#irenic

[perfectly-imperfect-xo-xo]

[miqojak]

Prompt #28: Irenic

(( Because life blew up these last months and I’ve not been at my best, creativity has been hard - but here’s more very-late-FFXIVWrite. I was looking forward to it this year, and I wasn’t able to really sit down and do it while it was current, so I’ll be doing more of the prompts as time goes on...because there’s no reason not to! This is also backdated by about a month as well - and features one @ketsuchikotetsu )) Consciousness settled in slowly, for once – ever one to snap awake at a second's notice, there was something indulgent in waking slowly, blearily...achingly. The warm, plush fur of a blanket atop her, and sheets softer yet beneath...her life had never been one that anyone could even begin to remotely describe as 'irenic.' And yet, right now – in this very moment in which she lingered between sleep and wakefulness – as she watched his chest rise and fall...as she wriggled closer, to better hear the slow and steady beat of her Wolf's heart...it grounded her in something like a peaceful moment.

He'd be up, and on his way before long – neither of them seemed to waste time in the mornings - practically a crime, that; but for now, the seconds stretched long enough for the little woman to sleepily roll thoughts around in her head that she still didn't fully understand, herself.

Jak didn't really want to think about what it all added up to – didn't particularly want to articulate it.

“Discussion of emotions is pointless for people like us. Better to keep it simple, aye? It is what it is, and however we express whatever we feel should be understood by the other in some capacity.”

He'd understood without her needing to express how uncomfortable the words made her – she didn't like words like 'love'. She didn't like the word 'romance.' She didn't like the stupid shite people did for each other only because it was what society expected them to do or say...that was all 'romance' had grown to be, in her mind. What was real was that this man had helped her get free of the grip of somnus – and he'd held her accountable, when the itch was at its worst. He always held her accountable - in both word and deed. He called her on her bo-shite, he pushed her when she needed it...and when she'd been at her lowest, he'd held her when she'd needed it, too – even if he'd been pissed at her for making the wrong choice to begin with.

Actions. So many actions...but she'd been...afraid?

No, not afraid, but something like it. Paranoid, certainly, that he would be the one to hurt me, because...pain is what he's versed in. In the end, he was the only one not wearing sheep's clothing.

He seemed to understand, however, in ways the others never had. She spoke with her hands, with her deeds, by...giving, instead of taking; by allowing, instead of demanding. Closeness, proximity, hands and teeth in places that still at times made a cold, quiet fear quiver in the dark corners of her mind. She understood why he wouldn't let her touch his ears, really – letting anyone touch her anywhere was...big, and these days...well, if it wasn't him, she wasn't so sure she'd let anyone else touch her ears anymore either, after what the Pawn had done to them. Thankfully the long, tufted fur hid the ragged mutilations his teeth had left along their edges, and a few new earrings masked the others.

She didn't want to think about that, though. When it became apparent she was uncomfortable with anything regarding her body, the Wolf – ‘cruelest’ of them all...respected that. Sure, he'd been pushing this boundary, or that, since they'd met...but she'd allowed it. After all, when his fingers slipped into her hair and curled around her ponytail now...it didn't trigger her. She wasn't flooded with sharp, agonizing memories of everything she'd endured...everything she'd lost. She was in the moment, and he was what was important right then, not the ghosts – usually, because he was being particularly frustrating.

Gently, feather-light, she let the pads of her fingers trace the scars that wove a web across his torso – she trusted this man. That was what she'd been afraid of – not him, never him. Trust was...showing your belly – it was baring your throat, and believing that you wouldn't be torn open for it. She'd long ago accepted that nothing good came without pain: “If it doesn't hurt, it isn't real,” were words she lived by, right alongside “The strong rule the weak.” But this didn't hurt – and hadn't he told her such a sentiment was stupid? In all her prior experience, nothing good ever came without a price, a tax, or...genuine pain.

