#prompt 3 tempest

[starrysnowdrop]

FFXIVWrite 2024 #3: Tempest

Noun: a violent commotion, disturbance, or tumult.

During the events of patch 4.0; Yume’s heart is in turmoil over her two losses against the crown prince of Garlemald, and she can’t stop thinking about him.

Twisting and turning, rolling over onto her side, and then onto her back again, Yume just couldn’t seem to settle herself down enough to go to sleep. The bed that was offered to her by Cirina was way more comfortable than the Auri samurai had anticipated; the pillows were extremely soft and the perfect shape for her horns, so she could lie down comfortably in any direction. Yume certainly had slept in much worse accommodations over the years, so it wasn’t anything physical that was cumbersome enough to keep her from sleep this night. Still, getting up and stepping outside for some fresh air could do her some good.

Yume sat up and didn’t bother putting any shoes on, nor a robe, as her lightweight top and shorts covered her enough so that she was decent. As she stood up and walked out of the tent that she was sharing with her comrades, the crisp, night air of the Steppe gently brushed past her face, relaxing her tense muscles enough for her to take a sigh of relief.

Yet even with the cool breeze easing the tension in her body, she didn’t feel anymore tired than before. In fact, the change in atmosphere made her mind wander… and her heart began to beat furiously in her chest as her mind settled once more on her enemy.

Zenos yae Galvus, the crown prince of Garlemald, the heir apparent to the Imperial Throne, and the legatus of the XIIth Legion…

Yume had now faced him twice in single combat, and both times she had been defeated, devastatingly so. She had always prided herself on her martial prowess, and she was especially proud that she had never been defeated in single combat before, against anyone. She had even fought several Imperial legatuses before, Gaius van Baelsar, Regula van Hydrus, and a resurrected Nael van Darnus to be exact.

So why him? Why couldn’t she beat Zenos? Why couldn’t she leave him with any injury whatsoever besides a broken katana and a snapped piece of his helm?

The more Yume thought about both encounters, the more her heart became a roiling, raging tempest that gave rise to conflicting emotions, including some feelings that she had never felt before.

Zenos was the one enemy she couldn’t defeat, which infuriated her to no end; it made her even angrier for her damaged ego, and she would love nothing more than to face him once more so she could finally be granted the victory that she deserved.

And yet… she could not stop thinking about him in other ways… in ways that her comrades would not understand.

Her mind wandered to the way his long, luscious, golden hair flowed around him as he moved; his eyes were as blue as a summer sky and yet were as ravenous as a predatory beast as he stared her down across the battlefield. In their latest encounter, he gave her a chilling smile that shook her to her core. And his voice was deep and coarse yet filled with passion as he spoke the words that haunted her every thought and yet she was still struggling to comprehend what exactly he meant by them:

Oh...how right I was to spare your life.

Hear me, hero. Endure. Survive. Live.

For the rush of blood, for the time between the seconds─live.

For the sole pleasure left to me in this empty, ephemeral world─live!

As she sighed deeply and shook her head, Yume couldn’t deny that she thought Zenos yae Galvus was simply the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and his handsome visage along with his voice had ignited a spark deep inside her that refused to burn out.

The other thought that Yume couldn’t shake off was the fact that if things were different, if Zenos wasn’t her enemy, and she was still her father’s heir, then her father and the rest of the Aino clan would’ve deemed Zenos to be the only one worthy of marrying her, due to him being the only one to defeat her in battle.

Yes, in another life, another time, Zenos could very well have been her husband.

Yume tried to shake the thought from her mind as she shook her head back and forth and slammed her eyes shut. She deemed such thoughts as ridiculous, and yet… her heart skipped a beat.

Yume’s Blog: @firelightmuse

[katalinhunter]

Tempest

Sometimes life came at you like the rush of a storm. It would pick you up, carry you along, pelt you with everything it could. Other times it would be twisting, a spinning, a whirl that takes your breath away as it lifts you, only to drop you right back where you started.

This wasn't one of those times. This was the calm after, the storm passed, clouds on the horizon and maybe they weren't even blowing in your direction.

There was no chance of Katalin fretting or worrying about the next storm. She was fully in the here and now, enjoying her life, still adjusting to the differences between Calico and Corsa'ir. Cal had a shred of her former husband's soul in him which brought with it more similarities then she expected but those also threw the differences into sharp contrast. Not a bad thing, not an urgent thing, just casually adapting, appreciating, wondering, and most definitely not mentioning to him in any detail.

She could hear him finishing up his shower but continued reading, waiting until she came to a good stopping point. The book, a treatise on Yak T'el history, was a bit dry for her tastes but there was good information tucked inside it. A small crystal from that area rested on the table next to her, catching the sunlight that shone into the house. A stylized winged serpent was etched within it.

[an-excellent-choice]

A Tempest of Events - Day 2: Blackstaff Student AU

It has only been a few months since Aoide, the exchange student specializing druidic magic, arrived in Blackstaff but for Gale it feels like it's been a lifetime. While their afternoon study sessions and late night talks have made Gale neglect his studies and duties to Mystra. All their talks, shared glances and soft touches made it all worth for Gale.

