#there would be more gunblades but still

[firedragon1321]

It’s amazing how similar Shrek would actually be if Shrek was replaced with Squall and Fiona was Rinoa.

I volunteer Zell as Donkey.

Resident Evil 4 Remake (2023)

[sheyshen]

Something I want to build on with vincent at some point is how much the years of being an adventurer has taken a toll on him. he spent so long just being angry at the world but as he gets closer and closer to carteneau he does start recognizing how reckless he's been and the mistakes he's made over the years. friendships (especially with layla and nhea) helping him get a little closer to how he used to be before finally stopping and trying to do better for himself when he loses his leg. and the fact that guilt has really solidified in him to still make him push himself in his healing rather than combat (though sometimes still pushing himself too far) and how the years of treating himself like a weapon have taken a toll on his mind (he has terrible nightmares that only a select few have been able to help him through it)

[myreia]

FEBHYURARY XX: PRIMAL

The final day could not dawn, for there is no dawn in everlasting light. Nevertheless when the hour came, Ryne sought him out. She demanded he not go, tears brimming in her eyes. She clung to him desperately, stumbling over her words as she pressed a cartridge into his hand. Specially charged. Crafted to destroy the one they love, designed to prey on her single weakness. A single shot to the heart and it will all be over. He embraced her as he said his farewells, murmuring words of strength and courage he does not have. She will need it in the coming days. Ryne will be the last after him. The last to remain. The last to survive. He knows he will not return, and yet he must go. Some day soon—for Norvrandt’s are numbered—she will understand. And so he climbs the mountain where the primal lightwarden has made her nest. He cuts through her horde of light-corrupted minions, some distant part of his mind numbly acknowledging the twisted faces of friends he once knew. That is what she does; she does not bring death, but transposition. He does not flinch when their claws sink into him; nor does he pause when he strikes them all down. He is battered and bruised when he reaches the apex. Caked with blood and dirt, his gunblade dulled, his cartridges spent save for one. The air here is stale and still, the scent thick with the stench of primal magicks. She is nowhere to be seen. For a brief moment he wonders if he was mistaken, if she has abandoned her home. His heart beats. One, two. One, two. Blood pulsing in his veins, fear and hope and love thumping in his ears. The last shred of his humanity, and he is oh so alive— The creature with Aureia’s face bursts from below, a storm of ice and fire suspended in each hand. Her eyes glow vermilion in twisted mimicry of her natural deep red. Wings of darkness and light in perfect unison, an equilibrium she never achieved when she lived. Hair purged to white as it had been when she was first infected, the red streaks the only remnants of what it once was. Fingers turned to talons soaked in blood. So familiar, yet so alien—she has become a warped fracture of herself, everything he loved about her burnt out of her by blazing light.   He raises his blade and steels his mind. He has come here to slay her. All it takes is one shot. A shot he does not make. Time slows when the end comes, the passage of his mortal life stretched out in perpetuity. Her claws are a vice grip on his chin, the power of her magic scalding his eyes. She holds him in her unblinking ruby gaze as if transfixed, some memory within her ascended mind recalling what he was to her. He wishes for her to end it. If he but moves just a little… her claws would cut his throat… and he would deprive her of her greatest desire. But as he knows, she does not kill, she transforms. Even in this form her love for him burns fiercely. More fiercely than he can comprehend. It washes over him, powerful, overwhelming, the command to submit tugging at his mind, silencing the purpose he came to this mountain to fulfill— It is all gone in a burst of blue and red. Defeat has never tasted so sickeningly sweet.

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 19

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: None

Ta-ta For Now

"No. I don't think I will." Your steely glare met his fiery one as you walked up to the bars and leaned on them.

Kid stalked up to tower over you from the other side. "And why not?!"

"What's keeping you from killing me once I fix it? You already wanted to once." 

Kid's eyes flicked away from yours and his voice was low, "I wasn't gonna drop ya." His amber eyes went back to you. "I just wanted ta scare ya. Get some answers." He paused to think. "After that, yeah, I wanted ta kill ya. But I didn't!" His eyes moved away from yours again. "Killer wouldn't let me," he mumbled, somewhat begrudgingly.

"I think you should know by now that I'm not afraid of you or of dying." 

"If yer not afraid then why won't ya fix my fucken hand!?" Kid's metal hand grabbed one of the bars and you could hear metal creaking.

The sudden movement provoked Mini. You held your hand out to stop Mini from trying to headbutt the bars to get at Kid. "There's a difference between not being afraid of dying and wanting to live." You gestured towards your wanted poster that was left behind. "There are still things I need to do." Kid glanced at it and then eyed your coat with interest, now noticing it. 

"Where'd ya get that?" 

"I've had it this entire time. Your crew is just incompetent when it comes to prisoners, "guests", whatever." As further proof you took out the gunblade you made from your shackles and touched the tip over where his heart would be, never breaking eye contact. You knew it wouldn't do anything against him. You just liked to bait him.

Kid growled, lashing out with his flesh hand to grab you by the throat, his favorite pastime. "WHY YA-" His hand folded against you instead in a sort of limp-wristed punch. This enraged him more. 

You stepped back and holstered your weapon, cackling and watching his face go red.

"I'M REALLY GONNA KILL YA NOW, YOU ROTTEN WHORE!" The bar under the grip of his metal hand shattered. "DON'T YA DARE INSULT MY CREW."

You slid down the wall until you made a soft plop onto the floor, tilting your head back against the damp wood. "You seem tense. Why don't you go jerk off or something?" You cracked an eye open. "Oh sorry. I forgot. You'd probably rip it clean off if you used the metal one." That made you snicker.

The metal of the bars groaned as he pried them wider, no devil fruit, just strength. "YER DAMN LUCKY IF I DON'T MAKE YA DO IT YERSELF," Kid spat.

This time you didn't make a move to stop her when Mini rammed the bars right in front of Kid. And you were tickled quite pink when he jumped back. She bristled at him, looking even bigger than she normally was. 

Kid stormed out, punching a hole in a crate as he left and screaming for Killer.

______________________________________________________________

"I really wish you wouldn't rile him up like that," Killer sighed. "Makes it real hard to convince him not to murder you."

"Didn't ask for you to stop him." Your arms were folded across your chest. They had left you alone with Wire for a while before Killer came back, and with dinner. You were tossing pieces of food into Mini's mouth. 

If Killer could look exasperated behind the mask, he probably did. "I'm not doing it for your sake. I want my Captain to have his other hand back." Killer nudged his foot in the direction of your plate. "You need to eat." 

That brought a scowl to your face. Why does he, of all people, get such a loyal crew? He was the worst of the Worst Generation. All you wanted to do was dispense well-deserved justice, and you got a crew full of mutineers. "How sweet of you," you replied dully. In reply to his other comment, you shoved your plate in front of Mini, who promptly licked it clean. "I'll eat when I'm on land." It shouldn't be too much longer before you made landfall. 

Killer was dissatisfied with that answer. 

"You put my feet on land, my weapon in my hand, and I will restore Kid." It was much better to reason with Killer than Kid. You were going to say the same thing to Kid's face, but got caught up in arguing with him. 

Again, he made an almost imperceivable nod. "No promises." He sighed. "But... I'll try to persuade him."

"Do it and you'll never see me again." That would be the best for all parties. 

There was a not uncomfortable silence that went on until, surprisingly, Killer was the one to break it. "So... who will you go after first?" Killer pointed to the log pose in place of your eye.

You raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh. You figured it out, did you?" You smirked. If there was one thing you could appreciate, it was that the Kid Pirates were a lot smarter than their reputation suggested. Not much got past Killer. You were loathe to admit it, but the tweaks Kid made to your gunblade were actually remarkable. Reaching up to remove your eye, you looked at the needles. "Curiously, one of the dials has been pointing in the direction we're heading for some time. I bet anything there's a Marine base there." You looked up at Killer for confirmation. He nodded. "Then your girl might get lucky." 

______________________________________________________________

Two days went by. Killer had gotten Kid to agree with your plan. You knew he wasn't going to let you off easily, so you were ready to take off the second you fixed him. You sat atop Mini's back with your real weapon in your holster, your coat flapping in the wind. You looked a little rough still, but it wasn't anything unfamiliar. The deck was busting, the crew excited to be on land again after three weeks at sea. Your eye caught Quincy's and you gave a tight smile to her and the other girls. You would miss them. You thought you would miss Heat and Killer too. They had been good company in the brig. The ship had pulled around to the side of the island opposite the Marine base. It was forested and populated with the type of people that wanted to be the farthest away from Marines. 

You held Kid's hand with one of your own. Dropping it like you were touching a hot pan when you were done healing him. You waited to watch him flex it, making sure it was right. The second that happened, Minerva took off. The boar was more agile than you would expect for a broad, stubby-legged creature. The boarding plank had yet to be dropped. That wasn't an issue for her. Jumping off the deck and to the ground below was nothing to the boar, though slightly jarring to your still-healing bones. You looked back up to see a tuft of red hair poking over the railing. Bringing a hand to your mouth, you blew him a kiss, turning you hand into a middle finger as you did so. There was a string of curses shouted after you as the sound of pounding hooves took you further and further from the ship, your coat billowing out behind you. You were on a mission now.

