#ketsuchi kotetsu

[throneoflevin]

Screenshots by the wonderful @foxracinggurl / @kailani-ffxiv.

Reaper is more fun than I thought it would be.

[trella-writes-stuff]

Some art of our characters. @ketsuchikotetsu looking miserable with all of Norah's pets.

Art was done by https://artistsnclients.com/people/Atari323 who was super responsive and wonderful to work with.

[jaybren]

Yuri x Kotetsu

I need this more in my life. Yuri just has such a beautiful character design. Kotetsu is the kind of character I adore - especially on bottom, getting all flustered with a praise kink.

[claihn]

A Siren’s Secret [P1]

The stifling heat of the room made her hair stick to the back of her neck. There was the faint sneer that came from a curled lip, but there had been a bated breath of hope. Yet the taut silence snapped with the crash of glass. She remembered staring at the glittering particles on the floor and contemplating how they reminded her of spiderwebs. It would have been fitting, if she were honest with herself. They were all spinning poisonous webs and sought to suck the very life from her after all.

“Another letter.”  He dropped the envelope on the desk in front of Mana, snapping her out of her reverie. She flashed him a smile of appreciation, inwardly wishing he'd busy himself with one of his projects or even the one she'd asked of him. Instead though he lingered like a weighted blanket around her shoulders.  She paused in massaging her foot, wearing another comfortable pair of lavender stockings. They had ached with the memories, but pushing it from her mind she let them rest back upon the floor and sat up straighter.

“I really should just journey to Ul'dah and hire someone to look for me.” She commented with a sigh, wrinkling her nose. She gently slipped a nail underneath the wax seal and tugged the parchment free to glance it over.

“Sure. We can go to Ul'dah if you want. Maybe then you can actually explain what you're so interested in as of late. S'pose I can't complain, given it's a better hobby than that messed up shit w-”

“Stop.” Mana's words went terse as she flashed a look at her old friend. He wrinkled his nose and sighed with a growl in his throat. It took a lot of her willpower not to let her stern gaze falter with a pang of guilt. Twelve why was he so insistent? 

“I'm fine now. I told you that I didn't need you to babysit me. Don't you have a few projects to work on? This isn't exactly a place with a lot of space and your little workshop would be better. Besides! I still haven't received my new little trinket you promised.”   Her watery gaze crinkled with feigned amusement at him, tail curling lightly around her waist.  His own green eyes narrowed and his lips curled with a disgusted expression.

“You do realize I'm not an idiot, right?” “Sometimes it's hard to remember.”  Mana quipped back with a small laugh, shaking her head. She'd managed to slip away to Gridania and for a few errands. He wasn’t going to threaten or stalk her... well, at least she thought. His shorter hair, rougher expression and slight shift in demeanor was... well, she was still puzzling it out without directly asking him. Even with her insatiable curiosity, she knew some spots were too sore and the name only made it worse. Tangible.

Mana eyed the letter again and then blinked at the words. Her throat tightened and she clutched the paper enough to crinkle it near the edges. A nimble step forward had her standing in one fluid motion as she began to pace between the last remaining row of flowers in her “new” worn down abode.

“This is it.” She bit her lip, pausing to look askance at Vincint. “Or at least... it's hard not to think that this'll be it. The report about the ship... it matches. It...”  She faltered and grimaced, lowering the letter and leaning her head back to stutter out a sigh.

“I could try to hire someone else to look at it for me. Maybe someone I can feasibly pretend to trust. That way-!”

“Mana.”  The man frowned, shifting to stand up a bit to tense with the same energy she was exuding. “You'll regret it. I don't even know the whole story...” His words trailed off with a slightly bitter, perturbed edge to them. “... but I can tell enough that you'll never live it down if you talk yourself out of it now.” 

There was another pause as she found herself still staring upwards at the ceiling. Her chest was hurting, although some distant part of her was thankful to feel it. It was clearer, sharper and a better burden than the confusing muck she'd had for several weeks. Weeks. Truly it'd been longer-no, shorter than she thought.