An AU were Gale and Aoide met in Blackstaff. Them becoming sweethearts and Gale never becoming a Mystra's chosen because he follows Aoide when she had to go back to her grove.

[chocoblep]

#3: Fighting Form

Prompt: Tempest

Kismet took a single step backward as he flipped one of his daggers into a backward grip. Across the mats in the basement of Nightingale House, Shev did the same as he shook out his hands and brought them up in front of him. This was their third match of the night, as they were both trying to get back into their respective fighting forms. For Shev, it had been a while, and Kismet’s first fight back at the Tavern had been nigh on disastrous. And so, he and Shev faced off, as partners who like to fight are wont to do.

Neither of them moved for a long time, both of them waiting for the other to make the first attack, but it was Shev who budged first. He didn’t come in for a strike, no; instead, he straightened up and walked along the side of the mats, as if sizing Kismet up for something altogether different that had the lavender-haired viera arching a brow.

“Like what you see, Silvertongue?” Kismet queried, the amused curve of his lips drawing a lopsided smirk from the taller viera.

“Yer well put-together, aye,” Shev replied, moving far too casually for a fight. If Kismet didn’t know any better, he’d have let down his guard. But he did know better. Shev was, in essence, a walking force of nature, and the predatory glint in his golden eyes had Kismet tightening his grip on one of his blades. “It’s almost like yer beggin’ me t’ take ya apart.”

Kismet didn’t move from his spot, but two fingers rose from his backward blade in preparation. When Shev’s eyes darted to those fingers, Kismet sneered at him. “I’ll only beg if you win, sweetheart,” he practically purred.

Shev rolled a shoulder, and then shrugged. “Well, I’ve got some work t’do then, aye?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but Kismet was anticipating his lunge. He flipped his blades in the air and smacked his hands together, rapidly forming three mudra as Shev hurtled toward him. When he extended his hands, a column of water enveloped the other viera, and Kismet caught his daggers again and stepped through the shadows to the other side of the geyser before Shev burst out of it, water running in rivulets over the shield that the ward ring had put on his person.

“Ah, normally I’d offer a blow-dry with your wash, but the water doesn’t seem to be sticking,” he called out, and Shev wheeled around to face him.

“Nice trick, lad,” Shev called back, and no sooner had the words left this mouth was he slamming into Kismet, driving him into one of the invisible ward-walls. “Got a few ‘a my own.” A quick one-two with his elbow and fist kept Kismet pinned there, but not for long.

As soon as Shev shifted again, Kismet slipped downward and away, aiming a slash at Shev’s leg as he whirled around him. He dodged a knee meant for his gut and two punches aimed at his solar plexus and his head before thrusting an arm up to block a swift snap-kick.

“Orange already,” Shev commented as he kept up with his assault. Kismet paid it no mind; his shield was lower in integrity than Shev’s was, but that was fine. He just needed to bide his time and strike when he could. “Best get yer knees ready.” A flurry of punches dodged, and one parried with a quick swipe of Kismet’s arm, which he then snapped inward for a slash at Shev’s exposed midsection. The taller viera’s lantern flickered to join Kismet’s, bathing both of them in a warm pumpkin glow.

“Whose knees?” Kismet retorted, pressing the attack. Shadow-stepping behind Shev, he swiftly stabbed his knives inward toward the man’s kidneys, but Shev was too quick and half-turned, dodging both thrusts and planting his heel in Kismet’s hip, knocking him back and sending one of his daggers clattering across the floor.

“I didn’t agree to beg, Sta–”

Anything else Shev was about to say was cut off as Kismet threw out his free hand, this time closing it into a fist as if around an invisible string. He yanked his hand back toward himself and Shev doubled over with a gasp, trying but failing to take in any air. Kismet didn’t pull the air away from him for long; just enough to keep him off-balance before darting in for a decisive blow to his ribcage with his remaining dagger.

Shev’s lamp went deep crimson as Kismet let him breathe again, and he answered with a series of maneuvers that Kismet had only ever seen him practice slowly. This was at rapid speed, though, and as the pair of them dodged and weaved around each other, Shev picked up his momentum again. Kismet didn’t realize that Shev was channeling aether until fire was licking up the other’s arm, and as Shev went in for a fire-laced palm strike, Kismet tried to push all of the air around him at the man to drive him back.

It wasn’t the greatest idea he’d ever had, but it worked. The air ignited the fire, and the resulting explosion threw them both back into opposite walls. Shev’s shield went down then, and he called the match in Kismet’s favor. As they met in the middle of the mats, Shev put his hands on his hips and watched Kismet. “Y’know, I wonder if we could combine those somehow without blowin’ ourselves up in th’ process. Yer wind, and a fire strike? Could make a right flamethrower.”

Kismet grabbed his fallen dagger and sheathed both of them with a thoughtful look on his face. “Maybe not your close-range elemental abilities, that’d have too much of a chance to hurt you. But something like… Roelle’s lightning? We could make a lightning storm at a longer range.”

