#ffxiv writing challenge

[sea-wolf-coast-to-coast]

FFxiv 30 Day Writing Challenge SEPTEMBER 1st - 30th, 2024

Welcome to YEAR 8 of our annual FFxiv 30 Day Writing Challenge, folks!

Last year we had 7,935 total entries! Which brings us to a total of 50,656 unique written entries over the last 7 years. That is just incredible! And something that I think that we should be super proud of as a creative fan community.

Whether you're new to the FFxivWrite community or a 7-year writing challenge veteran, if you'd like to give perfectionism in your creative writing process a swift kick in the butt, then this challenge was designed for you!

More info is below the cut~

Here’s the gist:

Runs from September 1st - 30th, 2024. During that timeframe:

Visit sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​ once a day at 12:00pm (noon) PDT for the prompt of the day. Convert to your timezone accordingly. All prompts will be one word or brief phrase that you can interpret however you please.

You have 24 hours to write something for that prompt.

Submit the link to your entry post via this Google Form: https://forms.gle/jDWjFKfmeaGnH3PL9

There are no length or skill requirements (short & sweet is fine!).

There will be no 24-hour deadlines for the first week, September 1st - 7th. The deadline will go into effect on September 8th at 11:59am PDT.

Makeup/extra credit days every Sunday.

Every entry posted within its 24-hour deadline will count toward a participation prize raffle at the end.

You can join any time with any prompt #! There’s no need for latecomers to start with prompt #1. Picking up with the most recent prompt is A OK.

If you’re an artist and you would like to volunteer to do a simple black & white illustration as a participation prize at the end of this challenge, you can volunteer here!

RULES & MORE INFO can be found here: https://ffxiv-write.carrd.co/

(( banner art - by @dantinmikannes ))

Rules & Info || Prompt List || #FFxivWrite2024 || kofi

[tsupertsundere]

FFXIVWRITES 2024 .................................................... COMPLETE! ✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✦✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✧✩✫✦ Steer -- Horizon 🛣️ Tempest -- Reticent 👀 Stamp 💌 Halcyon -- Morsel -- Lend an Ear 😻 Stable 🎠 Surrogate Quarry -- Telling -- Liminal 🎐 Third-rate -- Sally 🛟 Hackneyed -- Taken -- Duel -- Shade -- Cloud Nine -- Bar Perpetuity ♾️ Zip -- Memory -- Deleterious -- Two Heads complete + incomplete + need picture (lol) + unwritten favorites followed by an emoji

Did more than I thought I could, and I'm not done yet! I hope to finish more of these out and have them to pull from looking toward Decembhyur. Thank you, everyone, for taking the time to read, share, and tell me what you thought. It means more than I can really get across. To many more 🎐🎐

[avampyone]

Prompt #1: A New Path

Characters: Seraphine Desmarais (Hemlocke), Seiro Malkavi

Synopsis: While recovering from hemlock poisoning under the care of the Vath, Seraphine meets a new companion that presents him with a life changing opportunity.

Setting: Dravanian Forelands near Loth ast Vath.

Warning to mentions of death and domestic violence.

-----------------------

The night reined on with not a cloud in the sky that gave away to a clear view to the moon and stars on high, emitting down a dim soothing light in the clearing of the Dravanian Forelands. A river cut right through the smoldering wastes, offering a gentle hum from the safe spot they settled in nearby. Although greenery was sparse in this part of the land, it had taken no time at all to gather fallen branches amidst the remains of ruins nearby to build up a fire. 

Seraphine had been in awe at the ease of which his companion had set fire to such. Now, he sat rapt upon every word with his legs folded under him. There was a plain gray woolen blanket tucked comfortably around him, his features reflecting an unhealthy paleness and dark shadows under his dull red eyes.

The cool wind lightly ruffled his short black hair with a tired but appreciative smile lining his full lips, “...The Azim Steppe sounds most beautiful to behold. Describing it the way you do, I feel as though I have had the pleasure of traveling there myself.” He paused, taking a fresh steady breathe inward as if all the fresh information took him far away from his present troubles, “The thought of seeing the rising sun there on a foggy morning...I wonder if I might have the chance to see it myself one day.” His regal tone lowered in uncertainty. His slender fingers covered in ash remained tightly gripped around an ornate silver dagger in this lap.

The man in question named Seiro, a Dotharl hunter, sat perched atop a long since abandoned wooden log, watching the skewered trout cooking atop of with a few helpful pointers from Seraphine who had witnessed his earlier struggle. His roughened hand covered in a layer of black bandages reached out to turn the skewer to the other side of the roasting fish with a proud grin set to his features, “Yes, beautiful as you say and worth the journey there. And you? You do not seem keen to speak of yourself.” Seiro’s peculiar gaze with one dark violet eye and the other outlined in a limbal ring of bright red lay unwaveringly as if searching.

Tearing his gaze away so suddenly, Seraphine fidgeted uncomfortably under the blanket like something agitated him far worse than the affliction he was still recovering from, “I must be honest and say that it would all be quite unpleasant to hear. Even now, I... I still cannot believe it. All this time...He had killed her...I forgot...How much did I forget?” His words turned into a soft babble mixed in with anxious breathing.

