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asha-mage · 3 days ago

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Could you do a snippet of Asahi from FFXIV for the prompt "voice"?

[Send me a fandom, character, or pairing and a one word prompt and I'll write a quick drabble for you!]

(CW: Child-abuse, victim blaming and general Garlean-Doma cultural problems.)

There are certain things that are not said in the Naeuri household.

Asahi's parents are very efficient at teaching him this lesson, without ever needing to put it into so many words. 'No' is the biggest taboo. His parents might occasionally phrase things as questions or requests, but the acceptable answer is always clear cut and obvious: ‘yes’, ‘at once’, ‘of course father’, ‘right away mother’. A negative answer is never expected or acceptable, even to rhetorical questions. If it ever seems like what they want is no, then what they really want is for him to stay quiet and express nothing.

On the rare occasion they actually want to know something specific- usually how his lessons on imperial etiquette or the Garlean tongue are going- they want a clean, concise report of what he has learned.

He’s long since mastered the art of giving his answers in a cool monotone, keeping a tight clamp on his emotions to prevent disappointment or excitement from showing. The best-case scenario is a sharp word and a reminder to stay on topic, the worst case well…

It had only needed to come to that once or twice.

Asahi knows that his opinions and feelings are of no consequence. His parents are only interested in his progress and the value it represents. His mother is tight fisted with their meager gil and every coin they pay to his tutor is spent with the hope of one day being repaid. Their questions are not made with the interest of parents in their son’s education, but stakeholders checking on an investment. Sentiment is for other people. People who don’t intend to rise above their circumstances.

Asahi’s parents are very aware of what they want- both from him and the world- and remarkably clear headed about how to get it. Asahi will learn to speak perfect Garlean, and master the manners and mores of the Empire. He will attend the military academy and find service with a high ranking legateus. He will make good connections and marry well. His parents will have comfort and wealth and never again have to toil in the dirt and crack their own fingernails. Anything that contradicts this plan is not to be considered or spoken of. To speak something is to threaten to make it real in their eyes- so doubt, reservation, and contradiction are ruthlessly and efficiently stamped out. And if it can not be stamped out, it is ignored.

It is this blindness that Asahi learns to manipulate early and often. If he leaves out a difficulty he is having in his lessons, or fails to bring up how a Garlean solider spat on him and called him a ‘filthy black eye’ then his parents will never learn of it on their own. They don’t want him to be struggling and so will accept his reports of success without question. As long as he keeps a tight grip on his emotions and tells them what they wish to hear, he has nothing to be afraid of.

It's something Yotsuyu has never managed to figure out. Yotsuyu presumes that, because something is true or right that it should matter. Yotsuyu thinks that because her anger is righteous, it deserves to be given voice, that because their situation is unjust and cruel, that is reason enough to speak about it. Her stubborn refusal to master her anger and outrage is the reason she ends sobbing and carrying heavy pails of water on a back striped with bloody welts so often, or else sent to the dark of the barn without supper or a blanket.

It’s her own fault, Asahi tells himself resolutely and frequently, every time mother seizes Yotsuyu by the hair or father hurtles a dish in her direction. It is not as if they have been unclear about the rules of the game with either of them. She acts as if her refusal to play at all is somehow noble. As if acknowledging that it’s wrong, all of it- the Empire, their parents, their society- will somehow change anything.

But Asahi knows better. Giving voice to such things is a useless exercise. The only way to change things is with power, and the only path to power is to play the game.

He tells her that one night as he’s helping clean and dress the cuts along her back and she laughs at him.

“You think if you get enough head pats and good marks and smiles you’ll have power?” She says through choked, ugly tears. “Real power? That if you bow and scrape and please enough, that it will matter somehow?”

Anger surges in him and he clamps it down before he can do more then press down the cloth a little to hard. Still Yotsuyu hisses and throws him a glare.

“I think it’s better then giving up.” He says quietly, instead of throwing down the cloth the way he wants too. He knows Yotsuyu hates him. He hates her a little bit too, for the strange cold feeling that blooms in his chest every time he has to watch her beaten, and for the voice that whispers do something do something do something in the back of his mind, even though there is nothing he can do.

Yotsuyu tries to scrub some of her tears away, but all she succeeds in doing is pushing the wet streaks of dirt around her cheek. “That’s exactly what you’ve done. I’m still fighting, but you…you refuse to admit theirs even a problem.”

Asahi clenches his fist. “You call this fighting?” He snaps, then forces a breath through his clenched teeth, and makes his shoulders relax. “Yotsuyu, please if you would just-“

“No.” She says firmly. “Never.”

“If you don’t bend they will keep going until you break.” He says, closing his eyes tight and only opening them when he’s sure that no tears will come out. He’s gotten very good at doing that over the years. When he does Yotsuyu has turned around to stare at him. Her eyes are cold and dark, like the ocean on a stormy night.

“Then I will break.” She says quietly. “But at least I’ll be able to live with myself till then. Will you?”

Asahi hates her so much in that moment. He hates the unspoken accusation of cowardice, of weakness. He hates that he knows it’s true.

He wants to tell her that he loves her, that’s she’s the only person who has ever understood him. That she’s wrong, that it isn’t her against him and their parents, but that it’s him and her together against their parents. He wants to tell her that he hates seeing her suffer and he just wants it to stop. He wants to tell her that he will find a way to make this right.

But there isn’t a point. She wont believe him, and he’s learned long ago that giving voice to something, even it’s true, is useless.

So instead, he lays the cloth aside and stands and says. “At least I will still be alive to regret.”

And then he leaves.

#FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #asahi sas brutus #yotsuyu goe brutus #Asahi Naeuri #Yotsuyu Naeuri #FFXIV Fanfic #Stormblood #Stormblood spoilers #Drabble challenge #this got away from me almost instantly but I really like it #i was so busy writing this I forgot to actually eat my lunch but i dont care #no beta we die like haurchefant

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myreia · 4 months ago

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Sketches of Times Lost

ao3 | tumblr tag | my writing

short stories include spoilers from a realm reborn to endwalker. all stories are set in aureia malathar's canon. [❤] = fave entry/fic that I am proud of [g] = general (all audiences), [t] = teen (some language, more difficult themes), [m] = mature (implied sex, sensuality, strong language, and/or violence), [e] = explicit (mature themes, explicit sex scenes)

Week I

Week II

Week III

Week IV

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv fanfic #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2024 #writing tag #myreiawrites2024 #aureia malathar

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idalenn · 5 months ago

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Day 4 - Reticent

Worqor Zormor - Lillian and Alisaie switch up the plan to harry the Second Promise. (7.0)

Major characters: Warrior of Light, Thancred, Urianger

Full text below the cut

Quick as a lie, Lillian’s hand snapped away from her forehead and a golden cord yanked Alisaie whole into her grip.

“We’re changing the plan,” Lillian growled, twisting the younger girl around to get at the leather tube slung across her back. “Alisaie, you and Krile stay with Wuk Lamat, and I’ll head off the others at the pass instead.”

“What’s come over you,” the girl cried. “So. Suddenly?” Wrenching with all force in her Elezen frame, she tried to free herself to no avail. Lillian’s arms were muscle woven with steel.

“Thancred got the best of us. Heard all we – quit moving – intended. They’ll expect your harassment up ahead.” Her deft fingers slid around the tube’s hooks, undoing them one after another. So much easier without gloves, she thought. In short order the map was flapping in her hand. “But not mine.” Krile nodded, clarity writ plain on her face.

“The Echo. We’ll leave this to you, then.” She knocked their Hrothgar claimant across one hand with the dripping end of her brush. “Worqor Zormor awaits us, Third Promise. Our friend will rejoin us once she’s finished.”

Confusion reigned over Wuk Lamat’s own expression. “Does anyone care to enlighten me on this?”

“It must needs be later, I’m afraid. Just run for now. I’ll do my best to inform you of the basics on the way.”

