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elizabethrobertajones · 21 days

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G'raha's hand slipped from Frog's as they stepped from the aetheryte shard - she moving towards Borel Manor, he slinking towards the airship landing.

"G'raha?" she asked, stopping and alerting Aymeric to the pause. He had been walking a stride ahead of them, a careful distance he had kept through their visit; a gracious host for all Ishgard knew. Certainly not the Warrior of Light's other lover.

"I suppose I ought to leave you two together," G'raha mumbled, unable to meet their eyes. "I had a lovely evening, but I know your time alone is rare..."

Having been expecting at least to make it to evening drinks at the manor with the three of them after their dinner date, Frog looked pleadingly to Aymeric.

He nodded. The still-busy streets were the last place he and Frog had conspired to have this conversation. "There is room for you," he answered carefully, after a too-long pause.

"If it's alright, I'd rather get back to work once I'm back in Sharlayan anyway," G'raha said. "You don't have to go out of your way to accommodate me."

"Absolutely not," Frog complained. "At least come back for a - a brandy by the fire? Aymeric is extremely generous, you'll find."

A blush was clear on the Lord Speaker's face by the light of the streetlamps.

"Will you join us?" he asked in his silkiest voice.

G'raha suddenly, finally, understood what they had asked him.

Day 1: Sleeping Positions | First Time Sleeping Together

UNFORTUNATELY I saw that meme about the throuple sleepwear options but couldn't find a good way to put Frog in a fluffy dramatic sheer gown and lingerie since I don't use mods (or goofy loveheart boxers for G'raha). So. Bra and shorts like Hydaelyn intended. Boring red pants because blah. Aymeric still gets the Olde Timey Sleepwear because.... Neck line. And he looks cozy and I love that for him.

G'raha made a critical error in alerting Frog to his enormous crush on the "historical figures" including Aymeric extremely early on when everyone was still single and being stupid about it. She remembered that on account of having dramatically and woefully told Aymeric it would never work between them and broken his heart a few years earlier, so it was initially rather more mutual sympathy about the bloody unobtainable Aymeric.

Until G'raha found out just how badly Frog had fumbled Aymeric, and refused to take his new girlfriend being sad about this sitting down or accept a defeat on this unusual battlefield, and with much badgering and using leverage and favours owed, got them together.

There was an extremely obvious way for Frog to repay the favour, talked to Aymeric about it, and it only took about 10 third wheel dates with the catboy moping around after them to get to the point where G'raha was alerted to the fact he'd been courted all along and Aymeric wasn't just being overbearingly polite and suddenly a lot of weird things Frog had said about the collective "we" that couldn't possibly have included him did in fact include him and he'd beaten himself up out of believing it at every turn.

(This is honestly the only overlapping throuple of the extended frogicule at the moment and everyone else is just "this is my boyfriend and my boyfriend's boyfriend and my boyfriend's boyfriend's -" etc so I didn't have much choice of sleeping together ships XD)

#ffxivpolyamoryweek2024 #ffxivpolyamweek24 #ffxiv #bounding frog #g'raha tia #aymeric de borel #shadowbringers spoilers #i wrote this #my stuff #gpose

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driftward · 9 months

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Title: FFXIV Write 2023 - 21. Grave Characters: Zoissette Vauban, Meteion, Scions of the Seventh Dawn Rating: Teen Summary: Ultima Thule Notes: Endwalker spoilers.

Ultima Thule was a grave for civilizations, and Metion's egg their gravestone. Everything that ever was being drawn up into it. Everything that never would be resting in it.

Her message upon arriving had been clear. Die.

Thancred stepped forth, and said survive.

Then he was gone.

They travelled forth into the dead realm, still as one.

They found the might of the dragons felled. Tired and weary. The wheel of weary conflict ever turned, and they were done.

The wheel cannot be broken by avoiding its turn, said Estinien. Only by confronting it with humanity and hope for a better tomorrow will it be broken.

Then he too was gone.

They rode the wind, still as one.