With a soft worried chuff, Seiro shifted upward on high alert to watch the smaller man to come to his aid if needed. His brows knitted together and a gleam of understanding in his depths tinged with an unspoken sorrow, “Life unravels differently for all. A weaving of sorrows and joys – It makes us all who we are at our core. You need not trouble yourself.” There was a natural deep rumbling to his voice that sought to calm his new companion.

Seraphine’s form had grown tense under the heavy blanket, the fingers of his free hand shaky when they went to grip one of the ruffled sleeves of his linen shirt appearing burnt along the edges. His bloody depths lowered with shame like something in him crumbled in the light of Seiro who peered without judgment, “Well...there is nothing to return to. Tis simple as that. I-I killed him...the man who I thought was my father. And something strange happened. It hurt too much, and I became angry; something came out of me...and I burned it all down. Everything. The whole manor is gone...” It all came out in a quick breath of rushed words and lowered voice like he was at confession, still unable to lift his eyes away from the bonfire between them.

“It might be true. I received a missive on my eighteenth Namesday about my true father that I ignored until now, you know...A monster or a devil. I may be like him.”

With a long steady gaze over Seraphine who spoke this in a pained whisper, Seiro took another leisurely swig from the bottle of ale he had dangling in one hand with the label far since faded from a constant barrage of different elements encountered during travel. He hummed thoughtfully, his curved shiny black horns gleaming with the gold of the trinkets that bedazzled them, “Say this is true? I argue the origins of birth do not deserve death. With those bruises, you only sought to survive, no? I would do no less in your place.” His low tone chimed out without hesitation, gesturing his hands out like he knew not what else he could have done.

The dark haired Ishgardian came up to absentmindedly touch at the pale length of his neck that bore outline of black and blue hand imprint with brows furrowed in confusion, “Do you really think so...? All this time, I wondered if something may be wrong with me. But I have spent so long trying to be someone else...to become a perfect partner in marriage. I cannot even be sure of who I really am. But all I know is that I never wish to return home.” The hand at his neck gestured out uselessly, uncertain where he was going with this.

Finally, he managed to lift his gaze back towards the general direction of the Loth ast Vath with a softness that hadn’t been there before, “The Vath were exceedingly kind to care for me in my time of need. I find comfort in hearing stories of their lives and culture. But I still fear I could prove a danger to those around me. Something awakened in me then... I cannot ignore it either.”

A warm grin spread across Seiro’s features when leaning forward that he came to grip his shoulder in a manner that was surprisingly gentle for one of his apparent strengths. Such was one that Seraphine didn’t attempt to flinch away from the brief touch before Seiro settled himself back with his long shining black tail swaying gently behind him, “Think of it this way – You are free to steer your life as you desire now. You do not have to remain as you are. You can become who you wish to be, mm? To journey where you please. There are none that you owe that now apart from yourself.” He reached to take ahold of the skewer now, offering a bite to Seraphine that he declined before he began to blow lightly to help cool the still steaming fish.

“I travel to the lands of Thanalan for a place called Ul’dah for my own purposes. You can come with me if you like. I have heard there is a guild known for their unusual techniques with funerary rites. The many tomes they hold there could help you find answers. This could give you time to think about what you really seek and forge a new path for yourself.” Seiro added in a deep lull of an ever-carefree tone, finally taking a bite into the piece of plain fish with a delighted hum of satisfaction while he chewed.

“Become who I wish…” All these words skillfully shocked Seraphine to the point of silence until then, his soot covered hand finally easing off the hilt of the dagger ever so to relax in his lap in front of him with slender fingers clasping together in thought. There was a long reluctance in him when he peered downward, “I suppose all I really want is to be...important to someone. And not as a possession to have. Not for a title, riches or looks.”

A soft sheepish laugh escapes him, finally looking up to the hunter with a sense of his strong composure coming back to him, “But, I have digressed long enough. Please accept my apologies for conveying all this to you so freely...It felt...troubling to hold back all this time. You have certainly given me much to think about. I shall give you an answer soon I assure you.”

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite 2024 Master Post

Total Word Count: 37,168 Longest Story: Devastation/Windmill/Curse @ 3,248 Top Posts of 2024 (Sept 30)Tumblr: Halycon AO3: Telling Top Posts of All FFXIV Writes (Sept 30 2024) Tumblr: Missed the Boat AO3: Nuzzle

*Indicates that the story takes place during that Expansion's timeline but otherwise spoiler free.

Day 1 (Shb): Steer Day 2 (DT): Horizon Day 3 (DT): Tempest Day 4 (DT): Reticent Day 5 (EW): Stamp Day 6: (DT): Halcyon Day 7: (EW): Morsel Day 8: (EW)*: Wedding Vows Day 9: (DT) Lend an Ear Day 10: (EW) Stable Day 11: (DT) Surrogate Day 12: (EW) Quarry Day 13: (EW) Butte Day 14: (EW) Telling Day 15: (EW) Misdirection Day 16: (EW) Third-Rate Day 17: (EW)* Sally Day 18: (EW)* Hackneyed Day 19: (EW) Taken Day 20: (EW)* Duel Day 21: (DT) Shade Day 22: (DT) Convergence Day 23: (DT) On Cloud Nine Day 24: (DT)* Bar Day 25: (EW) Perpetuity Day 26: (EW)* Zip Day 27: (EW)* Memory Day 28: (DT) Deleterious Day 29: (EW)* Devastation/Windmill/Curse Day 30: (DT) Two Heads Are Better Than One

Below is my calendar of blorbos! My goal this year was to not let the blorobs touch to ensure I spread my attention around! Archon symbol is for vignettes. Azem symbol is for my WOL Trio.