“Hells, I wouldn’t wanna be on th’ receivin’ end ‘a tha’,” Shev mused. They started toward the bar, simultaneously snaking arms around each other as they walked. “Whatcha want ta drink, Starlight? I’ll make ya somethin’.”

“Anything’s fine,” Kismet responded with a smile and a sideways glance, “ as long as I don’t have to beg for it.”

[quirkycoterie]

Rock Hound

The traveling inventor, dancer, fortune teller with her bobbed hair was dressed in more practical clothing than when most spoken saw her. She was also clinging to a rock face gathering what would just be seen as a plain old rock to many but was fascinating to her. She slowly, painstakingly excavated what she desired from the visible dyke skewed by a fault line and was so absorbed in her work she was almost thrown from the cliff side by sudden winds. Her long thin fingers had to tighten and one of her feet had to find purchase again.

She scolded herself internally for not watching for the dust storms. She pulled a scarf over her face and took in her situation. The sands would be upon her before she could descend to her caravan. It and the chocobo team were in a good nested spot and would be fine. She glanced around for a solution before remembering she had seen a smallish but possibly accommodating crevasse slightly below and to the left of her current position when climbing and she moved as rapidly as possible to the spot.

The crevasse was indeed just large enough to allow her to squeeze in and she sighed a small relief as the first dense, scouring sands crossed over it just as she was inside. Her eyes adjusted to the darker area after a minute and she realized the crevasse was not just a crevasse. She slid her tall but slim frame a few fulms further in and was suddenly standing in a large cavern. She pulled a torch from her bag and lit it. From all around the cavern exposed gemstones and aether crystals winked in the light of the torch. It seemed the storm had done her a large favor. She pulled a pick out and went back to work.

[abyssalmermaiden]

Logistics Node my friend

Febhyurary 18- Mount

[sea-wolf-coast-to-coast]

Prompt #3: Tempest

Submit your entry here: https://forms.gle/jDWjFKfmeaGnH3PL9

#FFxivWrite2024 is underway – a daily writing challenge presented to the Final Fantasy XIV writing community for the month of September. You can join any time throughout the challenge with any prompt number! Entries can be written on any online writing platform (tumblr, Archive of our Own, Google Docs, etc.). Submit the link and be sure that I have reading access. Reminder: The 24-hour deadline does not go into effect until September 8th at 12:00 pm PDT. Check you entries here in the Public Spreadsheet

Rules & Info || Prompt List || #FFxivWrite2024 || kofi

[bluepallilworld]

Aftermare week 2024 here it comes!

Here are links to the previous editions if you're curious ;P

Last year/2022/2021

11th of july->17th of july

Prompts:

Walking in/ walking out

Blue sky/ tempest

Satiated/starving

Laughing/crying

You and me/ us

Building/destroying

The sun is shining/the sky is crying/the clouds are thriving

Rules:

the ship "aftermare" is between Geno and passive/uncorrupted Nightmare. You can use the corrupted version but the 2 must have known the other before corruption <3

-you can add other ships or ocs etc as long as aftermare remain the main pairing!

-any art can be used (drawing, writing, cooking, sewing, snorkeling...)

-you can use aus

- Nightmare must be adult obviously !!!!! (I'm saying that since canonly Night' had the accident when he was 6 >w<) (unless you're making the two children and going for a platonic angle)

-there are 2 prompts for each day, you must choose one OwO/ (last day is special with 3)

-Ooooooor you can mix the two prompts ;). For exemple : day 5 -> "you and us" etc (it's a bit harder to do that with this year's prompts :3)

-only SFW please UwU (light gore is autorized as long as it is tagged properly)

-romantic or platonic ship your choice ;)

-Have fun, mess around, break the rules (not the rules I'm writing here tho 'k òwó). I love seeing creativity ! Jump over days, mess with the order, find an original way to follow the prompts or just ignore them ! The prompts are more guidelines than anything :D

-don't forget to tag it as "aftermare week 2024" so people who want to avoid it can!!! (And tag me I wanna see everything) 🎉

If you're going to participate or are just interested by the event, don't hesitate to give this post a reblog ÙwÚ

Or to ask questions if you have some ;3

[storyweaverofgondor]

The Whumps of March

This is a multi-fandom whump event with prompts inspired by literature. For this inaugural event, I decided to take inspiration from the Bard himself. If it goes well I'd love to do it again next year, the universe willing.

Rules and info:

You can make your entries in whatever format you desire (Fanfic, art, Gifs, etc)

You can do as much or as little as you desire.

All entries are to be uploaded during March 2024. Earlier is discouraged but late is fine.

Tag all works #thewhumpsofmarch2024

There will be a completionist and participant badges.