“So it goes.” Wuk Lamat’s shoulders slipped with a heavy sigh. Beyond a protesting Alisaie, Lillian hurriedly crumpled the map into a long green pocket of her cape. “I bring you into my circle for help and you look to escape me at the first chance. Sometimes I think you just can’t toler-AH–” Wind took the rest of her words, loose earth and shards of rock showering the remaining party as Lillian raced off with its power at her back, yalms melting away with each stride.

Up the path she went dodging around fallen stone outcroppings and growths of blue and violet crystal, the image of the Second Promise’s ascension on a column of air with Thancred and Urianger in tow still burned into her eyes. Not one soul in that damned town malms below had mentioned that was a possibility. Or perhaps her attention had fallen off at the wrong time in conversation and missed its passing mention in one of many grand tales she had been forced into hearing, some unexplainable act that had allowed the defeat of a rampaging beast like Valigarmanda. That was the irritating part about scholars like Koana; legends always held a grain of truth, and those learned as he always knew how to exploit those grains. Like as not down in the valley there existed some Sharlayan device he’d built capable of calling tempests to aid him.

Irritated, she slammed her staff into the mountain face and flooded it with aether. Juts of jagged, black stone ground out, dislodging flora that had lain root in the rock and birds that had found roost in the plants. Once extended enough for use, she bound up the cantilevered platforms, staff readied, its tip alight with pearlescent aether. One bird arrowed towards the Miqo’te, squawking complaint till light and petrichor found their mark, the smell of roast windkin filling Lillian’s mouth with water and nearly sending her feathered cap flying into the abyss. She almost shed a tear as the bird tumbled limp trailing feathers through the clouds.

After the last step, Lillian found herself on a mountain ledge flanked by a low rise of boulders and flowered moss. She drew out the time weathered map and flattened it on the ground, tsking at a tear she made in her haste to abscond. Wuk Lamat had been correct, but why waste time and confirm to the child claimant what she already knew? She was haughty, naïve, self-absorbed, and above all, a fool who believed Lillian’s actions took her well-being into consideration.

Were you not similar once, and did you not learn better? The voice of logic nagged. Quiet. Never so much as she, Lillian thought back, smoothing the spot Thancred pointed out to the Second Promise; a wide pass dotted with the ruins of ancient walls

“Alisaie plans to harry us here. She’s a quick-footed little pest, but we’ve battled alongside long enough for me to know exactly where her faults lie, and I’ve been itching for the opportunity to knock her down a peg or four. I’ll have her in bed without supper and you your victory before the Third Promise realizes she’s been made.”

We’ll see if you can manage the same against me, she thought, stuffing the map back down, wind licking at her heels as she ran. Beastkin poked their soft, red noses from their dens as she passed and retreated just as quickly. Excitement made her ears unable to stay still. They beat a dangerous leather heartbeat against their coverings sewn into her cap. Her thoughts were smothered, but so were the land’s whispers.

The ruins were a short jaunt away. There, the ground was soft and pocketed with fist-width craters filled with tepid water. Vegetation grew verdant from the civilization’s desiccated corpse to cover the bones in green embrace.

There it was. Along the path to the mountain’s summit, a towering stone barrier stood solemn. Dutiful. For a Miqo’te clad in forest colors: easily concealed behind. Some great hand had torn a hole through its skin and left a passage from ruin to path providing the perfect redoubt from which to utilize a White Mage’s magic against unwary passersby. Lillian sprinted across the sodden field, her mind bursting with all the possibilities to slow down her opponents.

As she reached the hole, a white blur faded into the open space.

A reticent blur of white absent of sound, of tension, of presence and definition. The pressure of existence swelled gradually with each fifth of moment. Her brain fired desperately on every available detail.

Bulk; clothing; the jangling of canisters; his interwoven bandolier; plant musk hiding his scent.

Thancred?

Who could claim the greater surprise? Not he, who knew of a coming. Not her, who knew of an arriving.

But if anything, he didn’t appear surprised at all. In fact, he was even –

Smiling?

A strong, hardened jaw stared back at her, yellow teeth glinting from a light growing –

From below?

A tickle started in her brain. Understanding came before the knowing.

Water flew into her hand from the puddle below before growing outward in a blue, glass-thin sheen in the path of the gunblade’s edge, hardening into a shield faster than the blooming muzzle flash. The explosion sent her flying back in a trail of dust and smoke. Powder smell filled her nose. Her ears rang with a cannon blast. Wind gathered thick around in a shroud of green aether to carry her from danger, willing herself to land upright on stable ground.

But as she did, a sigil circled with arcane letters expanded across the stone.

Rolling in the air, her hand wreathed in blinding green tore across the space as a wave of wind struck her full in the side mere ilms from the sigil, lifting the Warrior of Light to send her tumbling bodily across the ground and out of the way of harm as the sigil vanished in a thunderclap of dust and heat. Coughing up more dust caught in her throat, she turned blazing yellow eyes to the cloud of soot obscuring her would-be assailants.

“Bastards… the both of you.” She rose on shaking legs. Shards of broken stone had ripped tears in the cloth of her garb. Blood sheathed from a deep, muddy cut on her arm, but nothing else felt broken.

“Come now, we’re all friends here, and what’s a scuffle between friends.”

Thancred sauntered out from the debris, a shite-eating grin ballooning across his handsome features. Following suit with a light chuckle was Urianger, his astrometer spinning at the ready with cards prepped for reading.

“Our comrade believeth her hand superior to thine own.”

“Count yourself lucky that Alisaie hadn’t been the one around that corner.” Lillian spat a globule of saliva laced with red. “You might have killed her.”

“And I would have been eternally guilty for the act, make no mistake.” Somehow Thancred’s smile grew wider. “But, thankfully, no luck was necessary. You came around just as I had planned.”

“Planned? Ha!” Lillian tossed back her head to laugh. The movement made her wince. “Unless one of you can divine the future, my being here is all luck. And where has the Second Promise gone?”

“Ahead,” Thancred said.

“Thou would beggar of us an explanation?”

“Please. I’m all ears – hold…” She held up a finger hazy with radiant white and plunged the digit into her ringing ear. As the aether healed the damage from Thancred’s attack, the plants around her feet withered into brown husks and crumbled to join the dirt. “Apologies – Now I’m all ears.”

“Your Echo.” Thancred wore the face of a child swimming in an ocean of unwrapped candies. At Lillian’s widened eyes, he continued. “A most useful tool in our adventures, being allowed to witness past events as they occurred. But only as they occurred.”

“Of strength in sight does it boast, yet Master Thancred, awash in inspiration and long accustomed, privy to thine Echo’s potency, hath discovered the flaw in its making.” He held a hand to his lips and laughed lightly. Lightly and restrained. “Deceived we were, as means to deceive you.”

Lillian shook her head. “Somehow I believe this is just some trick to keep me here.”

“Oh, you were tricked, all right. Now your turn comes – what did the Echo show?”

“And why would I tell you?”

“You saw us discussing plans with Koana; plans to ambush Alisaie; plans in which I spoke of knocking her down a peg or four? You witness events exactly as they occur, so once we witnessed you succumb to the Echo’s effects…” Thancred placed a hand to his forehead.

“Into the fold were the Second Promise and I giveth allowance, and a trap thus lain for our dearest friend.”

Thancred’s fingers drummed along the gunblade’s handle. “Do pass on my thanks to Alisaie. Had it not been for her plot on Ultima Thule confirming you’ve density common with archon loaf, this endeavor may not have been as fruitful as hoped.”

The skin under Lillian’s left eye began to quiver. White aether burst at her wounded arm as the dirt crumbled into fine powder under her boots. “I hope you realize what you’ve earned.” Her words came out as a low hiss, the corners of her mouth twitched ever so slightly upward.

“A prize, I wager! And a prize Urianger and I have wished so long to taste.”

“Indeed. We bringeth all our might to bear, that we may witness might worthy of song and notoriety, what bringeth even eikons to heel.”