It worked, whatever they were doing - she appreciated him, mind and body. She appreciated what he'd done for her, and what he continued to do – he said he wanted to see her succeed...and she didn't know how to say that she just...wanted to...what? Hear him laugh more, the way he had last night, post-kill? – it had been real, not some condescending chuckle, no cruel smirk. She wanted to...she wanted to share whatever burden sat on his shoulders and haunted him, wanted to tear his enemies apart, wanted to...achieve new heights, build new things with him there to challenge her perceptions and ideas and goals. How to explain to him that he was the only thing she'd ever given color in her sketches? How to articulate what that meant, when even she didn't really understand, outside of a gut feeling?

She hadn't intended for him to matter so fucking much, but the little woman had finally accepted that he did...and that it didn't have to change anything. It didn't have to be awkward, or overly-complicated, or muddied by inane notions.

And when she let her hand come to rest in the same place she'd planted it roughly a year and a half ago, in some sailor's bar - in defiance of his attempt at intimidation – palm pressed to the center of his chest, she knew that she didn't have to speak any of that aloud.

So she dozed – warm, content, and comfortable in the few minutes that life would allow them such a thing. 

[flurrys-creativity]

Irenic

irenic (adj.) - promoting peace

Pairing: Jae Park (Day6) x Reader; Genre: Slice of life, humour, fluff; Rating: sfw, PG-13; Warnings: mentions of alcohol, one swear word, a teeny tiny bit self doubt, deep thoughts for a second before the crack comes back; Wordcount: 1.594

Summary: Whenever you’re with Jae your conversations always take some weird turn. Even during a party you couldn’t help it but separate yourself from the crowd and discuss topics that don’t fit a party. You never guessed what effect those conversations had on him.

A/N: It’s not as much Halloween as I thought it could get.. but costumes! Anyway! Yes, I got inspired a lot from his podcast.. like already had the idea of deep conversations with him but I never really knew what or how he would think about stuff.. so I had this goal to listen to his podcast and now I finally had the time and damn I am using a lot from it. So yeah, give his podcast a listen, it’s funny.

You stepped out on the balcony and closed the door back behind you. The cold night air engulfed you gently, caressing your hot cheeks. A small breeze of wind played with your hair while the moon and stars enlightened the night sky.

Below the balcony a few street lamps spent some light for the few passing cars. Despite that it was remotely silent. Of course you still heard the music playing from inside the apartment, the thin glass window not being able to stop the sound from escaping.

You looked over your shoulder, seeing all kinds of creatures mingling around, dancing, laughing or just talking. There weren’t many guests but sometimes even a few can be overwhelming for you. Especially when you’re with them for a long time and you couldn’t block the only toilet for longer than necessary.

Therefore you escaped to the balcony and into the cold night, enjoying the calm for a moment. Your mind gladly took the opportunity of the breather. You leant against the balcony fence with a red solo cup in your hand, letting your thoughts wander in glee.

“Fancy to see you here.” A voice spoke up behind you, the sound of the door falling closing again following the words.

You giggled lightly, not caring to turn around and greet the intruder. “You invited me here, Jae.”

“And it’s still fancy to see you here”, he commented and stepped next to you. “What brings you out here?” Jae glanced at you from the corner of his eyes.

“I just wanted to catch some fresh air.”

“I could have opened a window for you.” Jae joked, poking his elbow into your side.

You laughed and shook your head. “Not what I meant, Jae, but thanks.”

For a while both of you stayed silently next to each other, watching the stars and being deep in thought. You didn’t feel the need to talk with Jae since the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. Just his presence was enough for you to feel calm and appreciated. Still you decided to speak up again. “It’s a nice party, by the way. I never expected to see so many different costumes.”

“I’m actually glad they decided to dress up for themselves otherwise I still have a few costumes in my closet. Though I’m sure nobody wants to wear them.” Jae agreed, looking over his shoulder to see all the different costumes once again.

“Oooh, the naughty costumes? I’m sure it would have been a lot of fun to see someone in one of those.” You grinned brightly and winked at Jae, who had turned back to you with a shocked expression.

“I was talking about onesies.”

