#mild 5.3 spoilers

[silvaswiftcast]

Fluffvember Prompt #17 Indulgence

Characters: Silva Cataracta, Ricmorn Cataracta, and Hien Rijin

Rating: Teen

Notes: The scene takes place sometime between Shadowbringers Patch 5.3 and Patch 5.5! There is no mention of anything from MSQ/Story, so no spoilers here! Words contained in [brackets] are in another language, in this case, it's Doman.

Content Warnings/Additional Tags: Polyamory Relationship (V Relationship), M/F/M Relationship, Playful Banter/Teasing, Midly Suggestive Themes, Mild Angst (very, very mild), Cuddling, Non-Sexual Nudity, Domestic Fluff.

“I can’t believe all three of us managed to find time to take a little break from our duties and just be…”

“Us?” Hien finished for Silva, trailing his fingers along the gentle curve of her spine.

Silva flashed him a grin full of white teeth and fangs. “Perhaps,” she mused, sea-green eyes shimmering in the firelight. His hearty chuckles made the corners of his peridot eyes crinkle. Gods— even with sleep-tossed hair, he was handsome. “In our little hideaway from the world, too.”

The little hideout they made for themselves up high in the surrounding mountains of Doma — within a quick flight’s distance from the Enclave. A place her lovers discovered and made their own as a surprise for her. Complete with a small hot spring, a handy firepit, and a makeshift shelter from the elements with a comfy futon mattress and a hoard of pillows and blankets. It was the perfect spot for them to step away from their usual meet-up locations and avoid the public eye. Especially when the rumors of their peculiar relationship spread like wildfire.

They didn't come here too often as of late, but it was always a treat — an indulgence — when they did.

A soft growl rumbled in her throat as Ricmorn stirred on the other side of her. His lips found her bare shoulder, mouthing against a few of the scarlet love bites decorating her skin. She met his warm gaze when he brushed a few stray strands of her purple waves behind a horn.

“A shame it can’t be longer than two days,” he murmured, brushing his knuckles against her slightly flushed cheek. He returned her growl with a low rumble when she nuzzled his palm. “You and Hien haven’t seen much of each other, let alone spend time together.”

Even if the guilt in his sky-blue orbs wasn’t clear to her, the feeling of it creeping along their soulbond was all Silva needed to know how he felt.

“Hey—” She shook her head, rolling over on her side to face her husband more easily. His gaze softened when she pressed a sweet, chaste kiss to his lips. “While that may be the case, my dear, we all knew how this would work when we decided to take this leap of faith. Please don’t feel guilty.”

“She’s right, my friend. You know she is,” Hien told him, wanting to offer the Au Ra reassurance, too. He knew Ricmorn sometimes got lost in his head, lost in his more negative thoughts — as rare as it was.

It wasn’t their fault they all happened to be so busy lately. It wasn’t their fault that the world kept trying to burn itself down.

But, even then, that didn’t stop them from finding whatever time they could to be together — the three of them.

“And besides,” Silva started, grinning from horn to horn when Hien rolled over. His arm curled around her slender waist as he shifted closer, her bare back meeting his warm chest. “I still have a full day to be with him and you without any distractions. You can bet all the gil in your bag that I plan on making the absolute most of it.”

Ricmorn softly chuckled at her words, knowing she was right — and knowing what those plans were she had for him and her other lover.

He moved closer to her, his hand resting on the back of her thigh. Heat simmered in her sea-green eyes as his fingers gently dug into her skin. Molten desire flowed across their shared connection. “Has anyone told you how perfect you are, Silv?” he questioned in a low rumble. “How you always manage to see the good in things?”

She snorted. “You and Hien tell me that every chance you get,” she quipped as her long, ivory tail found his beige-scaled one to coil around. Both men laughed — her favorite thing to hear from them.

Other than them telling her how much they loved her, of course. Nothing could ever top that.

He pressed a kiss to her slightly flushed cheek when she offered it to him. “Thank you — the both of you.”

“Always, love.”

“Of course, Ricmorn.”

“But… perhaps after these next twenty-four bells are up, you should take a few days and stay in Doman,” the white mage suggested. His lips twitched into a half-smile when she gave him a confused look. “I can handle our shared duties on my own while you two spend some much needed time together. Things are calm for now, and we don’t know how long it will last — take this chance.”

Silva let out a quiet sigh, smiling at the thought. “I’ll think about it,” she promised, cupping his face between her palms. She gently tugged his face toward hers, melding her lips against his in sweet, lingering kisses. “But for now, I would rather spend what time we do have left entangled with the both of you.”

Ricmorn playfully growled, nipping at her plush lips. “That I can agree with.”

“As can I,” Hien chuckled, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of her neck. “As can I.”

They quickly forgot about their troubles, slowly getting lost in one another once more.

[casualjacobwrites]

FFXIV Write 2023 Prompt #6 - Ring

Going back to some Urianger/WoL (Pasha Silverblade) for this. In game there is a necklace that looks like a chain of flowers. I'm too lazy to log in and find the name of it, but she always has this necklace glamoured to represent them. Mild spoilers for Shadowbringers here. Takes place during patch 5.3.

I think later I'm going to do a master post of all my characters with screenshots and short descriptions of each. I'm also going to work on making some RP contacts around here, Discord, and/or in game. Anyway, back to the challenge!

Word Count: 816

Rings were impractical, or so Pasha had said once upon a time. It came up in a conversation with Urianger who had noted that she kept her hands free of jewelry. She replied with a lengthy explanation of how easily a ring could catch on her lance or armor. There were some rather gruesome descriptions of lost digits, infections, and entire layers of skin and muscle being peeled like popotoes. At the end of their talk, Urianger wasn't sure if he had been enlightened, disgusted, or a bit of both. Nonetheless, he had learned something important about the woman who had won a place in his heart. As far as gifts were concerned, a ring wouldn't do.

After many years spent on The First, Urianger had learned more than his fair share of magic from the fae of Il Mheg. One spell in particular could preserve flowers for an indefinite period of time. The pixies tended to use it when weaving colorful crowns or other such artistic endeavors. While Pasha worked with the Crystal Exarch and Beq Lugg to secure passage back to The Source for the Scions, Urianger used his free time to put his knowledge to use. With the aid of some of the pixies—who, admittedly, hindered and helped in equal measure—he picked the finest blossoms to weave into a small necklace into which he poured a small amount of aether to keep them from ever wilting.

When he was done, one observant pixie exclaimed, “I recognize these flowers. They're the same ones we planted in your bed chambers!”

Amid much giggling from his fae friends, Urianger's cheeks grew warm. He did his best to maintain his customary stoicism. “Are they? Mayhap it is a happy coincidence.” It was a complete lie, but there was no force on either The First or Eorzea to get him to admit the source of the flowers was the exact reason he chose them. The memories of the Warrior of Light's first night in Il Mheg were never far from his mind. He only hoped she would recognize the flowers for what they were and would understand his intent.

When at long last Pasha came to his residence in Il Mheg to tell him it was time to return home, he took the opportunity to pull her aside to offer his gift. For a long moment she stared at the necklace in silence. Her lack of response worried him and he began to panic that he'd somehow erred.

“Is it not to thy liking? Or is it too much? I could—” His words were cut off as she threw herself at him with enough force to cause him to stumble backward. She clung to him in a fierce embrace while burying her face into his neck. Soon after he thought he could feel the dampness of her tears on his skin.

“It's perfect,” Pasha said, her voice wavering.

“Oh.” He ran his hands up and down her back to soothe her, confusion settling in. “Then why dost thou weep?”

Pasha pulled away enough to look at his face. Her expression showed she was as confused as him. “Because I could lose you. All of you. The auracite might not hold you, or what if something happens when I cross back into The Source? What if it shatters?”

Urianger smiled and tugged her towards him to kiss her forehead. “I have the utmost confidence in our comrades' designs. Furthermore, I know thou will move the heavens to ensure thy companions' safe return. For all thy past deeds, this trivial event will be least among them.”

Pasha's hands squeezed his shoulders. She tilted her head back to press her lips to his. “Will you help me put it on?”

With steady hands, he clasped the necklace to her neck. Afterward he couldn't resist the urge to slide his arms around her waist and kiss the nape of her neck. He held her for several long moments while she rested her hands atop his. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if this would be the last time he held her. Despite his gift for prophecy, he had no inkling as to what awaited them upon their return to The Source, assuming he and the other Scions' souls and memories survived the journey.

“Whatever occurs, thou wilt need only to see the flowers upon thy neck to remember my fondness for thee and the happy memories thou hast given me. Should I fall, know that I will wait for thee upon the shores of the Aetherial Sea.”

Sniffling, Pasha squeezed his hands in hers. “I will drag you back if I have to.” He smiled at the conviction on her words.

“Aye, I have no doubt my lady will alter the very course of the stars.”

In all of history Urianger felt that truer words had never been spoken.

[elfyourmother]

Prompt 30: Splinter

Gisele could not take her eyes from it, transfixed by its beauty, and marveled at how so small a thing it was, given the titanic struggle which produced it.

Such a tiny, tiny thing, it was.

It radiated heat upon the palm of her hand, pulsing softly with the faintest whisper of aether against her skin, this slender and feather-light shard within her hand. Her fingers curled around it, and she raised her fist to rest against her heart, closing her eyes slowly and inhaling deep. In the silence, the whisper turned the echo of a melody, haunting and melancholy. Fitting, of a surety, for she who held it in her grasp, this piece of her heart rendered in slim, fragmented auracite.