The Whumps of March AO3 Collection

Feel free to send me an asks is you have any questions about the event

The Whumps of March Prompts:

Day 1: These violent delights have violent ends (Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet)

Day 2: Forbidden Love

Day 3: Tomb

Day 4: Vengeance

Day 5: Love Potion

Day 6: Magic Gone Wrong

Day 7: Suicide

Day 8: Knock Knock! Who's There? (Shakespeare, Macbeth)

Day 9: Twins

Day 10: In Disguise

Day 11: Clangor

Days 12: Thunderstorm

Day 13: Soliloquy

Day 14: “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” (Shakespeare, the Tempest)

Day 15: Stabbed in the Back

Day 16: Madness

Day 17: Intrigue

Day 18: Family Feud

Day 19: Witches

Day 20: Hidden Agenda

Day 21: Curses

Day 22: Skull

Day 23: Not As It Seems

Day 24: "The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief." (Shakespeare, Othello)

Day 25: Shipwreck

Day 26: Betrayal

Day 27: All for Naught

Day 28: Fairies

Day 29: Tongue-tied

Day 30: Woe

Day 31: Bloodstained

Alternative Prompts:

Alt 1:Lonely

Alt 2:Castigate

Alt 3:Ghosts

Alt 4:Drowned

Alt 5:Prophecy

Alt 6:Kings

Alt 7:Dead as a Doornail

Alt 8:Handkerchief

Alt 9:Snakes

Alt 10:Fight Fire With Fire

[luna-azzurra]

Some love realization prompts to evoke those heartfelt moments in your writing

1. The Glimpse of Perfection:

"As he watched her from across the room, a sudden realization washed over him like a wave. In that very moment, he saw her imperfections and quirks as the most beautiful aspects of her being, and he knew he was helplessly in love."

2. The Puzzle Pieces Falling into Place:

"Through all the ups and downs, he couldn't ignore the profound connection they shared. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring them together, and in that magical moment, he realized that she was the missing piece he had been searching for."

3. The Echoing Laughter:

"Her laughter echoed in his ears, filling the air with a symphony of joy. And as he found himself laughing alongside her, he realized that her happiness had become inseparable from his own, and he knew deep in his heart that he was falling madly in love."

4. The Comfort in Vulnerability:

"In the quiet moments of vulnerability, she shared her fears and dreams with him, trusting him with her deepest secrets. And as he held her in his arms, he realized that he had become her safe haven, and his love for her blossomed in that tender embrace."

5. The Magnetizing Presence:

"Whenever they were apart, a void consumed his heart. But in her presence, everything seemed brighter, lighter. It was in those moments, when her mere existence filled him with warmth and contentment, that he knew he had fallen deeply in love."

6. The Unforgettable Gesture:

"She stood before him, holding a bouquet of his favorite flowers. As he accepted the gift, their eyes locked, and he saw the thoughtfulness and care etched in her gaze. In that instant, he realized that her happiness was his priority, and his love for her grew immeasurably."

7. The Shield Against the Storm:

"Through life's challenges and storms, she stood by his side, offering unwavering support and encouragement. In those difficult moments, he recognized that her love was his anchor, shielding him from the tempests of life, and he couldn't imagine a future without her."

8. The Mirror of Reflection:

"He found himself reflecting on his life, tracing the paths that led him to this moment. And in that introspection, he recognized that she had become an integral part of his story—a presence that had transformed his world, and he embraced the love that bloomed within him."

9. The Whisper of Destiny:

"As their eyes met, a sense of familiarity washed over him. It was as if their souls had known each other in a different time and place. In that profound connection, he realized that their meeting was no mere coincidence but a destined encounter, and love unfurled within him."

10. The Clarity of Silence:

"In the quiet moments of shared silence, he felt an indescribable peace enveloping his heart. It was in those wordless exchanges that he recognized the depth of their connection, and the realization struck him—she was his soulmate, and he was unequivocally in love."

[galedekarios]

i love your metas and gifs of gale!! do you have any particular headcanon for when his birthday is? i always imagine it being in winter for some reason.

thank you so much for your message and your kind words!

i hadn't thought about it before, but ever since i got your message and took some time to mull it over, i've settled on something that i think makes sense for gale.

i wrote a meta about waterdhavian festivals and celebrations, and before i delved deeper into the topic, i briefly touched on the calendar that is most widely used in faerûn:

i like to imagine he was born somewhere in the month of tarsakh, the claw of storms. i think it's a good fit largely because of gale's connection to storms, thunder and lightning and similar imagery.

from his key art (click for a larger version):

to his art for the mtg card set (click for a larger version):

to a not insignificant amount of lines of dialogue from gale referencing storms, tempests, winds, etc., which prompted me in early access to make a gifset of a handful of them:

gale: as for myself: i'm a pragmatic. i see the silence before the storm.

gale: there's a gust of the weave about you, but it's a mere breeze. i need a tempest.

gale: rather soon i will feel it [the orb] stir again - like a distant thunder sending tremors through the soul. i will need to consume another artefact before the lightning strikes.

gale: i can feel the storm abating. yes, this will keep my condition in check - for a precious while.

gale: life is a tempest of events that sometimes we brace against and sometimes embrace.

