. 

“I see you’re feeling better tonight.” He quipped from his place in the doorway, striding over to join her at the now empty bowl, expression rueful as he peered down into it. “Didn’t even save me one?”

He winced away with a laugh as she smacked his shoulder with the spoon, only for her to give a light shriek as he hoisted her up into both arms. The spoon clattered to the floor as she brought her own arms up to grab around his neck and hold tight to him.

“Ivaurault! Put me d-” Her protests died immediately when he pressed a quick kiss to her lips, one that didn’t last, but had her flushing straight to her ears. The smile he gave her was a knowing one. And one of triumph. He'd won that fight with little bloodshed. A miracle perhaps, considering her moodiness hadn't yet faded, merely changed tack.

“Come. You’re barred from the kitchen before you terrorize the maids away again. I’ll have them bring you anything you want, but no more forays alone.” And it was to her voice rising in protest that he flashed a very brief smile to a very thankful maid as he carried his wife back out of the kitchen and towards their quarters.

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 23: Departure

Prompt: On Cloud Nine - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Nikos  Content Warning: None

It had taken longer than he had anticipated to pack all of the possessions he wanted to bring with him. Careful planning and curation of what remained of his and his father’s belongings had resulted in a much lighter load of things to be left behind in the apartment that they had shared for the duration of his life, while the rest of what he wanted to take with him was packed carefully into a travel bag. 

The weather wasn’t optimal for this, but then, the weather was never quite optimal for travel. But he was packed, he had everything he needed, and he turned to stare back at the empty walls and covered furniture with a smile. This was a good thing. Gently letting go. Tentatively moving on. 

Releasing his grief without clinging to the memories so hard that they choked him. This was a good step forward. His father would have been proud. He’s sure his mom would be too. He’d always liked the thought of something new, of something fresh. He’d drifted from hobby to hobby, job to job for that very reason. It was the way that something new felt to him.

And this time was no different. He reached to flip the light switch as he stepped out of the apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft click as the lock caught. This was one more new experience for him to relish in, and it brought him joy he wasn't sure he could have explained to anyone else for its commencement.

He followed the corridor until it led to the stairs that spread out into the city. Time to go find Mom.

[zoetic-tome]

Prompt 22: With A Cry

Prompt: Free Write - FFXIV Write 2024  Characters: Helionne, Ivaurault (@roses-and-grimoires), mentions of the many siblings Courcelle. Content Warning: Mentions of childbirth

The relative calm of the Courcelle home had been broken by a woman’s shout in the earliest hours of the morning. Helionne had gone into labour. Early, the chirurgeon had said. Expected, the midwife agreed. Twins were always a birth that came early, especially when the mother was practically fit to burst the way she had been. 

Helionne had been rushed into the room that had been made ready, and innumerable hours had passed while Ivaurault had been made to wait outside. The sound of screaming from inside the chamber had left him no doubt pacing. 

The last time any children had been born in the Courcelle home, it had taken the life of the mother. The knowledge lay like a shroud over the family and most of his siblings drifted in and out of the hall at points. Both to offer a shoulder, and to help stay his fretting. 

That the labour was long was no real question. It had been expected. A first time mother, decently into her years? It would have been stranger if the birth had been flawless. It took more hours than anyone was comfortable with. Nearly half a day passed, before finally, sometime during the midafternoon hours, a set of twin cries came from inside the birthing room, after a too-long period of silence. These were the cries of babes, loud and greedy for their first taste of air. 

The midwife stepped out a number of minutes after that cry, announcing that Ivaurault could enter. Helionne lay paler against the pale sheets that covered her, but she wore a wan, tired smile. Nursemaids fussed with two swaddled bundles, feeding them from bottles that had been prepared just earlier. 

“Ivy.” Helionne’s voice sounded hoarse. Raw from her exertions. One of her hands lifted and Ivy made the few steps necessary to take her palm. Her grip was as tired as her smile had been, but it was firm, fingers curling into his. “Tell them they can see them in the morning.” 

Ivaurault looked back at the door with a rueful expression on his face. She was right, of course. Outside it waited siblings and their father alike. Eager for the good news. 

“I’ll make sure to send them away.” He reassured. She released his hand after that, that tired expression relaxing as she tried to settle herself comfortably into bed to steal what sleep she could for what little remained of the earliest hours of the morning.

"Rest well, my Lionne." Though he was not certain she had heard him, for she gave only a sigh and sank deeper into the bedcovers. Ivaurault stepped over to stare down at the lives they’d created, where they rested in the arms of their nursemaids. 

—

The announcement was made some hours later, when the sun had properly risen and the family had rightly assembled for the day.

House Courcelle was pleased to welcome its newest members, Ophelian de Courcelle and Lucien de Courcelle, born this day, the 24th Sun of the Fifth Astral Moon, to Lord Ivaurault and Lady Helionne de Courcelle.