“You're right and I hate that.” She joked, huffing out a final breath and shifting to stand straighter. Her gaze flickered to him and she forced a composed smile as she rolled up the letter. It disguised the way her fingers trembled slightly at the idea of having to go out on the ocean. “I'm going to need help though. It was a large ship and if I know about it, then looters will soon too.” “What's that? Is... is Miss Mizu actually asking for my help?” The black haired Miqo'te raised a hand and clutched his chest, feigning stumbling into the wall much to her own annoyance. Mana's lips pressed into a thin line and she puffed out her cheeks.

“You hate water.”

“I hate a lot of things. People lately too, but nothing that can't be solved with a bullet.” Vincint canted his head to the side as he waved a beckoning hand towards her. “Come on, ask me.”

Mana wrinkled her nose.

“Yuti might be able to assist. Even if she's not familiar with a boat, her magic certainly could be a boon. Your brother is a good swimmer. Perhaps someone who's good with books and logistics...” Mana trailed off, turning nimbly upon her heel to stride towards the stairs down to the basement.  Vincint's ears flattened to his head as he growled a little, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It's okay. I can be the bigger person and ask myself for you. You're welcome.” He muttered, turning to follow in her wake.

[forthepursuitofknowledge]

Where Once We Tread

The door to Noah’s apartment flew open, and with a swift step Noah moved through. The day had been horrid, abysmal...but there was a lead now. He had something he could at the very least work with. It also lead to some insight...he would have to thank Mana later for that.

As he shut the door behind him, checking the lock to make certain it was set. He didn’t give himself time to think, time to reconsider. He knew what he could do...what he had to do in order to make sure his partner returned home safely.

This was his fault to start, he would see it through and in order to do that he needed something unique to bargain with...Something that he could put up to trade for Six’s life. It had been days since she’d been taken by their attacker as a last resort after Noah refused to follow the predator’s demands...A large part of him regretted his actions.

As he moved objects and items in his apartment he placed a hand on a large, seemingly impacted place of the wall, a crack in the wall it seemed. But as Noah channeled his aether into his hand a large runic symbol blared to life on the otherwise normal wall and in that moment a magical veil lifted - the portion of that wall disappearing and showing a glass display, his old armour held within it from his time in the Steppes, his time hoping to become a fierce Marauder.

His failed attempt. Perhaps he could turn that failure into something with purpose - a poor purpose in the short term, but if he could bring Six back it would be a purpose he’d indulge. The man suited up, it had been so long since he’d worn the metal plating...So long that he felt it’s weight a bit more than he could when last he put it on.

As he stretched out in the royal blue and black armour, mild decorations of gold and red trimming, he felt much like the heroes he read of in his tales as a child. But knowing what he had to do sullied the feeling a great amount. He wasn’t out to save a village from a horrid dragon, he wasn’t off to protect the people from a criminal seeking to instill fear and chaos. No - in this tale he had to be the villain, he had to steal, to intimidate, to sink to a low he’d long since passed. He’d failed so many others in his path to this point - but he refused to allow anyone else fail the way he’d let them fail before. His past mistakes were final, they couldn’t change - but he could do better. He had to do better.

Mana’s words ran through his mind:

“ Maybe it's time you fight for what you want instead of what's best and do something different? “

He wanted Six back, that’s what he wanted now. And as he prepared himself to do what he had to a voice caught him.

“Now that’s a look I ain’t seen y’sport in a long time. Not yer best look...But I figure y’got reason fer th’wardrobe change.” It was Syvard, in Noah’s panicked and frantic rush in, his haste in getting changed, he’d not noticed Syvard was already in the apartment before he’d locked the door.

“...Six is being held captive. I’m off to get what I need to bargain for her.” Noah stated, his hoarse voice only adding to the dark visage of the knight-like look adopted.

“Aye, figure that th’case...I ain’t gonna ask what y’need, jus’ don’t do somethin’ y’normally would...Yer not goin’ out there as Noah Kelten, lad. Yer goin’ out as someone different. An’ that someone needs t’not think about anythin’ else but what h’has t’do, an’ damned everythin’ and anythin’ that gets between’im an’ what h’needs. Y’hear?” Syvard’s worn countenance let a narrowed expression move in Noah’s direction. 

The armoured man, helm canting down as he thought, listened close...His grasp on the weapon he held going taut. He couldn’t be Noah for this, Noah thought, Noah cared about the means...All he could consider was the ends, the goal. 