With a malicious cacophony, like to an endless sea of keening glass, from Lillian’s back spread opalescent wings of aether aflame, size and ferocity swelling until she was rendered a silhouette before their crescendo. Sensation of needles prickled against the Scions’ skin, and the myriad wounds below notice across her flesh steamed forth white clouds until hale and closed.

“Try not to choke on it.”

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv fanfic #ffxivwrite2024 #I love Temperance. i think it could be scarier.#7.0 lillian post character development isn't she beautiful

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thevikingwoman · 5 months ago

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FFXIVWrite2024 - Prompt 10

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 227 | Read on Ao3

Meryta Khatin (wol) | ARR patches Rating: Gen. Just chocobo feelings

Stable

Meryta leads Lucida, her chocobo, into the stables in Mor Dhona. The yellow bird chirps, and shakes her head when Meryta untacks her. She finds some gysahl greens and feeds her, then Meryta cleans and hangs the tack.

She goes back to the stall, and rests her forehead against Lucida’s feathers. The bird gently touches her beak against her horn, making her smile. So much is happening. A Royal banquet, a new alliance with the reclusive nation of Ishgard. It’s very much over her head, but she hopes she doesn’t make a fool of herself and the Scions.

Lucida chirps and bonks her again.

“I got it, I got it.”

She finds an apple in her pouch, and a handful gysahl more. She remembers when they first were introduced in Bentbranch Meadows, what now feels so long ago. Meryta was unaccustomed to chocobo, used to the horses of the Steppe and deeply suspicious of the long legged birds. Lucida won her over, though, her demeanor sweet - as long as treats are on the horizon. Meryta checks her legs and claws. Everything looks fine.

“You be good here, while I’m in Ul’dah. We’re travelling by aetheryte. No need to arrive dusty for the fancy banquet.”

Hopefully everything will go smoothly, and she won’t have to say much. Lucida will be fed and happy here in the meantime.

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2024 #ffxiv fanfic #final fantasy 14 fanfic #listen I love chocobos they are just very shaped #but I don't have a lot of lucida lore #so a little moment #before everything HEH #she knows something is up with the crystal braves but didn't connect it to the banquet at all #arr patch spoilers #meryta khatin #writing about meryta #viking does ffxivwrite2024 #published 9/10/2024 #viking writes

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wilanserulia · 5 months ago

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FFXIVWrite2024 - Prompt 2 - Horizon

The squawking of seagulls and the sound of the waves were often the only noises you could hear, out in the Rhotano sea. That day a flock of the marine birds had gathered nearby a lonely fishermen’s boat, the only thing on the waters’ surface for malms and malms. A young boy stares wistfully at the expanse of water around himself, leaning over the boat’s edge, his green eyes scouring the blue sea as if hoping to see something over the horizon.

“Wilan!” shouted a warm, but rough voice, and from the sound of it it wasn’t the first time he’d been trying to catch the kid’s attention. Startled, the boy turned around. “Yes, father?” he hurried to reply. “By the Navigator, would you stop gawking at the water and help us? I take you out at sea so that you can learn the trade, not enjoy the view” Wilan could hear the waning patience in his father’s voice. He wasn’t in a hurry to have the same discussion once again, so he hurried to do as he was told and joined a couple more fishermen as they were working on fishing nets. Dutifully, he sat down and started disentangling the net as he was shown, doing his best to stay focused. The young hyuran boy had no love for the profession. He hailed from a small island to the west of Vylbrand, and he knew not much else of the world beyond the shores of his homeland. What little land he had access to, however, he thoroughly enjoyed exploring, often leaving home for afternoon expeditions around the island, sometimes taking his little brother along but most of the time by himself. He knew it like the back of his hand by now, every hideout, every shortcut, every vantage point. But his heart ached for more. Increasingly often, he would climb to the island’s highest point and just stared at the horizon. That was the whole reason he was happy when, once he was about ten summers old, his father told him it was time he’d start joining him out at sea to learn the profession. Finally, he thought, a chance to escape the suffocating confines of this island! To see the big, vast, incredible world that he had only heard bits and pieces about from other fishermen. At least, that’s what he had hoped. Yet there he was, in the middle of the sea, with a whole lot of nothing all around him. He had never been this far from home, and yet he felt even farther away from anything worth seeing, now that he realized just how big the Rothano Sea was.

A tap of webbed feet caught his attention, pulling him out of his self-wallowing. A seagull had landed on their craft, caught an anchovy in its beak and flew back up in the air the moment his father shooed it away. He followed it his gaze, flying in large circles around their boat, and then out toward the sea. Toward the horizon.

“...Dad?” “Hm?” his father asked, looking up to see his firstborn staring once again out to the sea. The kid was pointing eastward. “What’s over the horizon?” he asked, his voice quiet, but barely hiding a burning curiosity. His old man sighed and followed the direction he was pointing at. After taking a moment to orient himself with the sun, he replied “That way? Galadion Bay. There’s better fish out here though.” “More sea, then...?” “Aye. But a bay is not exactly open sea. It’s near a landmass, so the currents are different there, and that means...” “So there’s land that way!?” Wilan asked excited, interrupting his father. “And there’s people?” The fisherman tried to keep his calm with a long breath. One of the other fishermen, however, chimed in. “Aye boy. Limsa Lominsa’s that way.” The kid’s ears perked up. “What’s Limsa Lominsa?” “Biggest city this side of the Strait of Merlthor.” supplied another. It’s something else, that place.” “A city? Will we go there!?” the boy inquired, his imagination already conjuring up dozens of versions of this settlement. “Will we go fish there?” “No one fishes that close to that kind of city, boy.” bit back his father, evidently annoyed by his son’s daydreaming. “But we go there when we have too much fish, to sell the excess at the market.” Wilan’s eyes flew wide. “Can I come next time you go sell fish then? Dad, please!” “Enough of this, boy! Get back to work!” “But dad, I want to see the cit―” “Not another word!” he all but shouted, rising to his feet. Everyone on the boat fell quiet. “That city’s no place for a kid like you. Your head’s already full of nonsense, and the last thing you need is going to a place where people believe they can just do what they want in life. What you’re gonna do is honest work, you’re gonna learn how to fish and you will like it, is that clear? The kid bowed his head, pursing his lips, his traveler’s heart aching, the horizon’s call as tempting as it had ever been. “Is that clear!?” his father asked again, raising his voice. “Yes, father.” Wilan all but whispered.

#FFxivWrite #FFxivWrite2024 #Wilan #gpose #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #FFXIV fanfic #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #FF14 #FFXIV WoL #FFXIV OC #FFXIV OC Lore #Hyur

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umbralaether · 5 months ago

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FFXIV Write 2024

Day 1: Steer

Steer clear of Pandaemonium, lest you never return.

Astraea had heard the whispering about Pandaemonium, how the wardens and creatures alike were imposing and dangerous. You certainly did not want to be caught poking around where you shouldn't be, as the place was off limits for most people.

Still, her creation locked away here? Unfair, and certainly stunk of ulterior motives.

She stalked silently along the shadows, trying to sense the creature she was looking for. She pulled her hood tighter to her head, obscuring her face from the wandering watcher of this section. Slowly, she approaches the cell where Cactua was being held.

"Finally… free…!"

The voice that popped into her head was not her own, but that of Cactua. Somehow, telepathic speech was it's preferred method of communicating, though it seemed to only work one way at this time.

"Shh.. Yes, yes Cactua. I'll get you out of there."

Astraea worked quickly to unlock the door. Hades had told her explicitly not to come here, to let what had been confiscated stay that way. It wasn't worth her status, her reputation, to be caught in Pandaemonium of all places.

Click!

Cactua does what Astraea only assumes is a dance of joy, before it quickly ducks itself under her robes and out of sight. Now all she has to do is make her way out of here…

She makes a quick incantation to perform the teleportation spell to take her home and just as the aether begins to fizzle around her, her heart stops.

