#writing
It wasn’t unusual for the workers of the Jeweled Sparrow to receive gifts from their clients. Some were small trinkets or food, some were far more lavish like expensive jewelry or scents or fabrics. Kaoru had received his fair share of such things, and always made sure a proper thank you card was returned to the gift giver.
But this… this was something else altogether.
He knew immediately upon opening the large, flat box who had sent it. There was no mistaking that particular taste in the finer things. Nestled amidst protective layers of tissue paper was a stunning kimono of thick, royal purple silk. The lining was shimmering gold, as was the embroidery - there was so much embroidery that when taken out of the box, the garment practically could have stood on its own.
Sweeping golden cranes, each feather a waterfall of fine embroidery, formed a pleasant, peaceful scene against the glossy background of vibrant color. The heavy sleeves nearly grazed the floor, open and showing flashes of that golden lining. There was even an obi to go with the robe; a backdrop of rich gold with silver embroidered water lilies, ready to be tied and artfully draped.
The fabric alone was worth a small fortune. The artful stitching represented an even larger one. Every stitch was done by hand, by someone who had been trained in such fiber arts. It must have taken those who worked on it a significant amount of time. And time, of course, meant more and more money.
The cost of the kimono alone was likely more than had been paid for Kaoru when he was a teenager. At least double.
Once the incredible piece of art was properly displayed on a hanging rack, Kaoru tucked himself in at his little writing desk and reached for paper and a calligraphy brush. ‘Dear Miyamoto-oujisama…’
((@eorzean-wayfinder ))
The Nemuri-hime had endured many a storm. Her crew knew what they were doing. Yet still, as lightning split the sky and was followed almost immediately by a bone-shattering peal of thunder, Khoram'ir’s heart pounded just as loudly with stress and worry.
Even the Captain was awake, barking commands and getting his own hands dirty wherever the need arose. Amir saw him every once in awhile, proving that when the situation called for it, even Tou could be just as awake and alert and quick as anyone else. But the miqo'te’s attention was more on his own task; hauling on the sails beside several other crewmates until the heavy, thick, utterly sodden sheets were rolled and no longer catching the winds to toss the ship like a giant’s plaything.
A strangled, startled cry cut through between one roll of thunder and the next. Amir spun around just in time to see, burnt into his eyes in the searing flash of lightning, Natto go over the side of the ship. The big, goofy miqo'te was not Amir’s favorite person, and quite frankly he wouldn’t mind if he decided to stay on shore one of the times when they weighed anchor. But Amir wasn’t about to let him go down like this.
“Haul me back!” he shouted to the three beside him, grabbing one of the ropes at the side of the ship and throwing himself over after Natto. He was still throwing a knot around his waist as he hit the water.
Luckily, the bigger miqo'te was a strong swimmer, and Amir had been fast. He was able to grab hold of Natto quickly, bobbing like a pair of corks in the deep troughs between waves and sputtering their way back to the surface after the waves crashed. Regardless of swimming ability, they would have both been done for if the others hadn’t followed direction and began hauling the rope back up.
Just another day on the sea. Never a dull moment.
FFXIVWrite2021 - Prompt 14 - Commend
“…And today we honor the sacrifice of our fine men and women who were lost to this great Calamity,” the Commander was saying. Helmets were held in hands or set beside feet, their owners openly weeping or staring blindly, shell-shocked.
Kelaire balanced precariously on his crutches, trying to ignore the pain coming from his leg. At least… what was left of it. There had been no saving it, no healers capable of reversing the effects of the intense sudden cold as well as the damage to the bone and tissue. So now his left leg ended just below the knee.
What good was a one-legged knight? It was a question that Kelaire didn’t know how to answer. He and the pitiful remnants of his fellows were not fit for combat. Even those who were whole of body were scarred on the inside from what they’d managed to survive. Coerthas was frozen. With it, the majority of their comrades.
“–Are truly indebted to your bravery and your sacrifice. Please accept this as a small token of appreciation from our Lord of Durendaire.”
Kelaire had missed part of what had been said, but tried to pull himself back to the present. Squires were handing out scrolls to each of the knights standing at attention. Kelaire accepted his and rolled it open.
Upon the parchment, which bore the stamped wax seal of Durendaire, was spidery writing favored by the noble class. He skimmed most of it.
‘Hereby declare… upon commendation from the Count de Durendaire… as long as he or she is fit for service, shall continue to serve in training…’
Apparently, what one did with a one-legged knight was stick him on a training ground to teach a bunch of youngsters to fight. To send them off to their deaths either by dragon, by heretic, or by the hands of the elements themselves.
Kelaire saluted, murmured his thanks, and carefully hobbled off the parade grounds as soon as they were dismissed. Hitting an ice patch on the frozen stone, the crutches went right out from under him and landed him flat on his back. Now it wasn’t just his leg that screamed with the fires of all seven hells, but his back as well.
