#ffxiv Drabble

[morvollo]

Azem likes to tease Hades. Hades only pretends to not like it.

- - - - -

Azem knew very well what he was doing when he’d barged into Hades’ office, leaning down onto his desk. His forearms rested atop the paperwork Hades had been slumped over for the better part of the afternoon.

The grin plastered on his face was more handsome than Hades would ever admit.

“You’re wrinkling the paper.”

From this angle, Azem’s loose robes hung down just low enough for his collarbones to be exposed to Hades’ hungry eyes.

Azem’s grin grew more smug.

Oh, yes, he definitely knew what he was doing.

Hades cleared his throat, turning his eyes away.

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy, Hades. Am I not allowed to visit and see how you fare on this fine day?”

“All you’ve done is make a mess of my desk.” Hades grumbled, finally nudging Azem off.

Azem chuckled, and instead moved around the desk. Leaning over Hades’ shoulder, his breath tickled the back of Hades’ neck.

Hades busied himself with smoothing out the wrinkled edge of the paper in front of him, so that Azem might not notice the way his heart was beating rapidly.

“Forget about your boring paperwork,” Azem purred into his ear, too close for comfort. “I could think of a much better way to make a mess of your desk.”

Hades turned the brightest red, his trembling hands accidentally ripping the paper.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Hades yelled, pushing Azem away. Hades was blushing down to his chest.

Azem’s laughter could be heard across all of Amaurot.

[lucianhuntress]

Day 4. Thancred x Reader: 4. “You’re going to get someone hurt.”

Oh, those poor and clueless, yet brave souls who challenged you, the warrior of light herself, to an arm wrestling match at Xbalyab Ty’e.

Thancred could only muse to himself, leaning against a pillar while munching his taco, as a group of Tuliyollans flock around you to take their turns as you slam quite effortlessly each opponent’s arm against the table.

“You're going to get someone hurt,” Thancred decides to chime in eventually, concerned for the people's wellbeing. He knows how powerful you truly are; he has witnessed it first hand.

“Maybe you should try me,” you taunt him playfully.

He really would admit the ways he would try you— but in more private surroundings. He chuckles and finishes the delicious taco. It was supposed to be your night out before he is off to new adventures with Urianger, but there you sit; finishing off challengers left and right— and it looks like you did cause sore muscles for your opponents at the very least.

“Do I get a reward if I beat you?” He asks with that charming smile of his that woo’d many maidens out of their pants.

You return him a grin, with fire burning in your eyes as you reply: “sure.”

A mamool ja makes space for Thancred as he sits down across the round table. The audience mutters and gossips amongst themselves as both of you were helping out the Dawnservants just recently.

“So what do you want, if you win, that is?” You ask him innocently, knowing that he certainly is not a pushover.

A casual smirk plays on his lips, the kind that makes you feel weak in the knees, “I would like to have you for myself tonight.”

“How daring,” you giggle and place your arm on the table as he places his. You grab his fist with yours, readying for the push.

And so it begins; with his arm evenly marching your strength— but you're not giving your all. You're letting him enjoy the moment. You flash him a smile, while you're coiling like a snake; ready to attack back. He manages to push your hand down, almost pinning it against the table when you release your counter-attack, lifting your fist from the danger zone.

With a thud, his fist hits the table and the crowd gasps and cheers as the intense battle draws to an end.

Thancred sighs, rubbing his arm as if to sooth the muscles beneath, “so much for that date night.”

“I didn't tell you what I want if I win though,” you stand up moving over to him, making sure his arm is still in good shape. 

“Oh? And pray tell, what did you have in mind?” Thancred, even if sounding slightly wounded, is back to his normal suggestive tone he likes to use with you.

“You just need to follow me and see for yourself,” you purr into his ear, departing with a quick peck to his cheek.

[ffxiv-f13ndish]

Glimpse into the Past

Virgil had said recovery would take some time, but it has been a week – and Dante only felt he was getting worse. At the very least, he and Virgil had managed to come across a small town to reside in during his recovery. Trouble was, there were no chirurgeons or mages that specialized in healing for miles. Scholarly healing magics didn’t seem to be helping. Whatever Virgil had done, it was more than a simple procedure. And Dante knew this – and had been aware that there may be risks – but he had faith in his partner’s good intentions.

A shame it was a bitch to get through. 

Waking moments were rarely without pain. With the darkness in his vision, all Dante could sense in spells of consciousness were like two hot daggers stabbing through a shroud over his head and through his eyes. It started with his eyes, and then it penetrated through the rest of his feverish body. He’s been accustomed to a lack of vision for most of his life, but the pain was like nothing he’s ever experienced before. 

In the flickering haze of consciousness, he heard a familiar set of footsteps enter the room. A soft hand brushed back sweat slick hair to gently rest against his forehead, and a discouraged hum followed. Dante’s laden breaths slowed, and he remained still as he savored the comforting touch of Virgil’s hand. 