There, a short distance away, piercing blue eyes bore into her own. Arms crossed, a woman with brown hair begins her way towards her before the spell whisks her away.

Somehow, Astraea feels the icy prickle of that gaze even back at home.

#ffxiv #FFxivWrite2024 #FFxivWrite #my writing #ffxiv write 2024 #astraea #my azem #ffxiv Azem #ffxiv ancients #ffxiv fanfic #ffxiv writing

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capriccio-ffxiv · 1 year ago

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NSFW version of this poll (asking about other, ahem, anatomy) available here

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv miqo'te #hrothgar #ffxiv hrothgar #ffxiv #miqo'te #ffxiv roleplay #ffxiv fanfic #ffxiv lore #ffxiv headcanons

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neneru-nowhere · 5 months ago

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Getting to actually enjoy myself at the moment instead of just sleeping off my covid. Made it to Fantasy Texas in FFXIV. Wander into town and the first thing that happens is I run into trouble with the local gang.

Erenville is like "Whoah, I know unspeakable bloodshed is your thing, but we don't want to get in trouble with the law"

except I'm a three foot nothing toddler with a juice box and a bad attitude. My main weapon is a paint brush and an overactive imagination. These bandits are thinking "The only person this kid is going to upset is a preschool teacher" but they're wrong.

I draw my brush and mutter "Y'all just painted yourselves into a corner, amigos."

#This town ain't big enough for the two of us #Was that a short joke?#ffxiv arr #ffxiv oc #ff14 #ffxiv #ffxiv lalafell #lalafell #ffxiv rp #ffxiv fanfic #ffxiv fanfiction #shaaloani #yeehawgust #riding off into the sunset on my medium sized fantasy chicken #it's not a large sized chicken because I'm smol

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aspectsofazem · 7 months ago

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(Count)Down to Dawntrail // Day Two - Heavensward

"I... I couldn't save him. Why couldn't I save him?"

Edvard fell to the floor, onto his knees, his sollerets scraping against the marble flooring of the Chancel.

"Why..."

His stomach lurched as he brought up the contents of it. He could smell Haurchefant's blood still on his gauntlets, and sprayed up the front of his curiass, along with the scent of incense and something like ozone.

It was overwhelming in the worst of ways.

The delayed shock of Haurchefant's passing hadn't come with a bang, but with a whimper. Ed didn't know if he wanted to continue to fight. He'd lost two lovers. Two. In the space of a scant year, two lovers lost to the lifestream...

First it had been G'raha, and his immense self-sacrifice at the Crystal Tower, sealing himself away. And now Haurchefant...

He should've been able to save him.

He should have seen it coming, should've been the one to take the bolt through his stomach. It should be Haurchefant there, still; grieving maybe, for the loss of Edvard, but hale and hearty and breathing.

Eddie had kept waiting for Haurchefant to breathe. Even as he lay unmoving, Ed had summoned magics just barely within reach to try and save him, pouring what little knowledge of Conjury he had into spell after spell after spell, Cure after Cure after Cure.

Futile. It was all futile.

He had known such deep, profound loss already on this path... Couldn't the universe have given him a happy-ever-after, when the battles were over with? Couldn't Hydaelyn have given him this mercy?

Ed spat onto the floor and rose to his feet, shaky, barely able to stand. The lone Warrior of Light. Destined to be alone forever, he felt...

Everything and everyone he touched crumbled and fell away, after all.

#ough angst time #ff14 #ffxiv #gposers #gpose #gposer #warrior of light #ffxiv rp #wol #ffxiv gpose #ffxiv screenshots #ffxiv fic #ffxiv fanfic #ffxiv fanfiction #(count)down to dawntrail #heavensward spoilers #hw spoilers

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laspocelliere · 4 months ago

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Day Nineteen: Taken

“The stranger seems quite taken with her, no?”

Koana’s tone was low and studied, arms crossed across his chest as he watched the impromptu celebrations below. He and his unmatchable sister had been crowned as Heads of Reason and Resolve a full day prior, and the celebrations weren’t showing any signs of flagging. The streets were full of dancing and music, faces lit up with laughter in a way that warmed the private, secret recesses of his academic heart.

These were the people that Lamaty’i had been speaking so warmly of all along. These were the ones that she would grow and love and fight for.

He was immeasurably grateful that he hadn’t taken too long to see it too.

But that wasn’t his focus tonight. Tonight, he was focused on the revelry, and the celebration…and the champion that his sister had brought from across the Salt to support her.

More specifically, the stranger at her side, who’d arrived by ship only a few days prior.

In the flickering lamplight, with coloured lanterns dancing bright across her skin, the Eorzean hero moved with a lightness of foot that he’d already begun to associate with her in battle. She didn’t dance, not truly; not in the thick of the crowds, where the mezcal had been flowing freely, and hands had gone wandering in time to the beat. Still, she was sure and graceful, moving around her partner, linked by their entwined fingers only. They seemed to have eyes only for each other, regardless of the party around them, and Koana’s shoulders tightened involuntarily.

The stranger had arrived quietly a few mornings prior, without fanfare and without announcement. Since he’d come from across the Salt, he’d apparently been taken in to speak with Gulool Ja Ja not long after his arrival. Their audience was private, but the fact that the stranger had been summoned at all was buzzed about throughout the markets and residences – not in the least because of the newcomer’s unquestionable good looks.

Koana watched him with a critical eye, sharp on the two of them despite how they kept to the fringes of the crowd, private except for those who thought to watch. He’s nothing to write home about, he reassured himself. He’s certainly far more…shoulders than the scholarly types in Sharlayan.

Types, he refused to admit to himself, that he hoped the champion would lean towards, rather than the sort of looks this salted stranger had. The kind that all the young girls of Tuliyollal seemed to already be fawning over, despite him, oddly, never looking twice at a single one of them.

From his perch above the beach, he watched the warrior move absently to the rhythm of the drums, her bare feet sinking into the cool, dark sand while the sun sank beneath the sea beyond. There was something delicate and forbidden about her bare ankles, pale and lovely in the setting sunlight, that made him want to look away.

But her fingers were still laced with the stranger’s, and he pulled her gently towards him by those fingertips alone.

And she didn’t resist, even when they pressed palm to palm. She turned his face upwards towards him, and her expression caught in Koana’s throat.

Gone was the cold, impassable stance that he had grown so used to on her, the one that he so enjoyed puzzling out. Gone was the guard in her eyes, the hardness to her lips. If she hadn’t known this man before, she knew him now, and in his presence she softened like a flower, blooming into a sort of loveliness in the rising moonlight that the Head of Reason couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

By then, he’d forgotten he’d spoken, but his sister wasn’t one to let a conversation linger and rest in silence. At his side, she peered thoughtfully down at the pair, her ears twitching as she examined the sight before her, her nails drumming rapidly on the railing before them.

“I like him!” She declared brightly after a moment, arching back as though to stretch, her grin spreading wide. “He looks at her the right way, you know? Maybe she’s finally met someone.” Lamaty’i’s smile was bright and cheerful. “It would be good for her to relax, I think.”

At her side, Koana made a quiet, noncommittal noise. His eyes never left the hero’s face, even as his stomach plummeted with a disappointment that he didn’t know how to name.

#ffxivwrite2024 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv fanfic #ffxiv dawntrail #dawntrail #dawntrail spoilers #koana #koana ffxiv #if Thorne had a nickel for every time a nerdy catboy fell in unrequited love with her #she'd have two nickels #which isn't a lot but it's weird it happened twice #also no one realizes that that man is actually her husband #bless 'em

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stars-and-clouds · 2 years ago

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All of Coerthas Map (pre-calamity)

I was using this as a reference in my fanfic for Estinien’s backstory and thought it might help others too!

The picture is from this blog page. It is not mine. The blog also has some 1.0 information that might be useful for some writers.