She would treat this as no battle trophy; mayhap those who did not know Gisele des Fortemps would have believed it such, but none who knew of a surety the boundless depths of her heart. She would honor it, as only she could, and not merely because of what he had exhorted her to do, at the last; but she would have even had he not, for how could she possibly forget?

And so, upon the Scions’ triumphant return to the Crystarium, when the feasting and revels were done, Gisele quietly slipped away and made such preparations as were needful. She gathered some few supplies from her apartments at the Pendants, requisitioned some small items from her comrades at the Mean, and retrieved the requisite tools of her art.

All of this, she bore with her in a leather satchel, hoisted upon her shoulder, when she closed her eyes and drifted away upon the flows of aether far from the Exarch’s city, once more to plunge far beneath the peaceful waves of Kholusia.

The light of the sun still penetrated the darkness, as it did when dawn rose at last upon this city of endless night, but the lights of Amaurot yet endured, glimmering soft and dreamlike high above her. And as she wandered the tree-lined agora where the streets shone as shimmering mother-of-pearl, Gisele was still treated with exceeding kindness by the spectres of the lost, who guided her gently to the place she sought: the garden she had found upon her first, awe-filled sojourn to the city, then surrounded by her comrades, when she first sat to gather her tumultuous thoughts and settle her frayed nerves.

This time, however, Gisele set down her satchel, to spread an enormous blanket upon the immaculately manicured grass, and carefully laid upon it her finest grinding wheel and file, mandrel and ores—and that slender shard.

It was not her lavish atelier upon the Jeweled Crozier, but it would more than do.

Thus, did Gisele roll up her sleeves, and begin her work.

The truegold softened and melted within the blazing heat of her arcane fire—what did Avatar of Destruction need with a forge?--and with a master artisan’s deft hands and discerning eye, did she begin to shape it in accordance with her will. Of a surety, Gisele believed fervently that the act of creation was no less a form of magic than that which she wrought with aether, and mayhap the most potent of all magicks. Was magic itself not at its most simple definition the art of affecting change by energy in accordance with will? It mattered not the method, for all magic worked thusly—whether upon Source, or the Seventh, or the First. Only the trappings varied in nature, but the underlying principle remained thus. So, too, was the art of creation. Gisele smiled to think on it, and the passionate words she once shared on the matter. Emet had been positively delighted by her conjecture, at the time.

And you wonder why I adore so you, heroine.

And as she carved and filed, chiseling and twisting the delicate metal and bending it to her will, Gisele’s thoughts never left him; his wry smile, his indolent sashaying, even his ridiculous pouting and sulking. For a moment she feared she might weep once more, for what seemed like the hundredth time, but she took a deep breath, inhaling the impossibly verdant scent of fresh-cut grass, and exhaled long, to steady her suddenly palsied hands. With every onze of discipline she might possibly bring to bear, Gisele concentrated intently upon the thin metal, and remembered: the warm flush of his cheek when she pressed her lips against it so suddenly beneath the starlight boughs of the Greatwood. The hardness of his body rocking against her own, bathed in flickering shadows beneath the moonlight drifting through the gauzy curtains of her bedroom at the Pendants. The heady scent of the roses he’d strewn at her feet when she danced for him. She remembered this much, and more, as she bent will and delicate hammer and file upon the metal by turns, tapping it into filigree formed of an intricate glyph, one Gisele held in perfect memory despite its complexity. Her heart overflowing, she poured every onze of emotion within it upon the metal, all that swelled within at the thought of him, of them, of their impossible journey, of what had transpired in this place mere days prior: hope, fury, incalculable grief, yearning, regret, and...

...above all else: boundless, everlasting love.

It made a fitting tomb wrought in gleaming gold for the shard that remained. With the lightest of touches, she plucked it up with her tweezers, and slid it into place, affixing it to nest within the heart of the filigree, with a satisfying little click. Surveying her handiwork for a final time, she turned it again and again within her fingers, searching for some manner of flaw, but there was none. There never was, with her work, and never when she bent her heart to it.

Gisele cradled the pendant within her hand, at last, and brought it to her trembling lips, pressing a soft kiss against the warm metal, the gently pulsing stone.

“Fare thee well, Hades of Amaurot,” she whispered softly, at last permitting the tears which had threatened to fall, shuddering with her head bowed, and with shaking hands clipped it to the waiting golden chain, sliding it over her head. She had measured precisely the tiny links, as was her wont, and the pendant eased to nestle within her bosom, over her heart.

And Gisele clutched it, and keeled over, and at last wept as might a brokenhearted child.

***

The sand was warm beneath her toes, even as the sun began its descent low and quick beneath the La Noscean horizon. Most of the festival’s revelers gathered upon the edge of the shore, where the gentle waves crashed into the sands, camping for the most advantageous location to view the fiery spectacle which would begin shortly high in the skies above the island, but Gisele stood some way back, keeping a secluded distance, to mark the occasion in her own way.

Around her neck, upon the slender chain of gold, Hades’ auracite hung beside the Gemini crystal, an identical shade of scintillating violet—the very same as Gisele’s eyes.

“You really do perform exquisite work, my dear,” Hades said, drifting an idle hand down the soft, generous curve of her décolletage, to rest upon the pendant. Gisele’s heart skipped a beat at the warmth of his touch against her skin, exceedingly gentle as it was.

“I had somewhat powerful to inspire me,” she said softly, wrapping her arms about his neck, and leaned into him.

Hades smiled, and Gisele permitted him to draw her into his arms, tightly, as he lowered his eager mouth upon her own, to part her lips with a craving tongue.

[karoiseka]

A collection of this past year with friends.  From Christmas silliness and softness, Min ilevel Crystal Tower run with looooots of friends, to unlocking and beating EX Trials, silly runs of Eureka, haunted houses, late night silliness with crafting, and omg, HUBBY HAS BEATEN 5.0 STORYLINE.  I’ve had so much fun with this game and friends the past year, and I’m so happy to have had this time with everyone. <3

[starswornoaths]

Prompt 1: Formal

oh hey, look who’s finishing up all her prompts for Wolmeric Week like a month late lmaoooo

Post 5.3, relatively spoiler free post reunion-I-haven’t-finished-writing-yet moment between Aymeric and Serella. An attempt at normalcy, perhaps attempted too soon, leads to a moment of vulnerability. I’ve written and rewritten this prompt since the actual day of this, and I just need to Stop Wrestling with it.

Word count: 3,466

Punctuality was a priority in Ishgard surpassed only by godliness— regardless of social standing or involvement in the military, the city ran like clockwork, always in some level of activity, of movement and deadlines and bustle. To live in Ishgard was to be subject to strict social expectations when it came to timing. When to arrive (never too early, but never more than fashionably late without a very good excuse,) when was acceptable to leave (the later the better, until you had overstayed your welcome, the line between always being different depending on the host and guest alike,) and for every little moment bookended by arrival and departure. Daunting but for the most familiar and reliant on routine.

Years of etiquette schooling prevented Aymeric from bouncing on the balls on his feet in anticipation for his betrothed to join him in the foyer. Tonight was the first formal they would attend together following their reunion, after so many months of Serella being away on the First, and despite his best efforts, he could feel his excitement being gnawed at by the faint but persistent worry that she was taking so long.

Worry because she often took less time than he did, but also worry that something was wrong. When he’d left her to finish readying herself, her hair and makeup had already been done, surely getting dressed couldn’t take that long? What if something had happened? After another minute ticked by on the old clock in the foyer, he finally decided it was better to check on her.

Ascending the stairs, a particularly fearful thought crossed his mind: what if she was gone again? His steps faltered a moment at the halfway point up the staircase, but he rallied his composure and took the remaining steps two at a time. She would not leave without telling him, at the very least, not anymore—

— Before she left for the First, she wouldn’t, that same afeared voice noted. Do you truly even know her anymore?

The door to their chambers was ever so slightly ajar, enough that flickering lamplight carved a slice of light through the dim, shadowy hallway. When a quiet call of her name garnered no response, he took a moment to force himself to breathe again, and opened the door.

The sight crushed him.

Serella stood at the foot of their bed in her underclothes and stockings, just as he’d left her, staring down at the outfits she’d laid out on the duvet. Her hair was delicately piled, pinned atop her head, and adorned with her own crafted pieces: little constellations of the Twelve scattered in gold and kyanite across an artfully twisted bun. Her eyeshadow had already been artfully brushed on, deep sapphire and gold glimmering like stardust against her dark skin. Gorgeous as ever, she would have taken his breath away but for the way she stared down at the dress clothes as though they were an active threat to her.

“Love?” Aymeric called, a little louder than before, stepping cautiously further into the room to avoid startling her.

She jumped at the sound of his voice. He tried not to let it hurt.

“O-oh, I didn’t realize—” Serella stammered, hand crossing over her torso and tapping at her collarbone. “—I let time get away from me, I’m sorry—”

Her eyes danced away, and her fingers tapped once more at her collarbone. On the third pass of it, Aymeric recognized her finger was drumming out a specific pattern. Three rapid taps, three spaced out, three more rapid taps.

Help me.