Next

[tgrailwar-zero]

See this post first for context and to control the ship!

Deeper. Deeper. Deeper.

Her options, due to how she had jabbed her blades into the whale for balance, were a bit limited. Not bad, simply limited.

Her extra mana from the ADMIRAL's charisma has been spent!

Skills that cost 'mana' can still be used when mana reaches zero. However, they begin to cost 'Endurance' instead!

MUSASHI STATS:

ENDURANCE GAUGE: [X/X/X/X/X/X]

MANA CHARGES: [ X ]

COMMAND SPELLS: [ X / X / ]

NOBLE PHANTASM: Ganryuu-jima

This is a Noble Phantasm that centers around the heretical killing method of making the area (Island) into an Anti-Swordsman 'stronghold' (Bounded Field), luring the opponent to the center, and then utterly crushing them. An Anti-Swordsman Anti-Swordmaster Grand Bounded Field.

As the one person who witnessed this technique is dead, it makes defining what the move truly looked like difficult. If she were a Berserker, this move would manifest as a deluge of waterside prowess and swordsmanship- however, as a Saber she can act more strategically.

Due to the legend that spawned this technique, this seems like a Noble Phantasm that is more centered on conceptually 'isolating someone and then killing them', rather than a Noble Phantasm like 'Six Realms, Five Rings' that focuses on the concept of 'cutting even that which can't be cut'.

[wayward-travelers]

FFXIVwrite2024 #13

Prompt: butte

Words: 590 Rating: T Characters: Aku (main, Bozjan hrothgar), a bunch of random garlean NPCs Spoilers: Endwalkers (takes place around MSQ lvl 97)

The mountains descended upon the plain like fortifications around the city, bumping on the ground here and there, forming buttes, hills and cliffs atop which few buildings had been raised.

As one coming from a land surrounded by enemies or would-be-enemies for all of its long history, it struck me—not even for the first time—as an odd choice. The strategy of a people who perhaps never expected to have to defend their city, having brought the war to lands so far away from the core of their Empire that they had forgotten nothing lasted forever.

One of those few buildings overlooking the city was a manor once owned by one of the Emperor's closest allies. A rare privilege, as sitting literally atop the city was normally reserved for the imperial family. But now, with the Atrocity overhanging above the plain of Garlemald, the manor remained as one of the few testimonies of a better time.

Yet, as we finish climbing and it finally appears in full view, I can't help being disappointed by the estate's brutish aspect. All grey stones and dark metal with few decorations and even less colors, it stands to me as the physical reminder of one of the Empire's greatest crimes: having invaded us all and still, somehow, not bringing even a sliver of good taste back to the Capital.

Not that I voice my opinion, of course.

"Shouldn't it be more... destroyed? one of the men asks behind me. - Perhaps the Tower claimed the soldiers before anyone had a chance to capture it. - Then let's hope no monster is sticking around. - Wait. Is that writing on the door? - Looks like it. What does it says? - Don't dead. Open inside. - What? It makes no sense. - Are you two stupid? It says Don't open, dead inside."

When the bickering continues, I clear my throat.

"Gentlemen. Could you please make even more noise just in case they haven't heard us yet? - Ah. Sorry, boss. - Pontius, Vestri, you go to the right. Drusus, with me. We take the left. We'll enter together from the back. If you see any sign of recent activity, warn us with your radio. - Yes, sir!"

And so we go. For a blessing, the reaper that accompanies me is silent and efficient. Unfortunately, our list of blessings stops there. While we see no sign of recent activity, we can see traces of infighting alongside the building. Bullets stuck in the walls, a snow mound that reveals, after inspection, the corpses of servants crudely executed, their bodies preserved impeccably by the cold—and, more worrying, rifles and garlean gunblades laying around. I've bumped against a few hidden under a thick layer of ice and snow by the time I reach the back door.

"Anything? I whisper when we meet with Pontius and Vestri. - Nothing new. Lots of weapons wasted outside, though. - The Tower probably got them soon after their fight. - In any case, there are dead inside. I took a look through a window. - What do we do? - What we came for," I say. "The Captain wants us to clear to place so we can bring refugees here: we clear the place so we can bring refugees here. - May I suggest something? - I'm listening, Pontius. - I should be able to attach the rope to the balcony above us," he says, patting the rope and hook at his belt. "If we enter from there, we'll have the high ground. - You're sure the rope can support my weight? - Garlean rope, sir. It's strong. - ... Alright, then. Let's do this."

[feralkwe]

23 for Kit

23) ...in relief.

(I decided to do a "fun" little AU moment for this one 8D because I do what I want forever and dgaf because I had an IDEA.)

For all that Gaius Baelsar insisted he was no longer an enemy of the Scions, Kit still gritted her teeth in a glare at him as Alphinaud was returned to their care. Grudgingly, she thanked him for caring for him, for seeing he came to no further harm than he already had. Once they were satisfied that Alphinaud was as Gaius said Kit was able to turn her attention to the other things the so-called Shadowhunter had to share with them.

While he explained the knowledge he had gathered while hunting the Ascians—certainly he was history's most wronged man at their hands—Kit's eyes fell to the clattering chain of red masks affixed to his belt. It did not take her long to draw conclusions, the dots from his gunblade to his scornful tone and the way he ground the word Paragon between his teeth easily connected. Her eyes scanned over the trophies the thought he carried, finding herself suddenly distracted. It shouldn't have bothered her. Should not have pulled her thoughts to a nearly panicked halt as she tried to pick out anything familiar.

Even knowing what she did about Ascian souls, a strange, cold dread tightened her ribs. Surely that mask would have been a prized trophy. It would have had pride of place. Yet its absence brought her no comfort.

She should not have needed comfort.

"Kit, are you well?" Hien asked. He rested a hand upon her shoulder. "You appear shaken."

She shook her head out of whatever stupor held her. "I'm sorry. This is… a lot of information."

Perhaps she should have told Gaius what she understood. That his efforts were very likely in vain. Perhaps she should have asked more questions about what a Paragon was. What or who was Emet-Selch. Done more to fake acceptance of the branch of peace Gaius tried to offer her. Instead, she forced a reassuring smile to Hien, and agreed when the others decided to depart the Burn.

The distraction did not leave her, constantly haunting her as they sought answers to the mysteries of aether irregularities. Did not leave her even as her feet set upon the ground once again in Mor Dhona. Even as everyone else made for the Rising Stones.

"The others will be gathering as soon as they can arrive," Thancred told her. He crossed his arms, lifting a questioning brow. "Where are you off to so urgently?"

She opened her mouth to tell him, but she was not certain herself. "I won't be long," she promised.

He looked as though he wished to argue, but she did not give him a chance. She approached the aetheryte and disappeared before he could give her reason not to.

She had not realized she'd intended to go to Horizon until she was there. Did not know how she knew to take a chocobo to Parata's Peace. Did not know how she knew without a doubt she would find him there as the sun dipped from the sky. Yet there he was in the spot they'd first come face to face, white robes and red mask obscuring almost everything identifiable, save his mouth drawn into a firm line.

"What is the meaning of this, Warrior of Light?"

"You live." Had the tightness in her chest been there this entire time? Only by its immediate absence did she notice how it had stifled her breath. She gasped as she finally drew air in fully, and they remained that way, fixed in a stare. Locked in place.

Finally, he tilted his head, hardly a motion at all, nearly swallowed in entirety by the hood that engulfed most of his face and head. The line of his lips dipped into a frown. "Am I expected to understand how this is a surprise to you?"

"Not anymore than I understand this," she said as she strode forward with intention. As he did not flinch or move as she crossed the space between them. Did not stop or resist her as she grasped his face. There existed no reasoning nor thought. She simply kissed him. Sighed with a deep shudder as if something inside her had been set free, and nearly burst into tears when he grasped her face, the claws of his gloves barely skimming the apples of her cheeks, and returned it. Nothing about it made sense, and yet it felt correct in its wrongness.

Kit pulled back with a surprised sound. "I…"

"This changes nothing," he said with distant wonder underscored with outrage.

They stepped apart with equal steps, some unseen force finally squeezing between them. "I know."

Magicks churned the air as the portal appeared, and Kit stared into the darkening horizon as he vanished through it.

(kiss prompts found here)

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

desertwalkers- baby rattler

"Stupid tumbleweed." Riven pouted, kicking another rock out of her path. The Hex Witch had created a beautiful pair of chakrams, all dainty and pretty with enchantments but oh-so-deadly. Riven had fallen in love with the weapons, her fingers itched to pick them up. To have proper chakrams again to dance, to let the magic in her blood fly free once more...But it was the Hex Witch. She was expensive. Thus, Riven's need for extra money.

Technically. The brunette huffed, shaking her head.