Certainly, Dante dealt with a great deal of pain – as well as uncertainty from what may come of this experiment – but he found comfort in a solid presence to rely on. They stayed like this for some time, Virgil seated at the side of Dante’s bed, his hand stroking through the Viera’s hair. It nearly lulled him back to sleep.

“Be well, Dante. Goodbye,” Virgil finally spoke, delivering his words with a soft kiss against Dante’s temple. 

Words which Virgil had said – in the assumption that Dante had been asleep – struck through Dante like the crack of a whip. He reached up to grab the hand that begun to draw away from his head. 

“You said that with such… finality. Where are you going?” Dante questioned, turning his head to face Virgil, despite the ache that radiated through him with the mere movement.

He felt Virgil still in his grasp. For a moment, he remained like this, but there was a stiffness in his limbs that indicated he was ready to move on his own terms at any moment. 

“You need more time to recover, and I must continue my research. There’s a ship leaving tonight, and… you’re not in any condition to travel,” Virgil spoke with a soft lilt, but there was a stern edge that lingered – one that inferred that there was no changing his mind. “I’ll return to see how you fair. Stay here until then. Or go on and live your life. Thank you for the experience you have brought me.”

Virgil’s hand slipped from his grasp. 

“N-no. Virgil, please. You promised you wouldn’t leave me. You can’t leave me like this,” Dante pleaded, moving to sit up. 

The only response Dante received was the heavy fall of receding footsteps, falling further with the plunge of his heart. 

“Virgil, wait-” he called out as he lifted himself from the bed. Dante’s limbs were unsteady, and he couldn’t find the balance to remain standing. He fell as he reached out to Virgil, and a desperate hand wrapped around his ankle.

Dante felt a sickening rip of white hot pain through his fingertips. There was a panicked yell, and then a wet warmth dripped down his fingertips. He felt it cloak his aching hand as Virgil ripped his foot from Dante’s grasp.

He heard Virgil’s steps hurry to the door. For a brief second, his steps went quiet.

Was it hesitation? Shock? Did he change his mind?

There was a sickening creak as the door opened and shut.

***

He didn’t know how long he had been laying on the floor in the dark before he heard the sound of unfamiliar footsteps. 

“So it was as the man outside said… poor thing. Come along with me, I know a place with a proficient healer to assist you,” said a faint voice, tinged with an accent that brought him back to his childhood. He furrowed his brow and reached out, and a hand went to take his.

“Saga… the boy looks in no condition to teleport. We can fly with him and drop him off at a city, but flying to Vesper Bay is going to take a hell of a long journey,” another voice spoke to his left. “And frankly, bringing along a stranger doesn’t seem like such a good idea with all the noise about Titan and the-”

“Hush. We’ll take longer just bickering here. Let's go.” 

Virgil stumbled and fell  to one knee. The pain in his leg was immeasurable. He took a deep breath in and bit back the stinging from his limbs – and behind his eyes. He took in a deep breath to steel himself before he pulled up the ragged pant leg. 

The area was red irritated, and appeared to be spreading out from the source. What had happened back there? Virgil had left so quickly, he didn’t get a full look at what had become of Dante’s hand. The flesh felt as if it were burning.

Had this been the result of his experiment?

Whatever the injury was, he’ll have to take care of it later. He had a ship to board. 

At least he knew Dante would be taken care of. There had been a woman he had crossed paths with, who seemed to be embarking on a journey to a city. At least her crew seemed to know the way. 

This was better for the both of them. They’d both end up getting hurt eventually. It was better to leave now.

[selphieetheirys]

shadowbringers drabble ft. aea (@tenalac) “Correct me if I am wrong, but I seem to recall only inviting Selphie. I very much remember making that distinction, but then again, I suppose I am hardly surprised you would be inclined to be so rude as to show up uninvited and unannounced. Suppose better you than that white-haired dolt fawning over her.”

Aea stood there wordlessly, hands gripped into fists as she watched the man who spoke such disdainful words towards her walked up - looking at her as he might a pesky bug waiting to be stomped.

“Well then, dare I ask what possessed you to come wandering in?” Emet-Selch drawled, “Did you abandon Selphie then? Assume she will find some way to save the day as she always does, while you come and… what? Teach me a lesson? Why am I not surprised in the slightest.”

“Shut. Up.” Despite her best efforts to remain as cool-headed, to maintain her ever present collected, cold logical demeanor - the presence of the man before her ignited a deep hidden fury within her that Aea felt had been missing for much too long, “I'm not here for you. I'm here because Selphie ran off after YOU messed with her head. After you scared her, made her think she was going to hurt all of us. I'm here to knock the sense back into her. So get out of my way.”