Did she know she was calling out for it, quite literally, in all but words? Was it Esteem guiding her hand, sending the only distress call they could? The movement of her finger had drawn his eye, but then his gaze drifted to the necklace clasped just above it on her neck. It clashed with the gold of her hairpins and her ring, silver and flush against her skin as it was. The narrow bands of glowing blue light hemmed on both sides by precious metal— he recognized it as a dampener meant to dull her aether sensitivity. A necessity more oft than not for her, where crowds or aetherically charged areas were concerned, to keep her from being overwhelmed with sensory input.

In particular, worn when she was already well beyond capacity for processing too much around her; Aymeric had seen it more often on her when helping her out of her armor when afield, or before they had to navigate in crowded places they couldn’t avoid for trying. Some days, she just needed to wear it even at home, if she had only just returned from somewhere dense with aether, or was otherwise overstimulated. Little wonder she had been so startled by him.

Regardless of what state he would have found her in, that necklace told him everything he needed to know: she was not in a good place as it was. Going to this formal would only harm her. 

So they wouldn’t. But that did not mean her effort must needs be wasted.

His mind made up, Aymeric spared a passing glance at the outfits laid out on the bed: two dresses, two suits, all of different origin, inspiration, and make, and each in a different but no less alluring gemstone and charcoal dyed fabrics and muted detailing to balance elegance with practicality. 

“You’ve naught to be sorry for; I can see why you struggled so.” He noted conversationally. When she made a questioning noise in the back of her throat and turned to look at him, he met her gaze from the corner of his eye and smiled. “You look radiant in anything. But perhaps this one, my dear?”

Before she could answer— though he noted her pleased flush, and the slight smile on her face— he crossed over to the bed and picked up the outermost jacket of the Lominsan suit. Where his own suit coat was primarily black, with hints of blue and gold, hers was almost wholly blue, speckled with gold buttons and detailing. He rather liked the thought of balancing one another out. She even favored the same high collars he did, though hers left a graceful swoop in the neckline to show her Paladin’s soul crystal gleaming on her necklace.

Sparing Serella another glance, he saw she had already hopped into her pants, unremarkable but tastefully embellished charcoal pair as they were, and was now shrugging on a crisp undershirt. He set the coat down and swiftly covered her hands with his.

“Allow me?” He asked, fingers wrapping around the buttoned edges of her shirt, peering up at her imploringly through his lashes.

Serella swallowed thickly, and he wished he could put it down to being affected by some more carnal instinct. He knew her better than that; she was struggling to not withdraw from him. If he focused hard enough, he could see her almost imperceptibly quaking with the effort.

Let me care for you. Let me love you, Aymeric silently prayed.

Her hands slipped from underneath his, conceding. With a beaming smile and a kiss to her forehead, he made steady but unrushed progress looping the buttons through their corresponding fastenings. It was endearing and heartbreaking both, the way she fidgeted in the scant space between them. It was almost as though she couldn’t recall how to carry herself with him.

Or at all, outside of combat.

Aymeric had fallen into that trap more than once himself— and remembered how hard it was to claw his own way out of it, even with support. He would not falter in being her shield as she found her peace. Not now, not ever. 

Before she could move past him, he fetched her coat from where he’d laid it back down on the bed and attempted to step behind her. When a glance at his face told her he would not be swayed, she sighed and turned her back to him, and slipped her arms through the coat.

“We’ll be late.” Serella spoke up quietly, though the faint quirk of her lips in a facsimile of a smile was obvious in her tone. 

“I assure you, we have all the time in the world,” he dismissed, using the moment she took to adjust the coat around her shoulders to step back in front of her and begin to fasten it closed.

Though she huffed a laugh, she didn’t even bother to try and bat his hands away, instead straightening the cuffs on her wrists. Pleased that he had won this bout, Aymeric continued to fasten the last of the well tailored coat across her chest, up to the last, just below her collarbone. 

Pleased with the way the coat draped over her as he was, he didn’t notice she’d moved her hands until he felt her fingers lightly adjusting his cravat— he’d tied it just left of center, toward his dominant hand. The amount of effort it took for her to widen her smile was apparent, tentative and trembling as it was, but so, too, was it just as obviously genuine. 

Before her hands could retreat, Aymeric caught them in his own and offered her another soft smile. With reverence otherwise reserved for the Fury Herself, he bent his head to press lingering kisses to her knuckles. Scant though the weeks had been since they were at last reunited, he had taken every opportunity he could to again familiarize himself with every ilm of her, to relearn all of her with the certainty of his devotion.

“I should get my boots.” She spoke up, finally inspiring him to straighten and let go of one of her hands.

“We’ve no need for them,” He reassured her, lightly squeezing the hand he yet held onto.

Her evident confusion was given only a reassuring smile in response before he was adjusting his grip on her hand to lead her out of the room. Aymeric guided her only far enough down the hall to lead to the Solar, rather than down the stairs to leave, and turned to step inside.

Serella’s grip tightened as she planted her feet just outside the doorway. Aymeric stopped and heelturned to face her expectantly. His hold was still gentle, unassuming, affection obvious in the faint stroking of his thumb over the fingers it was laced between. He watched her intently, but her eyes could not be pulled from their joined hands.

“Aymeric, we’re going to be late.” She said again, and this time, he could see the ponderous frown on her face, even as she continued to look at their hands. 

Even as she said that, she made no effort to take her hand back, no effort to step away. They both knew that she was the more powerful of the two; if she truly wanted to go, he could not stop her. And yet, there she stood, not understanding why he was not in a hurry. 

“Ella.”

Her name came as a sigh on his lips, formed of affection made habit, but it was enough to tear her gaze away from their hands to look up at him. The hand not holding hers stretched across the divide between Solar and hallway, bridged the gap to lightly brush his thumb over the Ironworks dampener at her neck, disrupting the glow of hearthlight dancing off the metal. Though his focus did not stray from the necklace, he felt more than saw her swallow thickly in response.

“Dearest,” Aymeric tried again, voice faltering. “I will not presume, and if you truly wish to go, we will, but,” his tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips. “You do not wear this necklace lightly. If you are not well, then we’ll stay home.”

“I can’t do that to you.” Serella said almost immediately, frown deepening. “We’re expected—”

“And you are not well. I can’t do that to you.” He countered gently, held her face in his hands to keep her from looking away again. “I can think of no reason more noble to be absent than taking care of my family.”

“Oh?” Any fumbling attempt she made at dry wit melted from her countenance when he bent just enough to rub their noses together and kiss her forehead.

“Mm. Provided she let me do so, of course.” He said, playfully pointed.

“Of course.” She replied, and finally, her tone matched his.

Taking her banter as permission, Aymeric pulled away enough to tug her deeper into the room, fully in the Solar proper rather than lingering outside in the hallway. His smile widened when she nudged the door closed with her heel on her way in. 

“Thank you.” He whispered earnestly with another kiss to her forehead.

A laugh bubbled up from her throat at the contact, and it warmed him to his marrow, faint as it was. He made no effort to hide his smile when he stepped back from her, toward the other end of the room, and held her hand as he walked until he could no longer, and offered her a wink with a twist of his torso when he turned away from her, toward the old orchestrion tucked away behind the desk. With a flick of the switch, its speakers crackled to life, the well cared for but weathered machine giving off that faint white noise that came when nothing had been chosen to play.

But it did not take long for music to drift gently in from the speakers: Aymeric knew which song to put on. A personal favorite, one they had not danced to in some time.

Once the piano music began to float gently in through the speakers like a gentle snowdrift, he was swift in moving back to gather Serella in his arms again. All the more because he saw the recognition flash in her eyes, her expression shifting to pleasant surprise. 

With a sigh that seemed to take her whole body, she melted, just a little, just enough to turn her head and kiss his palm when he reached up to cradle her face in his hands.

Tinkling piano music moved on with out them, and measured how long it took for her to right herself. Not very— just enough that the first verse had just begun by the time he was satisfied she was well and truly alright, he shifted his hands to hold her at the small of her back, to take her hand in his.

“Dance with me?” Aymeric asked softly.

With a feigned sigh of resignation, the tension bled from her shoulders. Not all of it, mind, but enough that she could smile just a little wider.

“You’re going to insist, aren’t you,” She noted more than asked.

“On dancing? Never. Taking care of you? Always.”

The nearly inaudible giggle that escaped her throat seemed to shake away the last of her threadbare resolve to play at normalcy, as she took a moment to press her forehead to his shoulder and just laugh it out, just a little. When she righted herself, the remnants of that chuckle had softened her smile.

Even as they began to sway together, even as she fell into step with him, as if they had never stopped dancing at all, Serella couldn’t help but tweak his nose— proverbially, and rather literally, when she leaned up to bump the tip of his nose with hers.

“Look at you, batting your eyelashes at me so.” She teased, an old and affectionate turn of phrase. He hadn’t realized how he missed it so until he saw how her ears perked up with the width of her smile.

“You wound me.” Aymeric teased.

Something nearly guttered the light out of her eyes when she fiercely whispered, “Never.”

“I know, love.” Another kiss to her forehead, to will away those dark thoughts she could not yet give voice to, was blessedly enough to keep that playful spark alight. “Apart from my knuckles when I take bits from the mixing bowl.”

Even weak as it was, her laugh was enough to lighten his heart considerably when he gathered her back up to him and started to waltz in an intimately small circle, small enough that they did little more than turn about in place. 