“Sure you were.”

Jae scoffed loudly. “Believe me or not, I only have onesie costumes in my closet and nothing naughty at all!”

You laughed again, throwing your head back in amusement. “I know of people who are able to make even a onesie naughty.”

Jae gasped in shock, underlining it with broad gestures and exaggerated expressions. “How dare you”, he whispered, “I won’t be able to see onesies as a picture of innocence ever again.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“Yeah, I’m not.” You agreed, the grin on your lips never leaving. 

With a sigh Jae grabbed your solo cup and downed the liquid within it in one go. As soon as he emptied the cup he held it in front of his face, staring inside of it in suspicion. “Was there even alcohol in it?”

You shook your head, trying to suppress another fit of giggles. “I want to remember this night. I can’t just drink alcohol.”

“You do know we’re all going to remember this night differently?” Jae questioned, still staring inside of the solo cup. “It’s just like when we went on a holiday together. You remember that week near the sea?”

“Of course I do. We were at the beach and you thought it was cold and sat there with long clothes and a fat winter jacket and sunglasses.”

Finally Jae turned his attention away from the empty cup, now staring at you with a raised eyebrow. “I was wearing a perfectly fine beach outfit.”

“You were not!” You argued back and searched for your phone within your pockets, pulling it out as soon as you found it and unlocking it. “See! You make it seem like we’re in the middle of Antarctica.” You turned your screen towards him, showing him the picture.

Jae stared at it for several minutes, looking over every detail. “That is not a picture of our summer holiday”, he then concluded, looking back at you.

“Seriously? I can even show you the time stamp.” You half scoffed and half laughed at his persistence.

“It’s all a lie! I know what I was wearing and it wasn’t that!”

“Are you trying to prove to me that everybody remembers stuff differently?” You ask with a sigh.

“I may be trying that.” He grinned and turned around, now leaning with his back against the balcony fence and observing the partying crowd inside of the apartment. “By the way, whose costume impresses you the most? I thought about giving the person with the best costume a gift or something like that.”

You gave in to his attempt of changing the topic and turned around yourself, checking the costumes of the other guests. “There are a lot of good costumes. It will be hard to decide. But since you are going to be the judge, which one do you like the most?”

Jae eyed you for a moment, loving what you created for this party. He may have been a little biassed since he had seen the process of your costume and how much work you had put into it. Still, he thought your costume was one of the best ones. When he didn’t answer directly and you turned around to look at him, Jae cleared his throat loudly. “Obviously my costume is the best”, he joked, turning his attention back to the crowd, “but as you said I am the judge so I can’t be picked. I think the Bob the builder costume is hilarious though but I don’t have a final decision just yet.”

You searched for the said costume between the guests, nodding in agreement as soon as you found him. “He’s wearing that because you made that suggestion, right?” You asked, raising an eyebrow since you can’t shake off the feeling of an ulterior motive behind Jae’s choice.

“That might be true.”

“Then how about the clones? Those two are twins right? They either have a deeper understanding of it and are joking about it, or they’re really thinking about the advantages of having a twin.” You suggested seeing the two stormtroopers at the bar.

“Or they just love Star Wars.” Jae deadpanned, not at all impressed by their costume choice. “What do you mean they have a deeper understanding?”

“Of clones. You know how scientists try to make clones of animals and maybe even humans in the future?” You asked, your gaze not letting go of the twins.

“Sure, Dolly or whatever the name of that sheep was, had been a huge breakthrough.”

“Yeah, don’t you think nature’s already capable of producing clones?” You questioned further, finally breaking your gaze away from the crowd and looking back at Jae. “Don’t you think identical twins are basically the natures equivalent to human made clones?”

“Woah, wait a second. Hold up, hold up! You can’t just drop something like this out of nowhere! I am too dumb for questions like that! You think twins are basically clones?” Jae stared at you with wide eyes and an open mouth, having trouble comprehending your train of thoughts. “That’s”, he stopped and looked back at the stormtroopers, “if they really had this thought process for their costume, that’s insane. Woah. How did you even? That.. I.. woah.”