(there are also some of his selection lines like "a rough tempest i will raise." and "let's light them up.")

to his very name carrying the same connection:

Joy; Wind Meaning: Joy; Wind; Tranquility; My father is joy; Gives joy; Foreigner, outlander. Gale is a gender-neutral name of English origin with a range of diverse meanings, including “joy,” “wind,” or “tranquility.” It was derived from the Old English word gal, which was used to describe someone who was pleasant or merry.

and of course the word gale itself:

A gale is a strong wind; the word is typically used as a descriptor in nautical contexts.

(all of this originally, way back when, made me think that gale might have been first meant to be / conceived as a storm sorcerer.

we knew in early access that he had such a deep connection to the weave from very early on in his life, and in full release that was only confirmed even more with gale having been able to cast spells as a baby, summoning rabbits in his mother's pantry, as well as being able to cast third-level spells like fireball at age 8 or perhaps younger.)

so yes, tarsakh, the claw of storms makes a really good fit for gale in my eyes.

if i had to pick a day as well, i might pick a number commonly associated with magic like 3 (perfect balance of harmony, wisdom understanding / the number of time past, present, future), 7 or 13, but i realise it's an arbitrary pick on my side.

edited to say that i also like the idea of it being in a spring month because spring symbolises new beginnings, letting go of the old and bringing in the new, which i find very fitting given gale's character arc.

anyhow, thank you so much for your question! i had a lot of fun thinking about this! 🖤

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #3: Levinstrike

Prompt: tempest || Master Post || On AO3 (coming in October)

A/N: Spoilers through the beginning of zone five. Mentions of someone throwing up, but said mention is non-graphic.

*stares contemplatively at this prompt fill* ...yeah, I'm gonna run cover.

*runs for cover*

--

There were a lot of reasons for why Rereha was finding herself very much not liking Yyasulani.

First and foremost, of course, was the giant purple dome of fucking doom that had engulfed the region, spat out murderous magitek automatons led by an equally murderous patricide with a chip on his shoulder, and resulted in the heartbreak and misery of a multitude of Turali, including her darling new not-so-little sister, Lamaty’i. (Lamaty’i had dibs on Zoraal Ja’s head, but Rereha would gladly do a live retelling of how she’d killed Zenos at the edge of the universe with her bow, using that warmongering asshole as her “assistant.”)

Second was the fact that Erenville, normally a bastion of cool-headedness and acerbic wit that rode herd on them all better than even Heron, Queen of the ‘I’m Not Mad Just Disappointed’ Face, was currently a spooked, jumpy, and generally upset young man. With every step they took, Erenville grew tenser and tenser, until he was practically vibrating with it, and unable to mask just how shaken he was to see his home so strangely aged and decrepit. Rereha did not like to see her friends (even the ones who refused to acknowledge they were, actually, friends) upset. Someone needed to be made miserable for this. (Probably Zoraal Ja.)

Third was all the gods-forsaken levin within the confines of the dome. Static snapped and crackled and popped (hah, that had a nice ring to it, actually) across all of them, and across every surface, and the only reason they likely weren’t shocking themselves was the sheer amount of levin aether soaking into everything, even making it difficult to breathe. Synnove had summoned Ipomoea, and the unaspected carbuncle was carefully perched on her person’s shoulder while maintaining a light shield around their group to lessen the pressure of so much fucking levin on them.

Fourth, and newest on the list, was the fact that little Roksana—not quite so little as she had once been like a bitty squishy Heavensturn mochi, the steady infusions of aether over the years ensuring she and her sister were now two-thirds the size of Galette—had just spontaneously manifested at Synnove’s feet.

Alone.

That is, by herself.

No Amandina.

Which had never, ever happened before.

Ever.

Synnove’s face was doing the kind of journey between expressions that would likely result in a pulled muscle and would, under any other circumstance, be funny to witness, but right now just made Rereha feel ill.

Mommy, Roksana warbled, eyes huge and teary, something’s wrong with Amandina.

“Oh, fuck this place in the ear,” Rereha said under her breath as the party dissolved into chaos.

--

They had hurriedly backtracked to Yyasulani Station and holed up in one of the decaying buildings. Synnove had folded herself onto the floor cross-legged, her bracelet of carbuncle foci cupped in her hands, and had spent a full bell coaxing Amandina into manifesting.

The black pearl carbuncle looked terrible as Synnove gently cuddled her. Her ears and tails were drooping, the aetheric glow of her coat was dim and dusty with no sign of the pretty purple among the black strands of her fur, and her eyes and nose were gummy and crusty and just gross. The poor baby looked like how Rereha felt after one of those stupid parties she used to attend as a dumbass socialite fuckwit in Ul’dah, and she resisted the urge to swipe at her own nose.

Mommy, I [have a tummy ache.]

Amandina’s harmonic had warped and rippled, ringing with multiple tones of trying to translate an untranslatable concept. Now Rereha wanted to reach into her own brain and scratch frantically to relieve the itchiness hearing that had left in her grey matter.

“What,” Lamaty’i whispered, arm raised up to rub her temple across the leather embossing on her collar as her ears twitched at high speed, “the fuck.”

“Your mind essentially force-translated Amandina’s aetheric harmonic into words you can understand,” Krile said, blinking rapidly and reaching up to rub at her eyes.