"You are an intelligent woman," said Meteion in her ear.

An enigmatic people, the Ea, whose existence was so far beyond as to have left corporeal form. And the truths of the end of everything led them to wish to leave reality altogether.

And you were satisfied with this answer, asked Y'shtola. I shall find my own truth instead. We are more than we are, said Urianger. Flexible in the face of eternity.

With that they too were gone.

They teleported onwards and upwards, with Y'shtola's warning in their ears, but still as one.

"You are a logical woman," whispered Meteion in her ear.

Man made machine, in the form of the Omicron. Powerful with no peers, they had changed themselves too far, they feared. What future is there for what we have become, an ending of their own making.

You are who you wish to be, said G'raha. The absence of an answer to your questions is the point. Your existence, the answer.

And then he was gone.

They walked the path together, forward as one.

"You are a rational woman," murmured Meteion in her ear.

And then nothing. A quietude. No life to speak of, no beings to parlay with, nothing at all. Every path forward unreachable. And yet, in the absence of it all, a revelation. Truth without proof, but with faith.

Alphinaud and Alisaie stepped forward, and told Meteion how one might overcome fear. Failure is mandatory, but the option...

And then they were gone.

She walked one final path.

"You have seen my axioms," mumbled Meteion.

The final step. Histories met their ends, but through them all, a path to the future revealed.

Their final answer.

"You know my conclusion," intoned Meteion. "The same calculation, over and over. The same end, again and again. To continue would be folly."

Zoissette looked up at Meteion, determined. She drew her shield and readied her sword.

"And yet you continue?" Meteion said.

Zoissette smiled thinly. A novice's error, but no surprise there. Meteion was yet young, and had taken her first conclusion as the truth.

Well.

Proof by demonstration, then.

"Of course," she said. "Your calculus is incomplete."

And she took another step.

They walked into the future as one.

#ffxivwrite2023 #final fantasy xiv #zoissette vauban #meteion #scions of the seventh dawn #grave #202309-22 #biot writes

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jukemaid · 1 year

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excision (1/2)

the act or procedure of removing by or as if by cutting out takes place directly post-6.0 tw: self-harm, ptsd, unhealthy coping mechanisms

"i have a request for the scions of the seventh dawn," the warrior of light says one day, her tone uncharacteristically somber.

tiamat has been quieter since returning from the edge of the universe, not accounting for the length of time she spent bedridden and recovering from the ordeal. she's more serious, thoughtful. something has changed within her-- or perhaps, something has been found. her confidants know better than to press her about it, as their friend will open up when she is ready.

theirs and her eyes meet and there is steel in her gaze, her expression one of cold certainty. she has never looked more tired.

"i want us to fight," she continues, "all of you versus me, fully armed, and with everything you have. until either you or i cannot continue."

within seconds, and very predictably, alisaie all but jumps to protest. however, she only has time to open her mouth before a touch to her elbow stops her in her tracks. whirling around, she finds alphinaud bearing her a pained look, and her irritation drains away all at once. alisaie half-heartedly shakes his hand from her arm, and sighs, shoulders slumping.

"may i ask what the purpose of such an exercise would be?" y'shtola inquiries, picking up the loose thread of conversation. she tips her head lightly, pale brows furrowed in both thought and concern. "i have no doubt there is more to your request than a simple spar, especially given the timing and specifications."

g'raha sees the moment tiamat shuts down-- as the word "exercise" travels through the air and settles with its less-than-serious implications. he wrangles down the urge to reach out to her when he sees her confidence wither, lamenting that such a gesture would be more selfish than for her comfort. g'raha knows just as well as the rest of the scions that their warrior of light refuses to spar, and why. she used to enjoy play fighting, but after years of macabre dancing, even a practice swing became too real for her to act with necessary restraint.