You smiled shyly, shrugging your shoulders quickly. “I’m probably overthinking it again. Nevermind I said that, I should probably stop being like that.”

“No, no, no.” Jae rushed in front of you, dropping the red solo cup and grabbing both of your hands in his. “Don’t ever think that. Your mind is amazing! To have such thoughts and ideas is unbelievable and absolutely fantastic, you hear me? Don’t force yourself to be someone else. Go with the flow. You’re a tennis ball!”

“I’m a what?”

“A tennis ball in the width of the ocean going with the current. We all are tennis balls going with the flow. We shouldn’t fight against the current of the sea.”

You bit down on your lower lip. Still you couldn’t prevent the amused exhale, hearing his enthusiasm about tennis balls in the sea.

“Unless you think it would benefit you to fight against the current and change your entire self. Then by all means please do so but as far as my opinion is of any value to you, I like you the way you are.” Jae said, his eyes staring into yours and portraying his sincerity.

“Alright, I’ll stay being a tennis ball.” You giggled, squeezing his hands quickly.

Jae grinned brightly at you, not noticing the close proximity the both of you had. “Damn, I’m so smart! You should clap for me.” He lifted your joined hands and clapped them together, smiling even more.

You laughed once again loudly at his antics. “You’re such an idiot.”

“According to your home screen you consider me as your idiot. And just to make that clear, I love you too.”

© all rights reserved

[fair-fae]

FFxivWrite Entry #28: Irenic

FFxivWrite 2020 Prompt #28: Irenic Masterpost There was a commotion along Pearl Lane. That was, of course, an everyday occurrence. Hardly anyone batted an eye, save for the crowds forming to watch and cheer on whichever party caught their eye, and maybe, just maybe the Immortal Flames if the brawl lasted for long enough that they would deign to interfere. Today, however, X’unmei was running errands in Ul’dah, and thus the natural balance of the city was disrupted when she heard the sounds of raised voices and rounded the corner to witness the sight of punches being thrown. The Seeker of the Sun’s feline ears shot up, eyes going wide. While the crowd began to form around the two brawlers, would-be heroes readying their weapons for their valiant attempts at stealing the spotlight and heckling spectators alike, the tiny Miqo’te wriggled through the throng of people gathering around the fight and stumbled perilously right out into the fray, arms outstretched in front of herself and palms facing outward, fingers splayed. “H-hey, wait, don’t fight!” she stammered out a plea.

[coeurlkin]

FFXIVWrite - 28. Irenic

(original artist - jonah shafer, purchase link here: https://www.imagekind.com/art/light-and-darkart_art?IMID=72e6e49a-0317-41ce-aac2-95a5a735b1cd ) -------------------------------------------

By excising the sect of Shadow, the cult of the Fist had found itself tipped towards the aspect of Light, but also allowed it to enjoy the benefits of closer ties with the royal family. For such a time, the cult was prosperous. It grew in political strength, but had lost a considerable part of what made it whole in the first place. No longer were it’s members able to ascend beyond the seventh chakra, and for a time this was believed to be the pinnacle of a student’s ascension. When their inevitable collapse came to pass, the majority of the cult was believed to be dead, save for a scant handful of survivors. Time passed, and the remnants of the sect of Light came into conflict with the newly resurgent H’raha Tia, the Fistborn. His order had been growing in secret, biding their time and building their strength until they were able to launch an outright assault on Widargelt, the most well known of the remaining members of the Light. H’raha’s hubris would prove to be his downfall, and together with his students, Widargelt would seek to rebuild the order by reuniting the sects Light and Shadow into a singular organisation. Most would rejoice the order’s rebirth and saw it as a chance to return to the halcyon days of eld, while others were not to swift to believe Widargelt’s claims. Wyra’to was one such of those. While others may have had the luxury of learning with others amongst temples and halls, he was forced to grow in the wild. Where training would be a matter of working to the point of exhaustion for some, he was forced to engage in life or death exercises in order to become what he was now. How, he asked himself, were they to call themselves true disciples if they did not follow the old ways? The duels between members of Light and Shadow were to be carried out in secrecy, knowledge of them only given to those who had been deemed worthy of such. It was near an absolute certainty that the unworthy would fall during these bouts, and only the most deserving of the Destroyer’s disciples would rise. 