“At least into the closest approximation,” G’raha said, scritching frantically at the back of his neck until Alisaie swatted his hand away.

Amadina groaned, turning in Synnove’s arms and pulling herself up so she could burrow her face into her mama’s neck. Synnove carefully adjusted her grip on the carbunclet, one hand supporting her butt and the other stroking her head and ears, while Roksana, who had been draped atop Synnove’s head like a weird hat, practically oozed down on top of her twin. Ipomoea, perched on Synnove’s knee, wore an unfocused expression that meant she was still in the middle of running a full diagnostic scan.

“It’s all this fucking levin,” Synnove growled. “Her aspect means she’s already highly sensitive to levin aether, sure, but none of the carbuncles have ever been somewhere where they’ve been exposed to such dangerous levels of their respective aspected aethers.”

“Not even in Eureka?” G’raha said, ears perking. “I would have thought Anemos and Pyros would have posed some danger to Galette and Ivar.”

Synnove shook her head.

“The density of elemental aether was unprecedented at the concentrations encountered on Val,” Krile said, “but it does not compare to what has happened to Yyasulani. Despite each region of the island being warped to reflect their elemental aspects, they were also balancing one another, which allowed such diversity in wildlife to continue thriving. The amount of levin here has essentially rendered Yyasulani…”

“…ecologically dead,” Erenville finished, voice flat and eyes shuttered, even as a shudder briefly shook his frame. Lamaty’i pulled him into a one-armed hug and for once, Erenville didn’t fight it.

(Rere wondered if Lamaty’i was adding items to her mental tally of crimes for which to hold Zoraal Ja responsible. Rere certainly was.)

[Suggestion: Mistress Synnove,] Ipomoea said, her harmonic oddly distant as she continued her scan of Amandina, [a temporary ward on Junior Construct Amandina’s aetheric input sub-array may provide relief of symptoms. Estimation: effectiveness currently calculated at fifty-three point six five seven percent.]

“We’ll get started on mapping that once you’ve finished your diagnostic,” Synnove said, continuing to stroke Amandina’s ears down along her spine. “Amandina, do you want to de-manifest?”

Noooooooo, Amandina whined. Mommy cuddles feel good.

[Observation: physical contact has decreased hazardous levels of levin in Junior Construct Amandina by three point eight percent.]

“Hmm, might be actually be siphoning it off,” Synnove muttered, then sighed. “Carrying Amandina isn’t ideal as we’re reconning, but perhaps—”

Static SNAPPED through the room, causing them all to jump. Amandina whimpered.

Mommy, I think I’m gonna throw up.

There was a flurry of movement as Roksana scrambled off her sister and jumped into Rereha’s outstretched arms, Ipomoea leaped backwards, and Synnove scrambled to her knees, pulling Amandina off her shoulder as Heron dove forward with a pot yanked off Erenville’s gleaner pack. Heron got the pot beneath Amandina’s face just in time, and the poor carbunclet made an awful HRRK noise as levin aether so concentrated it was a liquid poured from her mouth.

Synnove twitched, jerking her head up to the stare at the ceiling even as she kept petting Amandina and making soothing noises in her throat. Heron had gone grey, and Rereha distantly noted similar expressions on Alakhai, Alisaie, and G’raha.

Who was she kidding, she was wearing it, too. Good to know she wasn’t the only one fighting back a bad flashback to certain events on the First.

Seriously, fuck this place in the ear. With something hard and sandpapery.

…I kinda feel a little better. Amandina’s harmonic very softly drifted through Rere’s mind. The carbunclet’s upper body was still mostly in the pot, until Synnove carefully picked her up and set to cleaning her face.

“Mages, on me,” Synnove snapped. Krile, G’raha, and Alisaie darted into motion, with Alisaie digging into Synnove’s pack and emerging with chalk, graphite sticks, and scrap paper as Krile and G’raha began clearing a spot on the floor. Synnove walked forward on her knees, then sat again with Amandina curling into a miserable, sniffling ball in her lap at the edge of the new workspace. “We’re making that ward now, and I’ve even got an idea on how to adapt it for non-aetheric individuals like ourselves to make this shithole less awful for us. Sorry, Erenville.”

“No, you’re right,” the Shetona said, forcing himself into motion to begin setting up a temporary camp for them all. “This is a shithole now.”

“I’ll give Zoraal Ja an extra punch for you,” Lamaty’i said solemnly.

“I actually appreciate that,” Erenville said wrily. “Rereha, could you dispose of the pot? I’ve got another and I’d rather not try to salvage that one.”

“Can do,” Rere said, tucking Roksana under her arm and darting forward to grab the ruined pot by the handle. “Come on, kiddo, let’s go dig a hole.”

Oooooh, digging, yay!

Awww, the sound of Amandina’s grumbling followed them out the door. Being sick stinks.

[coldshrugs]

ffxivwrite - prompt 3: tempest

word count: 668 rating: mature for mentions of death/violence. summary: io fights through the ghimlyt dark.