At the second turn of the song, Serella became very still. Much as Aymeric had been leading them, he stopped the moment he felt her plant herself as a tree and refuse to move with him. He cupped her face in his hands as he waited.

Her smile wilted, ever so slightly, and her gaze turned uncertain again as she spoke up, “I won’t be okay just because we stay home and slow dance to sentimental songs tonight.”

Though she didn’t move his hands away, she bent to press her forehead against his shoulder. He kept his hands on her face, gently sweeping his thumps from her cheekbones up to the base of her pointed ears, and back in soothing strokes.

“You needn’t be. I am going nowhere.” Undeterred, Aymeric kissed the crown of her hair. “What was it you said before? Something about loving someone like a blanket?”

“Oh, so you do listen to my impassioned bumbling.” Serella murmured into his collar, more playful, more like herself.

His heart flipped in his chest when he felt her smile against his neck. Just enough time had passed since she’d done so with ease that he had yet to reacclimate his body to hers, to recognize the press of her grin, the tremble of her rage, the stutter of her grief. He would learn again, in time. They had that, now. And what time they did not have, they would make.

“‘Twas far from bumbling— and I always listen to you,” he countered earnestly, brushing his lips in the softest of kisses along the length of her ear. Her delighted peal of laughter and wriggling deeper into his arms inspired his own beaming smile. “I always seek you out. Any part of you I can.”

Serella knew this— he’d certainly never hidden the fact. The moment of hesitation before she spoke up again gnawed at some raw and aching part of him all the same.

“...Even when I feel like I don’t know myself anymore?”

“Especially then, so you are not left to sort it out alone.” When Serella lifted her head out of the crook of his neck to look at him again, he squeezed her closer and pledged, “I meant it when I vowed you have every moment of my forever, always— but especially when you are at your lowest. I have not the power to mend anyone— not even you, much as it pains me to admit it. But I can walk that path of recovery with you, and so I will, and do so with gladness. You need only let me.”

Serella snorted, face warmly flushed darker umber at her cheeks and her ears for her flustering. But she was smiling again, and that was enough for the moment.

“You drive a hard bargain.” Came an overwhelmed mumble, pressed into his collar.

“I learned from the best— for you have ever been with me on mine own journey, have you not?” Aymeric countered again, and knew he’d won the bout when she slumped in his arms entirely, relaxed in his hold. 

“You have me at a disadvantage, my lord.” Serella admitted, rocking back on her heels. “I’ve no choice but to accept.”

Aymeric wanted to counter that, too, but then she’d pulled on his cravat to guide him into a kiss. 

She began to sway again. Slowly, tentatively. By the refrain of the chorus, they were taking turns around the Solar again. By the time the tinkling notes of the piano faded quietly, they found themselves standing in the middle of the Solar again, not entirely still, grinning and healing and raw.

“It would seem our song ended.” She quoted herself from another lifetime ago, in Fortemps Manor, when the only certainty seemed to be in how uncertain everything in the world was— and they, the most uncertain of them all.

“So it has.” He agreed, playing along. 

“Though…” A spark— playfulness— glittered in her eyes when she flicked her gaze up at him through her fanned eyelashes. “We’ve barely started dancing again. Could use a touch more practice, just to be sure I’ve got it. Provided you have nowhere else to be.”

The minx. How he loved her so.

“There is nowhere else I would rather be.” Aymeric diverted from their playful tête-à-tête to do what he had not done the first time, when fear of rejection stayed his heart, and kissed her as they began to dance to the next song. “And that makes all the difference.”

[jewish-anime]

this is... so self indulgent im sorry lmao

[whitherliliesbloom]

from now on

[ ffxivwrite2020 ] ★ [ masterlist ]  ★ [ prompt #19 - where the heart is ]

[ alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 1,566 words ] ★ [ post-5.3 ]

alphinaud leveilleur, brief appearance by the other scions. mentions of amaurotine illya and alphinaud. Gif header was heavily inspired by @under-the-blood-moonlight​‘s gif of nyx and emet ;w; Probably won’t make any sense if you don’t know apollo and chloris’ character dynamic and what happened to them. 

if all was lost is more i gain, cause it led me back to you and we will come back home again

It feels like an eternity that his soul has wandered. Far and wide in this desolate, colorless world with no aim, no goals, no dreams. The bleakest existence imagination, one without light. 

And it was he who chose to walk this path of no return. 

There can be no second chances for someone who would forsake the sun, or one who would crush a flower whilst in bloom. He’d pluck the wings off a dove, drove a knife into the heart of a lamb. 

No matter his thoughts or the words he’d used to pen his regrets, there was but a singular constant. A blinding light - one that he was sure he will never reach for all eternity.

There was nothing glamorous or poetic about his last moments or the way he’d laid among the rubble and bodies of fellow faceless shadows that dissipated into ash that fluttered away with the wind.. nor was the thoughts that plagued his mind just as he slipped away anything merciful upon a dying man.

Beautiful and effervescent. But not merciful.

He’d remembered her - his very essence and soul, frail and weak as it may be, thought of her even beyond death.. because curse the fool he was for refusing to admit that he loved her more than anything else in existence. 

How could he not have realized when all he could think of was memories of her?

From the endless field of flowers she’d conjured with an effortless twirl under the morning sun, fluttering the hem of her sun dress as she left little lilies blooming at the bottom of her feet with each step she took. Or the dazzling starlights that sprung forth from her gentle palms that flew and made their home in the dark sky, before bursting into an aurora of colors that blew the clouds away. And even when she’d laid to rest, fallen asleep on her chair beside him in that familiar, dusty library, her visage was a comfort to him, the perfect lamplight he had for comfort.. despite his blaming her for the very reasons for his own struggles.

His own hands and feather pen were a hazy memory, as were his accomplishments, if he even had any in life. But he remembers her shape most vividly. 

Whose thoughts were these? Whose memories possessed him?

What was his name?

A....Ap.... Apo....

No, that wasn’t right. And no matter how hard the man tried to focus his thoughts on the letters of his name, the splotches of ink only served to deepen this sickening, soul crushing guilt.

He didn’t deserve a name. He didn’t deserve to remember. He can’t even understand why, but he just knows that his soul was one of a tainted, murky color.

The wandering soul looks up, and he sees a figure that brings clarity to his vision. 

He remembers her name clear as crystal, better than he had memorized the words upon his tomes. He’d spent a fraction of his time alive looking at her compared to his studies.. and yet it was her who’d been imprinted into his mind after all.

Azem. The shepherd. Mother of Life. Flora. She was called many different things by many different people. But all he could think to call her was Chloris.

And he sees ahead, the lone blossom in an endless plane of white snow that was her eyes obscured from his view under the blinds of her bangs. There is blood in his veins for but a moment, and he almost remembers how to breath, as if she were the ocean wind that he needed to remind him. But she turns, and before he could even think, she’s running towards a future he will never be a part of, taking what little shattered pieces of his heart he had left to remember himself with her. His hand raises up by instinct, grasping helplessly as she begins to drift further and further from his reach.

Don’t go.

I have so many things I still want to say, so many things I have to tell you. 

I still need to apologize. 

Even if you will never forgive me, even if you hate me for all eternity. I just want you to hear what I have to say. 

And I promise to be honest this time. I promise. I promise.

Don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go--

He’s blinded by the lights. Despite his own sobs, the room is unbearably quiet, and he sinks into a puddle left by droplets of his own tears.

There is no place for him, nowhere to call home. 

Nowhere he will ever see her again.

-------------------------------------------------------

His head throbs as he opens his eyes only to be blinded by the light of the chandelier. For a moment he feels as if he’s underwater, listening to the distant muffled sounds and voices that surround him. 

When he finally regains his bearings, and notes the dreary tiles that made up the ceiling, he forces himself to focus on a strangely familiar voice, one that fills him with an inexplicably great amount of regret.. yet relief.

“A-are you okay?? Can you hear me?”

A pair of vibrant violet blossoms stare down at him, and it feels as if they are the very first colors he’s ever seen in this world. And though the expression she wore upon her face was one of worry, it was like a breathe of life on his heavy body. Looking upon her... hearing her voice... it was like the arrival of spring itself.

“Oh thank the twelve... you’re okay. You’ll be okay.” He feels a gloved hand clasping over his, and his accursed being is blessed with the sight of her utterly radiant smile. “I managed to stabilize your aether and charge you with some of my own mana, but you may still feel a little dizziness, so please take some time to rest.”

 “Illya, could I get your help with Alisaie, please?” Krile calls out, and the lalafellin with pure white hair responds back without hesitation. She was ever enthusiastic to help others, far too enthusiastic for her own good. Even if it meant sacrificing every drop of her blood to restore the wounds of others, even if it meant stomping her own light that burned within her, she’d throw aside all concepts of her own worth aside to save others. 

She’d saved him, of all people.. who did nothing but struggle as she fished him out of the depths of the ocean. Again and again.

“Yes, right away.”

She turns on her heels to leave, and he instantly feels bile rise up his throat. He sees that dream flash in his eyes and cloud all in his path, and all he can see is that blinding light again, and the wavering visage of her back turned to him.

Don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t go don’t--

“A-Alphinaud??” 