with this in mind, and his tail lashing involuntarily in dismay, g'raha bites his lip and resolves himself to watch and wait. towards y'shtola, tiamat doesn't respond, and instead turns her attention away from the group to stare at a far wall. after a heady moment of silence, something dark flickers across her eyes-- a shadow deep enough to burn. however, it's not an unfamiliar sight, and its presence offers g'raha a strange sort of comfort.

the iciness in her composure lessens, but the warmth replacing it is no less intimidating. tiamat meets the scions' collective gaze once again, standing tall, and the surrounding shade flickers across her skin and armor like flames.

she speaks easily: "closure. catharsis."

the weight of meaning behind those words is undeniable for all present. realization comes quickly to the scions, some faster than others, at the true nature of tiamat's request. it is both a question and a plea-- and one she's held within her for far too long. whether or not they understand the answer she seeks, they are the only ones who are capable of providing it all the same.

the warrior of light does nothing halfway. she is as unrelenting and unyielding as a force of nature. she is as famed as infamous on the battlefield for her unstoppable march, one honed through agony and reinforced by tragedy. the trauma of her successes has coiled tightly around an already wounded heart, forcing it into a weapon's shape with no room for error. she would wage war until it broke her, until it shattered her, and she would keep going.

(fight me until i can't anymore, she screams and sobs into blood-soaked hands when her healing magic fails to save anyone)

(see all that i've become because of you, she whispers against the edge of a blade before running it across her own throat)

(show me it was worth it, she says with the same gentle smile she gives the dying and with a sympathy she does not feel)

(prove to me that i can be stopped, that i can stop, that you no longer need me, that i don't need to fight anymore, that you won't use me anymore, that even after all of this when you see me and see how fucked up i am and how i dream of endless violence you'll always always always still welcome me home--)

"i accept."

all eyes snap towards estinien, who leans against a pillar a bit away from the others, his arms crossed over his chest with usual nonchalance. his attention is purely on tiamat, who regards him wordlessly for one, two, five heartbeats. whatever passes between them through eye contact alone reaches a satisfying conclusion, because they soon turn towards the rest of their peers.

"i accept," estinien repeats more firmly to the audience of shocked faces, his words low enough to catch on a growl. disagreement erupts immediately from alisaie, then thancred and y'shtola. urianger's face twists with guilt and sadness, and he joins alphinaud in mutual silence as the others' voices raise in volume.

"--still recovering from dying, in what way--"

"--foolish endeavor that i cannot in good conscience--"

"--don't need to do this! we don't want to--"

"i accept as well."

g'raha's pleasant voice may as well have been a gunshot, for how it shocks all debate into a standstill. alisaie gapes at him, rage and disbelief written clear across her face, but g'raha has eyes only for his warrior. he doesn't see estinien's small nod of approval from across the room, nor does he need to.

"there are some things that leave wounds beyond the capacity for any means of healing... or at least not in a traditional sense," g'raha begins, sinking willingly into the memories of the exarch to keep his voice steady. "it's a paradoxical thing. trauma begets trauma, and the process of removing oneself and recovering from it is not always kind." he risks a glance at tiamat and finds her watching him softly, a slight tilt of her head in his direction. go on, her expression says, and this bolsters him to continue: "a gentle touch may ease some, yet insult another. one who is accustomed to violence will struggle to find solace in the aftermath, where the ghosts of their pain yet linger and there is no outlet for them to cope."

as an afterthought, he sighs, "not even in times of peace does the fighting ever truly stop... not really."

g'raha shares a special understanding with tiamat, one that no other scion could possibly match. it's a synergy as much as it is a poison, always bubbling up close enough to the surface to threaten overflow. trauma begets trauma. people who are hurt tend to act irrationally, and even a shared pain amounts to only pain in the end without excising the root of it, however deeply buried. it's a lesson that took decades of tragedy to learn, and the both of them had known death itself before embracing it.

"you want us to beat the piss out of each other to feel better, you mean," thancred chimes in all too casually, rolling his shoulders one at a time. "well, far be it from me to judge, especially not after all the fantastical life or death adventures we've been through. consider my lot thrown in."