[nothingxs]

FFXIV Write // Tempest

It was raining that night, too.

Everything had been happening too fast. "Bozja is not somewhere people should go for glory," her master had told her later. But at the time, they didn't know any better. They had seen success after success. Perhaps not the most glorious of wins, but they had survived. Time and time again.

They felt galvanized. Infallible. Even as their previous sortie to Ghimlyt had endeavored to remind them that they were anything but.

The Empire had struck in the middle of the night. The camp was in disarray as members of the IVth Legion spilled forth, followed by their automated magitek creations opening fire upon the scattered, fleeing ranks. Celica ran, sword and shield in hand, cutting down attackers as best she could to try and buy others more time, even as the heavy rain turned the ground into muck and matted her hair to her forehead, caked in mud and blood. She screamed until she couldn't anymore, calling for the platoon to retreat, desperately seeking cover from the Empire's cannons and gunfire.

Their platoon had scattered through the night, many struggling to make their way through the southern entrenchments to the safety of Utya's Aegis to find succor. Old Bozja was a mess of ruins and hostile *things*, and escape was made only more difficult by the flooded terrain and the risk that any part of it might fall at any given moment, rocked by cannonfire.

She could hear others dying around her amidst the heavy rainfall, but she could not see them in the dark.

She knew there was nothing she could do but run.

She had eventually managed to make it back to the Aegis. Safe now, under the cover of the Magitek barrier that protected them from Imperial assault. With her were the few soldiers she could find, gathering them to help ease their way back. She ran into the tent, looking for her friends. Her heart swelled with relief upon finding Nenera among the people who had returned, the two colliding into each other's arms and sharing a moment with each other before Celica asked,

"Where are the others?"

...

It was raining that night, too.

The night after the breach of Lacus Litore. Where she'd fought like a rabid animal, in a hurry to save her friends from their fate at the IVth legion. The night after that successful campaign, once again spearheaded by the *one*.

The hero. The one who made miracles into reality. The one who survived the meteor.

The bodies had been collected and brought in. Identified. Tagged.

Nenera was inconsolable, her small frame overcome with grief at the terrible sight of what the IVth legion had done to them.

Celica could only stand there, eyes unfocused. Distant. The moment seemed so unreal. They had shared laughter less than a sennight ago. Ilysa had told another of her absurd stories. Renolt had goaded her and played along, all while Dameron continued to decry the absurdity of them. Nenera, smiling, eating quietly, leaning on her side.

They lay now, cold, still. Barely recognizable.

Nenera wept and clung to Celica's side, fists clenched so hard her nails threatened to pierce her own skin.

And Celica could only stand there, wondering where it had all gone wrong.

... It was raining that night, too.

When she had walked up to the front door of Dameron's home to speak to his family.

When she could only stand there, outside of their door. Eyes unfocused. Distant. As his father hurled insult after insult at her for her irresponsibility. For making them dream of something that they were not. For making them think they could be heroes.

He wondered why she hadn't died with them.

Maybe she should have.

...

It was raining that night, too.

When she held Nenera's cold body in her hands, smaller than it had ever seemed, after Nenera's struggles with her guilt and pain had overwhelmed what little will she had left.

...

She sat, slouched over onto herself, on the back of a chocobo-drawn carriage headed from Ishgard down to Ul'dah. A bottle of cheap liquor dangled from her hand, lazily hanging between her thighs, her clouded gaze focusing on nothing. A heavy blanket laid atop her frame.

She faded in and out of sleep, huddled up against crates of goods, until something disturbed her sleep. The sound of an arrow embedding itself into the cart.

A small group of bandits. From what she could tell, no more than three had approached the merchant leading the cart. Perhaps more in the bush. They were likely in the Shroud, given what she could see through the slits in the tarp covering the back.

She reached to grasp at her longsword.

So this is all there is, then.

It was raining.

[its-the-val-pal]

Prompt #6: Halcyon

For a while, Val hated mornings. He hated waking up. He hated staring through the hole in his ceiling as the offensive rays of the sun accosted him. He hated the aftertaste of whiskey and the previous night's dinner and snacks on his tongue and the groggy feeling that it often left him with.

That is, of course, assuming he stopped drinking long enough for it to hit him. Often times he was still inebriated when he woke up. On top of everything he hated about mornings, he also hated remembering what he'd lost. And that cloying, suffocating fear of uncertainty about what the future would bring.

But life has a funny way of just.. working itself out when one least expects it. It has a way of humbling you. It teaches you that, no. You aren't as grown as you thought you were and, no, you still aren't as grown as you think you are even now.