No. Her bridal trousseau and the jewelry that had been her dower--those were all stuffed into her spell-warded travel chest. Those were strictly for emergencies. Or when things cooled down that nobody would blink at the rich silks and satins, laces and linens, or the sparkling gemstones showing up in pawnshops...and Riven wouldn't be questioned for having a little bit extra pocket money. She was only two weeks into her arrival at Stonewood, if she went around dropping gil like ceruleum she'd get eyes clapped squarely onto her. So for right now, it'd be stupid to touch the lot. And given the conversation she and Sebastian had upon their arrival with Mz. Gohtawyn, Riven was determined to prove she wasn't stupid.

Maybe the traveling circus needs extra hands. The thought cheered the Tonawawtan woman up. She still had a little bit of lunch-time left, she could go right on over and ask! But before Riven could continue her train of thought, her path took her into the way of something hard like rock and covered in fabric. With a cry she stumbled backward, falling down again on her ass..

"Ow!! What the--" The obstacle turned. Riven trailed off, blinking. She'd collided with a man dressed all in black and silver, with what looked like a bayonet-style gunblade on his back. A frown crossed the stranger's features as he looked down at Riven. Riven stared back up at him. Then she gasped as fingers roughly seized her by one of her upper arms and yanked her to her feet.

"Ow!"

"Look at this one, boss!" A pink-haired Tonawawtan man also dressed in black leered at the brunette.

"Looks like there's a new whore in town! She's a cutie pie! You think they've been hidin'-AAAAAAAIIIIIEEEEE!!!!!" A high-pitched scream filled the air as the toe of one of Riven's boots collected solidly with the man's groin. His grip loosened, and Riven broke free, watching as he fell down howling. With a screech, Riven lifted her foot.

"Don't touch me again!!!" This time her foot came down with all the force she could muster. The howl that escaped the man made the fast-forming group of onlookers cringe.

"Holy sheeeet!"

"Gods damn!"

"Little bit's got some spice!" A drunken Hhetsarro cheered. Riven turned on a heel and stomped away, fuming. Hoots and cat calls followed her.

"Hey Doc! Can ye fix that?!"

"Can't do nothing for smashed sausage and cracked eggs." Mathye commented, shaking his head as more laughter rippled through the crowd.

[mothsolar]

im fairly certain thancred loses 90% of any flirtatiousness and fun loving he had in the 5 minutes you knew him (before hes posessed) after he gets got in heavensward though

he was already depressed after arr and then he gets even more serious after hw and weighed down by minfilia's "death". they do set him up pretty well for his arc in shb, maybe not the best though, but its there. yshtola is understandable though. she gets a small amount of development in shb, aside from that shes mostly unchanged from when we first know her.

I know the post and the tags you're talking about and his depression has nothing to do with his disability, that being his lack of aether control. further explanation and more general ff14 spoilers below the cut

The nature of being able to control aether is that it is so ubiquitous in the world of ff14 that just about anything you do in the world involves manipulating aether, not just spells. Being able to overpower a creature more than three times your size? Physical augmentation via aether. Jumping from the ground to more than a story into the air? Physical augmentation via aether. The chakra monks use is just your personal aether pool. Samura midares are all from aether focused in the sheathe. Dragoon jumps are from aether controlled in their legs. Literally every tank uses aether in some way as a part of their defensive skills. Just because it doesn't use MP in gameplay doesn't mean it has nothing to do with manipulating aether in lore. His sudden inability to channel aether is initially presented as a pretty big deal as he couldn't just teleport out and was stuck naked and afraid for ages while just having that handicap. The problem is that it doesn't really change anything.

Heavensward patch content doesn't bring it up as he takes down a gobbue solo (no aether control to augment his jumps or strikes btw) or rescues Alisae (no aether control to help hide him, tho i guess it could work since it masks his presence i guess???) That depression he has? Take your pick of guilt over being possessed or grief after seeing his surrogate daughter become the voice of god and effectively die. Explore that thread more in shadowbringers.

So what about Stormblood? Do we explore that at all during that expansion? I'll be honest, I don't remember stormblood well and won't pretend to. Through looking at the wiki, not really. He takes a major backseat as he continues with the role of sneakman being in the shadows and doing sneakman things. Great and necessary role, still not exploring the fact that he cannot control aether.

Shadowbringers gives Thancred a shining spotlight on him to talk about a lot of what's going on with him. His grief about his dead daughter is basically it. Again, not a bad thread. It's a very good direction to go with his character and great to see. In terms of how this plays with his disability, he needs to use enchanted cartridges that are pre-loaded with aether to use the gunblade's explosions instead of just using his personal pool which is provided by Ryne. Now this, this is a good point. This highlights his disability and how it alters his life beyond his inability to use aetherites (which also isn't brought up because no npcs use aetherites save for that scene in endwalker). It is something that he needs an aid to make up for that any other person would be able to do regularly. Common ShB dub.

Endwalker? Yeah I dunno chief. That long distance teleport wasn't from him casting and wasn't used as or brought up as a way for people without aether control to use aetherites as far as I remember. It could've and I could just be wrong, but if they didn't that's a pretty dumb missed opportunity.

Dawntrail just has him take a backseat too so it's still not brought up at all.

In terms of gameplay, him not being able to use magic does nothing. He still has the same tank skills and needing pre-charged cartridges is fluff. Of all the skills that would come to mind that would need some bit of magical augmentation, it would be the front line taking the hits. They could've given him magitech or made him a machinist or done something more with it beyond "if ryne isnt in the party he doesn't use his spenders in shb trusts". It's such a wasted opportunity to me, especially when machinist and the skysteel manufactury is right there in HEAVENSWARD as a possible path for him to go down.

So yeah, Thancred's disability is a very interesting thing to explore as the one guy who can't use magic in the magic world where everything requires magic. It's a shame they don't because anime pretty boy doing anime flips is cool and giving him magitech anything to facilitate those flips is not I guess.

[eidingate]

FFXIVWrite2024 #1 - Steer

[Pre-ARR / words: 691]

The magitek armor hunched contemplatively in the darkness like a drowsy bear. This particular bear was of the rearguard model: nearly double the size of the standard type, with two arm-like projectile weapons so massive that they had to rest on the ground when not in use. It was an unwieldy design, made to lumber slowly along the back line and fire from a distance. It was little more than a cannon on legs.

Correction: a cannon on one and a half legs. A faulty joint had taken off a three-pronged "foot," leaving the thing leaning lopsidedly to one side. Such a defect would be complicated to repair on so huge a machine, and the mountainous terrain of the Werlyt countryside likely posed too much of a challenge to move it far. Thus the Garleans, in their haste to follow the shifting front, had parked her in the narrow mouth of a cave, trusting in the natural shelter to keep it from prying eyes when no patrol was nearby. 

Few would be foolish enough to try to pilfer Garlean property in occupied territory, anyway. Military presence was high, every road crossing the countryside heavily fortified by checkpoints. 

Two fools they were indeed, one shadow and then another peeling away from the edges of the cave to slip beneath the hulking machine. Eidin hung back for a few breaths, covering her brother's back as he slipped ahead, trusting her to spot any sign of danger well before he could. A gunblade glinted on his back: a prize he'd picked off the corpse of a Garlean officer some years ago. They were well practiced at this routine, and the barely perceptible tilt of his head was all the signal she needed to follow. 

It had taken nearly a week of scouting and carefully distributed bribes to learn the patrol rotations, giving them a safe window in which to work. Nald'thal willing, their trail would be long cold before anyone noticed the warmachina had been surgically gutted, its innards harvested and already sold off to rebels and pirates. 

Thuvwilt hesitated beside the crooked magitek armor and gave it a careful shove, testing its stability. 

"Wilt! Hurry it up!" Eidin hissed at him. 

"Don't want it rolling over on you," he grumbled. Always the cautious one. 

Eidin rapped her knuckles against one of the barrel-shaped cannons that rested on the ground. "Look at that thing. A charging aurochs couldn't tip it over." Thuvwilt remained silent, which was not unusual. It normally fell to Eidin to do the talking for both of them. "If it starts to tip, I'll steer it against the wall. Or I'll jump. Probably both."

She did have to admit, now that they were actually beneath it, that this was a beast of a machine. They'd dealt with the more common vanguard models before, but she had not quite appreciated until now just how much the rearguard loomed over a person. 

Still. She'd yet to find a piece of Garlean machinery that could not be taken apart with a common set of tools. 

Thuvwilt ignored her until he was satisfied that the armor would not tilt with her weight. Only then did he hoist her up, Eidin nimbly stepping up onto his hands before launching herself up the side of the warmachina. It was easy enough for her to find the handholds she needed to reach the latch that was hidden near the cockpit door, and soon she had swung herself into the pilot's seat. Down below, she could already hear Thuvwilt opening up the machine's undercarriage. 

Many assumed that the magitek core was the only valuable part of Garlean machinery. But the black market had a way of making use of even the mundane bits and pieces that nestled within Imperial tech. Eidin lovingly ran her hand along the console, feeling the glossy buttons beneath her fingers. Oh, it was a beautiful console, so much bigger and more complex than the standard vanguard model allowed. The wiring alone was worth precious gil. 