For a split second, the lazy and disinterested gaze of Emet-Selch disappeared, replaced with shock before hiding it behind a sneer, “Is that so? Is that what you think? Well you're wrong. I merely stated the facts - the reality of her dire circumstances, and offered her the chance of a sweet and pleasant undoing by my hands. It is a fact. It is a reality. She cannot bear the burdens she has been given, and so I shall take them from her as my gift to her.”

A scoff escaped her lips- very nearly a full on laugh at his soliloquy before narrowing her eyes into a razor sharp glare, “You say it so nicely, you could almost convince someone you actually like her, instead of hating her. But I know better, you're just using he-”

“Don’t you dare to presume my feelings for her. Hate her? I hate what she is, the reminder of my own failings. But hate her? No. Never-” he paused, looking at Aea smugly - the corner of his lips turned up into a sneering smirk, “Why, your very existence is proof of how much I love her. For how could I have ever tried to bring back my beloved without her erstwhile friend, her most…faithful bosom companion?”

An unfamiliar feeling rose up inside her - genuine confusion and the inability to understand what he was speaking of, which only served to further ignite her tempest of anger. Anger, at least, she could understand still. 

“What are you talking about? If you have something to say, say it. Quit messing around.”

But Emet-Selch only sighed, full of disdain as he offered up a dismissive wave, “Stay alive, and perhaps you shall find out. Go on, go and find Selphie. She's here, wallowing as you idly chatter with me - should you not be with her in the final moments before this wretched half-existence draws to a close? It is the least you can do, after all.”

And before she could retort back in anger - he was gone, back into the blackened void that all Ascians retreated into.

[weather-maiden]

A lil drabble with my WoL

I wrote this back when I was on Twitter and I still really like it but it's too short for me to put on AO3 with no context buildup so here you all go instead.

Spoilers for Endwalker (kinda)

Lyra took a few steps before she paused, turning back to the specter of her friend. "Haurchefant, there's something I'd been wondering about for a while now… You always knew Alie was gone, didn't you?" Haurchefant was silent for a moment, a sad smile on his face. "...I did have my suspicions at the time, yes." "Then why did you tell me that you'd hope I'd find him?" Lyra asked, her voice beginning to crack. "If you didn't think he survived, then why tell me to keep going?" "Because," Haurchefant sighed, "I wanted you to prove me wrong. I wanted him to be safe and alive just as much as you did, though I lacked the courage to seek him out." "It really didn't make a difference though," Lyra said quietly. "In the end, he was always gone. Nothing was going to change that." "But Lyra, it has made all the difference." Haurchefant insisted. "Just look around at where you are, where you've been, the things you have done to get this far. Do you think any of this would have been possible if you had not the courage to chase that hope?" Lyra felt her tears run hot down her cheek, unable to muster a reply. Haurchefant took a step towards her, placing a kind hand on her shoulder. "My dear friend, you have traveled across worlds to follow that hope, against all odds, and did what all thought to be impossible. You have saved countless lives, and spread that hope to countless more. And you say it makes no difference?" Lyra sniffled, fighting for words. "I just… I don't know what I'm supposed to do…" Haurchefant smiled, brushing away a tear before planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. "What you have always done. You will chase that hope that everything will be alright in the end. And know that it will be enough." Lyra looked up at him. "Enough for what?" "To do the impossible."

[kepesktribe]

Letter

A soft yawn slipped past Florentel's lips as he took a thin knife to an envelope. Quickly, it was followed by a smile as he heard Sorrel shift behind him. "Is it from your family?" He heard the bard say groggily, but Ren turned an amused look at him as he corrected him. "Our family... and yes." Moving from chair to bedside, Ren was careful not to upset his husband's splinted leg as he cuddled against him. He might as well read it to Sorrel comfortably in his arms.

Elegantly written, so it must be his mother's hand... "My dear boys..." Ren gave an amused side eye at Sorrel before continuing. "I do hope you both are doing well. Pray do write more. My poor, frail heart can not take much worry." Lies, Ren knew. His mother was perfectly well last he heard. It is physical fatigue that was more dangerous for her than simple worrying, especially since Dacien had already been sent back and given word they were alive and well... mostly. "Nolanel is beside himself as well. That boy will fret himself into an early grave at this rate. You should have heard the rant he went on when the Profane beast incident started and that interesting girl was the one to come help. He was ready to go out and drag his precious baby brother home if I hadn't stopped him. Honestly, she was of much help and was even nice enough to escort myself home when I helped with the injured."

Beside him, Sorrel's snort had not gone unnoticed. The Ishgardian himself just rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. It was nothing new. Ren made sure to give Sorrel a soft kiss on the cheek before he went on reading. "Speaking of the incident, I do not know if Dacien told you, but he saved a young noblewoman from one of those beasts and has been happily courting her since. You both must meet her on your trip to visit, and I do expect a visit after you both have healed. I shall take no excuses." Well, there was the first thing they had to do. No arguing with mother.