Now, Val sometimes woke up with the intoxicatingly sweet taste of vanilla on his lips left from the whisp of a kiss as his wife left to start her day. The remnant of tea and roses also hung in the air as she dressed herself or waited upstairs for him to eventually rise. And some days he would find himself waking up and wandering through their den, full of oversized furniture and earthy smell all of the books gave off. Sometimes he'd arrive upstairs to the smell of whatever she'd decided to burn for breakfast that morning. Other times she, thankfully, chose to wait for him instead.

Other days, like this one, the smells had long since faded and he knew she'd taken her leave for the day, busy as she was. It gave him time to sleep in. Time to think. Time to appreciate being in that oversized, comfy bed. Time to bask in the remnants of her scent on the pillow next to him, knowing it would be a short while until he saw her again.

Most importantly, time to be thankful. He loved her. He always had; that was without a doubt. He'd laid his life down for her multiple times. But.. being without her had taught him many things. That he had to grow up, for one. And while deep down he was still the same Val, he had certainly done a lot of changing in their time apart. He took his jobs seriously. He'd always refused to drink while working, but now he dressed the part as well.

It also taught him how fleeting things truly were. For the longest time Val often thought himself to be invincible.. until the day came that he wasn't, and well. Then it wouldn't matter what he thought. But losing her had wounded him in ways he didn't think possible. He was mortal. He could be hurt. And he needed to be better, both for his own sake and also for her. And while he had certainly always appreciated her, he had never more so than now.

[laspocelliere]

Day Twenty-Eight: Deleterious

In darkness and silence, the Ascian appeared in Ishgard.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with the city. In recent years, even, it had come to resemble his familiar Garlemald, locked in an icy grip from which its citizens needed to shelter against. It made them, in his opinion, all the easier to control; fear was quite conveniently sowed where challenges and difficulty lie.

It would likely be ripe to revisit in a few short years. When certain…inconveniences had died off.

In the snow-capped night, Emet-Selch gazed, unimpressed, down on one such inconvenience.

He was asleep, and the state didn’t improve him any. It had taken very little effort for the Ascian to trace the glamoured ring on the hero’s finger to the hollow attempt at a knight who currently lay atop his fully made bed, brow furrowed with restless sleep and nightmares. Worry, likely, and the simplicity and naivete of it all made him want to slit the Commander’s throat where he lay. Save him the mess and the heartbreak that was certain to follow, if he continued to follow his current path.

If he continued to follow her.

Despite knowing the hero of the Source for only a short period, Emet-Selch had known her, instantly and immediately. She reeked of death; destruction followed her like a plague. There was armageddon in those eyes of hers, and anyone who fell into their path would be met with only doom.

He had encountered eyes like hers before.

Only one of them had walked out of it alive.

The same fate waited for this son of Ishgard. The Ascian peered down at him with vague disgust in the darkness, watching the nightmares flit worry across his closed eyelids. With their hero stranded on the First, clearly the pair had been separated, and it was taking its pathetic toll; Emet-Selch could see the dull shadows under the boy’s eyes even in the dim light. He longed and yearned for her in ways that the man Emet-Selch had once been might have done, centuries ago.

Back before he knew what women of her sort could do. What the follies of hearts not meant to be could do to topple a society, to fracture and destroy thousands of lives.

This Warrior held the same nuclear power in her very being.

He intended to use it. Incidentally, by turning her into the weapon she had been designed to become, he would unintentionally save this poor, unassuming boy from the fallout of her blast.

Tilting his head as though studying an insect beneath a magnifying glass, Emet-Selch considered the sleeping knight. He found him lacking and sorely wanting in every way, and the disappointment he felt annoyed him more than it should have. What about this powerless, unimpressive knight had turned the hero’s head on that lovely neck of hers? He was plain, and Emet-Selch had seen similar of his ilk dozens of times over the centuries; princes who thought they could make a difference.

They bled just the same as every one who had come before them.

After a few moments, as his annoyance grew, the Ascian disappeared as seamlessly as he’d arrived. Back to the First, back to the plans he’d laid, and back to their precious hero with her icy anger and fire-torn eyes.

Maybe, in her destruction, he might actually create a net good for the first time in millennia.

[devonhinged]

[FFxivWrite2024] Horizon

Endwalker ending spoilers! About the aftermath of Ultima Thule. If you've been following my tweets this might be easier to understand...

Zenos lies overlapping the horizon. The light grazed the roots of his hair that were still golden. The alien yet earthly warm light. In this vast space where there is nothing else but them, despite himself, Saga stretches out a hand towards him. Zenos is merely a few ilms away. If Saga moved about his torso, maybe he could nudge himself far enough to touch him. But it seems like he had lost all the muscle for it. 

He still sees and hears, but he's fighting a very heavy sleep. 

... a gift, or a burden? 

For a moment, in this warmth, Saga remembers laying on the floor of his childhood bedroom, letting the window open and the sun in. 

"Don't you dare.... Bastard."

He grimaces in tears. Pain slowly setting in the longer that he's awake, along with an incredible sadness. He never came back home.