This job was going to keep their family fed for months. All they had to do was finish it.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Tag Game: OC Questionnaire

Thank you to @willtheweaver for the tag here, @the-golden-comet for the tag here, @fourwingedwriter for the tag here and @paeliae-occasionally for the tag here! I let them build up lol whoopsie

My Questions:

1. Would you ever give up your dream if it meant that the dream of your closest friend/ family member would be fulfilled? 2. Have you ever had any recurring dreams/ nightmares? 3. What is one skill that you wish you could learn?

4. What is your greatest fear? 5. What happened to your biological family? (Because no one in fantasy has a bio family) 6. If you could visit any point in your world’s history, (or any point in your story if it is based on earth) when and where would it be?

7. When was the last time you slept well at night? 8. What's your favorite comfort food? 9. If you could go anywhere in your world, where would you go?

Tagging @phoenixradiant @illarian-rambling @somethingclevermahogony @faytelumos @pluppsauthor

@thethistlegirlwrites @dyoniawrites @grimmdivinity @writer-of-worlds and open tag! :D

Your Questions:

1. What genre of story would you rather be in? (as opposed to the one they are currently in) 2. Do you think you'd survive the movie A Quiet Place? (must stay as silent as possible or alien creatures hunt you down) 3. What's your idea of a quiet get-together with a close friend?

The Gunblade Duo will be answering the questions since I'm rewriting their first meeting scene in The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure!

1. Would you ever give up your dream if it meant that the dream of your closest friend/ family member would be fulfilled?

Draven: Ha! I'm doing that right now! Octavian wants to track down his people, he needs someone to have his back, it's even more chaotic than my old life, I love it. Octavian: *barely audible* ...I don't know. I'd like to think I will.

2. Have you ever had any recurring dreams/ nightmares?

Draven: I never remember any of my dreams. Not that I sleep much to begin with. Octavian: Yes. I still have nightmares about my imprisonment and certain events prior to it, even though I was unconscious or... what's the word... entranced? Bits and pieces, but real enough. My mind forgets, but my body remembers.

3. What is one skill that you wish you could learn?

Draven: Octavian's teaching me hand-to-hand for when we inevitably get to the point where I run out of bullets. Wish I could learn how to make more bullets and fix my guns when shit happens. Octavian: Tracking someone across dimensions. It must be possible, I've met Jumpers who work as bounty hunters and seekers, but they've refused to help. Or, failing that, communication across dimensions. That I know for sure is possible, I just need to figure it out. Draven: Yeah... doesn't help that most Jumpers we've met are assholes. Barring the pair from Somnia, that is.

4. What is your greatest fear?

Draven: Getting stranded, closely followed by losing my guns for good. Octavian: ...losing control again.

5. What happened to your biological family? (Because no one in fantasy has a bio family)

Draven: I assume they're still alive. They seemed alive and well when I went and got myself disowned. Octavian: I never knew my parents, or if I have siblings. All that information was kept strictly confidential, and devar agents start training young. I... I hope that when we find my people, we find them too. Draven: Celestials, I cannot imagine you as a child. Or an infant. I can try, though, and little Octavian in my mind's eye is absolutely adorable. Octavian: 'Little Octavian' can and will kick your ass.

6. If you could visit any point in your world’s history, (or any point in your story if it is based on earth) when and where would it be?

Draven: Personally I'd love to go back to before the plague fucked everything up. Maybe meet that thief Octavian's mentioned a couple times. Give him a handshake for fucking over the Draigo. I doubt he's alive anymore. Octavian: I want to kill that magician a second time. Preferably before she attacked those Watchers.

7. When was the last time you slept well at night?

Draven: *prolonged, mirthless laughter* Depths if I know. Octavian: *lips pressed together in a thin line* Unfortunately, he's correct.

8. What's your favorite comfort food?

Draven: Food is food, anything goes as long as it's warm. Even better if it's heavy on the spices. Octavian: Venison, or maybe rabbit? Things I hunted myself. Draven: Are humans on that menu? Octavian: Cozenson... Draven: I've seen you maul people. Do they or do they not taste good? Octavian: ...no comment.

9. If you could go anywhere in your world, where would you go?

Draven: Eh... when you have the entire universe at your disposal, Valaria seems so small and insignificant. I don't know. Octavian: I think I'd go and visit Reese. Draven: I change my answer I'm doing that too.

[midnightmagicks]

FFXIV 30 Day Writing Challenge Day 17: Sally

Sally: A sudden charge out of a besieged place against the enemy; a sortie.

Night had fallen upon the trenches, the moon peeking out behind grey clouds that hung heavy in the air. The squadron was surrounded on all fronts, the Garleans having pushed through in the day, intending to take their post and undo all of the work the Resistance had made these many weeks.

Look outs posted through the darkening hours - no sleep to be had, no rest. The enemy could strike at any moment. Voices spoke in hushed whispers with one another, speaking of retreat, of falling back - others more determined, to charge forward, to fight, even if they would be destined to fail.

Lee had their back pressed to the trench, muddied and bloodied coat hanging heavy off their large frame. A whetstone in hand, as they sharpened their blade, and cast a look to their side - to the familiar Viera they had come to call a friend.

“What do you think?” She asked, her voice but a whisper.

Besides them, Siege sat nearly stock still, arms crossed over his chest. He made no motions aside from the ears atop his head that turned slowly and meticulously. Despite the darkness, his eyes were turned upward, scanning the void-like sky for any movement or distortion.  He could hear every word his men whispered among themselves. He could hear how their heartbeats thrummed in their chests at their current situation. For them, he listened beyond the trench they were pinned down in– to the battlefield surrounding them. To the low thrum of mechanical beasts and the men that controlled them. To the enemies that far outnumbered the squadron under his command.  His gaze flicked briefly to the Roegadyn beside him, who seemed to be readying themself. He exhaled slowly and returned his stare upward as he spoke lowly. “Well Lieutenant,” His voice was low, barely a rumble in his chest, “there’s nothing airborne. It’s all infantry. More machines than men. Couple of big, mean bastards, too.” His eyes snapped to his companion, intense look in his eyes. “We’re outnumbered by a sizable margin. But–” He looked down the trench. At the faces of the men and women coiled and waiting. Brave soldiers willing to live and die for this cause. A heavy moment hung before he leaned towards the lieutenant, uncrossing his arms and slowly sliding the gunblade from his back. “We’re meaner bastards. Call the command, Leitadhem.”

Lee’s gaze shifted upon her comrade, watching those dutiful ears work where there own could not. Hearing things even their look-outs could not see. A measured look to their gaze as they met the intense stare of the man before her, a soft nod of their head as gunblade was wielded in tandem with her own. A grin split across her features, as a boot braced against the earth, shifting to a crouch. “We are indeed meaner, Captain. And the night should give us some cover.”

“Then we attack, old man,” an affectionate nickname she had given the Viera over the years, said with nothing shy of respect.

Her blade came to rest against her leg, leaning to the side to speak quietly to the soldier close by, passing on the hushed whispers for men and women still able, still willing, to get ready to move. She did not need to speak the plan to her Captain, they would hear it clearly as day.

They would go east out of the trenches, staying low, and spring an attack while the enemy - hopefully - rested. They were to stay clear of any search lights, and move swiftly, kill quickly. Machines, she could deal with. Circuits to fry and tanks to explode.

As the message was passed down, soldiers began to move into position. Keeping close to the walls of the trenches, boots scuffled and weapons drawn, they awaited the Captain and the Lieutenant to lead the attack. 

Siege waited. Waited until every soldier down the line was alerted and at the ready. He did one more sweep of the sky and focused his ears in the direction they were planning to move. The enemy seemed to be at rest, as they had hoped. The sounds of battle were more sparse– far from the trench they were tucked in.  As his soldiers stilled, quietly waiting for their signal, Siege gave Lee one last look, checking to make sure they were ready. A shared look between the two. With a curt nod, Siege lifted his arm to give the order to march on. Leading the way, he stayed crouched, moving in complete silence along the trench towards their target. Heartbeats and the drumming of boots against the ground reverberating in Siege’s head. The closer they got, the more he could feel the tension in his men. And the more anger bubbled inside him. Outnumbered or not, they would emerge the victors.  He held his arm up again, giving the command to slow down. They were nearing the enemy camps and stealth was the goal now. The thrum of machines and sentries was nearly unbearable to the captain’s sensitive hearing, but he pushed his own discomfort aside. Glancing to Lee, he flicked an ear in the direction the thrum was loudest, indicating where their attention should be.  

Lee was as ready as they would ever be, the gunblade resting across her back as boots dug into the dirt. They returned that look, the nod, before the group began to move forward into the empty fields that stretched between them and the enemy; while their charge was not sudden, a sortie was needed in order to get the upper hand on the resting Garleans. It was the only way they would be able to get out of this place, alive, in enough pieces to carry on living.

Each and every soldier knew that, of course, as the squadron steadied their hearts and steadied their feet against the crunching earth as they grew closer to the location of the Garleans. As steady as they could be, knowing the odds were not stacked in their favour.

Lee’s gaze was dead ahead, only casting a sweeping gaze across to the Captain and those closest to ensure everyone looked okay, looked ready. The motion of his ear caught her attention, head canting to the side before nodding. The rest of the squad could hear the thrum of machines a little clearer themselves.