"On that note, when the two of you were Halone knows where after Dacien helped bring the adamantite was it? Nolanel himself happened into a chance meeting in the markets at that time. A traveling Gridanian merchant with a rather sharp tongue from what I hear. I've seen your brother often do the shopping from now on. Why I do say he is smitten himself. A fine choice, for I think she would be a good one to keep him on task. I don't see such a strong-willed woman putting up with his habit of putting off the paperwork..." Florentel's voice slowly dropped and then cut off as he processed what was written. Nolanel? NOLANEL!? Dacien, he could believe, but Nolanel? Stay in the wax room nearly all day, Nolanel? Sir 'I don't care about anything but candles and my little brother' Nolanel?

"WHAT!?"

Ren's outburst caused Sorrel to laugh and then flinch as the movement caused wounds to ache. "Well, you did shame them in the fact the youngest got Bonded before them. Nolanel especially since he is Head of House." The bard joked, which only produced a shake of Ren's head. After a moment, the corner of Ren's lips turned upward and his eyes narrowed mischievously. "Ohhh. Now I have payback, actually. Next time he gives shite about you, I shall bring this up. I must get her on my side if they do end up together, not that I expect it to be hard to do so." Sorrel chuckled at that.

Picking up the letter that he hadn't known he had dropped, Ren started to read the last bit of it. "Hopefully, that will give you less of a headache when you visit, my dears. I know how annoyed you get, Ren, when you come for a family visit and end up working. Like always, you have my full permission to get on your brother's case. Now, make sure to visit soon and bring some of those lovely pastries you brought last time. The servants enjoyed them greatly. I look forward to hearing the exact happenings of what you two have been up to over tea. Ever wishing you both love, Camille Valeriant."

Setting the letter aside, Ren sighed. He really wasn't looking forward to telling her about his close brush with death. They made it through it all though... and he couldn't be happier. Smiling at Sorrel, he settled more comfortably into their cuddle. "Can we skip over the part with Zenos?" Sorrel pondered over that question before shaking his head. "She'll find out eventually. She is about as conniving as Tataru." Ren couldn't disagree. "What about Nolanel?" He said instead. This time Sorrel agreed. As little as possible about everything was best for that one.

[lofixivnebulae]

“So delicate…soft and…tender. Surely this isn’t the beast I’ve sparred against…surely, the heat of battle isn’t this quiet…”

“And yet, I want to know- I need to be sure that this is still you— if I do this- would you still be willing. Would you still fight with the same gusto…would the flame echo quite as large- when met with the same blazing fire…just…maybe softer…”

“You mean love?”

“I don’t know what that word means, my demon.”

“My name is Helli, and that feeling in your chest…is it…hot and kind?”

“It’s…strange. And I can’t place it. I want to break you. Maim and carve your treasures same as the day I first laid eyes on you…but the cavities inside me are…full instead. Full of…soft feelings.”

“Zenos, whatever you’re feeling— I’d let you carve me. I’d let you rip and tear- drink deep of my neck… and do so in knowing you’d draw sustenance from my body…”

“Is this that wretched feeling?”

“Is it?”

“Helli—“

“…Is it?”

[voidtouched-blue]

Out Of Love

A story of grief.

"It's out of love." Cyra chuckled. It wasn't the kind of laugh one would make at a joke. It was the kind one would make when recalling an old memory. A bitter nostalgia of a time long past that still plucked a tender chord in a minor key.

When most learn healing magicks, it is born from a deep need to help others. Something their soul craves in order to make a difference, or they take up the role to save someone important to them. Be it illness or injury. When Cyra took up the art of Conjury, it was because she had a talent for it...and a foolish dream to make a difference in the world.

She believed for a long time that her work had meaning. She gave people their lives back, aiding in finding solutions to ailments big and small. The way the families and the patients thanked her was more than enough to cover the cost of her services. She never asked for money. She only asked that they try to stay out of trouble.

Cyra sighed as she tapped the dry quill on the open page of her book. Her mind had wandered when she sat down to add to her compendium. After having filled half of the enormous book, she had stopped to appreciate everything it had taken to include this much within its pages. The different healing disciplines, the folks who had plenty to share about the different herbs of their homesteads, the cases that took far too long to solve, and-

"Every life lost whilst under my care..."

Her words were a whisper. As gentle as they were, the knife still twisted in her chest. She hadn't lost many in her short time traveling around to offer her services to those in the greatest of need. But she kept a record of all who died while under her care. People who looked to her to save them, only for their light to extinguish so quickly.