It’d be odd to say a supernatural force drove him, but that was the best way he could explain the un-fightable urge he had to throw himself forward, trapping her in his arms and pulling the girl back against his chest. It felt like a compulsion - like every inch of his being had been begging him to catch her.. He doesn’t think to resist himself, and allows the shackles that has kept his limbs bound for god knows how long to finally break apart. 

The god of knowledge, enthralled by the embodiment of life and hope, has all but thrown his self-restraint and logic to the wind in favor of restoring his shattered heart.

He knows without a shadow of a doubt that his very soul has been searching for her, waiting for her for as long as all the stars in the sky were given birth and burst into dust, perhaps even longer than the sun and moon have collectively hung in the sky. 

He’s waited, and he’s finally found home, right where she is closest to him.

“P-please- Don’t.... don’t go.” He wonders if this begging voice of his were his own, but when he feels the pounding of his own heart against his chest, he knows with certainty that this desire was genuine. 

He remembers a name - they called her by many, both in this life and the last. But the one she had been granted by birth twenty four summers ago was his favorite. 

“Illya.. Illya.. Please..”

He feels her hand clasp over his again, and his crippling fear of being left behind is washed away with her melodious voice.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He’d begged for a second chance somewhere in a distant past. But he’s instead been given many, many chances that he rightfully did not deserve. And as merciful a soul as she was, he has no intentions of ever misusing her kindness. He doesn’t have the strength to. Not again.

She sinks back against him and sits upon the bed, letting the side of her head rest against his own, though quickly shooting an apologetic glance up at Krile, who can only shrug her shoulders with a wry smile. 

Alisaie’s words of derision go ignored, as do the lengthy stares of the other scions.

It matters naught to him, not anymore. 

Because he’s home. And from now till forever, he will never leave. 

[tarajenkins]

When the character analysis hits just right:

Also when the character analysis hits just right:

[spotofmummery]

-I really do enjoy spending time with these little guys and gals.-

[yloiseconeillants]

Mild Endwalker Spoilers

Now Yloise is further on (or has completed) the Endwalker storyline, it feels like a good time to ask this:

When was the time that Yloise felt the most despair? Or came the closest to giving up, perhaps on her task, perhaps on herself?

What helped bring her back from this point? Has she fully recovered from her descent into despair?

Likely the Bloody Banquet. With the Scions and life at the Rising Stones, she had really felt like she was becoming someone worth being friends with and developing relationships with others that could last when everything came crashing down - and in a way that was SO OBSERVABLE. She lost not only the Scions that night but also the rest of her adventuring party, and while she put on a brave face for Alphinaud, it was a lie that she couldn't maintain the moment she allowed for some level of reflection.

Really, it was Haurchefant who helped her back from that brink, so carefully and with such kindness. I do headcanon that much more time was spent at the Falling Snows than running through the MSQ in 2022 would suggest, and there was time for her to gather her confidence again, along with a few new skills (bookbinding, for one! and a bit of training in swords).

I DO think that she's doing Pretty Good throughout Endwalker actually. She's in a weirdly stable place after 5.3 (that only kind of breaks late in the Elpis sequence), but I think she's learned to be open and more honest and less of the whole 'resentfully holding onto all of her grief and letting it consume her when no one is looking' thing.

[silvaswiftcast]

Fluffvember Prompt #3 Clean

Characters: Silva Cataracta and Hien Rijin (Ricmorn Cataracta is not in this scene, but he is mentioned.)

Rating: General

Notes: This scene takes place sometime between Shadowbringers Patch 5.3 and the start of Endwalker. No major spoilers of any kind here. Words contained in [brackets] are in another language, in this case, it's Doman.

Content Warnings/Additional Tags: Polyamory Relationship (V Relationship), M/F/M Relationship, Food, Domestic Fluff, Mild Angst, Mentions of Original Character(s) Death(s).

Silva stared at the horror her kitchen and combined dining room and living area in her Kugane apartment had become. Flour and powdered sugar dusted her countertops. Bowls filled with different batters, dessert fillings, and sweetened icing lay scattered about or filled the sink. She didn’t even want to glance at the assortment of dirty baking tins and pans or the number of spoons she had used for this… spontaneous baking spree.

Some people spared, drank themselves to the point of blacking out, or fucked the stress out of their systems. Meanwhile, this Warrior of Light liked to bake all sorts of sweet treats, of all things, instead — stress baking. There could be other, worse vices for her to rely on.

The plus side of this was her home away from home smelled amazing now. But…

What in the world was she going to do with everything she made over the last several bells?

The Au Ra buried her face into her hands and groaned, tired, a mess, and still a little stressed over things she couldn’t control. “Gods— Why am I like this?” she grumbled, shaking her head. “There’s no way in the seven hells you and Ricmorn can eat all of this by yourselves! And taking most of this to the Rising Stones would need several trips and— Ugh!”

Sometimes, Silva just wanted to throw her brain out the window. This was one of those rare occasions.

Why couldn’t she play the piano until her fingers went numb like her husband did when he felt stressed? That seemed more reasonable than looking through her cookbook and selecting twenty different desserts and other sweets to make.

While the Auri woman was busy talking to herself and muttering curses under her breath, she hadn’t realized someone had opened the door to her apartment and wandered in.

“Ah, good! You’re here, [wildflower.] I was afraid you weren’t when you didn’t answer my linkpearl calls and—”

“Seven fucking—” Silva gasped, spinning around with one hand clutching her racing heart and the other reaching for a nearby rolling pin. However, the second she realized the familiar appearance of the young lord standing before her, she let her arm fall to her side and ignored the rolling pin. “Kami— Y-you can’t just walk up on me like that, Hien!” she rasped. “I nearly threw a dirty rolling pin at your head! And I probably wouldn’t have missed!”

He raised an eyebrow at her, smirking. “And there would have been a good chance I would have sliced clean through it with my blade.”

She couldn’t believe what her horns were hearing. “Hien!”

Hien gave her a sheepish smile, trying his best not to laugh. His beloved seemed flustered enough as it was. “Apologies, my dear. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he promised. He then gazed over at the long dining table. Curious hazel eyes roamed over the numerous treats covering the dark wood top. Some of them he recognized — muffins, sweetened breads, pies, and dessert bars. The rest of them appeared more foreign to him. “I see you’ve been rather… busy today.”

Silva snorted, carding a hand through her short purple and magenta waves. “Sure, I guess you can call it that. Though you should probably call it what it is — a hot mess.”

Just like me. But she didn’t dare say that aloud.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her long tail swishing behind her. “I didn’t sleep… great last night,” was her admission when he didn’t speak. “Nightmares — one I haven’t had in a while.”

His gaze softened. “Your parents?” he asked, speaking softly. His heart clenched painfully in his chest when she nodded.

“Hence the mass assortment of baked goods before you.”

The young lord closed the distance between them in a few strides. In seconds, he gathered the small Raen in his arms and held her close, murmuring gentle words beside one of her ivory horns. She instantly melted against him as he offered her solace. Her worries and stress faded as she buried her face in the fluffy fur lining his dogi, breathing in his comforting scent of bright citrus, ginger, and sandalwood.

He was her home away from home,

“Thank you,” she whispered, not realizing just how badly she needed a hug.

Hien kissed the top of her head, smiling into her hair. “Of course. I’m here for you always, [wildflower.]”

“I know.”

He pulled away from her to gaze down at Silva. “Where’s Ricmorn?” he wondered. “It doesn’t seem he’s here with you.”

“Oh!” She blinked. “He went out to restock the items I used for my burst of… stress baking.”

“Stress baking? I never knew you were capable of such a thing, Silva.”

Silva couldn’t help but snort at that. “Well, there’s plenty of evidence that I do around us, Hien,” she laughed. Her lips curled into a smile when he grinned. “It’s not often that I end up resorting to it — only when I’m really stressed or deeply affected by something that is out of my hands.”

He hummed in understanding. “I see…”

“Ricmorn also went out to get me some of the steamed meat buns I like to try to cheer me up,” she added. “He should be back soon.”

“That’s nice of him,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “A good, doting husband he is.”

She laughed again. “Oh, don’t be like that!” His rumbling chuckles at her playful teasing made her heart flutter. “You dote on me just as much as he does, [my heart,]” she promised, leaning up on her toes to kiss him.

And when he returned the kiss, her tail whipped around behind her.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked when they parted. “I could help you clean up.”

Her eyes grew wide at the offer. “I— I couldn’t ask that of you, Hien. It’s my mess. I’ll get around to it once I take a break and—”

“Nope— You don’t have to say anything else.”

The last thing Silva expected was Hien guiding her over to a nearby chair. A squeak of surprise left her when he tightened his hold and made her sit down. She looked up at him, confused.

“What are you—”

“Sit,” he told her, crossing his arms. “Sit down and relax. I can handle wiping things down and washing some dishes while we wait for Ricmorn to return, and then I can drag him into helping me.”

Silva didn’t know what to say, fumbling for words to express her gratitude. “O-oh, well— I suppose if you’re sure a-and—”

He cut her rambling off by offering her a lemon bar to snack on while she rested. She sighed as she took it from him, biting into the sweet and tart treat. A cheerful hum escaped her as the dessert melted in her mouth. And when she went to take another bite, she caught Hien sneakily trying to eat one with his back turned to her.

“Really?” she snorted, her mouth full of crumbs.