Lee motioned low with her hand, ensuring no one followed her as she scuttled off towards a rocky outcrop, bringing her blade from her back as levin began to dance around her fingers. The cartridges were charged as she moved, pumping them full of violet aether as she climbed up to a high point, spying the enemy machines as she remained ducked low.

She would have one chance to aim and fire, before the fighting would begin in full. Her gaze cast down to the squadron, settling on Seige, before she gave a nod.

Slowly, she would stand, blade raised to a point as her finger squeezed the trigger.

Siege himself held his fist near his head; A call to freeze. He watched his lieutenant creep forward towards the machines. The flicker of levin across her hands caught his eye and he curled a lip up in a slight snarl. The taste of aether burned his throat, even at this distance. But it only fueled the boiling urge to fight within his chest. His grip on the gunblade tightened and his body tensed– he was ready. Waiting for Lee’s move. He watched her stand. He knew the soldiers were watching as well. He motioned a ‘hold’ command and waited for it to pass down the line. Slowly, everyone tensed and readied themselves.  And the trigger was pulled. Electric energy blasted into a collection of the enemy's machines, arcing off and frying the circuits of anything nearby. Soldiers near the machines were either electrocuted by proximity or launched off their feets backwards as the huge pulse of condensed levin caused a chain of explosions. Chaos and confusion broke out within the camp and Siege stood, throwing his hand down and booming out, as loud as he could for his men,  “Charge!” Without hesitation or question, Siege and the squadrons charged the encampment. A portion split off to follow Siege to the main section while the remaining soldiers charged up the rocky cropping to join Lee in cleaning up the machines and their caretakers. Siege knew Lee would lead with no problem, sharing brief eye contact with her. He spoke no words but the meaning was clear. ‘Give ‘em hell, Lieutenant.’

Finger released from the trigger with a pop of energy, the bullet flying true to it’s target in a brilliant hue of violet, sparking against the first machine it hit and cascading off into the next, sending plumes of blue ceruleum clouds into the night sky as chaos ensued.

A grin found her features as they had gained the upper hand, reloading her weapon as she crouched back down, and awaited for the soldiers to join her.

Meeting Siege’s gaze with her own, steeled and calm, yet eager to spill blood upon the battlefield all the same.

The shout of charge was given, and the bulk of their forces slipped off into the foray. Lee’s gaze settled upon the capable men and women that joined her, giving them a simple nod, before raising her own fist.

“For Bozja!” 

Bracing a head against stone, they leapt over the outcrop and into the encampment with her own small squad, bullets raising hell as blade was swung, colliding with machines that still stood; levin ripping through them like spears from the heavens, leaving naught but immobile wrecks in their wake.

Soldiers split off, fanning out to clear out the enemy soldiers that yet stood, bodies coming to clash with the invading Imperials, as Lee continued her forward march into the metal monstrosities that tore up the battlefield days before.

Ducking low from a swing of mechanical claw, they slipped beneath the hull of the machine and unloaded their gunblade through it, sparks of aether zipping up it’s metal frame and short frying the circuitry - most of the machines were cleared in quick order, the Imperials that manned them taken down, killed or otherwise.

It was up to Siege and the rest to finish the job, as Lee ordered their group to rejoin the bulk of the forces and finish off the fight.

They would see the sun rise yet.

Siege and his soldiers charged forward with immense speed, yelling and battle cries drowning the sounds of violence and explosions. The cry from the other caused a ripple through the men and women at Siege’s side. A pride for their home and for the cause that led them to charge the field. And while this was not his homeland nor was it truly his cause to fight, Siege cheered right along with his men. The overwhelming spirit compelling them forward. The camp was disheveled in mere seconds. The Garlean soldiers had no warning. No prep time to combat the sudden onslaught. And, thanks to the levin-laced shots from Lee, their horrid machines were of no use or aid.  The clash of steel rang out as weapons contacted, the flurry of combat sweeping everything up in a whirlwind of bodies as the resistance laid out Garlean soldiers. A solid swing from Siege’s gunblade sent two to the ground, a snarl escaping his throat. As he stalked towards more.  More running feet had his ear swivel quickly, gaze snapping to sort out the threat when he was met with the sight of the second group of his men rejoining them. It seemed that Leitadhem had been successful on that side. A rare smirk crossed his face as he yelled to the joining soldiers. “Push on! Press the attack!” There was no doubt in Siege’s mind that they had won this fight. They would gain ground and the night would be theirs.

Collab with @soulshards !! They're so cool and awesome go give their post love too.

[shroudandsands]

Prompt #12: Quarry

She felt it before Sawyer saw it. Her two wings whipped around on a wind born of realization, of sightless eyes whirling with her step to witness as the Hawk’s ammunition rocked the ground under them. As her own grip on the spell couldn’t stabilize, couldn’t hold, couldn’t root the earth that crumbled under the feet of the archer as he’d backed away- She was over to the edge in a jet from her wings. Her fingertips grazed his. The curse he screamed shot ice through her veins.

The moment, frozen as her limbs, screeched to a teeth-grinding halt. He was still within the range of her senses. Her wings could reach him if she pulled the other two away from Sawyer right then and there. She would be fine without them. But would they have enough power to lift him? Could she get them to cushion his fall? What about wind magic? Was there something she could channel fast enough to negate the fall? Could she cast it fast enough to still be able to get him while she could sense him? Her magicks got weaker the further her wings got from her- Could they speed down there while still being potent enough? Could she just get them moving before this resulted in a death that she was unsure she could- A realization shot all of these questions dead. She didn’t know how far down the ground was. Time shocked back into motion as she heard his axe-wielding partner scream, as she heard her own partner shout, as she felt her own voice wrenched from her throat.

Ah. She still didn’t know how to fly.

Her wings were already ablaze as she outran her scream down the cliff. Wind rushing, her feet grazing loose stone and debris along the wall, every twice-damned cell in her body screaming in deadlocked fear of what are you doing and even then it wasn’t enough to stop her from rocketing directly towards the ground. She’d have time to think about it after- She slammed into him first, then around him, then under him- her arms going under his in some vain attempt to pretend she had the strength- he grabbed onto her with a strength that could almost crush her in his panic- her wings swirled in a frenzy of gusts and jets as she scrambled to get them pointed anywhere that might stop them from splattering into the dirt- His feet scraped the ground as a squall of aether blasted dust, dirt, and rocks like a bomb as she slowed their descent. From something lethal, his head pointed towards the ground, to something bruising and bone breaking; held, holding, kept for what felt like just a moment too long- They thumped into the crater caused by the raw blast of magic. His bow thudded into the ground, snapping, in the distance.

-------

“Twice now…” The highlander rubbed the back of his neck. His partner stood behind him, a worried frown still adorning him like cracked armor, as he gripped his shoulder. “You’ve saved him. Now me. Hells, the both of us more than we could ask for.” He looked at Sawyer as she gave them a polite shake of her head. He bumped his partner behind him, who cleared his throat. “We ain’t exactly done much to warrant being saved once, let alone twice like this. We were talking- Neither of us know what to do to repay you for…” His maimed arm swung wide as he let out a noise of disbelief. “Any of this. Hells we didn’t even realize you two had been the folks starting us off. I know it’s supposed to just be business. That’s what you do- That’s how the guild works. But.” “No buts. You’ve said it yourself. My heartlight and I- We’re far from saints. This is part and parcel of our work.” Sawyer sighed, setting aside pieces of her disassembled gunblade. “You needed help in the pursuit of helping others. We would be remiss, in occupation and action, to not do our part. Especially given that the latest danger was, in part, my own fault.” The archer banged his fist on the bench he rested on. “It ain’t! I shouldn’t have been there! I should’ve known better that the ground would be unstable. It’d just rained, that blasted band was detonating bombs left and right-” His partner’s grip on him tightened. He flinched as his words cut short, as he looked away. The silence in the wake of it was, in a few words, awkward as fuck. His partner cleared his throat. “Is she… feeling better yet, anyways?”

At that, Sawyer’s lips pursed. The noulith sheathed in her bandolier twitched at the mere mention of her bough’s presence. She took it out from its place to hold it gently, to stare into the crystal as if it was a window to somewhere else. It had been not but a sun since the moment of it. The immediate after had consisted of a shocked and despondent Amesha being all but carried back to their inn. She’d not moved much and had said little more. Frankly she more than wished she was still there with her… But there wasn’t exactly anyone else to write about the incident and confirm that the two of them were safe. The glow of it dimmed as her Oasis�� proverbial eyes looked away. Sawyer sighed once again.

“…She’ll be fine soon. But perhaps do not make a habit of making her catch you.”

[myreia]

The Heart’s A Withered Fortress

CHAPTER FOUR: A DAWN WITHOUT DUSK

Chapter Rating: Teen Characters: Thancred Waters, Aureia Malathar (WoL), Ryne, Lyna Pairings: Aureia/Thancred Chapter Words: 2,001 Notes: Set during Shadowbringers. Summary: It is no easy thing to sit and watch someone close to him wither away. Then again, Thancred has never been good at sitting still. While waiting for a cure for Aureia’s light sickness, he feels a call to action—but whether it is the right choice or not remains to be seen. Prompt: iii. light | darkness Chapters: one • two • three • four Read on AO3

Drip. Drip. Drip.