The healer let out a pained sigh, finding it hard to breathe with the guilt that wrapped its sharp fingers around her heart. The one that hurt the most, the first person she ever lost, was a great friend to her. A brave, and unconditionally loyal knight of Ishgard- of the house Fortemps. He welcomed her, and her grief-stricken friends with open arms, and with nary a doubt in his mind that they would do the same for him. Though her time knowing him was brief, he was by far the most considerate person she had ever met. His constant welfare checks to make sure she hadn't been overworking herself were always met with a full smile, and a full heart.

Cyra leaned back in her chair. She stared at the blank space on the page where her last entry stopped. Today's entry was supposed to be another record of loss. The Miqo'te did her best to remove as much personal connection out of those entries. She preferred to keep them as professional as she could. They were meant to be opportunities to learn from, and use that knowledge in her research to improve another's chance of survival in the future. Each name added to the list only reminded her of how she failed the first time...and how she continued to fail as represented by every person named in her book.

A smile better suits a hero...

She remembered watching him dash forward. Cyra didn't even remember the moment he was hit, but the sound of his broken shield clattering to the stone floor echoed in her mind endlessly. She cleched her hands into tight fists, the pain she felt in the moment rose back to the surface of the present. She could feel her heart breaking all over again.

"I could have saved you...." The words came out in gasps as tears plopped onto the backs of her hands in her lap. She had curled up in her chair, shoulders tightened as she let out a single sob.

"What good am I as a healer if I can't save my dearest friends?" Her voice trembled. "I'm a White Mage and I let you die, Haurchefant!"

A number of books and bundled herbs scattered violently to the floor in an instant. Unable to handle the pain of loss that had been building within her over the years had finally settled in, making a home out of the gnawing emptiness she carried within her. She slammed her fist on the table, sending the ink pot clattering to the floor. It took her a moment to realize her fit had almost ruined the prepared page in her book for today's entry. Without thinking, she tried to clear the black liquid off the page by wiping it with her hand. Tears spilled forth far more freely than the stoic healer normally allowed. She felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into the despair as the sobs came forth in full.

"I tried... everything to save you. I just... I had nothing left..." She cried. "If I knew then what I know now...If I had the power then that I do now...you would still be here..."

Everything she learned, everything she did, every deal she made...it was all because of him. She pressed on trying to fight for a way to prevent losing anyone else, but her research and quest for forbidden spells had cost her people who could have been dear friends. Her obsession damn near drove her mad. And by the time she realized just how far gone she had been, it was too late. She couldn't bear the thought of losing more people she cared about, especially when she had the power to prevent it.

So she closed herself off. Cyra made rules for herself to follow so she wouldn't get close to others...and worked. She left the Scions of the Sevent Dawn, and kept limited communication with them. She made herself available when there was a dire need for her skills, and never hesitated to answer the call. But she was completely, and profoundly alone.

She did this to herself out of love.

Out of love for herself to prevent her heart from breaking again.

Out of love to avoid completely losing herself to grief.

And out of love for her beloved friend, Haurchefant, whom she knew would be beside himself to see her in such a state of grief over his death.As wrong as it may be, it was her reason to continue.

A love born of grief is no love at all, but a grave.

[mortporter]

"What are you doing?" Alisaie leans forward, hands to hips, as she eyes the Warrior of Light. Beside her, Alphinaud snickers quietly. He doesn't bother to look up from the dusty tome before him. "Hm?" The question pricks up Mort's ears just before he settles a well-worn pack upon his shoulders. Trading armor for a light jacket and fraying pants, the miqo'te next dons a blue cap set between his ears. "Well, we need to poke around for some answers, but waltzing in the front door with fiery demands didn't seem to work. This should do the trick." Alisaie wrinkles her nose at him, scoffing, "It would have worked perfectly fine if you had just let me finish! Besides, how is that get up going to get you in?" "No one will bother you if you act like you know what you’re doing." Mort quips with a toothy grin, "And who better to do that than a humble porter dropping off a few letters?"

"You? A porter? As if anyone would believe that!" Alisaie barely manages the words before her brother bursts into laughter. She whirls on him, hands clenched into fists as the miqo'te moves to make a quick exit. "Good luck with her!" Mort calls out, departing with a tail flick. Slapping Alphinaud's tome to the desktop, she levels a piercing glare at her twin, "What's so funny!?"

"Why dear sister, don't you recall our first meeting with him? Catching that carriage on the way to Ul'dah?" Alphinaud just barely manages to retort between fits of laughter. His mirth fades quickly, replaced by shrieking as Alisaie begins to shake him by the shoulders.

"Hells! How could you let me say that then!?" The door shuts behind Mort, although not quick enough to stifle a frantic round of apologies and threats from the twins. Still grinning, he sighs, "Ah, siblings..."

‪#WOLpromptAday‬

‪June 5, 2024‬

‪Dialog prompt!!! Write a scene or short fiction that includes your WOL and the following line. Explain how your WOL feels about it and how it pertains to them. ‬

‪“No one will bother you if you act like you know what you’re doing.”‬

[asha-mage]

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.

