#Also there are pieces here that arn't actually part of her canon

[forgiven-whimsy]

5 favorite recent writing bits

So @kunstpause​ tagged me to share 5 recent writing bits I enjoyed and am proud of. Under the cut for length, with Ao3 links to the complete piece. 

In no particular order: Wicked Apology  Emet-Selch/Azem 5.3 and Tale from the Shadows spoilers, set right after the grape incident. Rated E 

He followed her, slowly, stretching, missing her comforting heat and circled her with a self satisfied smirk, knowing full well her obeisance would take convincing, counted on it even. He snapped his fingers. His robe blinked from view leaving him in a simple tailored button down shirt and trousers. “If you are quite done with your impertinence, I might speak of consequences.”

A quick flick of her wrist divested Astrea of her outer robes, and Hades nostrils flared at the sight of her, she’d anticipated his game. She wore a short black skirt that was sinful in the way it hugged her hips and the flare of her bottom. Above she wore a corseted blouse, The neckline bordering indecent. Nestled between her veritable heaving bosoms was an amethyst pendant of deepest violet on a thin golden chain, a gift, a promise of forever. It was infused with his aether that she might have a piece of him regardless of how far her travels took her.

“And what does the esteemed Emet-Selch have to say pray tell.” She gave him a sweet smile that was anything but, matching his mischief as only his lover could.

“Restitution has been demanded of you from the convocation, and your duty demands your acquiescence. Lahabrea requests repayment for his good faith, to which you have agreed, and you have even freely offered repayment to Elidibus, though he demands nothing of you.” She followed him with her midnight eyes until he circled behind her. Delicately his fingers traced along the golden chain that held his pendant, goose flesh puckered the pale skin of her breasts. “And yet, dear heart,” he spoke directly into her ears, and though she fought it there was no hiding the fluttering of her pulse or the sharp inhale when he tugged the pendant free, body warmed, and thrumming with power. “You have offered nothing to the architect of your deliverance, your soul’s mate, whom you have wronged most gravely.” He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear and she swayed, leaning against his chest. “Whatever am I to do with you?”

From Shadows  Estinien/WoL, set after 5.1, long fic, friends to lovers, roommates, PTSD. Rated E. 

The exchange was a fortnight ago, but the guilt lingered, thoughts circling back to Shiloh time and again. His feelings towards her were complicated, a tightly wound knot he didn’t know how to start untangling so he ignored it, and avoided her. Watching her from afar was easier than facing her head on. Estinien rankled at his own cowardice. He cared for her far more than he would ever let on, admitting only that she was a dear friend, and he was fiercely protective of those he considered friends. He swelled with pride whenever he heard of her exploits. He was grateful to her for saving his life, he found a measure of peace since she’d rescued him, rediscovered who he was in the absence of revenge and hate, and the person who had emerged, though damaged, wasn’t a person he disliked.

And yet there was a current of resentment and anger. When nightmares gripped him, she was a chief player in the terrors his subconsciousness visited upon him, and he had killed and been killed by her more times than he could count. When a dark mood would plague him, which was, frustratingly, often, he cursed her name, and the second chance at life she and Alphinaud had gifted him.  Estinien had asked Shiloh, specifically, to kill him, and she’d denied him that release. And always, always it all spiraled into guilt and shame, the guilt of surviving when far better people than him had gone to Halone’s halls, people Shiloh had loved. No, better to keep his distance, better for him, and for her. She was more than capable, the Warrior of Light didn’t need him. Let it Snow Aymeric/Wol, Self indulgent Starlight Fluff/smut. Rated E. 

The wind howls through the tunnels connecting the Pillars to Foundation. The snow, if the tiny icy knives can be called snow, fall sideways, cutting into exposed skin. The air is heavy and damp, seeping directly into any unfortunate traveler's bones. It’s the kind of weather that aggravates old wounds, and old joints, the kind that claims the lives of the unwary. Halone’s own fury batters the city perched atop the peak of a mountain. Shiloh squints against the onslaught, each step through the heavy snow slow and measured, there’s ice beneath the snow, and unfortunate falls were not uncommon in Ishgard under these conditions.

There’s no turning back, her destination and her starting point stood at equal distance, so she soldiers through the snow drifts piling up throughout the tunnels. The Warrior of Light is bundled in what was an almost comical amount of layers, tail and horns wrapped in custom made knit scarves. Golden eyes and a bright red nose poke past her knit hat and the scarf she has wrapped around her face. Mittened hands clutch a small blue and silver box, fingers nearly gone numb, her toes not faring much better as they tramp through the ever deepening snow blanketing the city streets. Lord Edmont’s urging for her to change before leaving rings in her ears, and she regrets ignoring his advice. When she emerges from the tunnels she’s not sure if the wind is worse or better. The snow renews its attempt to bury her, or transform her into a snowman, her pace slows in the heavier accumulation, but at least now she can see her goal.

The doors to the congregation are flung open with a deafening slam, Shiloh turns and struggles to close them. The blowing snow eager to claim whatever space it can. Gone are Handeloup and Lucia, gone are the scribes, and the chirugeons, gone are the Temple Knights, all but one. It was Starlight eve afterall, and the Lord Commander insisted that those under his charge be with their loved ones, out of the cold on Ishgard’s most sacred night. That he didn’t apply the same compassion to himself fuels Shiloh’s frustration and gives her the additional strength she needs to finally close the heavy wooden double doors against the storm. A sigh puffs from her lips and she slides down the rattling wood, a draft flitting through the bottom cracks, she’s too drained, too cold from her trek to move. Aymeric runs into the congregation's main chamber, sword drawn, only to be met by the sight of Shiloh’s half buried figure, more snow then Au Ra, sitting on the floor.