“I hear.” He stated, moving towards the door and throwing it open before walking out and leaving Syvard to occupy the room alone.

Taking a long winded breathe, the elder Ala Mhigan shook his head and felt himself deflate some.

“Bloody ‘ells. Don’t go b’comin’ th’monsters y’fend off so quickly, lad...” He spoke to himself with a slight chuckle.

---

@claihn @ketsuchikotetsu - Mentions for their involvement! These are great folks to write with, if you’re not following them you absolutely should!

[miqojak]

Rise, Fall, and Rise Again

((It's not the WIP that's been sitting around since I started it in January...but an idea that keeps knocking around in my head. A dream came true for Jak, when Garlemald collapsed! ...and I think part of her wanted to see it for herself, while another part is happy to finish off loitering citizens and soldiers alike; what's good for the goose is good for the gander, no? She was a hunted refugee once, as well.))

It's quiet, here. Almost calming.

Pristine, even, if I keep my eyes ahead.

She insists I turn around, however, and bask in what we've done.

Blood always looks different, when spilled – depending on what it has stained, in the course of the deed – but in snow, there's something spectacularly...exquisite about the swathes and speckles of bright, crimson red against the stark, white contrast of snowy perfection. Red ink, stained parchment.

Behind me, blood and savagery – fear, and pain. Ahead of me...ruin. A broken nation. Collapsed buildings jutting from the snowy expanse like broken, bleached ribs jutting from the desert sand...I've never seen anything more beautiful, despite my hatred of all things cold – and the chill of Garlemald is the killing kind.

Broken roads upon which they drove their infernal machines split the sky's horizon in jarring, uncanny shapes - much like the corpses behind me... all wrong angles, now. Blackened buildings, slowly being buried in the snow like the corpses they are, loom ahead...and all is silence, save for the oddly satisfying crunch of snow beneath me.

The crunch of bones is more welcome.

I don't deny Her. Not this time. We are owed this, and a Jackal always collects.

I didn't tell him, either, but he'll know somehow anyways, no doubt. I doubt he'd try to convince me otherwise, but...considering that the exact people who took my family from me are – as far as my knowledge extends – already dead? I'm fine with taking my fury out on whatever Garleans do remain, regardless of their former or current aspirations. My people were little more than 'beasts' to them, after all...so why see them as any different?

We were molded by their philosophy, my Beast and I: the strong rule the weak. That was Garlemald's core belief, that their strength was their right...and to this day, no matter how much I despise them...I know that to be true, no matter where you're at, or from. And it is similarly no less true when they are the mewling weaklings begging for mercy, than it was when it was my family being crushed beneath their boots.

“Savage,” They still hiss with their dying breaths, and I know that what I do is justice.

The dead cannot claim it, and am I not their guardian?

Too weak once...but no longer.

May the entire existence of such a nation fade from the collective memory; may all Garleans be wiped from this star, never to know happiness, or family, or warmth, or safety – that is, after all, what they gave me.

Paranoia, pain, loneliness, detachment, and fear.

Hate. Fury. Disgust. Hunger. Chaos.

It's quiet here, though.

No amount of blood will bring back what I've lost.

Almost calming.

What they took.

Almost.

[miqojak]

Cold Comfort

Justice

is footprints cracking in the snow

Justice

is licking bloodied fangs clean

Justice

can only be but visceral -

hungry, determined, and mean.

I wonder, and I seethe. The fury keeps me warm - She keeps me warm - but I wonder. Will it feel any better for him? For my Wolf. When he stands in the snow, overlooking the corpses of the men who took everything from him, one day - the people who carved him out - will it feel any better?

You're certainly no less hollow.

You have, perhaps, less to hold onto, than before.

Before, you had the fury. The goal. The pursuit. Hunger.

Now... it's just the howling wind, and the fury whose fire is all that's left in the hollow places. Resentment and anger, where soft, feathered things once dwelt.

Like this place - where the intensity of the cold freezes a body so swiftly that there is no hope of recovery. A vast, frozen wasteland painted in final moments of horror and pain... forever icebound, and on display.

A graveyard in which the dead scream at you silently.

They will never know peace.

Sure, they deserved it... but it doesn't bring back those they slaughtered in kind. I, too, carry frozen moments in time within me. Moments of horror, and agony. Humiliation, and loss. An entire family. A culture.