The young lord gave her another sheepish smile. “What? You know I love your lemon bars!” he praised, trying not to laugh with his mouth full. “Just the right amount of sweet and tart for me, and the shortbread crust dissolves so easily in your mouth.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Yes, yes, I know. I made a whole pan just for you to take back home.”

He gave her a boyish grin at the news and shoved the rest of the dessert bar into his mouth, and she nearly choked on her food from laughing at how ridiculous he was.

[miss-tc-nova]

Hero’s Regret - G’raha Tia x DRG!WoL

Guess who just got caught up on FFXIV? Ye. Anyway, I didn’t really have a plot/theme/etc, behind this nor did I intend for this to turn so serious, but my fingers would not stop. A little rough but I had fun. 

Mild 5.3 spoilers!

Tagging this one is weird...

~~~~~

              “My dear, what are you doing up there?”

              I peer over the edge of the Rising Stones’s rooftop to see my sweet Miqo’te “ex-arch” standing at the bottom with a look of concern.

              “Testing,” I call down.

              “Testing what?”

              “Hold on.” Turning away from the edge, I set my sights on the little creature waiting at my feet. It returns my gaze, blank and impassive. Fist against palm, I say, “Alright little boy. Let’s see if you follow me.”

              Without further ado, I step off the roof. As I’ve done many times before, I plummet towards the ground without a care in the world. That brief moment of weightlessness is a moment of careless bliss—exhilarating freedom. But, just as all good things, it comes to an end. Dragoon legs trained for the impact brace me, making light work of the collision and allowing me a lithe landing before my beloved.

              A moment later, a crash echoes my landing and I glance back to find the little automaton on the ground in a bitter sweet sight.

              “Aww, he did jump,” I coo, scooping up the struggling doll.

              G’raha raises a brow, pinching one of the crippled limbs in his fingers. “Yes, but at the cost of his legs it seems.”

              “I was afraid of that,” I murmur. The dead-panned doll blinks as I poke its cheek. “I guess we’d better go see Cid and get you fixed up.”

              Following me into the Rising Stones, G’raha says, “Certainly Cid has better things to do than fix your toys, sweetheart.”

              I gasp dramatically. “How dare you speak such blaspheme!”

              As usual, he smiles, but the droop of his ears displays his bashfulness. “My apologies. But Cid is currently in the middle of repairing his airship after your last escapade. I think he’d much rather have that done than tinker with your automaton for the umpteenth time.”

              I push through the door leading to the residences. “Lest you forget, that last ‘escapade’ was a test of fireworks for the festival next week—a test to which I was invited and then almost killed. Cid owes me.”

              “Be that as it may, you must weigh the importance of the airship against…” My eyes narrow at him. “Well, him.”

              A single key grants entrance into the room assigned me. “I think you’re just jealous of Little G’raha.”

              The twitch of an ear, the tint of pink blossoming on his cheeks, and the rapid flick of the end of his tail all betray the truth.

              “As I have said many times before, I bear no ill will towards ‘Little G’raha’ else he probably would’ve met his end more times than I can count by now.”

              “Is that a threat, sir?!”

              “Ye—NOOO!” I almost had him. The man pinches the bridge of his nose. “I simply think—”

              G’raha interrupts himself as I cuddle his mimic and place a kiss on its head. The tail thrashing increases and, this time, the glare reaches his eyes.

              Despite the frustration getting the better of him, G’raha attempts to remain civil. “Would you enlighten me as to why you even had such a thing made?”

              Ah, poor G’raha. Always wound up. He lives and thrives on adventure, jumping on each and every opportunity to join me. However, should my affection fall upon someone—in this case, something—other than him, his eager nature turns to something more sullen. He often forgets my many attempts to soothe his ego and thus the cycle continues. Nevertheless, I love him, so much so that I couldn’t help myself when Tataru entertained the idea of an automaton in his image. However, due to my occupation, the figure has seen more than most and weathered his fair share of bumps and bruises. But rather than commission a new one be made, I’ve become a regular of Cid’s so that he can boost the little guy’s resistances. I’ve spent a lot of gil on him and he stays always by my side—much to G’raha’s chagrin.

              Doubling back on my theatrics, I smile.

              “Because I couldn’t stand being without you.

              I had intended to hold fast to our lighthearted banter, only wishing to see more of that adorable blush and his flustering. Instead, my truth was spilled in the sober tone that escaped me.

              At least part of my wish comes true: G’raha’s face does indeed flush to a shade nearly matching his hair. But ever the analyst, he seems to have caught on to my true meaning.

              “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

              I look again to the automaton, the thing made to reflect G’raha as I first met him. It’s spent countless nights in my arms as I cried and seen all the sights I wished I could show him. It was the G’raha I needed when the true thing couldn’t be there for me. It was the only thing that kept me sane when my heart was crushed.

              If I speak now, I know that my heart will wrest control of my mouth from my mind. My inadvertent confession widened the cracks I thought I’d filled in and I feel the pain seeping through.

              And so my heart begins to speak. “You always praise me as some infallible hero, able to triumph over even the most impossible obstacle. I love you more than anything, ‘Raha, so why is it you can’t see how weak I am?”

              All the aggravation he held before is gone, replaced with bitter pity.

              “But you are a hero, darling.”

              His attempts to mend my crumbling spirit only hasten the deterioration.

              “You’re the Warrior of Light, Hydaelyn’s Chosen. You’ve slayed gods and freed nations. You saved the world from calamity; twice.” Gentle hands take my face, brushing away the tears in vain. “You are the strongest person I’ve ever met. And I would gladly follow you into battle.”

              Palm firmly against his chest, I shove him back. “None of that makes me a hero.”

              “You’re right. It’s the things you’ve done for others: your compassion, your morals, your—”

              “Be quiet!”

              Ears back, he retreats a step.

              “I’m not a hero! None of the names mean anything! I did those things because I didn’t have a choice! I couldn’t let people die! I couldn’t let my friends get hurt! And even then, I couldn’t keep you safe!”

              Eyes wide, the horror dawns on him.

              “Three times! Three! That’s how many times I lost you! And I spend every waking moment terrified that the next time will see you away for good! My friends have died and I don’t think I could stand to lose another, let alone you! I hate my life! I hate being the Warrior of Light! I hate—” My chest heaves, the panic constricting in my throat. “—being so weak.”

              My name slips past his lips.

              My arms tighten instinctually around the doll I’ve clung to for years. It brings me some solace, allowing me to rein in some semblance of control.

              “This life full of misery and fear—how is this the life you’ve dreamt of?” I murmur.

              Embraced in crimson, I suddenly find my face pressed against his chest. The act speaks of safety and understanding, but it’s the heartbeat against my ear that causes more tears to spill forth.

              “It’s not,” he says. “Not anymore, at least.”

              Unclear of his meaning, I peer up into those ruby eyes.

              “My last moments with you in the First, I asked you to take me on your next adventure.” Head dipped, he means to get his message across. “I wanted that adventure to be a life with you. I understand that guilty responsibility to help someone and the fear of letting down those you love. But there are those who choose not to do anything—that’s not you. And that’s what makes you a hero, whether you like it or not. And I now know that this is not the life you would choose, but I would follow you anyway. Into battle for our lives, into Garlemald for reconnaissance, to Ishgard on a delivery, to the shops for dinner.” Smiling, he nuzzles his nose against mine. “To Garlond Ironworks to fix Little G’raha.”

              Finally, finally, the weight in my chest begins to dissipate with a quivering laugh.

              “I wanted to be a hero more than anything. And then I met you and I wanted nothing more than to be at your side.” He prods Little G’raha with a finger. “Except, I wanted it to be me and not a silly automaton.”

              For a long time, I held onto these fears. They exist and they may never fully vanish, but at least he understands.

              I give my attempt at meeting him halfway. “How dare you, sir,” I laugh, with a sniffle.

              “My apologies.” Lips with an edge of roughness brush my forehead before he gives me a little room to breathe. “And though I say I would follow you anywhere, I fear that if I made the same jump, I’m sure my legs would give as well. However I’m not sure Cid would be able to help me.”      

              “He might. Yet Y’shtola would probably be a better choice.”

              “No!” I quirk a brow at him. “I-I mean, perhaps Alphinaud or Urianger would be better suited to the task.”

              “Hiding from Y’shtola, are we?” I tease.

              He sighs, defeated by the woman not even in the room. “She has a very keen ability to destroy every onze of confidence one possesses.”

              “It does make for some fine entertainment.”

              “Not when you’re her favorite target. Our first kiss likely would’ve been moons earlier had she not verbally tore me down for being a ‘dreamy-eyed doe’ each time we spoke.”

              “But you’re a cute ‘dreamy-eyed doe.’”

              Once again, he begins to flush. “Ah, well, at least that seems to be in my favor.” Despite his embarrassment, my laughter brings a smile to the man’s face. “Now, provided you’re feeling better, should I see if Cid is available?”

              “I would appreciate that.” For a second time, I hug the man. “Thank you.”

              “My all for you, my love. For we shall be together until the very end.”

~~~~~

Nova’s Final Fantasy Masterlist

[karoiseka]

FFXIVWrite2021 Master List

Welp, I got another year fully done, all 31 entries.

Yes, I’m proud that I did, despite feeling like from the first week I was running a loosing battle in time and... talent.  I’m glad I got these out, glad I got things written, and new things figured out.  I do really like several of these, so I’m not all down on myself about it.  I was basically out of spoons as I finished the month, and probably should have just let it be, but I was being stubborn.  I do hope that those that read, enjoyed.  Thank you again to @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast for hosting such an amazing list once more!!  I do look forward to this!!  