“Shiloh?” He sheaths his weapon and hurries to her side. “What are you doing here? You should be with the Fortemps.”

“So should you.” Shiloh lifts the small gift she’d clutched to her heart in an effort to protect the shiny blue wrapping paper and delicate silver ribbons she’d taken such pains to get just right. “Happy Starlight?” She tugs the scarf from her face, and wills her lips to stop chattering long enough to give him what she hopes is a sweet smile.

Clamor ffxivwrite2020 prompt fill, Gaius and WoL. Rated T. 

The smoke from the Ultima wreckage stung her eyes, and made it hard to breath. Shiloh secured Thancred to Maggie, checking his pulse again, checking his pupils, he was alive, unconscious but alive, and given the circumstances it would have to be enough. The metal of the decimated castrum creaked, and she was acutely aware that she was on a broken elevator. She moved quickly, ready to mount up and get out, only to be met with a long echoing groan. She froze, knowing it was Gaius Van Baelsar.

“Seven hells.” She muttered harshly under her breath before she stepped away from the magitek armor and sprinted towards the fallen Garlean.

She couldn’t find a pulse or even properly assess him with all of his armor in the way so she searched for a latch that would release his helmet. A click and a hiss later, she was pulling the metal horns from his head, his third eye shone amidst the blood and sweat marring his otherwise strong, dark features. She set to work, pushed her Aether into his body stopping the worst of the internal bleeding. She didn’t need magic to see that he was concussed, his pupils were pinpricks in his hazel eyes, but he was awake, and that was promising. After a tense moment he breathed deeply, a pain eased.

He tried to get up but Shiloh pushed him back down, “stay still.”

“Your mercy is a weakness.” The gravel of his baritone having lost much of its strength.

Shiloh kept working, focusing her energy on repairing a bleed close to his lungs.

“This isn’t mercy.” She spoke without looking at him.

“If not mercy, then what?”

“Justice.” Slowly she sat him up, keeping a glowing green hand close to his abdomen lest her delicate work be undone.

“One would think that dying among the castrums flames a fitting justice.” He winced and she slowly pulled him to his feet.

“That fate is far too kind, given your crimes.” Shiloh was diminutive next to Gaius, still she put one of his arms around her shoulders, letting him lean on her as they slowly made their way back to the waiting magitek armor. “Besides, long before I was a warrior or champion, I was a healer, I made an oath to offer succor to the sick and injured.” She glanced up at him, “even if the injured is my enemy.”

War of Hearts Zenos/WoL Arranged Marriage AU, long fic, enemies to friends to lovers, Rated M. 

It was absurd, laughable almost were it not happening in real time. Before her stands Varis, not a priest of the Twelve, to her right stands the man she was marrying, not the love of her life, not even someone she might like, no, to her right stands her most hated enemy. Zenos Yae Galvus. And Shiloh stands stock still, in a gown of shimmering gold, trimmed in red, the three interlocking diamonds, symbol of her long standing enemy embroidered into the delicate fabric, the same colours repeating in the bouquet she holds. She’s surprised any flowers at all deign to grow in the northern waste that was Galremald. Strange that she can still be surprised considering the outrageous betrayal that brought her here. She speaks the words of fealty, words of love, words of promise, and dutiful to the last, she places her hand over Zenos’s and Varis twins the red and gold cord around their hands. The weight of the ring on her left hand itches, as if the metal had been tempered in acid.

Shiloh had been many things in the preceding years, weapon, symbol, and now, bribe. She was the cost the Eorzean and Doman Alliances have paid for peace. She is the concession, by giving her to Garlemald, Varis has effectively disarmed his opponents, not that he hadn’t given back, the castrums in Eorzea and Doma are being dismantled as the farce carries on. The leaders, for their part, had done a good job of wringing their hands in a show of contrition and regret, but ultimately their people had to come first, even the Scions, her friends, or so she’d thought, had said it was for the good of the realm. No one, not a single one, had thought to put her wants, or her needs first. They were present, all of them watching as she turns, watching as Zenos, towering over her, takes her chin in his hands and bends to kiss her. That she doesn't recoil, or fill his mouth with bile is a miracle, likely her last. Hydealyn is ever silent, even as the crowd claps for the royal couple. She is named princess, and a gaudy Garlean crown is placed on her head. Absurd. Shiloh is in the seventh hell.

When the ceremony ends she takes Zenos’s arm and is led to the grande reception hall. He even pulls the chair out for her, ever the polite monster. They sit on a raised dais, course after course of food brought before them, and each tastes like ash in her mouth. Garlean nobles and Erozeans alike present gifts, one after the other the alliance leaders declare their friendship and present a gift that would remind her of home. She does not smile, she does not pretend, let the alliance leader's final memory be of her disdain, she hopes they choke on their guilt. If she could have burned the gifts, she would have, sadly thurmaturgy was not her strength, though she knew enough to light the entire pile on fire, were it not for the aether dampening shackles she’d been given upon her arrival in Garlemald. They appeare to be nothing more than golden bangles, but they were narrow enough that they could not be removed, and removing them required a controller. A controller Varis held. The emperor had cited safety, knowing full well she was present under duress, knowing full well the destruction she was capable of. He promised he would unshackle her when he knew he could trust her not to kill them all while they slept. She supposed she would be wearing them until her dying breath.

As for who I would tag, Everyone I would have, has been tagged, so if you see this and would like to participate, consider yourself tagged. 

#whimsy writes #whimsy words #ffxiv #choosing 5 was hard...I wish I could have chosen a passage from a later chapter from From Shadows...but it wouldn't make sense #cries in multishipper #Shiloh is busy #Also there are pieces here that arn't actually part of her canon #but I just like writing her #one day I'll write a piece for Sofi too