While he kept quiet for the most part, he was not pleased. He had been forced to learn and grow by way of suffering and violence. He had ascended to the pinnacle of the path of Light by taking the life of another aspirant. As much as he despised his former mentor’s words, there was some truth to them. Uniting the sects may be the best thing for the current era, yes, but it wasn’t the true way of things. Light and Shadow must exist in a state of conflict. Without conflict, what purpose would he have? What meaning would any of them have? By denying that which created them, they were turning their back on everything they had once stood for, and all that their forebears had bled and died for. It was blasphemous. It was insulting. It was wrong.

[anchor-management]

#28 - IRENIC

Lights. 

He loved the way they drowned out the world, leaving nothing but black behind those blaring rays. Drown him. Consume him, O’ light. Until it was just him and this sound. The one that usually got lost in the noise. 

He sat on the stool in that single flood of light as the world grew quiet and fingers plucked over familiar strings, calluses strumming over the very veins of his heart. It was a release. A cry. And it would be lost to the darkness. His voice bled into the sound, taking lead of the notes that paved the direction for this piece of him. Eyes closed, but he could still see the light, making the world go red, as it so often did. With blood. With anger. But that anger was drained from him through the sun. All that was left was this. And he needed it out of him, else he would burst. 

His gaze reopened into that blinding light, his voice climbing as if to reach it, until it was as far as he could go without losing himself completely. He blinked away the burning, and made his descent, his chords softening in tandem with the guitar, until the last resonating note fell away at last back into quiet. 

To the end. 

Jude sighed as he pulled away from the mic, a little less heavy as his body left the support of the stool. He left the lone world within the light, back into the shadows, the smells of smoke, dust, and booze returning to his senses before he disappeared out the back, guitar bouncing lightly over his shoulder blades. 

Rest now, O’ heart.

[chocoblep]

28: The Enforcer

There were few things in this world that made Shieke angry; she was a Viera well able to compartmentalize her feelings to look at situations pragmatically. Sure, she had her biases just as much as anyone else, but when it came to conflict she took an approach that weighed all available options and came to the most logical solution. That solution often involved removing factors from an equation: Environments. Objects.

People.

This was why Shieke made such a good enforcer back home, and why she seemed to fall into that role when she took jobs now.

She had been on an escort mission for two days now, and the other mercenary with them was a bit of a pain in the arse. Where Shieke took the job seriously, this Highlander woman chose to ride in the back of the cart, exchanging idle gossip with the driver.

“We are not being paid to keep him company,” Shieke said at one point, but the other mercenary paid her little mind and returned to her conversation with the cart’s driver.

It was around midday and they were nearing Camp Overlook when Shieke’s ears twitched and swiveled. She could hear whispering and shuffling. Turning from her place where she had been walking at the cart’s side, she came around behind it and stepped up onto the back, reaching in to grab the front of the Hyuran woman’s breastplate and hauling her bodily from the cart.

“And then I said to h—hey, what the fuck?” The other mercenary stumbled as her feet hit the dirt, and Shieke stepped down after her, already turning to walk up beside the cart.

“Time to do your job,” Shieke said plainly, looking completely unsurprised when two burly Highlander men stepped out into the road in front of them and a pair of smaller men behind them, one Midlander and one a Lalafell. “I leave the small ones to you,” she remarked before any of the ambushers had even spoken.

She was pleased to find that at least her partner was decent at dispatching threats, but as they sent the ambushers limping off to lick their wounds the Hyuran woman climbed back into the back of the cart. Conversation resumed, and Shieke sighed, contemplating negotiating for more than half of the compensation they would receive upon arrival at their destination.