[whitherwanderer]

Galena, a Rusty Reforger & Pyrite, a Deliberate Deadeye feat. @shroudandsands

In one of worlds fourteenfold, a hyune reforger scales the crags of Alexandria's cliffs and ruins in search of precious electrope, artifacts, and other reusable materials. A scope is trained on him, a voice in his ear, coolly reminding him to watch his footing (as if it needed to be said).

The spotter is an ex-hunter who keeps the levin-cursed monsters and defective sentries off his back with a careful eye and a dead aim. She's also his wife, which makes it that much harder for her to watch him test his scavenging prowess over the deep canyons and crumbling spires that scar the land. Trust him as she does, she has her reasons to be wary.

Galena's methods are unusual. Instead of combing the ground, he climbs. The old kingdom's ruins hide valuable artifacts and electrope caches that would be out of reach for most, but more worrying is his choice not to wear a regulator despite the many obvious dangers. Among the reforgers, it's not wholly unusual for someone to refuse a regulator, but those who know the two hyune know well: it's not a choice made lightly.

———

Deep in the heart of Everkeep, Pyrite stalks the alleys of Solution Nine with a portion of the materials her husband gleaned from the old kingdom. It's how he can offer his support for the organization Pyrite now dedicates her time and talents to.

And an ex-hunter always finds ways to keep herself sharp; sentries vanish, dismantled and sold for parts in True Vue's less reputable markets. Weapons from the manufactories on the lower floors go missing and wind up in rebel hands. Credits grease the palms of the right people for the right intelligence and the doors of high clearance warehouses are left unlocked—by accident, of course.

As an agent for the rebel group Oblivion, the regulator Pyrite wears is a compromise allowing her to take advantage of Everkeep's systems while avoiding suspicion. But for all its conveniences, the regulator is also a grave reminder. Should Galena's hands ever slip, all she'll have of him is the recordings and images hidden away on encrypted data shards—assurance that they'd keep their promise never to forget again*.

———

No mourning, and yet no relief from the aching holes in their memories. All they have is the hints of a loss whose shape they can identify by feeling around its dark edges: an empty room, a closet full of clothes too small for either of them. A name that Pyrite herself chose, always lingering in the back of her mind but slipping through it like a sieve. An image of shade—a face that Galena chases through dreams and wakes up with no recollection of.

Loss enough to take immortality and toss it into a canyon. Pain enough to use that immortality as a weapon against the system that stole from them something so precious it becomes their reason and their resolve. Something that would be worth dismantling a miracle. *OOC Note: This was drafted before the Arcadion raids came out, which answers a critical question I had about the regulator mechanics. A person wearing a regulator will, in fact, remember someone who does not wear one after their death. So that final bit in Pyrite's section is wrong! Oh well.

[fair-fae]

FFxivWrite24 Entry #6: Halcyon

FFxivWrite 2024 Prompt #6: Halcyon It was a lazy summer day like any other in the Black Shroud, humid heat hanging heavy in the air outside the Covington manor, a marvel of tall, white marble and manicured gardens that stood in stark contrast to the wild woods surrounding it, either a bastion or a blight of mankind among the expanse of nature. Faye rested upon a bench outside her home, a half-emptied and forgotten cup of tea sat surely now cold beside her as she focused on her embroidery–or tried to, anyway. It was a quiet afternoon, only the birdsongs and the ambient buzzing of insects breaking the silence. That was, until Zularti had found a long, skinny stick and decided to pretend it was a spear. He paced around the garden, thrusting the stick this way and that, adding in sound effects and striking occasionally at a nearby tree, fighting off invisible foes. Faye did her best to tune him out, quite accustomed to his antics by now, and kept her focus on her needlework and the piece of fabric in her hands. Suddenly, however, her attention was stolen away as the boy suddenly exclaimed. “Guhhh! I’m so boooored!” He easily snapped the stick over his knee, tossing the two halves aside and wiping away the sweat that matted his dark auburn hair to his brow before he dramatically collapsed onto the grass. Faye heaved a sigh, giving up on her task and setting her embroidery hoop aside. “You could try doing something useful for once,” she offered helpfully. “You could try shutting up for once,” he muttered in a mockery of her own tone, squinting up at the sun bearing down on him from the cloudless sky. Perhaps she should have appreciated those days more, when life was simple and everything was peaceful, when all the horrors of the world were far away things that happened to other people and there was no cause for pain or want. But the truth was, she was bored, too.

[ahollowgrave]

-pokes you gently- so what's it like getting a reading from Selenite and how likely is she to tell you outright when you'll die? For reasons :)

(Mentions of: Bones, Animal Sacrifice below the cut.)