"verily." urianger's voice rumbles from his side. thancred twists around to shoot him a deadpan glare, though the elezen disregards him in favor of fiddling with his multitude of rings in a nervous habit.

"wha--!" alisaie's offended gasp erupts and cuts itself out. she takes her time spinning around on the gathered scions in anger, growling to herself when they barely react (or in estinien's case, lift a single eyebrow in challenge). gritting her teeth, she sucks in a breath and snaps herself around to face tiamat fully.

"well, don't expect to leave me out of this!" she crows, her hands resting square at her hips. "we're in this together until the end, didn't i tell you? even with otherworldly forces quite literally ripping us apart, i'll be damned if i allow you even a moment more suffering all on your own. and if that means i must fight you-- well, i mean-- if you really want to actually fight--"

she startles, sputtering uselessly, when alphinaud's hand lands on her shoulder with an audible thump. grounded, she huffs a breath that dislodges the bangs from over her eyes, blinking rapidly against the moisture clumping her eyelashes.

"what my sister means, and what i would express as well..." he begins, peeking around alisaie with a weak smile. "is that even if we aren't capable of understanding that which ails you, the least we can do is be there for you when you confront it. in whatever capacity that is."

any remaining tension quickly drains from the room to be replaced by a comforting silence, the only sound being a pleased hum from y'shtola.

"then it seems we are in agreement," she says breezily, drawing judgmental looks from half the room and a bark of laughter from estinien. "i for one look forward to what you have in store for us." she takes a step towards tiamat, shifting her weight to set a clawed hand on one hip and gesture at the viera with her other. while challenge gleams in her pale eyes, unseeing yet piercing, it's noticeably more gentle than it would be otherwise-- to anyone else, perhaps.

this doesn't escape tiamat, who closes her own eyes and breathes in deeply, then out. "i'll be at the outskirts of castrum centri. come prepared or... don't bother."

without another word she pivots on her heel and marches out of the room in long strides. nobody follows her. the echoes of distant footsteps gradually fade, and then nothing.

"well," thancred's voice cuts through the awkward silence, "that could have gone worse, i suppose. i'll pack extra bandages. i have a feeling i'll need them."

#ffxiv #juke writes #self-harm tw

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astrology-bf · 6 days

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Prick in a Panopticon

(CW: Spoilers for Endwalker)

There are two things in particular which are rarely good in concert: sharp wit, and poor temper.

The first, the Warrior of Light possessed in spades: a magician of exceeding skill, though not by his own assessment were you to ask for his true thoughts. And as for the second...

Ifan Kaleid considered himself a fairly patient man. Wrath might feel like heaven in the moment, but his deeply guilty conscience made it hell after the fact. That’s why he had his vices, least in part: anger can be bottled up and drowned in drink and lust. And why he feared himself in battle, too, of repeating which same sins which drowned the world two Eras past. Books, drink, magic, men: “Life is filled with joys pleasing to the eyes of heaven”, and Ifan believed that psalm in spades. So he kept himself in check. He smiled. He laughed. He bundled up resentment, scorn, and r a g e and buried them deep down in blackest night where Fray could chew them up and spit them out in roiling flames when Ifan had the need. He had his vices for the rest.

There was one thing in particular, however, which always caused a nasty coil of spite to curl up from his breast into his mind where that natural bent of cleverness would forge it into something sharp . One thing in particular which never, ever failed to piss him the fuck off.

Deep underground in Labyrinthos, the Scions of the Seventh Dawn had found themselves in trouble. G'raha dug too deeply at Noumenon, the others poked around Thaumazein, and between their joint activities they'd earned the notice of the Forum up above. Led by one lord Leveilleur, the senior, the Scions stood surrounded as they were apprehended underneath the artificial sun. Words were being exchanged, and Ifan knew he should be listening, but his eyes were idly fixed upon something in particular which, as it always did, pissed him the fuck off.