Already posted to AO3 HERE! 

Soul Memories:

1) Foster:  Pre-Calamity, Karo meets Seirlait and Feophaux

2) Aberrant: 5.3 Spoilers for Kar’azem Story

3) Scale: Late base ARR, Karo has some insecurities.

4) Baleful: 5.55 Technically with a small reference, Karo and Tataru silliness

5) Free Day 1: 5.0 Spoilers, Rak’tika-ish timeframe.

6) Avatar:  5.3 Spoilers for Kar’azem, MSQ is second major solo duty in SB

7) Speculate: 2.5-ish Spoilers.  A now-deleted MSQ mini-questline! Karo/Tataru

8) Adroit: 5.3 Spoilers.  Karo/G’raha shippy lemony goodness

9) Friable: 5.0-5.1 Spoilers.  Karo/G’raha shippy softness

10) Heady: Late HW Spoilers, Karo/Thancred firsts and softness

11) Preaching to the Choir:  5.0 generic spoilers.  Karo and Ardbert

12) Free Day 2: 5.0 generic spoilers, Karo and Ardbert

13) Oneirophrenia: Karo at the Calamity

14) Commend: 5.3 Spoilers for Kar’a, Hythlodaeus and Hades

15) Thunderous: 5.0 Spoiler (generic) for Thancred x Karo Song lyrics!

16) Crane: 2.1-ish, Karo with Urianger, teasing about backstory

17) Destruct: No real time frame, poor Karo in the kitchen.

18) Devil’s Advocate: 5.0 Spoilers, Karo and Ardbert in Amaurot

19) Free Day 3: 4.0 Spoilers, Karo and Hien bonding (special guest Lyse)

20) Petrichor: 5.3 Spoilers for more than just Kar’a and Convocation talk

21) Feckless: Pre-Cal Karo family!

22) Fluster: Late HW, Tataru teasing Karo after #10 Heady!

23) Soul:  5.3 Spoilers, Karo and her crystal(s)

24) Illustrious:  5.3 Spoilers for Kar’a, Final Days

25) Silver Lining:  5.3 Technically mild spoilers, Karo unwraps and old gift

26) Free Day 4:  5.1 Spoilers, Karo reflecting on Gaius

27) Benthos:  4.0, Karo freaking out Hien and Lyse to the rescue

28) Bow: 4.0 Spoilers, Seirlait still finds a way to take care of his girl

29) Debonair: 3.2-3ish Spoilers, Karo gets surprised

30) Abstracted: 5.55 Spoilers, Karo and the Scions at home

31) Free Day 5: Late ARR, attempted poetry once more

Stats and some more commentary under the cut!

I actually somehow wrote almost 600 more words this year than last, though I swore I only wrote half as much.  I think my favorites were Heady, Oneirophrenia, Avatar, Illustrious, and Silver Lining all for different reasons.  I had quite the little sappy set up there in the beginning of the second week, and kinda went a bit more angsty for the rest.  I did... notice this and attempted some happier stuff near the end.  I wrote most of this at work, or super late at night, and probably pushed myself a bit more than I should have.

The shortest was the last one, the poetry of course at only 57 Words.

Longest was Heady at 1630

I really liked talking about Karo’s dads, and I do have... reunion setting and ideas in my head, but I kinda need Endwalker to come out so I have the proper lore setting without messing anything up (or time) because I do like to stick mainly to the big plot points/timeframes even if I take some liberties.

I also wanna give a little mini-shout out to the Writer’s Lounge of @onyrica​’s Discord, and three of the best cheerleaders I could have asked for: @autumnslance​ , @elveny​, and @sami-at-ciela​ .  I think some of the comments you left me there are honestly what kept me going this month, and I truly appreciate it with all my heart.   THANK YOU.

[ecosystem-administrator]

Aberrant

warnings: slight 5.3 spoilers at the end, ignorant misgendering of a pre-transition non-binary child/teen

Mayhem was always weird. Haurchefant/WoL, implied G'raha/WoL

"Wandering again?" The conjurer shook his head, deeply exasperated with the Miqo'te child who'd been brought before him. "If you won't learn to listen to your elders, maybe we should just let the wood take you, and see how you like that!"

"It's not the boy's fault," the herbalist who had found them replied soothingly. "Children are curious, you know, especially Miqo'te. He can't help his nature."

"You deal with him, then," the other man fumed. "See if you can get him to listen to reason."

"Here, drink this tea. I know it's bitter, but these plants are purifying," the herbalist sighed. "As indelicate as he is, I'm afraid he isn't wrong. You really must be more cautious. Given your...origins...it's unfortunate, but you're simply more vulnerable to the woodsin than the other children." He patted the child on the head consolingly. "Once you're old enough to join a guild and prove yourself to the spirits, perhaps things will be different."

The child who would one day be Mayhem sipped at their tea obediently, watching with wide, silent eyes, and decided not to disagree. . . . .

"Hey, it's the orphan boy!"

They turned toward the source of the voice, ears first, and saw that it was a familiar face. One of the younger hunters who visited the city regularly, a few years older than the odd orphan.

"Why don't you come out with us next time, kiddo?" she grinned. "Out with your own kind. You know your mom's clan?"

"...Mhunso," they answered, a little diffidently but curious nonetheless.

"Hmm. I don't know where they are right now...but I bet I know some people who could find out." She winked. "You could get in with a clan where the ladies know how to treat a cute boy like you right." Her tail slid up along her waist as she spoke in a provocative gesture that would have made the younger Miqo'te blush if their skin wasn't too dark for it to show.

"I'll think about it," they lied with an encouraging smile. "Maybe next time. Luck with your hunt, miss." . . . .

"Would you stay? If I asked?" Haurchefant murmured one night, Mayhem's hand securely enclosed within his larger one as they watched the stars together.

"...Maybe at Dragonhead," they allowed softly, leaning into his side. "I have to see this business with the Scions through, at least. But Ishgard itself...don't get me wrong, I like it here. I'm out of place, and that shakes people up, and you know I like doing that."

"...But in the end you are, as you say, out of place. And that would take a very long time to change," Haurchefant agreed with a sigh, wrapping his other arm around Mayhem's waist.

"I love you," they murmured in consolation. "Maybe someday I'll be ready to settle down." . . . .

"You've really never called any place 'home' before this?" G'raha asked in mild disbelief, as the two bards sat in their little corner of the Rising Stones.

Mayhem shrugged. "I grew up in Gridania," they answered, "but I don't think it really counts as home if the only reason you stay is that you aren't big enough to leave."

"No, not really," G'raha agreed. "It's just hard to imagine, with how well you get along with just about anyone you meet."

"It's more about what they expected me to be...or what they didn't, I guess," Mayhem answered, and looked around the common room fondly at the ordinary chaos of the evening's antics. "I just needed to find somewhere that everyone was as weird as me."

[fistsoflightning]

28 - until you’re gone

bow: a knot tied with two loops and two loose ends, used especially for tying shoelaces and decorative ribbons. // to cease from competition or resistance; to suffer defeat; to crush with a heavy burden. Ryne/Gaia, 2k words*. Post-5.3 ‘Reflections in Crystal’ & post E12, but you probably could guess that by now. Mild spoilers up to 5.55 MSQ.

In the months following the Scions’ departure from the First, alongside the Warriors of Light and the Crystal Exarch (well, his soul), Ryne gets on just fine—and then, very suddenly, she isn’t.

*(I actually wrote upwards of 3k but this is getting out of hand and is wailing for a fic of its own, so. That’s where I’m at.)

In the days that came after the Scions and their return home, Ryne did her best to stand tall.

Not unbending to the point where the waves of her sorrow would break her—she knew how much that had hurt Thancred and Zaya, after all. She slept in and retired early for the first two weeks, even when the Empty and her other duties called her to carve out long days and longer nights. With the gil Thancred had left her, from all those hunts and leves he had been picking up like a man possessed (not that he was, because he’d already done that once and it wasn’t pretty, she heard), she might have indulged in a mildly excessive number of sweets, her snacking with Gaia balanced between training with his gunblade when she felt the pull of her sinking heart. When the empty spaces of the apartment in the Caternaries she shared with Thancred grew too wide, she invited Captain Lyna and Gaia to live with her, since she knew they were both just as lonely as her, and greeted them with her best attempt at a cake when they arrived. 

She knew, in the end, that what she had with Thancred and Urianger and everyone would never last, the precious and wonderful times she had at their side just as destined to come to an end as the Light’s pall had been. She knew the day would come where all of them would be leaving, even if she only ever thought of it as a distant someday, the plan put in motion since the moment Thancred, Tehra’ir, and Valdis had mistakenly ended up on the First. Even the Crystal Exarch, who had been there since the very beginning of Norvrandt’s fight, would go with them; he’d come here to save them, after all, too stubborn to let Lunya and the others fizzle out like fireworks finished too soon. After years and years of mourning and fighting so hard it made Ryne’s head spin, he deserved to go home. Deserved to fall into the inevitable gravity of the Warriors and become one of the stars he’d been dreaming of since before Ryne had been Minfilia.