"Don't you... dare die before me." His fingers curl into his palm, but too weak to push his own nails in. Zenos no longer speaks to him. Hell would've frozen over. "I thought you wanted to fight. I thought you'd live for it forever." Saga is not too sure if he's still speaking himself.... 

He let go of his fight to breathe. So this was all his life was going to be. In the end, there is no end to it after all. Only one step after the other, every moment of every second, until he can't do another. And all these people he's leaving behind, his greatest nightmare still manages to come true.

...I don't want to die alone.

. 

. 

. 

The more he slips into unconsciousness, the more he is calm. At least, his soul feels happy. Had he done a good job then? He is wrapped in an old, familiar embrace. Alike, but not of his brother or even his mom. Not even from his earliest childhood memory. He slips deeper and deeper into it, it’s like a cold blanket. He reckoned... his soul must've been very old.

Is that really enough? 

I understand what we must do, but I don't know what to do anyway...

I'm scared to be alone, I'll be honest. 

What if I forget everything? What if we all do? 

Do I just keep on going?

A faint echo. Trickling water. Smell of wet soil. The sun hitting his scalp and rocks beneath his feet. There were distant footsteps somewhere echoing around him. Saga doesn't think he is anywhere new. He's been here this whole time.

Then I will, no matter what. Even if I lose the purpose. 

If that's all you ask, then it seems easy enough. 

I'll keep going for the sake of it. I will trust you. 

And I'll see you again. 

That was as vivid as it comes, then the dream fades away again, as if he is slowly waking up. But there's nothing on the other side of his closed eyes. There's only that distant, echoing footsteps. Not even getting louder or fainter, only at a consistent pace. As if they're walking with him. He only stays in one place, though. He's not going anywhere. So he doesn't know where they're going. 

Here, he is not alone. He's never been alone. He's been here this whole time. 

Saga's eyes are flooded with light and he gasps for air.

[promethea-silk]

FFxivWrite2024

Prompt #2: Horizon

[ tw: mentions of blood]

The sounds of the waves crashing onto the shore was muffled and distant in her ears despite the ocean being within range of being able to reach out and touch. Long passed the carried out vengeance that Cordelia and Vahalia had journeyed to Tural for. The woman, their target, nothing but a few scattered bones on the rocks that overlooked the beach before them. Even still, the anger burned inside her, leaving a hollowed out piece that seemed to grow the longer she mused on the thought. No more was she burned by the loss of her trade goods and extensive reagents siphoned off by Ophelia and her crew, now was the lingering aggravation that she hadn't seen the man coming.

She had been thankful for the adrenaline that was already coursing through her when the blade pierced through her chest, the pain only came much later. Even more, she had been thankful for Vahalia. Her sister.

The day prior to the group leaving Tuliyolal, there had been a moment where Cordelia had reassured Ricard; blood protects blood. She had trusted Vahalia up to this point, she knew her family was integral to her but there had been that small bit of her mind that wandered if the Cress Matriarch had truly accepted Cordelia as her sister, even if bastardly and without name. There was no longer doubt and until Vahalia gave her reason to consider otherwise, there never would be.

Her mind was far away, thinking back to the moment she anticipated her demise, her failure, as she stood with her feet in the sand while the small waves kissed the tips of her boots. The deed had been done, Ophelia paid for her transgressions against House Cress, as a whole, directly and indirectly. The woman's blood now dried on Cordelia's hands and arms, though there were places that remained tacky. She honed her gaze on the horizon, the stars twinkling in the night sky.

Blood protects blood, and by blood that pact has been made. Their paths had been vastly differing but now they fully came together as sisters and Cordelia wholeheartedly was willing to accept that finally.

She looked down to her dirtied hands, eventually bending at the knees to kneel into the sand. She sat there, leaning forward slightly as she simply allowed the waves to wash over her arms, erasing as much of the remaining blood on her skin as possible. The others were waiting for her to finish the return to the city, she was in need of a healer and rest, they all deserved the rest.

[Mentions: @vahalia-cress]

[musesofawolf]

Day 4 - Reticent

It was one of those warm, easy nights where the Maelstrom company could relax, circle around the fires, drink ale, and sing sea shanties. A moment of peace, so hard to find, but for that moment, everyone could relax, and Brynhorn Fiske could relax.

He remembered these days, where he circled with the new members of the Maelstrom, swapped stories, told tall tales, joked about each other or their families, and built that camaraderie that kept a myriad of different walks in life together. But now, he was no longer part of that.

It was his choice, five years ago, to resign from the Maelstrom as a Storm Sergeant, Second Class, taking his menial pension and throwing his lot with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. He had his reasons…reasons he hadn't told anyone besides those closest to him, but even then, he couldn't keep away from his old haunts. The Scions worked with all the grand companies, and recognizing Bryn’s connection to the Maelstrom, they often asked him to liaison with the red coated soldiers. Which was why he was among old friends right now.

He heard raucous laughter, and he glanced up, noting a pair of younger privates stumbling towards him, ale in hand, grinning like fools as they plopped down next to him, the ex-sergeant shifting his rifle to make room for the one on his right, silver eyes flicking between the two.