Lost. All of it lost - when I die, it will all be gone, because I will never have children. Nor a... legacy of any sort.

There is some bitter joy in that, at least, the Garleans now know a cultural extinction as well. They, too, knew the taste of hopelessness and terror that they inflicted on so very much of this star. Not just to me, no. I fought for my family and lost... like so very many others.

I don't often care about others, anymore... but I hope we all have less nightmares, now.

[miqojak]

Reflections in glass

The figure was amorphous, if dark against the pale fog of steam - slowly taking shape as the seconds passed, and the steam began to lift, bit by bit.

There was a certain... quality to a predator's gaze. She'd always had a knack for seeing it in others - at least ever since her 'stay' with the Garleans. How to describe the eyes narrowed back at her? 'Sharp' wasn't wrong, but it wasn't relegated solely to predators. 'Hollow' made them seem fragile, which wasn't right either. What to term that look which could... see right through you? Right down to the stuff of which you are made? Some people talk about being 'undressed' with a look, but predators unmask you with a look.

Discerning.

That's the look the diminutive figure looming in the clearing fog gives her now - she does not like something upon which she sets her gaze, if the faintest hint of indignation in the barely-there crinkle of her nose, and curl of her lip mean anything.

But then, the little woman could barely remember a time in which she didn't look upon her own reflection in such a manner - assuredly, Jak had a body to die for; curves in the right places, tattoos that accentuate those curves, muscles where it matters, an ass for days...and yet, not even a trace of the fights she'd fought all throughout her youth.

Garlemald's extinction was supposed to be a good thing - and it was, really. It was a warm, pleasant thought that made her less afraid to sleep at night. It was like being tucked in by her mother, knowing she was being looked over - except Garlemald had murdered her mother, and everyone else. They'd killed who she'd been, as well - and yet there she stood, steam billowing around her...finally bearing scars, and yet...cherished as they had become, they were no testament to a youth spent fighting for the people, and the home, that had mattered most.

Years and years of torture existed solely in her mind. Gaslighting from beyond the grave, is what it was. Scars told a story. Scars meant you survived the battle, and they had left her with nothing in the end. No testament to her fight. No justice. Just a broken mind, broken aether, and an un-ending fury....her body they'd been sure to re-build every...single...time.

Was it easier to see her now, than it had been before? Now that someone else saw her? Saw the broken, savage young woman who'd fought and lost it all, and...in his way, empathized for what he, too, had been too 'weak' to fix in his youth? Maybe when he was around, it was easier to forget. To look at him, instead of her.

Kesri.

The name stung less every time he spoke it, but the sight of her...even altered - tattooed and pierced as she was - still pissed Jak off. Ironic, in a way - in the Garlean prison, there was no need for mirrors. She'd not seen the sun, or herself, for so long that...one would think she'd love to admire herself, anymore.

She could embrace what she'd had to become - the role she'd had to play to survive - could accept that dark shadow that loomed over the reflected figure, its inky outline constantly shifting... but it didn't mean that it would stop hurting. The affection of her Wolf - his acceptance - didn't heal her.

It just made the pain easier to bear - knowing that someone else understood. Knowing that when she snarled, he understood. Everyone wants to climb your walls, or knock them down...but then they see what's left of you - they see the twisted, ugly thing you've protected them from, and they leave. They judge you for what the world has molded you to be, then have the gall to act as if their own reflection isn't just as disgusting.

Would she leave herself, if she could? This detestable little creature in the mirror?

No...no. Jak had come to terms with that part of her self-doubt in the woods, covered in the blood of others, some time ago, now - she, at least, needed to be able to accept her own darker parts. She may not 'love' herself, but no one else did, either - so what? No reason to give up, that - just more reason to push harder. It was a reason to fight harder, every single day, to find a reason to not hate the woman in the mirror so much.

More reason to be Jak.

No amount of hard work and no amount of achievements would ever erase, however, the fact that every time she looked into a mirror...she saw the face of her mother. Jak saw, reflected back at her, the family that had surrounded her in her youth... and the absence thereof. She saw a young woman who should have died, so that anyone else in her family might have lived. Anyone but her... the cosmic cruelty of it all would sit on her slender shoulders until the day she died.