Sometimes, she wondered if she even deserved what she got with them, after choosing her life over Minfilia’s own. Ryne remembered the few words Thancred had been able to spare her in temporary replacement of the talk they were supposed to have, before Ran’jit grew impatient and she had to go—all I want is for you to choose whatever makes you happiest, not what pleases me the most—but sometimes she still wondered.

Maybe that was what made it so hard—knowing that Minfilia might have been able to go with them. That she might have been able to stay by their side, being from the Source and all, unlike Ryne, whose hand stayed firmly on the mirror in the Ocular no matter how hard she pressed.

It took weeks before Ryne’s hard, uneasy days without them became easy ones, even longer before they just became everyday. There were constant letters delivered by Feo Ul; mostly from Thancred—and Zaya, but they cried trying to learn Vrandtic after just barely grasping Eorzean and Eorzean Sign and Thancred was, by his admission, ‘a bit whipped’ and so he wrote their letters with his—some from Alisaie and Alphinaud stuffed with sketches of everyone that Ryne framed, others from Urianger in his looping script and flowery language that Gaia hated, and semi-regular visits from Zaya and the others who could traverse the rift when they could spare the time, but Ryne knew couldn’t rely on those forever. They had lives of their own, back home, and adventures to lead. She was just taking up their time, undeserving of their dozens of letters and trinkets.

Those were the thoughts Gaia always insisted on shaking out of Ryne’s head for her. Of course you deserve that, she’d say, wrapping her strong arms around Ryne’s teary figure. You know how much they all love you. They love you more than you’ll ever know, with all the damn letters and visits and gifts they give to try and make up for their absence. Of course you’re more than a speck of memory to them.

Knowing didn’t make it all hurt any less, but neither did the pain stop her from moving forward on her own two feet. Gaia pushed and pulled her every which way on the days Ryne couldn’t do it herself, from coffee biscuits at the Second Serving to taking her frustrations out on stray Sin Eaters to picnics all across Norvrandt. She came home most days to Gaia squinting at a cookbook while she cooked enough for the three of them, sometimes to Lyna at her side, just as befuddled by Syhrwyda’s scratchy Vrandtic handwriting. Some days there were guests—Taynor and Unukalhai dropped by often with stories of their own adventures, the Chais with gifts and bone-crushing hugs when they had business in the Crystarium, and Thaffe and Jeryk from Twine when they needed to gush about their newest discoveries and the latest news about the Flood of Light.

“Ryne,” Gaia called from the kitchen most days, hands sticky with any manner of dough or sauce or Ryne-didn’t-want-to-know when she eagerly skipped from the doorway to the kitchen. If Lyna was around, she’d tell Gaia to at least say hello before returning to whatever she was doing, but most of the time she was still hard at work when Ryne opened the doors of their shared apartment. “Come here and tell me how your day went?”

“Just the usual,” she replied, playful even as she stole her price in hugs from behind Gaia every time, blowing strands of inky black hair away from her face and back into Gaia’s. A deflection, mostly; she never really wanted to talk about work when she came home. The pink ribbon that held back most of Gaia’s hair in a low ponytail fluttered with her breath, the bow drooping low enough to brush the back of Gaia’s neck. “You probably had more fun visiting the Chais in Eulmore and gossiping.”

That was the difference between the two of them, the Oracle of Light and the Oracle of Darkness. Ryne had years and years of legacies to live up to, now that she was living in Minfilia’s place—she was always running around, helping in the Crystarium wherever she could and making plans for the Empty, the Flood of Light, and whatever came next. She was expected to be a pillar of hope, of futures yet unwritten for Norvrandt; Gaia, on the other hand, had no such precedent to follow. She did help with the Empty and the Flood of Light, her infinite darkness always a blessing in a land that had its fill of light, but she was more nonchalant about it. Spent lots of time on herself between duties that she fulfilled just as easily as Ryne.

Gaia always huffed at that, blowing her bangs upwards with a puff of air. “If you think listening to Dulia-Chai blubber about missing Alphinaud or Chai-Nuzz or whatever Eulmoran trend is all the rage is entertaining, maybe,” she grumbled, even though Ryne knew full well she loved hearing about anything and everything, in lieu of her old memories. “I’ll tell you about it, but I need to go 

Gaia wriggled out of her hugs after saying that, usually; if Ryne could convince her to stay in her arms with a kiss to her shoulder she’d turn around and hug back before threatening to stick her hands in Ryne’s hair. Most days, Ryne just accepted that she’d have to steal her weight in hugs later, when the brilliant night made Gaia softer and the moonlight drew soft shadows across her face, and went to go dutifully wash her hands so she could help Gaia out while listening to her day instead.

It was a whole routine, built in the wake of losing Thancred and Zaya’s constant presence in this apartment; she and Lyna and Gaia, the three of them a little less lonely together. It used to be a little different, back before she got a little help on confessing from the Warriors (“Anyone but Zaya,” Lunya told her as Zaya turned pixieberry red behind them, nearly fainting on the counter as Hanami walked in and added, “Do you want to hear about how long it took them and Thancred to stop being stupid?”), but now it was this easy peace, made from the bits and pieces of Gaia that survived Mitron’s attempts to bring back Loghrif.

Somehow, the easy life she’d fallen into with Gaia scared her more than Ran’jit or any Lightwarden could.

Ryne brushed off a lot of things, letting them fall like raindrops over her shoulders; spilled drinks on her white dress, people calling her Minfilia by habit, even Thancred and Zaya’s silences (though she knew full well they didn’t want her to let that one go, knew they wanted her to hold a grudge so that she’d know not to let herself get hurt anymore) and Gaia’s occasional days of prickly behavior instead of soft, begrudging acceptances. After spending so long chasing after sin eaters and Lightwardens and the shadows of her own doubts, there wasn’t much that could phase her. 

This, though, was one of them. When she had to watch Mitron take Gaia’s precious memories, of her and Urianger and Alisaie and everyone she had worked so hard to befriend, and shatter them, she could hardly hear over her own terror and grief. Zaya, who had nearly died trying to save Ryne from her own mistakes, worked even harder to preserve as much as they could, but it still wasn’t enough. Gaia nearly didn’t remember—nearly didn’t wake up. 

She did, though, missing dozens of memories but still remembering Ryne through the gaps. She clutched the necklace she had Zaya help her make tight in her palm as Ryne hugged her in that field of flowers, the eternal ice still bright in her palm, and later she presented Ryne with a necklace of her own, the pendant a shard of her own memory crystals that now hung over Ryne’s heart.

But Ryne was still terrified, the idea that she’d been forgotten by someone she loved heavy in her chest—it still is, really. The future ahead of all of them glimmered brightly the moment the Light was gone from their skies, but that didn’t mean anything was certain. What she had now, her soft mornings and warm nights in Gaia’s arms, her days helping Lyna and watching the children of the Crystarium grow up with her—it could all turn to diamond dust. 

The Light could come back, resisting even death at the hands of Emet-Selch’s darkness, or some new Ascian might be assigned to make the First rejoin with the Source. She’s the only one left, now. There wasn’t another Minfilia waiting to make sure Ryne had the time to figure herself out, if she had to be Minfilia or Ryne to save the world on her own. Zaya and the others would come back running if she asked, but she had already asked for so much from them, and their letters and visits were already growing more sporadic. Something about a new Ascian trying to recreate the hellish illusion of burning Amaurot, except with the entirety of the Source and everyone’s lives as his toys.

One day, Norvrandt might need Minfilia again. One day, they might all forget her, back on the Source with people they loved for longer. What, then, would Ryne be? What would she have left?

She didn’t have any answers, left to stand tall on her own as the world waited for her to move, and Ryne realized with a sickening sort of dread that she didn’t want to find out what happened when she started to forget them.

[aoiumine]

I posted 95 times in 2021

15 posts created (16%)

80 posts reblogged (84%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 5.3 posts.

I added 79 tags in 2021

#demon slayer - 13 posts

#kimetsu no yaiba - 10 posts

#aoi kanzaki - 9 posts

#look at them - 9 posts

#kny - 9 posts

#fanart - 8 posts

#anime - 7 posts

#huntlow - 5 posts

#ship art - 5 posts

#kny spoilers - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 56 characters

#i always loved iino and now i'm getting hype for her arc

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Drew this for a friend's birthday 🎂

Underatted ship hours, I love them both☺

Artist (me) : @kitaaoi_ibs

23 notes • Posted 2021-10-02 05:15:28 GMT

#4

Komi Cant Communicate au anyone?

The editing on this sucks im so sorry😖

I thought of this Au at 4am with a sore stomach so i am suprised this worked like i wanted!

Also an exuse to draw kanao x tanjiro :))

See the full post

24 notes • Posted 2021-12-26 10:44:02 GMT

#3

Demon Slayer: Entertainment district

Episode 3 *mild spoilers*

See the full post

29 notes • Posted 2021-12-26 20:49:38 GMT

#2

KNY SPOILERS

Before anyone talks about the show have these amazing frames of AOI

I mean, look how buetiful she is🥰😭

SHES ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT!!!

Also #inaoi exists so don't f*ck with me

See the full post

66 notes • Posted 2021-12-05 17:12:01 GMT

#1

Imagine falling victim to #huntlow 😌✋

I had to draw them because.. like... its the best hunter ship💜🖤🤍

112 notes • Posted 2021-09-10 11:03:11 GMT

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