“Hey, you're the Silver Wolf, aren't ya?” Bryn’s eyes flicked to the one on the left, poking the fire with a stick, as he nodded, his left hand shifting to lift the patch on his green coat. The Silver Wolf emblem winked in the fire light, and he grunted in affirmative, the light playing across his bearded face.

“You're legendary!” The soldier on his right chimed in, a Miqo'te, jostling his shoulder as he took a drink. He let out a pleased sigh at the taste, and then sloshed the tankard about. “Scouting for the front lines, pushing back the Garleans.”

“Why'd you retire?”

He froze, his gaze darting to the Lalafel on his left, his question not one he really wanted to discuss. Ever since that day…

“Dalamud,” he growled out, and both soldiers fell silent. It was a half truth, but Bryn was far too reticent to reveal more. To reveal the real reason he had left. It wasn't just the horror of watching Bahamut fall, killing friends, wiping out his squad. It wasn't just the burning and the fire as it seared his skin.

It was what came after, in the moment before death.

When his old moniker became far, far too real.

He closed his eyes, suppressing the memory, the way he had felt the fire no longer just on his skin, in his veins, drawing something up inside him, dragging it to the surface in a last ditch effort, to fight for life. Changing him, forcing him into something he didn't recognize. White fur singed black, but his eyes…she had said they were the same the first time she'd seen them.

He wasn't sure he believed her.

Bryn’s deep breath startled the two beside him, poking the fire again as he glanced at the Lalafel. “Forget about me. Tell me, your favorite exploit?” Both were all too happy to jump at that question, regaling the Silver Wolf with story after story of their young lives, and slowly bringing a smile to his face.

And for the night, Bryn felt like he was a part of the Maelstrom again. Young, free, and with purpose. Secrets forgotten.

And it felt good.

[ink-dreams-ffxiv]

Prompt 18: Hackneyed

(( nod to both @autumnslance and @gunbun , we all seemed to be on the same wavelength. Aeryn and Thancred with Tiona here. ))

Raisha mused; she was not surprised that Rehna had fallen asleep to the sounds of the rain falling on the cabana and the waters below the open deck. She was however surprised that her young scholarly type had fallen asleep while reading. The tawny haired Viera carefully took the slim cheaply printed book from the red haired Miqo’te’s hand, and peered at the pages. She of course already knew what she would find, a, what did Sahxa call them? A bodice ripper of a story which was what it was. That mother and both daughters read them were very amusing to Raisha, she just couldn’t plumb their depths, and each story seemed a repeat of every other one. This one though, must have been incredibly bad; Rehna had too much respect for the written word to fall asleep with a book in hand.

“Kami but it was horrible. It was a patchwork of hackneyed ideas and tropes, none of it worked, how it ever made it into print, I have no idea. I won’t even send it to Sahxa or Mahmah, it would be a waste of time. I just hope I can convince the book seller to at least let me have a pel or two back for it being in good condition still. I’ll even accept one of her more roughly handled books if she will just take it off my hands.” Groaned Rehna after being teased by Raisha, her Viera lover was right though; the book was truly so bad, she couldn’t even remember the last two chapters she had read. She wasn’t quite sure if she had actually read them, or if she had already drifted to sleep before her eyes finally got the message and quit reading.

[sea-wolf-coast-to-coast]

Prompt #1: Steer

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#FFxivWrite2024 is underway – a daily writing challenge presented to the Final Fantasy XIV writing community for the month of September. You can join any time throughout the challenge with any prompt number! Entries can be written on any online writing platform (tumblr, Archive of our Own, Google Docs, etc.). Submit the link and be sure that I have reading access. Reminder: The 24-hour deadline does not go into effect until September 8th at 12:00 pm PDT. Check you entries here in the Public Spreadsheet

Rules & Info || Prompt List || #FFxivWrite2024 || kofi

[prettygayway]

FFXIV 30 day writing challenge day 8: Free Day (spontaneous)

Spontaneous: performed or occurring as a result of a sudden inner impulse or inclination and without premeditation or external stimulus.

"Your hair is tangled again, bend down." Their voice is soft, tinged with amusement as they reached forward to tug a hand through knotted ebony locks.

It had been a almost a full day since Seraph had last left their shared living space, sword hefted over his shoulder and a scowl etched across his features.

Mydia didn't ask where he'd gone, or what he'd done, but they always welcomed him home with open arms and a gentle touch. Seraph deserved kindness more then anyone they'd ever met, nothing he would do or had done would ever change that.

"Sit," they pushed down against tense shoulders, the only reply a barely audible grunt as Seraph lowered himself to sit by the hearth. "There, now I can reach you properly."

"Are you hurt?" It was spoken quietly, fingers working through gnarls and knots as they listened to the fire crackling behind them.

"No," the elezen spoke simply, voice low. "You don't need to do that, just leave it."

Mydia felt Seraph turn his head towards the flames, his voice pitching even lower. Pale fingers slid from his scalp to trace a path along his jaw, thumb brushing along a cheekbone as if attempting to map out every ridge they could.