Staring up at the leaden sky, Kelaire thought longingly of a comfortable chair, a warm fire, and a bottle of something very strong to numb the pain… physical and mental.
Dietrich didn’t even ask anymore when Troy brought him something new and unfamiliar, except to clarify how one was supposed to take it. It wouldn’t do to snort something you were supposed to smoke, or vice versa. Some were supposed to be taken as a tablet or, rarely, even needed to be mixed into water. So there were certain things that needed to be asked. What effects those drugs would have on their user, however, were not among those things.
But he was starting to think that this one might be a dud.
Perhaps it was because Dietrich’s tolerance for various substances was higher than average, but whatever the pressed powder tablet was supposed to do still hadn’t affected him after half a bell. Dietrich laid back against his pillows and gazed up at the ceiling of his room, watching the slow creep of the shadows like a puppet theatre.
They even began to tell him a story, after a time. A wild, adventurous tale about privateers on the high seas, traveling to exotic ports of call and meeting all sorts of interesting people. Pirates and gladiators, beastmen and monsters. It made Dietrich smile.
“I’m an idiot.”
Marron groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. He’d said the words aloud a dozen times already, but saying them tosomeone was a different matter entirely. It was hard to take the weight of the gaze that hadn’t left his face.
“I was just trying to be one of the guys, you know? Nobody likes an arranged marriage, it’s outdated bullshit, and the idea of getting married young because one or both of you is going off to war and probably going to die–” he broke off and scrubbed his hand through his red and blond striped hair instead.
Isobel’s younger brother, Donovan, stood up from the bench he’d been reading quietly on alone before Marron showed up. He closed his book and turned solemn, dark blue eyes up to Marron. “It is outdated,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you had to say what you said.”
“I know. Like I said, I’m an idiot.” Marron paused, taking a breath and letting it out. “But– do you think she’d take me back?”
Donovan’s dark eyebrows disappeared under his hair. “Maaaybe,” he said slowly, thoughtfully. “But it’s going to take a lotof groveling.”
Marron nodded. “Yeah, I figured that much. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to help me out with it?”
The younger hyur’s eyes gave Marron a slow once-over, taking in his posture and his body language. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll help you get in touch with her. But if she isn’t interested after that, I’m not going to do it again.”
((@eorzean-wayfinder ))
The salt air caught in his hair and made it dance, caught the ropes and tried to make them spin away from his hands. But T'iolo just grinned and hauled himself up, one hand on the sturdy mast pole as his only concession to the fact that he hadn’t made the climb in several years. Down below he was certain that Gabriel and Kala were fretting about safety, but they didn’t understand. They didn’t know the world that belonged to a lifelong lookout and rigging rat.
It was a sense of freedom unlike any other. Tio knew full well why he’d given up the sailor’s life and turned to the land like a coward. He knew that no other crew could be hiscrew, no other captain a replacement for the ones he’d lost. But for just a little while, on the short - two to three moons, depending on the tides - voyage to Othard, Tio could pretend. He’d gotten permission and nobody paid one more surefooted high-flyer a second glance.
With the salt on his skin and the wind in his hair, the waves slapping a beat against the hull and not a hint of a shoreline in sight, Tio was truly happy and alive.
FFXIVWrite2021 - Prompt 09 - Friable
His fingers were trembling as he took the little bag of dried, clumped flower buds from its hiding place in his bookcase. A small sheet of thin, fine paper was grabbed along with them and set down on the little dining table.
Dietrich knew how to do it properly. He knew how to break the sticky flora down into a relatively fine powder, one that would burn evenly and produce a very nice end result. But that took time, and he needed it now. So he plucked and ground with his fingertips, crumbling and smashing until there was just enough of the rough green powder.
Even as needy as he was, he had been through the motions of rolling the plant matter up more times than he could count. He packed it down and sealed it with a little twist, only to immediately spark it off with the tip of one finger and a tiny bit of aether.
It had been a long, long day. Dietrich took a long drag and released the smoke, blowing it toward the open window purely out of habit. He needed to relax. He needed to stop thinking and feeling quite so keenly. A little bit of fogweed was the best, quickest way he knew how to do it.
Sachagal had learned quickly that it was difficult to corral a one year old; especially one that could walk and was even starting to run. Most of the time he simply followed where Malqan led, letting the slapping of tiny bare feet be his guide.
But sometimes there were places the little peanut needed to go.
“This way,” Sacha called gently, opening and closing his hands and reaching for Malqan’s. “It’s time to lie down for a bit. Mama will be home soon and you’ll want to be all rested up for her, right?”
“Mama!” Malqan shouted, looking around excitedly. And then pouted when he couldn’t see any sign of Lynea.
“Mama will be home soon.” Sacha kept his voice soothing and reached for his child.