The reading room is small and cramped -- Nite prefers the word ‘close.’ Scarfs dyed hues of blue are draped over the light sources, casting a watery mosaic onto the low ceiling. The smell of incense hangs in the air, hazy. There are no windows and only two doorways; the one you just came through has a fall of fabric serving as its door. As it drapes shut behind you it muffles the waiting room and the city beyond, making the sounds distant and otherworldly.

The center of the room hosts a small, round table with a lip around the edge. Two equally plush chairs face each other over it. Shelves line the walls, each one filled to bursting. Jars of buttons, of coins, of metal shavings, bags of varied materials and sizes, some with drawstrings open and their contents spilling out: dried seeds, teeth, bits of bone. Locks of hair carefully glued and pinned into intricate knots or frames or braids. Bits of rock and brightly gleaming crystals in wide-ranging hues. Feathers and scales and claws of beasts. Not to mention the trinkets; Lockets, charms and their bracelets, rings, keychains, and necklaces fill the empty spots, or their own jars, or hang precariously from the corner of shelves. It is hard to take it all in, truly. As your eyes adjust they find that Nite is already waiting for you. A low, pastel light emits from her hair and in the quiet room, barely audible, you can make out the whirring of her eyes as they focus on you, take you in.

(I talk about bones and animal sacrifice from this point on!!) What happens from here depends so much on the customer and their question! Nite uses bones in her reading in the forms of Osteomancy and Scapulimancy. The former is when one is ‘casting’ with bones and other objects and diving things from the way the objects fall. The latter is divining the future from the markings on the shoulder blade of an animal; often an animal sacrificed in the name of the question asker.

Her strongest, clearest readings are done via Scapulimancy. However, because this involves venturing outside of the safety of S9 most of Selenite’s customers don’t reach for this method. Mostly, hunters or fighters of The Arcadion. Thankfully, if a client truly wants a reading done this way, Obsidian (@iron-sparrow's S9 beauty) is happy to do the perilous part for them. For a fee, of course! Maintenance isn’t cheap, even if being done by your best friend.

So, most of Selenite’s readings are done via Osteomancy.

For reference, Osteomancy heavily features bones (of animals) hence the name! However, a practitioner will mix items of importance in with the bones. Hence all those trinkets! Depending on the client, depending on the question, depending on recent events, and the vibes of the day, Selenite will change out the items in her basket.

Selenite does not wear a regulator anymore and when she realizes a client will meet with death soon she makes a promise -- often just to herself but sometimes directly -- to remember and mourn them. Sometimes she asks for something of theirs on that last meeting and often this gets added to her collection and used when she feels moved too.

Not all her clients are seeking answers related to their death! In fact, few are. But that doesn’t mean Selenite doesn’t know, doesn’t learn.  If they haven’t asked directly she won’t tell them directly! S9 already fears death and grief too much for her taste and she won’t add to it. Truly, this knowledge is a burden and it is not one Selenite seeks to give to lay on her client’s shoulders. Mostly she wants them not to be scared when Death comes.

When asked directly she answers directly.

Thank you for the ask! And your patience in my answering!

[shroudkeeper]

.insatiable

These grotesque constructs were infantile in appearance, he admitted to himself, molded to life from the discarded parts of toys that appeared stitched together to create colorful monstrosities. She did not see them as mere creations, even those before him now, the ones that would soon become tools for his conquest.

Having such a connection to them was pointless in his eyes. As quickly as they are made, they are to be discarded. She did not share the same views as him - how curious. He observed how much she cared for each one molded by her magic, that even calling them minions struck a chord with her.

They were loyal to a fault, hardly falling in line under his command unless she ordered them to serve under their new Lord. These grisly creatures understood who their maker was, and no matter the threat, or intimidation tactics, had worked to the benefit of the lumbering voidsent stalking her halls and marching to her chambers.

Leathery wings blanket his form, creating a weathered cloak upon his broad shoulders to avoid knocking over the macabre decor of carnivorous plants hanging dangerously low from her vaulted ceilings. In his passing, the candelabras pulse into life and coil their flames enough to send his monumental shadows to scale along the walls as if made of liquid themselves.

Heavy doors gave part for him in anticipation of his arrival, but Diabolos, the Lord of Dreams, did not find her waiting. He was received by a quiet room where the only light provided was made of amethyst shards with residue of aether trapped within. A numerous amount bobbed around her chambers, casting their dreamy hues to an otherwise dreary interior. The moon's glow was tucked behind heavy velvet curtains, which unfortunately concealed the stained glass that adorned the window.