"Why would I do that?" Their index finger slid down the slope of his nose, poking the end of it for good measure. "You deserve care, Seraph." Thumb brushed along his lips, sudden and gentle. Taking in the shape, the texture, how they seemed to turn down at the corners instead of up. "I enjoy taking care of you."

The viera leaned in closer, nose nearly touching Seraph and lips curled with a rare kind of mischief. "How else can I see you?"

Their hand pressed against the side of his face, tethered and searching, before leaning in to press a chaste kiss against the corner of slanted lips.

Tomorrow they could worry about the spontaneity of their actions, but for now they would enjoy basking in the presence of Seraph and attempt to make those lips curl up.

@midnightmagicks thanks for letting me use seraph!!!

[avampyone]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Master list

I held off on creating a master list initially since I wasn't 100% certain I would be able to finish these. I was going through stressful RL situations last year and wasn't able to complete it then- I'm glad to be in a better place to do so this year!

------------

Prompt #1: Steer - A New Path

Prompt #2: Horizon - In His Snare

Prompt #3: Tempest - Of Love and Duty

Prompt #4: Reticent - The Wingman

Prompt #5: Stamp - Letter from the Lost Days

Prompt #6: Halcyon - A Visitor at Dusk

Prompt #7: Morsel - Serendipity

Prompt #8: Brain rest day

Prompt #9: Lend an Ear - The Outsider

Prompt #10: Stable - Synthesis Failed

Prompt #11: Surrogate - Never Forgotten

Prompt #12: Quarry - Promise

Prompt #13: Butte - The Prime Suspect

Prompt #14: Telling - Haunted

Prompt #15: Brain rest day

Prompt #16: Third-rate - Wayward Son

Prompt #17: Sally - The Night's Embrace

Prompt #18: Hackneyed - Unexpected Meeting

Prompt #19: Taken - A Little Warmth

Prompt #20: Duel - The Dreamers

Prompt #21: Shade - A Long-awaited Reunion

Prompt #22: Brain rest day

Prompt #23: On Cloud Nine: The Last Waltz

Prompt #24: Bar: More Mezcal

Prompt #25: Perpetuity: Aesthete

Prompt #26: Zip - Camouflage

Prompt #27: Memory - Beguiling Dark

Prompt #28: Deleterious - Rendezvous

Prompt #29: Brain rest day

Prompt #30: Two Heads Are Better Than One: Serenity

[mimble-sparklepudding]

Prompt #28: Blunt.

I once tried a dalliance with Jacke,

But it turned out I don't have the knack,

He said "I'll be blunt,

You're no good at the front,

So perhaps you should try round the back?"

Absolutely innocent and wholesome silliness.

[nothingxs]

FFXIV Write // Halcyon

“Stop right there!”

The young Miqo’te boy tucked the package under his arms as he ran down the Steps of Nald into the Steps of Thal, his feet moving as fast as they could to get him as clear of the Quicksand as possible, two burly men in Brass Blades uniform slowly gaining.

He looked right. Brass Blade, coming down the stairs. No good; wouldn’t be able to blow past him. His head swiveled forward. A couple of carts were bringing in tradecraft supplies and goods to the stalls. He weaved through the crowd, putting his shoulder as hard as his small frame could into the cart, a poorly-balanced crate toppling into the Sapphire Avenue and stymieing the Blades for enough moments to gain some distance.

A young Dunesfolk girl sat atop the outcropping behind the Aetheryte, looking at the chase unfold. With a grin, she hopped up, swishing her long black hair out of the way of her face, and waved the boy down. She pointed up the stairs with a laugh.

“Make a left!” came the instructions from the Lalafell as the boy cut as hard to the right as he could and ran up the stairs, three steps at a time in big hops, sliding as he got to the top and pivoting as hard left as he could.

Another Brass Blade, this one a massive Roegadyn man, had started to make the run from the passage from the Pearl Lane into the Gold Court and started to give chase as well; the boy’s turn had cut into his speed.

No matter—he moved as fast as he could and jumped up, quickly climbing up onto a stack of crates to his left, running and hopping across others in the path, onto staircases and then onto more crates. Sitting on the steps, a kid with scruffy black hair flopping around over his headband looked up and grinned as the Miqo’te sailed over him.

The Hyur kid stood up, waited until he could hear the pursuers’ footsteps, and shoved a large container forward and toppled it onto the ground, sending countless crystal beads scattering and rolling into path just as the Roegadyn man came.

The next sound was a “DAMNED—" cut short and a loud thud and crash as the Roegadyn slid forward. And the loud crunches and cracks of glass as the two earlier pursuers slowly tried to make their way around the mess on the ground.

The Miqo'te boy kept running, his lanky legs already carrying him down the path to the Miners’ Guild, where he took time to traipse around the corridors, weaving past workers and ducking past crates, looking every which way. Things seemed to be clear until he started hearing the loud commotion of footsteps coming from the Gold Court proper, and a simple loud order.

“FIND HIM!”

He kept running, leaping up some steps before turning right to head to the Coliseum, trying to mix in with a nearby group who were seemingly exploring. The group went down the stairs, and so did he, and as the family turned right towards the Gold Court, the boy pivoted left and ran into the area of the Coliseum. And with a quick dash, a shoulder went into the door of the Gladiator Guild.