Edit:

Map is originally by: @chrysalisthoughts

#ffxiv #writing aid #ffxiv lore #ffxiv writing aid #estinien #ferndale #aymeric #haurchefant #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv fanfic #aymeric x wol #estinien x wol #haurchefant x wol #ishgard #ishgard official #heavensward #ffxiv 1.0 #coerthas #ffxiv fic

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koukouture · 10 months ago

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Hellbound: A Final Fantasy 14 AU

"Hellbound are we that sacrifice for what we love"

The sins of the Holy See run deep; and in the end repentance alone cannot save the Jewel of Coerthas from her darkest hour. Thusly, his holiness Archbishop Haldrath IV, formerly Father Aymeric de Borel, has enlisted the help of the Warrior of Light to aid Ishgard in its plight. The shadows cast by Eorzea's guiding star are deep and dark- but she will prevail like before, no Bloody Banquet will come between her and glory. For the Fury decrees that Ishgard shall be built upon the sin of those who rule it; and the blood of the innocent that believe.

Hellbound is a Final Fantasy XIV AU that is a dark alternate version of Heavensward in which Aymeric is archbishop, Haurchefant is a newly appointed knight of the Heavensward, and the Warrior of Light has many secrets to hide.

All art is by yours truly~

#ffxiv #ffxiv au #ffxiv fanfic #aymeric de borel #haurchefant greystone #haurchefant de fortemps #ffxiv fanart #ishgard #Hellbound AU #wol #haurchefant x wol #wol elysia vespera

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myreia · 17 days ago

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Open Arms

—chapter 2: lead from the heart

Rating: Teen Characters: Aureia (WoL), Thancred, Arenvald, Aenor, Clemence, Coultenet, Hoary Boulder Pairings: Aureia x Thancred (pre-relationship) Chapter Words: 5,122 Summary: After time away, Aureia returns to the Rising Stones to find a party in full swing. Reluctant though she is, she cannot help but be swept into the open arms of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn—and partake in a friendly sparring match. Prompt: iv. heal | harmony Chapters: one • two Read on AO3

“Well, now,” Hoary Boulder proclaims loudly, hands on his hips. “Will this do?”

Aureia lingers at the back of the group—arms folded, hair tucked behind her ears, the warmth of alcohol fluttering in her stomach—and watches with an amused smile. They’ve spent the better portion of the last bell wandering up and down the length of Mor Dhona, drinks in hand, high on laughter and good company as they search for the right place for this incidental sparring match.

Outside the Rising Stones the fortress is as busy as it always is, bustling with its unique rhythms. The aetheryte is an exceptional shade of blue today, its azure crystal glinting in the gloom-free summer sky. The central plaza has its usual crowd of unexpected sorts, and more than one chocobo and rider can be spotted flying over the high walls. Adventurers from all over Eorzea gather here, wandering the markets and chatting with their favourite merchants before trundling up the steps to Rowena’s café. A Limsan pirate telling stories to a captivated group of Doman children, an Ul’dahn priest selling dubious alchemical reagents out of the back of a wagon, conjurers in Gridanian livery practicing black magic down an alleyway, a Viera paladin in Ishgardian armour…

The camp-turned-outpost-turned-city attracts the unconventional and the eccentric, something which she has always found fascinating.

Which includes all of us, she thinks, glancing at Thancred. He’s taken a similar position to her across the way, leaning casually against a rocky outcropping. He tosses a dagger in one hand, flipping it around idly with accurate precision as he observes the others. They’ve ended up in a disused courtyard not far away from the main plaza, where stone and crystal jut through the walls. Whatever pavement used to be here has eroded away, leaving behind a perfect square of grass and clover.

“Hm.” Coultenet throws out a hand from the front of the procession, stopping Aenor in her tracks. He bows his head, fingers clutching the brim of his hat, and steps out onto the grass. He stands still, eyes narrowed, surveying the square with a keen eye—then jumps up and down, crossing the grass with a series of hops until he has reached the other side. “From all appearances, this looks to be fine grass indeed! I hereby do declare: for a duel, this grass shall do!”

Aenor bursts into a fit of laughter, doubling over and clutching her stomach. Clemence sighs and pats her sister on the back, shaking her head with weary acceptance. Arenvald chortles and sits down cross-legged. He shoots Aureia a grin, raising his mug to her as he takes a swig of ale.

“I do hope you have established the rules for this bout before we begin,” Thancred calls, smirking quietly as he watches Coultenet pace back and forth on the grass. “I would hate to be forced to forfeit on account of overstepping some unknown boundary—and, ah, he is not listening.”

Aureia sidles over to him. “I doubt Coultenet will be doing much listening from here on out.”

“Indeed. It seems one too many drinks has brought out a certain side of our friend. I would be concerned about his ability to judge a fair fight.”

“Hm. Perhaps.” She meets his eyes. “Still want to proceed? You don’t have to fight me if you don’t want to, you know. If you’re getting cold feet—”

He splutters, caught off guard. “Aureia, please, I am not getting cold feet. If anything, consider me invigorated by your challenge. You may have been training hard these past few moons, but you are not alone in that. You will find me a different opponent than the last time we sparred.”

“Lady Yugiri’s given you a few words of wisdom, has she?”

“More than a few.”

She arches an eyebrow and curls her hand into a fist, pressing it against her open palm. “I’ll try not to trounce you too badly. Wouldn’t want you to embarrass yourself in front of a shinobi.”

“Truly? She’s not here, is she?” He speaks quickly, an eager flush on his face, eyes darting around the area. “I did not see her among the merrymakers. I did not see her among the merrymakers. I thought she was headed to Limsa Lominsa, but perhaps—” He cuts off, noting her grin. Coughing, he looks away and runs a hand through his hair, a sheepish smile on his face. “I misinterpreted your meaning, I see.”

“Yes.”

“Revealed too much, did I?”

“Yes.” She nudges him. “It’s good. I’m glad to see that you are…” A pause. How to phrase it without making it sound like something it is not? He has a deep admiration for their Doman visitor, to be sure, but admiration does not capture the full extent of it. The satisfaction he has found in meeting Yugiri matches her own in finding the Pugilist’s Guild. The kind of fulfillment that only training can give. “I’m glad to see that you are doing well. After…”

She wets her lower lip, hesitant to go further. After the Praetorium.

“OI! YOU TWO!” Aenor’s drunken voice rings out across the courtyard. “Are we having a fight or not? Don’t tell me we dragged ourselves—hic—all the way out here for nothing!”

Thancred smirks at her. With a flip of his dagger, he takes off for the sparring ring where their captive audience awaits.

After some discussion wherein Arenvald—who rapidly seems to be the only one who still has his head on straight—is quick to put his foot down, the rules of engagement are set. Three bouts. Best two out of three is the winner. No usage of spells beyond their chosen discipline, though she admits with a pang that such a thing is not applicable to her. Their sparring ring is the courtyard and no further; stepping outside for any reason forfeits the match. Though the other typical rules apply, it does not stop Clemence from wringing her hands and muttering under her breath about incidental injuries and how this is a terrible idea and Y’shtola would say so were she here.

The Crystal Tower gleams in the distance high above, setting the horizon alight with its familiar blue glow. Aureia takes her place at the far end of the courtyard, a strange feeling fluttering in her gut. Anticipation. Excitement. Looping her hair back, she twists it into a knot at the base of her neck and ties it tight. Across the way, Thancred perches on the lip of a broken fountain, casual and carefree. His daggers—blunted by Coultenet’s magic so as not to cause harm—are sheathed at his sides.

“For someone so keen to blow off steam, you look unprepared,” she calls.

He lets out a long, dramatic sigh and leans back on his hands, the blueish-gold light of the early evening filtering through his hair. Sometimes she can almost understand how so many women fall for him. Almost. “The ways of a shinobi are mysterious and enigmatic,” he shoots back, throwing one leg over his knee. “I would be careful not to underestimate me.”