G'raha Tia stood nearby. His error had been the proximate cause of their discovery; poking around among restricted books (and being clumsy) had alerted the authorities. He'd been apprehended and taken down to join his fellows as they were put under arrest. His left hand was raised and gently grasped the hard-won wrist that once was crystal, idly rubbing it to soothe the hand-shaped thing that showed a little bit beneath his fingers as they moved. An ugly, livid thing that was inflicted in the course of his arrest and which, once Ifan saw it, pissed him the fuck off.

"Lord Leveilleur." said Ifan airily. He raised his head and softly smiled, eyes sparkling with charm.

"Yes." replied Fourchenault, tersely.

The magician’s smile widened diplomatically. "May I have a word in private, if you'd be so kind?" he requested, the very model of politeness.

Fourchenault gave no answer save a narrowing of the eyes.

Ifan’s smile took on a somewhat teasing cast. "Don't worry, I'm not going to try and assassinate you or anything." he snickered.

" Ifan ." gasped Krile in horror. The others present had similar reactions save Y’shtola, who had the barest ghost of a smirk upon her lips.

After a moment’s pause, a faint and unamused snort escaped the Elezen’s nose. "He jests. I will entertain your request, provided it is brief." he agreed dismissively.

Ifan returned a bright smile and a nod. "I believe it will be." Then the two retreated a short distance away; out of earshot, but still within eyesight lest Ifan actually try to make good on his rather poor-taste joke.

Fourchenault crossed his arms, looking down at Ifan with much the same look as a parent dealing with a misbehaving child. "Speak." he stated.

Ifan’s smile faded as he crossed his arms. He turned, looking out and down towards the mystery of Thaumazein. "I don't care for the way you’re handling my friends." he said, his voice perfectly even.

A faint hum of exasperation left the Elezen’s lips. "I was under the impression you wished to speak of important matters." he said, firmly.

"I think you'll find that how I feel is very much in your interests." countered Ifan in a dangerously casual tone.

There was a pause. "What are you implying." asked Fourchenalt, a note of suspicion creeping in his tone.

Ifan took his time to answer. He rocked back on his heels, then forward, repeating it to build the tension. Then he canted his slightly towards Fourchenault, a devious pinprick glinting in his eyes. "Must be a fairly important secret if every Forum member needs their memory altered, hm?" he hummed.

Fourchenault’s eyes widened, and his arms fell. "What."

"You heard me." said Ifan quietly as he flicked the other man a contemptuous little nod.

Fourchenault cleared his throat faintly and settled his expression. "...I do not know of what you speak." he said, though he failed to hide the faintest quaver of surprise within his voice.

Ifan smirked and snorted. "Eft shite, you still look shocked." he countered.

The Elezen’s jaw clenched visibly in anger, though to his credit he restrained himself. "You will tell me how you discovered this information, at once." bristled Fourchenault as he clenched his fists.

"I'm just that good." answered Ifan with a smug waggle of his head.

Fourchenault grit his teeth. "I do not believe you." he stated.

"Oh?" asked Ifan with visibly feigned shock.

"One mere adventurer could not possibly-" began the Elezen.

"Outsmart all of the finest minds in Sharlayan, and so on? Spare me.” interrupted Ifan with a sneer. “I honestly didn't realize Matoya was being charitable when she called you lot conceited. If it makes you feel better, I doubt I’d have noticed anything at all without the Echo, or at least my kind of it. Also took a trip down memory lane with a friend recently that helped clarify a few things about noncorporeal aether for me." Vague hints, but enough to show the Elezen he meant business.

Fourchenault gave a huff as he settled himself. “Assuming what you say is true, I will require specifics.” he said, his tone more diplomatic.

Ifan gave the ‘request’ a moment’s pretense of thought. “Alright.” he said with a thoughtful little nod. “Teach me the spell you lot used to wipe your memories and I’ll tell you how I figured it out.” he offered.

“Absolutely not.” answered Fourchenault, bluntly.

“There’s your answer.” replied Ifan smugly with a click of his tongue against his molars and a wink.