His ears prickle at the familiar sound as liquid trickles from a spout. Cyella must have not turned off the tap completely when she was accosted by her next round of patrons. The Wandering Stairs is busier than usual, but perhaps it’s to be expected—the world ended, the world was saved, and now the world is ending once again. The least the people here can do is indulge in their small comforts and blot out all thought of what is coming.

That’s what he is doing.

Or… at least that is what he would like to be doing.

For now he hunches over his table, fingers tapping his glass as he watches the condensation turn to water and pool along the sides. The ale stopped foaming some time ago, and he still has not taken a drink. At least he can be proud of that. Ordering a drink and staring at it is not the same as downing it and ordering five more. Though he supposes he is not doing himself any favours by coming here while in such a foul mood. Thou wouldst tempt fate after persevering for so long? Urianger would say. Or something like that.

A dull ache flares in his side like the pain of an old knife wound. Urianger deceived them, lied to them. He has, once again, held his tongue and kept his secrets from them all, including Ryne. That she would prefer his company now over him.

He can’t say that she is in the wrong for it.

Gods, she really is a teenager, isn’t she?

Grimacing, he slides the glass from one hand to the other and back again. Glynard’s regulars have taken no notice of him, thank the Twelve. His chosen seat is far enough in the back to give him some peace no matter how rowdy it becomes later. He put his gunblade upright in the corner, out of sight but not out of mind. He should have left it upstairs, but he wasn’t thinking straight once Ryne departed the apartment.

He can’t remember the last time he did think straight. He hasn’t thought straight in years.

He blows out a long breath, his brow furrowing as he stares at the damnably tempting ale. He would be gone by now if not for Ryne, slipped out of the Crystarium and on his way back to Kholusia. Perhaps it would have been disingenuous to leave without saying farewell, but he was too furious to consider it. He didn’t want to be slowed down. He wanted to…

“Gah.”

He curses under his breath and snatches up his drink, swilling it back and forth. Temptation murmurs in his mind, the amber liquid swelling seductively in the glass. Would it soothe him, to take a drink now? Just a small one, to keep the guilt at bay. Is it better to drown in drink or drown in one’s sorrows? Either way you will be washed out to sea.

“There is a law against carrying armaments within civilian establishments, you know,” a familiar voice says behind him. “I would hate to have to throw you in prison.”  

He stiffens. “Is that so?” he returns, glancing over his shoulder. The sharp edge of a pair of chakrams stare back at him. “And I suppose this new law I have never heard of doesn’t apply to you?”

An earthy laugh washes over him. “Hello, Thancred.”

“Lyna.”

The Crystarium’s guard captain smiles gently at him and takes the stool opposite. “It was a jest about the prison,” she adds, taking the stool opposite him. She balances on the edge of the seat, her long legs taking most of her weight, more standing than sitting. “I would not arrest you in earnest—”

“Thank the Twelve for that—”

“—but I would put your blade somewhere a little closer to home,” she finishes. “In my experience, drink and ranged weapons do not go hand in hand, and yours is a little more than just a blade.”

He laughs awkwardly and releases his glass. “To be clear, I was not drinking—”

Lyna raises an eyebrow.

“—I was thinking. Contemplating, rather. You know how it is.”

She stares at him long and hard. “Hm. As you say.”

Thancred sighs and pushes the glass across the tabletop in her direction. It leaves a long streak of condensation in its wake, darkening the wood. “Here,” he says. “Take it before I change my mind.”

“Are you offering me warm, flat ale?”

“No, I’m—”

“Is this a tradition in the Exarch’s world?”

An answer forms on the tip of his tongue before he realizes what she is doing. He lets out an exasperated sigh and closes his eyes. “Lyna,” he says, rubbing his forehead.

Lyna laughs. Snatching up the glass, she waves down one of Glynard’s servers and hands it off to them, requesting water in return.

“I hope you are here for some reason other than to admonish me,” he says as she settles more firmly into her seat and unpins her cloak.

She shrugs. “I am here to spend time with a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.” She busies herself for a moment, folding her cloak and setting it on the stool next to her. “I spoke with Uilmet. She has a grand plan for harvesting a celebration crop. For when the Exarch is returned to us and the Warrior of Darkness once again stands tall. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“No. I don’t suppose I do.”

She eyes him. “I know you were there,” she says carefully. “She told me what you said. About the Exarch.”

He pauses, biting his tongue. The temptation to retort back with self-deprecation is stronger than he would like to admit. “Your people are admirable,” he says after a moment. “They are made of stronger stuff than most. Nary a complaint, even as their hopes are chipped away bit by bit, day by day.”

“Yes. Hope.” She folds her arms and rests them on the table, staring straight past him to observe the tavern beyond. More patrons have arrived, regulars and uncommon faces, their chatter rising to a hum. Their waters remain forgotten. “Do you believe what you said? That he will be returned to us?”

“I’m not in the habit of spreading false hope.”

“I am asking for honesty. Your opinion—not as a professional nor a visitor from another world, nor even as a hunter of sin eaters. Put aside the mask of the warrior and speak to me as a friend. I do not need to be coddled. What are the chances of bringing him back alive?”

He swallows the lump in his throat. Has she been told what transpired atop the mountain? He was present for the short briefing directly after their return, but whether she has been given more details or not, he does not know. They have all been distracted. Busy. Searching for Aureia’s cure.

“Slim,” Thancred says finally. “He was already weak when he was shot. Who knows what lengths the Ascian will go to keep him alive. Perhaps he will, perhaps he won’t. The Exarch is a plaything to be tossed aside on a whim, collateral damage while our enemy’s eye is on a shinier prize.”

“The Warrior of Darkness.” Lyna pauses, once against casting a quick look at the nearby patrons. When next she speaks, her voice drops to a whisper and he can’t help but note how odd it is sitting here trading furtive words with the captain of the guard. “How is she?”

“Not well. I visited her today.”

“And?”

“She was attempting to rebalance the corrupted aether in her body herself. Her focus… shattered.”

“A failure, perhaps, but it is promising she is on her feet, is it not? Bragi said she looked like a corpse when you brought her in.”

“That’s not what worries me.” He meets her eyes. “What comes after does.”

Lyna returns his gaze. Steady. Unflinching. There is no need for further explanation. Like her people, the guard captain is resolute, weathering harrowing news without panic or alarm. How many has she lost in her lifetime? How many have been slaughtered or transformed? Friends, family, neighbours, lovers… All the faces who were hale and whole one day and gone the next. All those she watched walk away with a smile and a wave, never knowing it would be the last time she saw them. Do the ghosts of their memory haunt every corridor and every hall?

“And what will you do should the Warrior become a lightwarden?” she says after a moment.

He does not answer.

She threads her fingers together in her lap. “I know what you intended to attempt tonight,” she continues. Her expression softens, one of her long ears twitching in a rare display of vulnerability—usually she is so composed her features give little indication of what she is feeling. “For I thought to attempt the very same thing naught but two nights ago. I was angry. Furious. The Exarch has always been a selfless man, in small ways and in large. Even for those too young to remember what Lakeland was like before he came, we have seen his example time and time again. If it is a choice between himself and his people, he will always choose his people.

“But perhaps even the most well-intentioned selflessness can be taken too far. As he was plotting this secret ploy, did he not stop to think? In the hour of his great self-sacrifice, did he not stop to consider those who love him? Those he would leave behind?”

Thancred looks away. The words I don’t know die on his tongue.

“I was angry with him, as angry as I am with the one who took him. Powerless. What, after all, can a single guard captain do against an enemy such as that? In my fury I gave little thought to my actions. I was prepared to abandon my post, to forge ahead alone, to find the man I could very well call grandfather and bring him back. I was halfway to the Amaro Launch when I realized the depths of my foolishness.”

“I do not think it foolishness.” His voice is soft but firm. “I think those are the actions of someone who cares for her loved ones and does not wish to grieve another.”

“Then you and I are in disagreement.” She glances away, her gaze lingering on his gunblade. “I have a responsibility to this city, to these people. A duty the Exarch bestowed upon me because he trusted me. And whether he lives or not, his trust is something I cannot break. To abandon the Crystarium and risk death or worse, all for the sake of my own heartache… That is the height of selfishness. And I swore to myself I would never entertain it.”

A dull ache pulses in his chest, guilt stinging with every beat. The memory of Ryne storming out in anger chafes at his mind. He has his flaws—an inordinate amount of them, he is ashamed to admit—and it is often too easy to fall back on vice and habit. But he promised himself he would do better where she is concerned.

He promised her.

Lyna lets out a long sigh. Unfurling from her stool, she grabs her cloak and turns to make her leave. “Anger is potent,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But helplessness even more so. Remember that.”

And then she is gone, a flash of a red cloak vanishing into the thick of the crowd.

He blinks, stunned, too distracted by her words to feel the guilt and shame that would usually be creeping up on him by now. Pushing his stool back, he rises to his feet and downs the nearby glass of water in one go, slamming it back down on the table.