A questionable habit, keeping an arrow nocked on the slack string. Fighting through imperial hordes with one hand occupied might be a burden for most others, but the longbow is at home in Io’s left hand. The ready arrow is an extension of her arm, her will, and there are only two things she must factor before loosing it: a suitable target and the time it takes to draw the string. But arrows are precious, and this one must wait.

Io relies, instead, on the dagger in her right hand, a vicious thing, and red from her work. It isn’t as comfortable, but it gives her no trouble.

She entered the battlefield with friends. Hien, Yugiri, Pipin, Lyse, Aymeric.

Alisaie.

Through thickets of smoke and swarming bodies, Io only catches glimpses of them now. A familiar cry of determination implies Lyse is not far, and in the aftershock of an explosion, there is a flash of blue–Aymeric’s cloak–but it is swiftly swallowed by red and black. A shimmering thorned tendril punches through a few footsoldiers flanking her left side, leaving bloody mist in its wake, and relief cuts through the adrenaline. She’s alright.

But signs of her comrades' well-being become fewer and less frequent. Wave after wave of Garlean soldiers seem intent on separating her from her allies. Before long, she is alone.

One makes a bold move to rush her, sword clumsily drawn. Half an hour ago, it would've been an easy dodge. Io misses it by an ilm or two (her chest clinches–too close) but she does not miss their neck. The little blade digs through fabric shoddily enhanced by magitek, then flesh. She frees it with a rough pull, readjusting her grip on the wet handle, and the body falls to the ground.

Shittiest part of Garlean armor, the neck.

There is only action and reaction, the haze of adrenaline, her pulse rushing too loud in her ears. Io moves and the battle moves around her, a gruesome storm with her as its eye. 

She is getting sluggish, but the motions come naturally. Sidestep the heavy arc of an axe. Twist out of the path of a fiery projectile. Leap to avoid a determined shield to the chest, and leap again to use it as a springboard, launching out of range with an ungraceful backflip. Dip low, suck in air that is less choked by ceruluem, and plant a dagger into the nearest calf (she loses that one, but there is another strapped to her boot).

This is almost like dancing, she thinks, missing the ease of tathlums. Perhaps she’ll revisit them, if she lives through this.

Io recalls the sound of her own snorted laugh, but it is a sorry mental stand-in as she pants from exertion. She tosses the last dagger and it reliably finds a Garlean chest. Spin, spin, fingers drawing the string back, the ache in her arms and shoulder, and yes, it is funny. She hasn’t wanted to live so badly since… since she faced Gaius and Lahabrea. 

This deep in Ghimlyt, even that base instinct threatens to slip. In reaching for her future–any future–she is burning out.

There is no time to think about the way her throbbing nerve endings blaze, or the fatigue that beckons her to lie down in the bloody dirt, to rest.

To die. 

The bowstring is taut before she finds a mark (there are so very many), but a soldier bearing down on Aymeric earns their prize. He turns to look her way, and hope is bright in his eyes. The familiar expression fades, darkened by worry. She must look like she feels.

Then the storm shifts, imperceptibly at first, then all at once. The violence ebbs, blown off its course and back to the northeast.

Familiar shouts in the distance, and under the high, hollow ring of magitek shells laying cover fire, comes the heavy clod of Zenos’ armor.

Stay awake, Io. But there is so little left to give. Stay alive.

[houserosaire]

Prompt #3: Tempest

Clouds hung dark as mourning veils over the sky. Their heavy dark hue spoke of rain rather than snow even before the distant rumble of incoming thunder reached his ears. The rising wind tugged at his hair, whipped the smell of the rain at him. Silvaineaux closed his eyes and tipped his head back, welcoming the storm.

Gradually though, he became aware of another scent mingled with the sweet clean scent of storm, the dry reek of scale and brimstone. Of a rumbling song that did not match the thunder, and a rhythm to the wind that was not the first fall of rain. He opened his eyes to find the clouds had become the myriad flickering shadows of a thousand, thousand beating wings, the sky black and the air heavy with the tempest song of numberless dragons.

Silvaineaux jerked awake, shoving his way out of the heavy blankets as he bolted upright. The darkness around him was heavy and still. No sounds of distant storms reached him. His room was silent, the space within the heavy hangings of his bed peaceful. The banked coals in the fireplace crackled softly but otherwise…

No. There was a sound. He was certain of it. There had been some small sound. Perhaps it was that sound as much as the storm of his dreams that had woken him. His head tilted within the weight of that darkness, seeking a repetition. Whatever it was, it was stealthy, which meant that it was not friendly. Honore or Alain would have knocked at the door or called out to wake him.

He shifted carefully on the bed, moving slowly as he leaned out across it. His palm slid over the sheets until he found the edge of the wide mattress and then he leaned further, moving an ilm at a time.

Silvaineaux kept his breaths shallow and quiet as he reached slowly down over the edge of the mattress, fingertips groping until he found the small ledge at the edge of the bedframe. His fingers closed on the hard leather of a scabbard. Just as slowly he drew the weight of his sword back up, careful not to let it bump or tug at the hangings or the bedframe. The sound came again, so small he could not quite place what it sounded like. Yet this time it came with something even more disconcerting, the smallest of tugs, barely felt at the blankets that still rested over his legs. 

