#marchofthetropes

[stellanlumina]

Day 20: Wager

Both of them had similar ideas of how long it would take Sage and Lyna to get together, but only one of them was correct in who would confess first.

[otherworldseekers]

March of the Tropes prompt: Model

I'm not the only one who likes it when Severia gets dressed up.

[otherworldseekers]

March of the Tropes: Roll in the Hay

Just for fun.

[sheepwithspecs]

March CarvRhos Ficlet: Love Hurts

|| FFXIV || Rated M [18+] || (6/??) ||

Prompt List Here!

No intimacy, no loose ends. Heartstrings could easily strangle a man, should they become entangled with another’s.

Note: This isn’t at all what I intended to write, but the words wouldn’t stop coming anyway. It’s as though Carvallain said “No, I should be the one pining for once! It’s not fair!”

She comes to him shrouded in moonlight, creaking wooden boards beneath her bare heels, phantom fingertips on his brow. Her laughter is so soft as to be lost beneath the rhythmic rush of the sea, the muffled noises of the port beyond his window, the quiet settling of the ship all around him.

“I see ye keep poor company when yer away from home,” she teases, warm breath stirring the fine locks of hair near his ear. “There’s a street full o’ women in the pleasure quarter all but beggin’ ye to come n’ try their wares. Yet here ye are, alone in yer cabin with naught for company save yer two hands and a piss poor memory.”

“Believe what you will, madam,” he breathes back, syllables escaping his parched lips with each exhale, “but I long ago found myself under siren’s spell. I’m afraid there’s no cure.”

“Tsk, tsk. Poor thing.” She is so small, so slight, that the mattress barely dips where she curls up alongside him. Her slender leg slides over his hip, his thigh fitting easily between hers, fingers slotting together until her palm becomes his. She pushes the hem of his shirt aside, pausing to feel the rapid beat of his heart before rising to trace the angular shape of his collarbone.

“I miss you.” She would recoil at hearing such a sentiment, no matter how earnestly spoken. The very notion of being wanted is something foreign to her, laughable at best and mocking at worst. But here, in the privacy of his luxurious brocade bedcurtains, he is free to address her without fear of putting her on her guard. And she listens to him, bright eyes gleaming with affection and silent understanding. “I miss you so much.”

“Is that so? I’m surprised, seeing as ye never call me when yer abroad.” He chuckles at the thought, shaking his head sadly. The last few times he’s been bold enough—silly enough—to try the linkshell he carries with him, the result is an ear-piercing jumble of static noise and hijacked conversation. It’s been two long months since he last heard her voice, and it will be two more before he hears it again, at the very least.

“Besides, ye haven’t thought o’ me in weeks.” That’s a lie. He thinks of her every day, if not like this than in the abstract. But that’s not what she means, not exactly. “Something must have happened,” she remarks, tracing idle patterns on his chest. Her nails tickle the stippled hair growing back from his last aesthetician appointment, dipping occasionally into the well of his sternum before starting again.

“I saw something that reminded me of you.”

“Oh, aye?”

“Earlier today, in the markets….” His bed in the cabin is smaller than the one at the Seventh Sage, but still large enough that it can fit several well-stuffed pillows. He rolls towards the wall, reaching for one he tries to refrain from using overmuch. The pillow is cool against his cheeks as he buries himself in feathery softness, breathing deeply and searching for any lingering traces of her scent.

“There was a silk merchant unloading new wares,” he says, half muffled into the pillow and half in his mind. “One of the skeins was this beautiful shade of red, reminiscent of what you seem to favor.” It ripples in his mind’s eye, a shimmering waterfall of sanguine hues held aloft by the ocean breeze. The keen merchant had noticed his gaze and offered it to him, unrolling it to show off the beautiful pattern painted on its surface. An aimless, yet poignant pattern of soft curves and sharp angles, stark white on a bleeding background. In an instant he was reminded of her, of the white tattoo on her brow.  

“Aye?” Another verbal nudge, fingers tangling in the wiry curls beneath his navel.

“I wanted to buy it for you, to show you—” He cannot bring himself to finish. A ridiculous notion, borne of equally ridiculous desires. She had no more use for a skein of silk than he had for a crate of cooking supplies. But it was less the practical aspect and more the emotions it invoked, the joy it would bring him to place even a scrap of the cloth in her lap and watch her confusion become admiration. To see her mouth purse in a little O of surprise, eyes widening before crinkling in utter delight at the sensation of silk against her calloused fingers. He wanted her to laugh at him for the frivolity of it all while still finding pleasure in the gift. He wanted to watch her rub it against her cheek, rolling her eyes when he—quite rightly—compared it to the smooth expanse of her inner thigh. He is certain that, should he compare them right then and there, he would find the fabric’s texture lacking.