There is work to be done.

[elizabethrobertajones]

Rating All Radiant's Gear By How Cute The Little Dragons Are:

Paladin: 9/10 The sword little guy is one of the stylised dragons who has been squished flat, and drags down the set for being a lil boring in execution, but the shield is ADORABLE, look at that baby all curled around it!! The pose, the style, the ELEGANCE. One of the largest dragons of the whole set.

Long post under the cut :)

Warrior: 10/10 FOUR dragons, all with a cool pose, in one weapon? Lookit them! They're little spiky babies judging you from their perch and I love them.

Dark Knight: 8/10 Cool pose but their faces are sort of weird. The babies have 2 eyes on each side I think? But the face doesn't have enough definition to make them look like faces, and then you could mistake the 2 eyes for being front-facing and then they're goofy. More effort put into being edgy than maximising Dragon Cuteness, but they are still pretty neat, so I can't be that mean to them.

Gunbreaker: 0/10 NO DRAGONS??? Just the aesthetic? What are we DOING here? I think this secretly says something about the state of the trade deal between the Bozjans and Rats-at-Hand so I volunteer as a diplomat to improve things so they honour the traditional Gunblade with a more befitting dragon next time. I will rebuild Bozja myself brick by brick if I have to get trade flowing.

Dragoon: 11/10 The little guys from the axe are back and they have a EXTRA WINGS to make the spear more aerodynamic, which is very important for aerial combat. Bonus points for making a leetle heart :)

Reaper: 100/10 this is just Vrtra. Look at that snoot. Someone had SEEN him when they made this. Is this a post-EW design that their craftsmen added to the range after seeing that the Warrior of Light was a reaper and wanted to sell them specifically the perfect weapon? Or is this a secret design a past satrap had sketched and had made to secretly carry Vrtra with them which ended up in the stable of weapon types the Radiant Host use, in which case I want to know everything about the Reaper Satrap.

Monk: 9/10 Look at this guy... Another goofy face, but a great pose. Deducting points more because you don't punch someone directly with a dragon and instead they're hiding behind the blades looking cute. I want to punch someone with a dragon.

Samurai: 12/10 Two extra points for the weird dragon face with six eyes on the blade itself. I don't think the person designing most of these had ever seen a dragon but I love the imagination going into it. The lil guy on the sheath is fucking majestic. Flying at your side and adorable to boot.

Ninja: 0/10 again... Yeah yeah dragons have scales and claws. Disappointing.

Bard: 7/10 disappointingly flat little guy. Considering how MANY bows there are shaped like creechurs, the fact that this isn't another Vrtra-shaped full-body monstrosity of a thing is especially painful. Definitely an old staple of their armoury from times long ago when they weren't even sure the great dragon was real. Scraped a point for the arrow fletching being little wings.

Machinist: 8/10 another lil guy with a funny face. Loses their body definition to wrap around the butt of the gun, and playing a protective role over your hands once again like with Monk, rather than getting out there and doing the shooting, which would have been funny, but perhaps crass for a beloved protector.

Dancer: 9/10 SO LONG. Just curled up and having a good time vibing. Sadly hard to see unless it's being actively thrown at someone, since that distortion in its length is so you can hold it there. Deducting a point just because the art of combat dancing does come from Thavnair so they COULD have gone a bit more all out on this particular weapon.

Black Mage: 7/10 ARE YOU OKAY THERE? The squished ones make me sad. Could have been much more 3D and leaping out at you. The wings are amazing though. The overall vibe looks more like one of those flying voidsent thingies with the big flappy wings (you know the ones) so it is suitable BLM wear but not overall the best dragon nor particularly cute or cuddly.

Summoner/Scholar (same dragons but one's lighter): 5/10 This is the same dragon as the Black Mage staff but even more compressed and the wings are tiny and weak. There could have been SO MUCH MORE dragon on these books. :(

Red Mage: 6/10 Great pose but the other wing designs are doing most of the heavy work to make it dragonny. I think it's sweet that it's snuggling down close to your hand but it's definitely a secret little dragon and not a flex that it's your new bestie in channelling terrifying amounts of mana. Bonus point for the slight bat-like aesthetic in its pose and the metal wings, and I always approve of when anything Red Mage also has vampiric hints in the aesthetic, and the lil baby dragon is playing along.

White Mage: 10/10 "Oh this one just has the wings?" WRONG LOOK AT THIS LITTLE WHITE MAGE BABY WHITE DRAGON SNOOZING IN THE MIDDLE OF YOUR STAFF, AWAY FROM THE DYABLE SECTIONS. The white sheep of the family is here to help and they're doing so well. Deducted bonus points because its eyes don't glow, so you can't dye it blue and have a blue eyes white dragon :(

Astrologian: 8/10 Double dragon! I stared for so long trying to work out if the dongle on top is also a dragon face but I think it just glows. The dragons are pretty subtle here but I think it may be kinder than putting them on any part where they'd be rotated wildly because then they might get dizzy and we can't have that. Anyway the existing dragons are cute but also just far enough down that stylised line that they look really goofy again so I think I am once again appreciating them in a silly way not a "awww baby" way.

Sage: 1000/10 FUCKING BABY DRAGONS. FOUR OF THEM.

AND THEY FLY.

Start your own family, dye them bright pink as the colour of your new brood... You're one of Middy's kids now, you are totally legally allowed to do that by Dragon Rules, trust me.

I am obsessed.

[ffxiv-swarm]

a parting at castrum fluminis

This didn't fit any particular prompt this year but I wrote it a while back and REALLY wanted to post it so here you go

& & &

Yotsuyu is dead.

So is Asahi, but that’s less important. Yotsuyu—Tsuyu—is dead. She’d been given a second chance, she could have done so much with it, and now she is dead. (Because of Asahi, because her brother used her parents against her, because he wanted an excuse—oh, Ritanelle could kill him a second time If she had the chance.)

Alas, there are more immediate concerns than vengeance, no matter how much she wants to scream and incinerate Asahi’s corpse until the pyre is visible from Garlemald. Asahi hadn’t come to Doma alone, and instead of sensibly fleeing for their lives his underlings are still here. Still here and talking.

...Alright, she can recognize when she’s being unfair. Maxima quo Priscus isn’t a bad sort, despite the actions of his superiors. He’s tall and handsome and grave, and he has never once called any of them savages in her hearing. But gods, his explanations of the truly minute details inherent to Garlean political parties could just as easily have come before all this, in a much more pleasant setting. Over drinks in the Kienkan, maybe, instead of where they are now—near a dozen people hovering awkwardly around each other in a Castrum Fluminis meeting room, forced to sit on the floor or lean against walls for lack of chairs.

(She’s summoned one, and gotten Titan-Egi to hover behind Gantsetseg and Avery so the three of them—who have just been fighting an entire primal, thank you—don’t all fall over. It wouldn’t be dignified, and they need all the dignity they can get.)

“I admit,” Hien eventually says coolly, “I am surprised you are still here.” His hand rests lightly on his sword, a silent warning.

Maxima is unarmed, as are the other Garleans; they left their gunblades at the door as a symbol of trust. He appears composed at a casual glance, but if he were an Elezen his ears would be twitching nonstop. “I entertain thoughts of escape even now,” he confesses, and Rita finds herself impressed by how casually he says it. “But our negotiations have yet to reach a satisfying conclusion. The ambassador insisted that the summoning spelled an end to our mission here, but it seemed to me there was more to the tale...”

His gaze drifts to Ritanelle, his eyes narrowing. So does Avery’s; he’s frowning, his ears laying back. Even Gan, who’s a full three-quarters asleep and leaning heavily against Rita’s leg, perks up.

She grimaces. Right. She’s forgotten to tell them about the vision she got off Asahi’s sword. “Well,” she starts. “Maybe you’d all better sit down for this. It’s going to be rather a long story. You see, I had a vision of that pint-sized arsehole’s past...”

It is a long story, punctuated by the outrage of her assembled listeners. She’s barely set the stage and gotten to just who was giving Asahi his marching orders before Gan is on her feet snarling and Maxima has to actually raise his voice to restore order.

“Zenos is dead,” Hien says, shaking his head. “He took his own life after the battle in Ala Mhigo. I saw his body with my own eyes!”

Gan’s sat back down, but her tail is thwapping restlessly against the floor as she growls, “Bloody told you we should’ve burnt it an’ pissed on the ashes, but nobody ever fuckin’ listens to me, do they?!”

“I listened,” Alisaie grumbles. “Next time I’ll do it myself.”

Maxima winces, looking anywhere but at her. Good; he has some sense of self-preservation. “Forgive me, but Lord Zenos is very much alive—he granted our party an audience prior to our departure. That he was gravely wounded is certain, but his recovery appeared to be proceeding apace.”

“’Gravely wounded’?” Avery repeats, staring at him. “His throat was slashed from ear to ear!”

Alphinaud frowns, twining his braid through his fingers. He’s silent for a moment as he thinks. “I am afraid I share my comrades’ confusion. The man's death was confirmed and his remains interred. These are matters of public record.”