He drew in a slightly sharper breath, then reached for the hilt of his sword. He found it easily enough by feel even within the darkness of the bed. His fingers closed around the comfort of that familiar weight. Ilm by ilm he tugged at the scabbard with his free hand, drawing it off the blade so slowly it would not make its usual warning hiss. He set the scabbard carefully aside on sheets still warm from his own sleeping body, and reached to ease the blankets off his legs. 

He felt the second small tug against his hands as the small sound came again.

Whatever waited without would not find an easy quarry. Silvaineaux yanked abruptly at the blankets, tossing them back and then naked blade in hand he yanked the hangings rapidly open.

The moon was not terribly bright outside the windows, but that frail light and the banked fire in the hearth revealed to him the familiar emptiness of his own room. 

No lurking thief or assassin stood at the side of the bed. His door was closed. His heart thundered in his chest, his hand was ready on the hilt of his sword but there was nothing there. Silvaineaux swallowed, looking around a second time. Yet he had heard  that sound, had felt that tug against the blankets. 

With that thought he slowly looked down toward the floor. There at last was the movement he had expected. His fingers shifted briefly on the sword hilt as he squinted at the small thing he could see moving on the floor beside the bed. 

When the soft sound came again, he saw the movement that came with it, the small pale lump sprang up so abruptly from the rug that he startled. Until he saw the small paws stretch out and catch at the blankets. Understanding brought with it a wave or relief so intense that he was almost light-headed with it. He reached for the scabbard, slamming the sword back into its home without a care for the sound it made. He settled it back into its place before reaching out to curl  his hand around the small thing slowly making its way up the side of his bed.

It mewed. Silvaineaux laughed despite himself. “How in the name of all that is holy did you get in here?” He asked it as he lifted it toward his face. The kitten was still so small his hand easily encircled it, his fingers dwarfing the small legs. He rather expected it to hiss. But instead it mewed again, and then began to purr like the rumble of distant thunder. 

[scionshtola]

FFXIVWrite2024 Prompt 3 - Tempest

characters: Corisande Ymir, Hermes rating: G | word count: 372 words notes: 6.0 spoilers through Ktisis Hyperboreia and all the cutscenes immediately after

At the highest point of Ktisis Hyperboreia, Hermes falls to his knees. He is a person again, the transformation undone and the conjured winds dissipating in his defeat. He kneels in the middle of the platform, hunched and winded, and despite the performance he just displayed, he seems more fragile to Corisande than before. 

Before anyone can stop them—and Corisande knows they will try—they step forward. Their borrowed shoes make little sound against the metal floor as they approach, their robe whispers around their legs. The others murmur behind them, one’s protests louder than the others, but Corisande presses forward.

She stops beside him, and sets her gun on the floor as she kneels. His gaze stays on the ground, but the pain etched in the turn of his mouth is obvious. She can only guess at the depth of it, measured against the memory of her own pain—the nearly forgotten hurt of always feeling on the outside, the grief caused by no one attempting to understand, the strain of not belonging where she was but having nowhere else to go. 

Corisande rests their hand on his forearm, and he finally looks up. They meet his wild, teary gaze, and will him to remember. The flower changes for me, too.

He blinks, and the storm in his eyes clears. For a moment, Corisande can see the same wide-eyed understanding they shared on the grounds below, the flower held gently between their hands.

It only lasts a heartbeat, the space of a breath, the single rise and fall of a pair of wings, before a voice cuts in. “It’s over, Hermes.” 

The moment shatters, and the loss is a jagged pain in her chest. They both stand, and Hermes’ eyes dart away to watch Hades approach, something akin to resignation in his gaze.

Corisande falls back to the space between Hythlodaeus and Venat. She’s not quite sure what comes next, but whatever it is, she knows she can’t stop it. There’s no saving him, or any of them, from what has already happened. 

But even when he turns against them again, when he traps them in chains, when the winds rage once more—she cannot shake the feeling she let him and Meteion down.

[cadrenebula]

Prompt #3: Tempest

The sky ahead was darkening. Adelena frowned as she looked out over the rail at the approaching storm. Not a good sign. She'd seen plenty of storms in her time among the Sirens. This one was coming quickly and from the looks of things... It was coming in hard and violent.

Not what she wanted to deal with on this journey. She had faith in her skills of handling storms on boats but she didn't know these people. They weren't her sisters. There was no way for her to know how much skill these people had with storms. The last thing Adel felt like doing was rescuing people from the rough sea waters in a storm. Not that she couldn't do it, she'd done it before. Just not something she felt like doing today.

However this wasn't the Lady Infernal. This wasn't her sisters or her captain. As much as it itched to help, she was more trying to stay out of the way. Her traveling partner had already gone below deck out of the rain that was beginning to fall. Not Adel though. She'd ride out the storm above deck. Just in case. She didn't want the ship to go down if the storm got as wicked as she thought it might. Not if she could help it.

She'd be right here to help if she needed to. Even if it meant rescuing someone from the ocean.