“Oh, how I miss you,” he says yet again, a desperate sound torn from the depths of his aching chest. He clutches the pillow to his breast, a poor substitute for the woman in his mind. His hands slide down the curve of her waist, palming the ample flesh of the thighs he so admires before lifting to count her ribs one by one. “Do you not miss me too, when I am gone?” She doesn’t answer, for he does not know what the answer would be. She draws him in for a kiss instead, nuzzling into his neck with a blissful little sigh as he dips a wandering hand between her legs.

“Dearest,” he groans, feeling how wet she is for him, “my darling—” Things he would never say aloud, even if he were free to. They are sweet nothings in every sense of the word, borrowed pleasantries. They belong in another era, some alternate world where he never chose to leave the safety of his gilded cage, never donned the pirate’s mantle and learned of their many unspoken rules.

No intimacy, no loose ends. Heartstrings could easily strangle a man, should they become entangled with another’s.

The knowledge does not dull the pain. It only mislays the source, guilty pangs that seem to mock him with the understanding that he is the careless one, the foolish one. In over his head, drowning, mired in his hopeless love while she continues on in the same blithe fashion as always. Their trysts are just that—something trivial to fill the time and provide mutual satisfaction. She holds no true regard for him; she’s better than that.

But in this dream he has built for himself, he can believe. He can fool himself into thinking that she is just as bad as he is, perhaps even worse, for she clings to him and cards her fingers through his hair. She opens herself to him, whispering broken fragments of endearments as she takes him in hand, stroking him to the choppy rhythm of the waves. And when it’s over, she holds him tenderly as he sobs his release against her shoulder.

Never mind that it would never work, either emotionally or logistically. Their differences are too great, both in size and disposition. But it works now, and it’s what he needs, and it’s more than worth the guilt and that grief that come after.  

“I love you.” Despite everything, it’s the truest thing he’s said tonight.

“I know.” Tired lips find the hollow of his throat and linger there, breathing him in. “Sweet man.”

“I wish….”

“Shhh….” The barest whisper, the gathering of moonbeams as she prepares to leave. Even like this, she won’t stay. “Sleep now.”

He reaches out for her, unsure of his own intentions, and finds air.

[starlight-brainrot]

FFXIV - Magnai - Blind Date

I’m using #MarchoftheTropes as inspo for snippets and headcanons!

Day 2: Blind Date

Warnings: None(?)

Pairing: Magnai/Reader

Word Count: 423

-

Magnai Oronir:

Sadu put him up to this.

It was originally to get Magnai to stop whining in her general vicinity about his Nhaama, blah blah blah, but- 

When you agreed to the idea of a blind date as well, she decided: you two losers would fit well together anyway.

Magnai chokes on air when he sees you

The Warrior of Light, normally seen in armor or adventuring clothes… in casual wear??? Clothes that perfectly match your features, at that?

He’s floored

You’re equally surprised

It’s not that often that you see the Oronir outside of the Steppe, and he looks almost… natural here at the restaurant you two met at in Kugane

“Sadu did well to match me with someone deserving of my radiance.”

Ah. There’s the Magnai you know. You give him a deadpan stare, and he seems to wilt under your look.

He seems… nervous?

“Apologies… You look lovely tonight.”

Surprised that he seems to have dropped his charade, you decide to give it a shot.

The two of you pass the time while waiting for your food with stories of your youth, and you find out a good bit about Magnai, his sisters, and his life on the Steppe.

In turn, you regale him with your adventures across Eorzea. He seems particularly interested with your fights with primals, eyes gleaming with approval as you speak of your victories.

Food is wonderful, though you do catch him muttering to himself about treating you to a proper feast sometime.

He also puffs up in pride watching you give a disapproving stare to a waitress who seems to be eyeing him. That you would want priority in his attention…!

The night was… surprisingly nice. You certainly didn’t expect this turn of events when you made the impulsive decision to accept Sadu’s proposal of a blind date, but you wouldn’t mind a repeat of this date.

It seemed that Magnai was like minded in this sentiment, even going so far as to walk you back to the inn you were staying at before leaving.

“This was… fun. Would you be open to me visiting you sometime?” You tentatively ask him.

It seems to jolt him out of his thoughts as he hastily replies, “Of course! I would expect no less,” then hastily adds on, “...I would be honored.”

You chuckle at his antics, and kiss him on the cheek.

“Good night, Magnai.”

Sadu’s plan worked, but alas

Now she has to deal with him gushing about you whenever they’re forced to be near each other.

[calinameloda]

March of the Tropes

Day 16: Free Day - Secret Admirer

The 100% completely platonic act of secretly making the best damn birch syrup in all of Ishgard just so the guy you're definitely not in love with can have a nicer cup of tea.

[otherworldseekers]

MarchoftheTropes: Free Day (hurt/comfort)

At the end of HW, the night before they go to activate Omega, Severia is feeling overwhelmed with grief over the amount of people she has failed to save over the past year or so. As she tends to do, she sneaks off to be alone with her feelings. But Nero finds her and offers her the comfort she needs. 

[otherworldseekers]

MarchoftheTropes: Interrupted

Just trying to steal a few minutes alone together in the Dawn’s Respite between work. If only people would stop wandering in.