Fourchenault’s jaw clenched visibly once more. "Fine. Then you will tell me with whom you’ve shared this information.” he demanded, unable to disguise the frustration in his voice.

"No one." answered Ifan, airily.

This gave the Elezen pause. He blinked. "You did not discuss it with the other Scions?" he asked.

"I did not.” confirmed Ifan, nodding casually.

Another pause. Fourchenault spent a good few moments silently eying the Hyur ere he spoke again. “...I confess some curiosity as to your reasons.” His tone was far more measured than before.

Ifan gave a hum. “Few reasons. First and foremost is I haven’t forgotten how vicious your rooks get when it comes to Sharlayan’s state interests, and I have enough trouble on my plate at the moment without looking for more.” he began, referring to a certain incident wherein one Lady Leveva found herself on Sharlayan’s shit list. “Then there was also the matter of me not knowing if it was just you, specifically, under some sort of compulsion that was making you act like a prick in front of your children, and I didn't want to upset them further than you already had by slinging wild accusations without more proof. Then we get here and I start seeing more members of the Forum, well… It doesn’t take an idiot to recognize a state secret, does it? I’m not about to put my friends at risk by taking a piss in a panopticon without good reason, but I daresay this little mess is reason enough.” he finished with a flick of his chin towards where the others were being held.

"What is it you want, exactly, in return for your silence?" inquired Fourchenault.

Another hum left Ifan’s lips. "Aren't you quick? I can see where Alphinaud gets it from. Let me see…” Again, he gave the matter another pretense of thought. “Nothing."

Fourchenault blinked. "Nothing?" he asked, incredulous.

"Get us off the hook. You go your way, we go ours. No harm done.” offered Ifan with a nod.

Fourchenault paused again as he mulled the matter over, though he proved every bit a Leveilleur as his mind was quite quickly made up. "Nothing else?" he queried.

Ifan nodded. "Nothing else. I figure you lot have a good reason for all this rubbish and I'm willing to give the Forum the benefit of the doubt." he said with a flick of two fingers towards Thaumazein.

This cracked the other man’s composure just a hair. "I can assure you, it is -not- rubbish." he stated, testily.

"And I can assure you that I don't give a damn.” replied Ifan with equal testiness. “You're lying to your citizens and working your subordinates like dogs, and the only reason I'm not riling up a riot is out of respect for your children and the rest of my friends. That, and I like to think that under all that venom is a half-decent man that's simply trying to do the right thing. So I'll hold my tongue, provided you lot never lay a hand on my friends again. Or there will be worse than rioting, got it?" A faint growl was in his voice as he said this, and he’d leaned forward slightly towards Fourchenault with a faint baring of his teeth.

The Elezen’s eyes narrowed as he straightened up. "...Your terms are agreeable. Provided you allow me to disclose your awareness to certain individuals within the Forum.” he stated, giving the Hyur his final offer.

Ifan straightened up in turn and nodded. "I can agree to that. And I'm willing to bury the hatchet right here and now, given that we've got our expectations laid out. 'Tis just good politics, nay?" He finished with a friendly little smile.

Fourchenault pursed his lips, eyes still narrowed as he scrutinized the other mage. "They did not forewarn me that you were a politician." he observed.

Ifan gave a faint and chuckling scoff. "Hardly, but I do pay attention to Alphinaud from time to time. And being the Warrior of Light means I get put in a lot of very political situations against my will. Seems to come part and parcel with being a half-decent man, these days. " He uncrossed his arms and began to make his way towards his friends, pausing only once to turn and bow politely. "Thank you for your time, my lord. 'Tis much appreciated."

Fourchenault simply watched the Hyur leave in silence, expression stony and unchanging save for a faintly audible hum.

#ffxiv #ffxiv writing #ffxiv oc #writing #ifan kaleid #fourchenault leveilleur #this is primarily a writing exercise and character study #but also sexualize that old man and by sexualize i do mean blackmail #he's not just any man he's a UNION man #gleaner rights

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