“Mama!” Malqan shouted again, before sprinting as fast as his stubby legs could go in the opposite direction.
Sacha sighed and rubbed his forehead. He hadn’t expected fatherhood to be easy, but he’d hoped certain things would be more instinctive than they were proving to actually be. At least he was learning as he went. “Mal!” he called, taking his trump card out of his pocket and crouching down more at the little boy’s level. “Look what I’ve got!”
The little toy was just a few pieces of wood glued together, with a bit of fleece then glued to them. But the little face was delicately carved, as was the thin, curled tail.
Malqan’s orange-ringed eyes lit up and he came dashing back to reach for the toy. “Sheep!” he exclaimed. “Sheep!!”
Yes, there were some things Sacha was learning. One had to be surprisingly clever when dealing with a tiny child.
Something was going on with the scion of House Desjardoux. And it was about time, too. The young man, despite his eccentricities and bookishness, was quite a catch; handsome, from a good family, and in line to inherit a decent fortune. Yet every match that had been arranged for him, he had turned down.
But rumor had it, he would be attending House Montpelier’s soiree with a plus one.
Who could the lucky girl be? And how many of Symonnet’s turned-down, would-be brides were sharpening letter openers and seam rippers to stab her in the back as soon as they had an opportunity?
Imagine their surprise when he arrived with, of all things, a malemiqo'te on his arm. There were at least three ladies on fainting couches and another two who got quiteembarrassingly drunk that night.
One of my absolute favorite things about reading and writing fic is the complete and total power the author has to fuck around. Like, we can make anything happen at all, and while we like the stories where our otp gets together and everyone’s happy, it doesn’t have to be good. You like this character? Okay, let’s expose their flaws and put them through hell as they try to hide and fix them. This ship? Oh, sure, they can be happy for awhile and then - BAM ! - one of them gets kidnapped, dies, leaves, and the other half is a wreck. Did you miss this minor plotpoint the first time around? Let’s expand on that, now it’s all you can think about! You clicked on this fic, now there’s no way out. Suffer.
Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.
This world isn’t perfect. People aren’t perfect. You aren’t perfect, and I’m not perfect. Mistakes will happen. Screw ups will be made. But, we have the power of forgiveness. So live. Live without the burden and choose to forgive. Choose to look beyond and love even the imperfections.
One can change their clothes, their hair, their house, or their relationship. However, the same experiences will keep on occurring if one does not learn to change their mind.
You will experience both the good and the bad. You will be able to enjoy the good, and learn from the not as good. Either way, it involves self development on your own behalf.
Today is your day; live freely. Work hard and take risks. But most importantly, love yourself until no end.
If that’s what you think is best, go, but seriously don’t come back.
I have always loved how she appears in the photos, her beautiful face, every curve of her body; but I knew that I loved her with all my heart when I saw her in her pajamas, disheveled, without makeup, crampy, sick, sad, happy, doing what she loves, leaving work, and to me, she was the most beautiful woman in the universe.
the days are getting harder to swallow
my dreams are getting harder to follow
my breasts are sagging further
my vagina is becoming needier
my mind is begging for my subconscious to shut the fuck up
because these unknown memories are making my eyes water
in public
i’m stuck on the cycle mode of fuck and abuse
jesus keeps adding quarters to the machine
but today he doesn’t have any more change
jesus is all out of change
jesus cannot feed my machine
now i’m just stuck.
https://href.li/?https://www.fbiic.gov/public/2008/nov/Naming_practice_guide_UK_2006.pdf
“this wonderful 88-page piece has step by step breakdowns of how names work in different cultures! i needed to know how to name a Muslim character it has already helped me SO MUCH and i’ve known about it for all of 15 minutes!! i am thoroughly amazed and i just needed to share with you guy!
Cultures include Yoruba, Sikh, Vietnamese, Polish, and dozens more!”
I found this tumblr reposted on pillowfort linking to this resource, but for the life of me I cannot figure out how to post it from pillowfort to tumblr and keep everything intact. I have quoted some of the original tumblr/pillowfort so you can get an idea of what it is in the file.
Check out this detailed naming guide
1) Names are a valuable source of information. They can indicate gender, marital status, birthplace, nationality, ethnicity, religion, and position within a family or even within a society. However, naming practices vary enormously across the globe. The aim of this guide is to identify the knowledge that can be gained from names about their holders and to help overcome difficulties that are commonly encountered with names of foreign origin.
2.) The sections of the guide are governed by nationality and/or ethnicity, depending on the influencing factor upon the naming practice, such as religion, language or geography.
Inevitably, this guide is not exhaustive and any feedback or suggestions for additional sections will be welcomed.
Writers!! Describe your current WIP(s) in the most boring way possible. I want to see this skdjfkdfhk
every single thing people have said has been amazing, I’m dying laughing here
A girl who loves horses gets to ride one a lot.