“I would not underestimate Yugiri, but you? Not so sure.” Aureia folds her arms and fixes him with an arch look. “You know there’s no shame in withdrawing now if you’re scared.”

Aenor snorts with shrill laughter and slaps a hand over her mouth, leaning her head against Ocher’s shoulder as she stifles her giggles. Clemence sits beside her with her knees folded beneath her, head bowed in defeat. The others are spread around the perimeter of the courtyard, some sitting, some standing, all watching with rapt attention.

“Scared? Ah.” His hand brushes the hilt of his dagger, toying with it, moving as if to be the first to draw—and passes by. Though Hoary and Coultenet have not called the start of the match—and, to be honest, they may have forgotten and never will—in a way they have already begun. It will just be a matter of who strikes first. “What would I have cause to be afraid of?”

She grins and paces from side to side, stretching her arms, loosening her muscles. Though many pugilists arm themselves with knuckles and the like, she has nothing to draw. The simplicity of hand-to-hand comforts her after the series of ever complex black mage staves she used when she first joined the Scions. “Do you want me to hazard a guess?”

“If you like.”

“Before or after I beat you?”

“My dear friend, who said you are going to beat me?”

Aureia grins, bright laughter bubbling out of her. She bounces on the balls of her feet—once, twice, three times—and falls into a defensive stance not unlike Yda’s, following the smooth, well-practiced motions drilled into her by her mentors. There is something about the here and now, being in this company of friends, facing off against him that fills her with joy.

Her gaze flicks upward, catch him from across the ring in his moment of action. He unfurls from the lip of the fountain, his daggers now half-drawn. The smirk on his face is familiar, yet foreign, joy and delight edged with something harsher. Colder. Dangerous. The strangest sense of déjà vu settles over her. Seven hells, has he always been so…?

The memory of ash and embers hits her like a wave. For the briefest of moments, as Thancred passes from light into shadow, it is not her friend whom she sees on the other side. For the briefest of moments, it is the face of her enemy.

A flare of pain scorches her back, seething and roiling as it dances along the scars, searing deep between her shoulder blades—

No.

She slams the door on the memory and it retreats, puffing out of existence just as Thancred barrels into her. With a startled yelp, she veers to the side and raises an arm in a desperate attempt to evade his attack, but she is too slow. She tilts back on her heels, suspended in the air—falling, falling, falling—and then she crashes into the ground with his weight pressed into her.

Whoops and yells fill the courtyard, Aenor’s triumphant cackle loudest of them all.

Thancred flashes her a cocky grin, his demeanour returned to normal. “I suppose that’s one to the rogue,” he says.

Aureia makes a face, restraining the retort on the tip of her tongue. Didn’t realize we had started, she desperately wishes to say even though it is not true. But that would be unsportsmanlike. She was the one who allowed herself to become distracted. She lost the round all on her own merit.

Her gut twists, shame and guilt bubbling up inside her. She surpassed this, didn’t she? Left it behind. Erased it with hard work and determination under Master Hamon’s eye. But something of the terror and dread from that night has lingered within her. Not fear of what he could do not her—nothing, it is Thancred after all, there are no circumstances in which he is right of mind where he would willingly raise a hand against her—but fear of what she might be forced to do to him.

The ghost of that moment of acceptance, that she would have to kill him to stop Lahabrea, continues to haunt her. Thanks to Hydaelyn’s intervention it did not come to pass, but that she brought herself to that point…

It lingers, like a wound that has yet to fully heal. Does he feel it too, she wonders? When he faced her and drew his blades, was there a moment where he saw her as an enemy, striking him down from the sky with a blade of light? But he wouldn’t remember. He wouldn’t recall. It is perhaps by some grace that he has no recollection of the time Lahabrea gripped his mind, the knowledge the Ascian ripped from his memory, the actions he forced him to commit.

Does he want to know?

Perhaps it’s preferable that he does not. She can suffer the memory of that night for him. Lahabrea does not deserve to have a hold over more than one of them.

“Aur? Are you all right?”

Aureia blinks. Thancred’s face swims above her, the smug cockiness fading away to concern. Judging from their friends’ laughter and the sound of Coultenet declaring him the winner of the round, mere seconds have passed. He hangs above, pinning her to the ground, though his touch is light and his weight has shifted off her.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he presses, his voice a low murmur.

She turns her head and stares through the gap between his arm and the grass. The Scions laugh and jostle each other in good spirits, their silhouettes dark in the courtyard’s shadows. Hoary and Coultenet are already arguing about overlooking the fairness of bare fists against daggers and whether they should start the match over. Aenor has slinked up next to Ocher and thrown an arm around his waist; he seems more interested in his ale than her. Clemence, with her hands still over her mouth, is whispering to Radolf and Arenvald, her eyes alight with excitement. Q’thera is the one figure of calm, perched on a bench with her tail whisking back and forth.

“I’m fine. Lost focus, that’s all. It happens.” She grins and taps him lightly on the arm, hoping he will drop the subject. “You win this one.”

He pauses, his expression darkening. “We do not have to do this,” he says, his voice low. “If you do not want to, that is—”

“Good thing I want to, then.”

“A friendly sparring match is not so friendly when not all parties consent—”

“Thancred, I’m fine. Don’t think for a second I don’t have what it takes to take you on.”

“…truly?”

It’s not doubt in his voice, but relief.

She turns back and smiles up at him. “You caught me in a moment of distraction,” she says archly, nudging him with her foot. “Won’t happen again.”

He grins back. “Are you certain of that, my lady? You may be a formidable warrior, but I have something you lack.”

“Oh, really? What is that?”

A smirk. “Finesse.”

“Oi! Stop breaking the rules!” Aenor’s shout rings out across the courtyard and Aureia turns to find her standing with her arms wrapped around Ocher from behind, her chin pressed against his shoulder. From the way he’s chortling into his ale, he doesn’t seem to mind. “Are you going to flirt or are you gonna fight?”

Aureia pushes Thancred to the side. “Maybe that’s a flirt to you, Aenor,” she says, getting up, “but I have taste, thank you very much.”

He laughs, running a hand through his hair as he rises to his feet. There’s an odd flush on his cheeks, a sheepishness to his bearing that feels uncharacteristic. “Taste enough to continue this sparring match,” he says, ambling across the sparring ring with casual strides. He catches Q’thera’s eye and gives her a jaunty wave. “Unless you wish to bow out now, Aureia, and save yourself the embarrassment of being trounced a second time.”

“There won’t be a second time.” She huffs and shrugs her shoulders, pacing from side to side as she lets the first match pass through her and prepares for the second. Hamon drilled it into her that it didn’t matter how hard your ass hit the ground, once you stood up from a lost match all you can do is look towards the next with a clear head. “I’m winning the next two, you can count on it.”

Clemence giggles, grinning from ear to ear. She finally lowers her hands, nudging Arenvald excitedly with her elbow.

“We shall see.” Thancred folds his arms, settling into a relaxed stance. “Though if you try the same strategy as before you may very well find yourself the loser once more. But I will give you this—you are bold, my lady, to fight a rogue barehanded. Do you wish to fetch a pair of hora or knuckles? I can wait.”

Aureia catches his eye, a smirk on her lips. She can hear Clemence’s whispered oooooo from across the courtyard. “Dozens of matches in the past few moons, and yet you’re the first to make this complaint,” she says.

His hands fall to his sides. They’re circling each other now, testing each other, waiting for the right time to strike. With this second match they will be sparring in earnest. “Is it a complaint or a simple observation?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” She sweeps a loose lock of hair out of her eyes. “I, for one, am content just the way I am. It takes a certain amount of confidence to enter the ring without a weapon, and yet here you are with two.”

Across the way, Aenor shrieks with laughter and claps her hands together. Arenvald chortles and shakes his head—judging from his look, he is far more entertained by this than he would like to let on.