Such a masterpiece was unveiled with a languid sweep of his claws, allowing the vibrant colors to flood the room, peeling away the remaining shadows over her coffin, where she lay. Immediately, the air grew heavy with energy and soft murmurs stirred around him, he ignored their objections and 

The otherworldly glow settled upon her, this Queen who remained unshakable to his own might and presence. This thorn in his side. She was cocooned neatly with the iridescent tendrils protruding from her back, and nestled in the scarlet lining of her coffin. Her hair was made undone from its ribbons and free from its crown, spread over her face and shoulders. Underneath her soft exterior, he knew well the kind of serpent she was, how quickly she would strike if threatened, yet that did not dissuade him from reaching. 

His wings whip away from his form, shielding the colorful arrangement of light from falling upon her stilled form, so all her body would know was the cool caress of his shadow. Again the protests from the canopy above. His retaliation to them came in the form of a guttural snarl as his attention abruptly shifted to the unseen forces around him. His chest rumbled and appeared broader as he made sure his presence would not be questioned, and when all but a few whispers remained, he turned his gaze back to her.

To the curve of her cheek, the part of her lips, and knew the moment he touched her, he would become undone --

[alannah-corvaine]

ᴡᴏʟʙᴇʀᴛ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ 2024 ▶ ᴅᴀʏ 1 ↳ a new life

"You're staring again."

Alannah doesn't see the point in denying it, not when this is the third time in as many hours that he's called her out on it. "And if I am?"

Ardbert chuckles, squeezing her shoulder.

"I'm not going anywhere," he tells her as he presses a kiss to her temple. "You might do me the favor of believing it."

"It's not you I don't believe," she grumbles, stretching her cramping limbs out in front of her. Her fingers lace between his, as though of their own accord, yet her lips remain bent in a frown.

"You think this your imagination then?" he asks lightly.

"No." Her answer is firm. "I trust that you are real and this is real, but..." She hesitates and bites her lip.

"But what?" He nudges her knee with his.

"I'm afraid I won't get to keep you," she whispers, her distant gaze fixed on the sea. Her grip on his hand tightens and he squeezes back reflexively.

He acknowledges her words with a hum, knowing that any encouragement of this line of conversation will only serve to make her moody and withdrawn. Instead he pulls her into his lap, trailing his lips along the line of her jaw.

"Whatever may come," he murmurs against the softness of her skin, "I will fight for this life with everything I have. Having mucked things up my first go-around, you can be sure I won't give up my second chance so easily. Will that suffice?"

Her answer is a wordless sigh as they lay back against the long grasses. There are a thousand things she needs to tell him, starting with how much he means to her, and a thousand questions she wants to ask. There are places she wants to take him and experiences she wants to share with him, a list that grows ever longer every time she thinks about it.

And gods willing, this time they will have time.

[soulshards]

WIP Whenever;

tagged by @lal-ffxiv!! Thank you so much!

I haven't really been writing much except for throwing words into a document to figure out Kura and Takemi's story. I say it like it's not an 18 page document; so. Uh. Have some drabbles from there as there's no real concrete chapters or a timeline I've figure out yet....

Tagging: @shadesofblades, @midnightmagicks, @cosmicharm, @sealrock, @adrienvalmont, @avampyone (Just tagging people I've seen in my notes recently! No pressure!) & anyone else who wants to do it!!

Drabbles below!

Fingers flexed upon the mechanical arm, a little out of sync, before they moved once more in tandem. Norinobu’s sobs settled into sniffles, brushing a hand through his wife's hair, placing a kiss upon her forehead, before his gaze would raise to Takemi.

Norinobu didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. To try would bring another sob to his throat as he looked to his friend, to his wife, then back.

Takemi met his gaze with a short nod, no words needed, as he set out into the night.

Now he had seen her face, he saw it everywhere. Each woman he passed that slightly resembled the ghost in which he sought was given a second glance, as if she was haunting his every movement. 

She wasn't. She had much better things to be doing than just pestering him all the time. But she wouldn’t deny this effect delighted her should she ever find out. It was, partly, why she had done it. To let the man stew in his paranoia. 

But he still saw her, and he felt like he was going mad. The game was getting old, tiresome. Yet each strike he made against her came harder, with more power, with more intention. And still, she stood.

His insides were ablaze with the fires that tried to engulf him, as he stalked through the darkening streets.

Takemi’s gaze stayed forward, watching the lanterns flicker in his room as the glass was brought up to his lips. “So, you don’t want to stay?” With me.

Kura came to stand away from the bed, shifting her feet to half turn to regard him, a soft squint to her gaze. The cool air from the open window wafted through the room, as cooler grey eyes settled upon him. Takemi just shrugged his shoulders at her dithering expression.

“I can’t.”

And just some.... sentences I like a lot:

“For all the skeletons you have in your closet, Takemi, I am not one of them.”

"You’re a good man trying to be bad, in a world that doesn’t need anymore evil."

I'm feeling super rusty with writing at the moment, especially since a lot of this stuff is just.... a whole lotta nothing. I haven't really read back over things to tune in some details yet!! But I like these parts the most uwu