Maxima’s political poker face is even better than Aymeric’s—but then again, he doesn’t have Elezen ears to give the game away. Nevertheless, his tone suggests he’s seriously revising his opinions of Eorzean sanity. “...Hmm,” he mutters finally, rubbing his beard. “I have no doubt you believe what you say.”

Rita catches Avery’s gaze and rolls her eyes, mouthing, Feckin’ hells, just call us madmen and have done with it. She’s rewarded by a rare, brilliant upward twitch of the man’s lips.

Maxima is still reasoning his way through this. “But what then is the explanation? That an impostor has infiltrated the innermost circle of the imperial court? The idea is inconceivable, absurd...but worthy of investigation nonetheless. Our movement can ill afford to have a highly placed pretender undermining our efforts.”

Hien clears his throat. “Your efforts may yet bear fruit. Tell me, what is to become of our prisoner exchange? Though we have already taken custody of our conscripts, we have yet to release your imperial comrades. Do you still intend to collect them?”

The assembled Garleans stiffen, one or two of them eyeing Hien warily. Maxima blinks, and then nods. “Ah. Yes, as the late ambassador's second-in-command, it falls to me to speak on the Empire's behalf. And I am happy to confirm our intent to proceed according to the original agreement.”

Hien visibly relaxes, nodding to his nearest aide. “Then let us be about it. 'Twould be a pity to abandon such a promising beginning.”

Maxima pushes his glasses back up his nose, but not soon enough to hide the open relief on his face. “Indeed. You have my thanks, Lord Hien. As soon as our people are secure aboard our airship, we shall depart straightways for Garlemald. And you have my world that we will be investigating this matter of Lord Zenos.”

Rita slumps back in her chair, letting out a sigh of relief. It’s not until now, with the pressure easing off, that her exhaustion is sinking in. Yes, Zenos—or something wearing his skin—is apparently back from the dead, but that’s not an immediate problem. She can always kill him again, and this time he won’t have a body to come back to. She’ll make sure of it. (In the back of her mind, she wonders what Zenos’s spirit is doing if his body is walking around. Gods, she hopes the Resonance doesn’t let him hop to another body. One of him was entirely enough.)

She’s only vaguely aware of Alphinaud’s movements across the room until he’s halfway to the door, and then—

“Might I accompany you to the capital?” he asks Maxima, as though that’s an entirely normal question and not utterly deranged.

Shock rips through her like a levinbolt. “Alphinaud!” she snaps. “Are you bloody mad?!”

She’s not the only one demanding an explanation. Gan is on her feet, yelling at him that he’s going to get shot as soon as he crosses the border. Hien is openly baffled. Avery is asking, rather loudly, if Alphinaud has thought this through at all. Alisaie has her twin by the shoulders and is shouting in his face.

Finally, Avery must have enough of all the yelling, because he barks, “Enough!” in a tone so sharp and icy that even the Garleans snap to nervous attention and Gan closes her mouth with an audible click. Clearing his throat, he continues, “I’m sure Master Alphinaud has his reasons, and I’m sure we would all like to know what they are.”

Alphinaud has to wrench himself out of his sister’s grip first. Brushing off his coat, he straightens up to huff, “Impostor or no, if Zenos was instructing Asahi on the finer points of ritual summoning, then experience tells us there is an Ascian waiting in the wings. Without our knowledge and expertise, our new friends will be hard-pressed to contend with a foe for whom death is but a minor inconvenience. They need our help.”

“They’re our friends now?” Gan mutters. Ritanelle finds it hard to disagree.

Maxima actually lowers his glasses, the better to blink at him. “Were you...indeed willing to share your knowledge of this enemy...we would not shun your counsel.”

Hien is frowning at the room in general, but it deepens when his gaze rests on Alphinaud. “You truly mean to do this? In full knowledge of the danger?”

He inhales slowly, and lets it out just as slowly. For a moment, he seems older than his eighteen summers. His gaze sweeps the room, lingering on each of them in turn before it falls on Avery, Gan, and Ritanelle again. “I have seen the Warriors of Light risk their lives on countless occasions. Next to them, I am scarce more than a distraction on the battlefield. But in the meeting room or the audience chamber, there I can make a difference. I can strike bargains, forge ties, and change minds. And where better to do these things than in the home of our old enemy?”

His voice is full of conviction, never wavering. His fists are clenched. Rita knows before she even opens her mouth that he won’t be swayed from his path, but gods, he is so young. “Alphinaud.”

He frowns at her. “Yes?”

“I...” Her grip tightens on the folds of her coat. The words stick in her throat. Finally, after a long moment where she deliberately does not blink, she says, “...Good luck, mate.”

Gan is glaring at Maxima. “You,” she says coldly. “You bring him back safe and sound, or I’ll rip your heart out an’ feed it to you. Clear?”

Maxima swallows. “...As crystal, Miss Bayaqud.”

And that, apparently, is that. The sole bright side is that it does take time to mobilize several hundred captured Imperial soldiers and their personal effects, not to mention the refueling and pre-flight checks for the Garlean airships, so nobody is leaving immediately. They head back to the Kienkan so Alphinaud has the chance to pack his things and say his farewells, during which they all pretend they don’t see Alisaie wipe away her tears. The wind coming off the One River makes the eyes water, that’s all.

That’s certainly Rita’s excuse when she goes outside to watch the aetheryte revolve. The blue light is soothing. Really.

Footsteps catch her attention. She knows that tread—light, steady, as careful as a tightrope walker—so even before she swivels her ears in that direction she says, “Hey, Avery.”

“...Miss Rita,” he murmurs.

It’s always miss or my lady with him, never just Rita. She sort of hates it. Aren’t we friends? she wants to ask. Urianger is friendlier to me, and I’ve actually threatened to kill his cryptic arse. But apparently Ishgardian nobility beats manners into their sons with a heavy stick, so she’s been forced to get used to it. She glances at him over her shoulder to find him busily cleaning his glasses with a small cloth. “You alright there?”

He takes a deep breath and puts his glasses on, his expression grave as he meets her eyes. “I’m going with him.”

What, Rita does not say, mostly because she’s temporarily speechless. She can’t even make her mouth open in preparation for a protest—an argument—anything. She’s vaguely aware that her fingers have gone cold, that she’s whirled to face him, that there’s a curling strand of hair caught in the hinge of his glasses. Her chest hurts, and belatedly she sucks in a breath that scorches her lungs.

No.

“No,” she says, her voice weak even to her own ears. “Avery—”

“Master Alphinaud needs a bodyguard,” he says simply. “We can hardly let him go alone.”

He’s not wrong. But just in this moment, she doesn’t care. Garlemald is malms away, a frozen pit of vipers filled with people who hate them and everything they stand for. Forget walking into the dragon’s den—he’ll be walking right into its jaws, and she’ll be powerless to pull him out. If he gets on that airship, she very well might never see him again; she doubts they’ll think to ship his corpse home for burial. Hells, he might not even make it there; she’s seen Garlean airships, and there are plenty of places to arrange fatal accidents if one was so inclined. She doesn’t think Maxima would, but his troops? She doesn’t know them. Can’t trust them. And if anything happens to Avery—if, gods forbid, he dies...

The lump in her throat threatens to choke her. She wonders if this is what swooning actually feels like in the moments before your body hits the ground. “Avery,” she says again.

She must look a wreck, because his gaze softens. “I’ll bring him back safely,” he murmurs. “You have my word.”

Alphinaud isn’t who she’s worried about in this moment. She swallows roughly and finally, finally manages a proper sentence. “Do the others know yet?”

He shakes his head. “I wanted to tell you first.”

Oh, this impossible man. She swallows back tears. “You’re a bloody idjit,” she informs him, “and if you don’t come back I’ll never feckin’ forgive you.”

A faint smile curves his lips, lighting his eyes. And then he bows, which is a blessing because it means he doesn’t see how hard she’s blinking. She will not cry. "I could do naught otherwise, my lady."

My lady, again. She snorts wryly, shaking her head. “Hope you know I’m holding you to that,” she mutters, but she likes to think she knows him by now. If he says he’ll come back, then...well, he will at least try. But she’ll still feel better if he goes off with a little extra insurance.

Before she can think better of it, she reaches up and pulls off her bronze ear clasps. They’re surprisingly heavy for such little things, but thinner metal wouldn’t hold up to daily wear or the thorny vines etched in relief on their surfaces. Hundreds of years ago, her people wore clasps made of precious metal and inlaid with gemstones, but cheap bronze is all she’s ever had. She only takes them off to bathe, too afraid of losing them otherwise.

Avery stares at her as she presses them into his hand. “Miss Rita...?”

She meets his eyes and makes herself smile. “For luck. Put ‘em on.” She can get new ones. He needs all the help he can get.

He blinks. “My lady, are you sure—”

“I could do it for you.”

He actually blushes. It’s adorable. “Ah. That is...quite alright, thank you, I can manage.”

His skin is darker and warmer than hers, but the clasps still look good gleaming on his earlobes. This time, her smile isn’t feigned.

Avery and Alphinaud will be fine. She just knows it.