Thancred shrugs, his smile only growing wider. “Fascinating,” he says, still circling her, watching her movements like a hawk. “Is this much heckling usual in the Coliseum, or is this how you spent all your time with Hamon Holyfist? Studying the art of the tongue rather than the one of the fist?”

You just had to phrase it like that, didn’t you? She stops in her tracks and eases into a defensive stance, arm pushed forward, palm out. “It’s about time you find out,” she calls, flexing her fingers. “Or is the fear of me putting you on your ass holding you back?”

He winks. “As you wish.”

A flash of steel, a rush of air, and he is flying across the ring towards her. She grins, ready this time, grateful for his predictability. Wait long enough and he will always be the first to strike. Stealth and reconnaissance may be his area of expertise, but when it comes to a fight he lacks the patience to allow his opponent to make the first move. It surprises her sometimes that daggers are his weapon of choice; there is something about the form that doesn’t quite suit him.

Her though? Black magic has taught her the meaning of patience, moving at the opportune moment and not a second before. Her former discipline has a reputation for being slow and unwieldy, but she has never found it such. Even in the midst of casting, her mind is racing five steps ahead, balancing risk and reward, ready to unleash a flurry of spells. Such calculated risks make her both easy to underestimate and surprisingly unpredictable. Her opponents may think they have figured her out, but they will never truly know what her next move will be.

Aureia closes her eyes, exhales a breath, and steps out of the way.

Thancred hurtles past. He skids to a stop ilms from the boundary and whirls around, surprise in his eyes and a satisfied smirk on his face. “And here I thought we were sparring, Aureia,” he says lightly, flipping a dagger in his hand. “Not dancing.”

“Same thing in our case, isn’t it?” she jests. “You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to prove yourself a decent partner.”

“Is that so? We shall see.”

“So, we shall.”

He strikes. She steps out of the way. He strikes again. She turns, naturally evading with the smallest of movements. No need to overextend herself until she has to. It doesn’t matter if he misses her by a few ilms or a whole fulm, a miss is a miss. And the closer the miss is, the more it will get under his skin.

If the Coliseum—and every Garlean general she has faced in the past year—have taught her anything, it is that aggravated opponents make mistakes. And mistakes are openings.

Laughter bubbles on her lips and she ducks beneath his arm, spinning about him like a gust of wind, light and untouchable. He watches her move, turning to intercept her only to find her just out of reach. He chortles, his expression alight with a good-natured smile, and yet she can sense the annoyance that she will not stay still long enough to fight him. The push-pull between them is exhilarating, but he is growing tired of it when there is nothing but the chase.

Perfect.

She darts backward, sliding effortlessly across the trampled grass, and gives him a little wave. He sighs, exasperated, and skids to a stop. Dropping his stance, he straightens his back and observes her through narrowed eyes, watching her closely as he anticipates her next move. Together they wait, counting the passing seconds, taunting each other with subtle movements as if the other is about to strike.

Aureia pauses, muscles tensed, and forces herself to stay put. One of them is going to break, and whoever does first will forfeit the match.

One.

Two.

Thancred flashes her a grin.

From the gasp in the crowd, it would seem his blow came from nowhere. The point of his dagger glints in the blue crystalline glow, arcing through the air towards her exposed form—

Aureia’s hand shoots out and in one swift movement it is over. She grabs his arm and knocks the weapon from his grip, then twists and kicks his legs out from under him with a wide sweep. He hits the ground with a yelp, eyes wide with shock even as she follows up, standing over him with her hands spread wide. Aenor’s enthusiastic shriek and Arenvald’s triumphant cheer tells her all she needs to know.

Thancred splutters. “Now, look here—”

“Oh, surprised now, are we?” Aureia’s smile grows wider. “You really thought you would win a second time, didn’t you.”

“I thought nothing of the sort!”

“You knocked me on my ass, so I knocked you on yours. Let’s call it even.” She proffers a hand, ruby eyes sparkling. “Third time’s the charm, don’t they say?”

His lips quirk, as if he is teetering between annoyance at losing and pride that she won. Catching her eye, he takes her hand and grips it tight, allowing her to pull him to his feet.

Their friends cheer and yell, Aenor doing her best to catcall both of them as they make their way to opposite ends of the ring. Coultenet sprints into the centre, hat askew and swaying on his feet, and reaffirms the rules of the bout in the same voice he uses on his younglings, only to be escorted off by Hoary. Clemence slides off her seat and settles at the edge of the ring, knees pulled up to her chest and knuckles pressed against her mouth. Arenvald slips around the group, quietly collecting bets, and shoots Aureia a knowing wink.

She winks back and turns to face Thancred one last time.

This time there is no hesitation, no teasing or taunting, no friendly heckling. Aureia drops into an offensive stance and lunges, darting clear across the arena. Thancred darts out of the way, swerving behind her with skill and speed. Her ears prick up, catching the soft sound of his daggers sliding from their sheathes. She spins about, hair pulling loose from its knot, and her forearm collides with his to block his blow.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Arenvald stand, his gaze passing from her to Thancred and back again. Though this match may be in the spirit of fun and games, a hush has overtaken their onlookers. Even Aenor has fallen silent, trading her cheers for an open mouth and hanging off Ocher with rapt attention. Coultenet and Hoary have ceased whatever argument they’ve gotten into now, and Radolf has put down his drink. Clemence flinches and buries her head in her hands, peering cautiously through the gap in her fingers.

One.

Two.

Her heart pounds in her chest, each beat counting the passing seconds. Breath hums in her lungs, cool evening air swirls around her, and here, beneath the brilliant purple and blue sky of a peaceful Mor Dhona evening, she feels good. Whole.

And so is he.

Aureia locks eyes with him, staring through the gap between their arms, and throws him back with a sharp push. Thancred laughs with delight and backpedals across the ring, the trampled grass churned to mud beneath his feet, and drops into a crouch. Hazel eyes flick up, hazel eyes flick down—searching for any weak points, anything that will give away her next move. She tricked him in their second bout by holding off; she will not be able to do so again.

So she moves before he can guess where she is going.

She lunges, arm drawn back, her leg sweeping in a fine arc, but this time he is ready for her. He dodges and ducks beneath her blow, cackling with laughter as she collides with him at full force. He bends, using her weight against him, and sends her rolling over his back. She lands on the ground hard and pushes herself up, diving out of the way even as he turns to strike.

He misses her by a hair.

She can’t stop her laughter now. She grins, momentum coursing through her like lightning aether from a thunder spell. They are unstoppable forces, her and him. Twisting, turning, perfectly matched, blow for blow and hit for hit. The fight is their dance, the beat of their feet against the ground their music, moving as one. It does not matter who the victor is, they have achieved something here tonight.

Healing. Harmony. A journey well taken.

Thancred reels back with a grunt, hair falling across his forehead, face flushed from exertion. He’s breathing heavily now, just as she is. Now matter how much either of them press, neither can quite overcome the other. Aureia pauses, brows drawn together in confusion as he draws his hands together. He arches an eyebrow and shoots her a smirks, his hands blurring as if forming a ninja’s mudra, and then he vanishes.

Oh, for the love of—

“Thancred!” she shouts even as Aenor and Arenvald howl with laughter. “You’re a rotten cheater, you know that right?”

He says nothing, of course—that would give away his position—and yet she swears she can hear him chuckling in her ear.

She rounds on Coultenet, only to find him shrugging and spreading his hands—of course this little invisibility act doesn’t break the rules—and takes off, pacing around the ring. Moving, moving, always moving. To stop now would give him even more of an advantage. Still, even as she prowls the sparring ring, ears pricked and breath light, she is certain there is a way to find him. There must be something that will give him away. Some sound, some sense… If only she could understand how rogues manipulate their aether to blend into their surroundings…

Aether. Bright and strong and pulsing with life. As unique as a fingerprint. It is difficult to discern the aether of one individual from another until you know them well, but Thancred is possibly the person she knows best after herself. She would recognize him anywhere in a heartbeat.