He ran in and waved at the receptionist as she blinked at his entrance, and laughed. He went to the railing and slipped under it, landing between the stacks of equipment and the steps to the little practice pit. He sat down to gather himself, trying to catch his breath.

One of the gladiators, a middle-aged Hyur man who was sitting on the steps next to him, noticed him as he was trying to gulp down any air he could muster. He gave him a big, stupid grin.

“Causing trouble again?”

The boy took a few more heavy breaths before giving a little dismissive wave of the hand and a shake of the head.

“Nahhhhh.”

“Mhm.” The gladiator gave him a knowing smirk. “That right? Just runnin’ for fun, then?”

Almost as if on cue, the door to the Gladiators’ Guild swung open, and a helmeted woman looked inside, peering left and right for a few moments before giving an up-nod over to the Receptionist before looking around.

“Oi! Anyone come through here just now?”

The receptionist shrugged.

The gladiator shook his head and shrugged. “Ain’t had no one come through here.”

The woman cursed and bolted off as the door slowly swung closed behind her.

The boy exhaled out a held breath, coughing lightly.

“Riiight,” smirked the gladiator. “No trouble.”

“Not… even a little,” said the boy, finally catching up to his breathing.

He clambered to his feet, gave the gladiator a pat on the shoulder, and grinned. “Owe ya one.”

“Yeah? Th’ fuck are YOU gonna give me?”

The receptionist was trying her best to not break into a fit of giggles as the boy opened the door to the guild, peeked left and right, gave a little wave goodbye to the people inside and snuck off.

“…He’s going places, that Carran.” The receptionist smiled as she shook her head.

“Yeah.” The gladiator laughed before he focused back on the trainees in the pit. “Gaol.”

Carran had already made a hasty move out through the steps past the Coliseum, rushing past a few more corridors and up some steps to a twisting staircase, where an older boy in a tank top and slacks stopped him for a moment, throwing some robes over him before setting a bent, wide-brimmed, conical hat atop his head. He gave him a big pat on the back, nodding.

“I expect these back tonight.”

And the little fake thaumaturge hustled off with a small group of thaumaturges, headed out the Sultana’s Gate to get some live practice of their offensive magic against critters.

—

A bell or two later, as the thaumaturges continue to practice and talk, Carran is sat off to the side on a crate in the Scorpion Crossing, idly eating through an apple.

A gentleman in long robes, with a pointed, angular mask and a propensity for grinning approached him, his grin already near ear-to-ear.

“My dear friend! It would appear that YOU have made it here… on TIME, after all!” Words spoken in a strange, pitchy voice that could never settle on a proper pace, hitching in odd places.

Carran finished the last bite of his apple and tossed the core over to a refuse pile. He wiped his hands off on the robes before turning to look at him, grinning under the huge brim of the hat.

“Yeah. Sure have.” And from the sleeves of Carran’s loaned robe, he produced a small, thick red satchel. He offered it to the robed man, holding it up for him.

The robed man smiled in turn, taking the satchel in one hand, and opened it with the other. He rifled through the contents with a playful hum. He giggled an upsetting giggle, and his perhaps too-wide grin seemed to get wider. Carran’s ears flattened on his head.

“Yes. Yes! Perfect, my dear friend. Ab—solutely PERFECT! You have done me… a GREAT service! Indeed, indeed, indeed.” He reached to the massive sling bag held at his side, pulling it in front of himself, and as he deposited the satchel into it, he rifled through it. After a few moments, he let out a quick “a-HA!” and pulled from inside of it a small black box that barely fit in the long, lanky fingers of his hand.

“And I… promised you: THIS!”

He laid the box on the crate, then stepped back and did a flourish with his hand, bowing deeply. “Please, please! Inspect it, inspect it, and make SURE. That it… is to YOUR liking.”

Carran reached to the box, holding it for a few moments in his hands, and his eyebrows raised at how much heavier it was than it seemed. He pulled the top of the box off to reveal the contents: a vial rested on a plush bed of red velvet. He took the vial and lifted it above him to examine it. It was  filled with an odd, swirling and colorful liquid that seemed to glow strangely at certain angles and cast odd lights. He placed the vial back into the box, and the lid back onto it to close it before turning back to the robed man.

The man regarded him with a dangerous smile. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Well, WELL! What do you think? A fortune. A fortune. In a SINGLE bottle.” That giggle, again. “Aren’t you EXCITED?”

Carran forced himself to smile. “…Sure. Bet I’ll find a buyer for it in… no time, yeah? If this does what you say it does.”

His smile twisted into a terrible Cheshire grin.

“I am sure whoever drinks it will find whatever price is demanded well worth it.” Smooth, lucid, perfectly spoken.

Carran felt himself swallow right as his lips curled in an uneasy smile. A nervous chuckle escaped him, and he took the box, stuffed it under his friend’s robes, and nodded. “…You need anythin’ else, you—you let me know.” And with a quick hop off the crate, he hustled away, running back to join the other thaumaturge trainees as they got ready to return to the city.

—

She could not believe what she was seeing in the mirror the following morning.

“…Finally. It’s me.”