Even when hidden.

There is no need to turn. She reaches for that brilliant, familiar pulse, locking onto with all her strength of will. She sucks in a breath and slips away on the current, pulling herself towards it at a blinding speed, and—

Thancred grunts and hits the ground. She lands on top of him, one knee pressed into the grass, and pins him down. A triumphant gleam shines in her eyes and she leans over him, dark hair spilling across her shoulders.

“Got you,” she says.

He gazes up at her and his expression softens. “I see you found it,” he murmurs. “Perhaps this was the solution all along.”

She frowns. Found it? Found what?

Aenor whoops and claps her hands together, and the courtyard bursts into sound and activity. Their friends gather round, jostling and cheering and arguing. Aureia flushes, red with embarrassment and joy as she helps Thancred up for the second time that evening. As the others flock around him and decimate him for losing, Arenvald catches her eye and offers a silent wave in congratulations.

But it is not congratulations she wants. Something happened in that last moment of their match, something Thancred understands that she is clearly missing. Nudging Radolf out of the way, she slips between the Boulder brothers to take him to the side. Q’thera leans against him with an arm wrapped around him, brushing hair from his forehead and murmuring something too soft to make out in his ear.

She kisses him.

Aureia draws to a halt, a pang twisting in her stomach. Something she can’t quite put her finger on. Strange.

“Good fight,” Arenvald says, sauntering over to her. “Just so you know, I was betting on you from the beginning. Radolf changed bets halfway through. Didn’t think you could do it, and then he got worried.”

She glances up at him, and the pang eases. “I suppose I can forgive him,” she replies, strolling with him towards the courtyard’s exit. Now that the match is over, their little group is breaking apart and moving out. “I like being the underdog.”

“Ah. So, that’s how you won all those matches in the Coliseum. Or was it that subtle use of black magic thrown in for good measure? Don’t worry.” He leans in close. “I won’t tell Coultenet.”

“I wasn’t using black magic. You know I can no longer cast spells, it’s not exactly a secret—”

Arenvald cocks his head. “Are you sure? I could have sworn you… ah, never mind.” He laughs wistfully. “Useless thought. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“No, I…”

Aureia pauses. Glancing over her shoulder, she catches sight of Thancred, his arm around Q’thera’s shoulders, their heads bowed together. They trail behind the others, exchanging soft words and sweet nothings. Arenvald is right—she did use a touch of black magic in the final match. In a moment of desperation, she sought out the aether of a comrade and teleported herself to him.

It was instinctual, which means…

A flicker of hope rises in her chest.

Turning around, she loops her arm through Arenvald’s and pulls him down the road. “Come on,” she says lightly, head held high. For the first time in months a weight has disappeared off her shoulders. “Let’s head back before we give Minfilia and F’lhaminn cause for worry.”

#ffxiv #ff14 #ffxiv fanfic #warrior of light #thancred waters #wolcred #oc tag #writing tag #aureia malathar

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idalenn · 5 months ago

Text

Day 1 - Steer

Aftermath of the Crystal Tower. Alphinaud learns from a true businessman. (A Realm Reborn)

Full text below the cut if you'd rather read it on Tumblr instead of Ao3.

“And of the boy – were you successful locating his next of kin?”

“The documents provided by NOAH were bereft of evidence related to his origins. Unofficially, we’ve heard claims he may have familial ties within the Corvosi of southeastern Ilsabard.” The Elezen woman tapped a quill to the open, hide-backed volume in her hands. “But we are unable to confirm their validity at this time. It remains hearsay.”

“Then our efforts must be concentrated in a more scholarly direction. We cannot simply shrug our shoulders when it comes to Sharlayan. Having the loss of their pupil go unrecognized, or worse – underappreciated – will impact future endeavors. Reparations will soften the blow and secure fertile grounds for tilling.” With his own writing tool, edges leafed in gold and tipped with a brilliant ruby, Lolorito scratched his final signature onto the treaty.

A click of the inlaid jewel sent the tool’s end retreating into itself. Black ink dripped from the hole; blood from an open wound. One quick swipe with cloth made of finer material than Lillian would ever own picked it up without a trace left behind. Lolorito curtly tossed the cloth back among the ink pots. “A veritable drop in the ocean of spoils we’ve earned this day, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lillian felt a veritable ocean of sweat growing in her boots. Devoid of windows or any sort of opening to the outside save the single door combined with an abundance of crystal-lit lanterns, the Monetarist’s chamber buffered her and Alphinaud with a furnace’s heat. Even wearing gloves she feared taking the document in hand and drenching their hard work. The scars across her face ached under the pressure.

“Adamantite. Allagan technology. Wisdom beyond measure and reach, and beyond price some might claim, but there will be a price, and as sole owner of that crystal tower, the price shall be any figure negotiable.” The Lalafell chuckled to himself as he sealed the treaty with wax and sigil before sliding it across the desk. “And this is just the beginning. I know our contract was only for the tower’s acquisition, but I have grand plans in motion for future expansion, and you’re just the two to help see them bear fruit.” He spread his arms wide as though welcoming them into his embrace. “Care to stay for a time?”

Another cramp ran through Lillian’s leg. The chairs they sat in were perfectly Lalafell sized, undoubtedly Lolorito’s primary audience, but less so for the snow-haired Elezen child across from him, and unbearably small for the Miqo’te dwarfing every other soul in the room, whose legs were forcibly kept at such an angle between chair and desk that, if this meeting continued much longer, were liable to fall off.

“Other business calls.” She said.

“Of course. Scions and governments running you ragged must come first, but forget not my offer. And you, Master Alphinaud? From your quiet I must believe in some thought being given.”

Alphinaud took the treaty in a shaking hand. “Your assistance to the Crystal Braves is greatly appreciated, Lord Lolorito. If I may, I have but one more question, and after we’ll be on our way.”

“Then I take it you need time to consider.” Lolortio stroked his goatee, smiling with brilliant white teeth. The mask made interpreting his expression impossible. To Lillian it appeared a predator’s grin. “Very well. The floor is yours, my boy.”

“Care to share the details on how you intend to move forward? Specifically, I wish to know how you will honor the loss of G’raha Tia, without whom this endeavor would have ended in failure.” The Elezen aide narrowed her eyes. Lolorito’s smile never dropped an ilm.

“For effort contributed, I suppose you can be trusted with particulars. I am nothing if not fair, as Nald’Thal demands.” One of the lanterns flickered, and a glint off a gold-plated scale on the Lalafell’s desk caught Lillian’s attention. “G’raha Tia has no will, no family of note who can be contacted or given payment, and represents no organization outside of one within Sharlayan. Any and all possessions within NOAH’s hands will be returned to that organization. His share will, of course, be divided amongst all hired.

“Sharlayan will receive a lump sum of gil in an amount yet to be determined but no less than two hundred thousand. That previously mentioned organization will also partake of a sizable donation. Ah, but this name eludes me.” He snapped his fingers rapidly as if trying to light a spark. “I’m sure it began with ‘students’ something or other… the students of…”

“Baldesion.” Alphinaud finished through gritted teeth.

“It is refreshing, Master Alphinaud, to meet another so untrained in subtleties and be reminded I am not so alone in this world. As someone eyeing to hold a position of political power in our realm, you would do well to either hone a silver tongue or abandon all pretense of furthering your cause with it.”

“You only saw our friend as numbers to be counted!”

“Absolutely! Much in the same way you yourself only see the Syndicate in measures of usefulness and value to your coffers. Life is a series of numbers! You sought profits as well as I, my boy, and in doing so one must on occasion plan for declines. All gathered in this room have value, and all will be made equal should misfortune come to pass.”

Lolorito leaned forward over the desk, his hands folded together in a wall from which atop he stood a giant before Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light. “You captain an uncertain ship, Master Alphinaud, and unless you wish your company dashed amongst the rocks, you had best learn to steer.”

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv fanfic #ffxivwrite2024

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