#ffxivwrites 2024

[asteriasfallingstarsandtears]

Steer and Horizon Prompts:

Odysseus and Venat, Ancient Times

(Reminder this is all rough and I'm not submitting to the contest so I will join prompts)

Dawn was breaking just over the horizon as he guided the wheel of the ship. He had been awake all night, navigating through the quiet solitude of the ocean, the gentle waves below reflecting the sea of stars above. His family was asleep below deck, oblivious to the beauty he had admired all night.

“Still awake?” He glanced back, grinning at his friend.

“Ship hardly steers herself, and neither you nor Pen seem willing to learn.” He beckoned at her to join him. “Are they still asleep?”

“Tele wore himself out watching dolphins yesterday, he might sleep the rest of the voyage.” She snorted. “And Penelope despises the tossing and turning of the waves; she's sleeping as much as she can, rather than retching the whole way.”

“I think this will be the last voyage for those two.” There was a sense of melancholy to the thought. He loved the sea, loved to travel, but it was unfair to Penelope and Telemachus who were more accustomed to urban life to join him regularly.

Especially now that he was to be Azem.

This was the last voyage they would take together.

He gripped the wheel tightly. “I appreciate you helping with the move, Tele’s excited to start at the school in Amaurot. There weren't a lot of young ones in Ithaca.”

She gave him a quick look before averting her gaze. “Always, you know how much you and Pen and Tele mean to me.”

He wondered… Venat had been a friend for many years now, an older friend of Penelope's from her girlhood. She had always been there for Pen and he wondered if there had been something more between them, or unrequited from Venat’s perspective.

He wasn't opposed if she was, if anything he found himself hopeful.

“Pen told me something silly last night, and I couldn't sleep.” She was standing against the rising sun, her form a dark silhouette against the dazzling light.

“And what's that?” He couldn't imagine what Pen could say that would shake someone like Venat. She never startled, always seemed ready to tackle whatever came to her with wisdom and forethought.

“She asked me to join your family, said you had both expressed interest.” He could see her hands clasped tightly behind her back, the only real sign of her unease.

He hadn't been sure Pen remembered. They had briefly discussed who a third could be to their partnership, if they decided they ever wanted to open up to it. He hadn't remembered Pen saying anything, but he had certainly mentioned Venat and Pen’s knowing little smile as he suggested it before their conversation turned to others. “Oh.”

She laughed quietly. “I didn't know what to say. Oh rather summed up what I said at the time.”

“And now?” He was hopeful, but he also didn't want it to come between their friendship.

That was the important part, that she felt comfortable enough in either scenario.

He drew in a deep breath. “You're my friend, Pen’s friend, first and foremost. If you don't want this, we can forget it was ever mentioned.” He swallowed, nervous. “Besides, I'm about to be Azem, I won't be around as much. I wouldn't blame you if… if it wasn't what you wanted.”

“I am considering it.” She bowed her head. “But there is the slight issue that I was recently recruited to the Words of Azem.”

“You what?” He spluttered, peering at her suspiciously. “Since when?”

She laughed and spun around. “Why, the very same day you received your promotion. I needed a bit of a shake up, and imagine my surprise when I came out of Igeyorhm’s office just to see you walking out of Azem's office with a look of confused horror.” She shrugged. “It was meant to be a surprise, but then you were busy and I had training, and well… I didn't think it would matter.” She looked down at her feet. “Since you and Pen were so happy with each other, there never seemed room for another.”

He shook his head. “I won't push, but if Pen has already broached the subject, I'm all for it. I was more worried you'd have expectations I couldn't deliver, being away so often.” He gazed out along the horizon, seeing the gleaming city of Amaurot rising in the distance. “It's our fate to wander the Star, and some company would be welcome.”

[mimble-sparklepudding]

FFXIVwrite2024 Masterlist.

Yet another list of some of the most ridiculously daft poetry ever inflicted upon an unsuspecting reader - featuring alcoholic dwarfs, Gridanian coleslaw, escaped chocobos, some very strange goings-on in the back of a trolley, and G'raha Tia's terrible cooking...

Steer.

Horizon.

Tempest.

Reticent.

Stamp.

Halcyon.

Morsel.

Apricity (free day).

Lend An Ear.

Stable.

Surrogate.

Quarry.

Butte.

Telling.

Serene (free day).

Third-Rate.

Sally.

Hackneyed.

Taken.

Duel.

Shade.

Redame (free day).

On Cloud Nine.

Bar.

Perpetuity.

Zip.

Memory.

Deleterious.

Guffaw (free day).

Two Heads Are Better Than One.

Thank you to everyone who offered support and encouragement to me over the past month. And well done to everyone else who took part - I have put together a post highlighting some of my favourite pieces of writing here (all of which are considerably better written and more sensible than my nonsense).

[akirakirxaa]

FFXIVWrite Prompt 11: Surrogate

Rating: G

Word Count: 650

Summary: Stella brings Hades a picture while he's working. [Takes place in the OT4 AU, while Hades and G'raha are still at odds with each other. Note, very rough draft, words did not agree with me tonight.]

[Master Post]

Hades glanced over his notes, head leaned hard into one hand while a quill rested in his other (how long until he replaced every painfully primitive quill in the house with an easier to use pen, he wasn’t sure). He had overheard only a little of Akira’s daughter’s new abilities that were making themselves known, and though his help had been spurned before even asking him — and of course he certainly did not want to help anyway — he couldn’t help but ponder over it. And the more he pondered, the more he wrote, and now his desk was covered in notes he had no way to give Akira without admitting he had overheard. Not just her suggestion that they seek his help, but also the firm dismissal of—

��Up!” He glanced down at the small voice, finding the tiny red-haired frame of Stella, shoving the sketchbook he’d made for her at him to hold, barely waiting for him to grab it before letting go and climbing into his office chair, pushing insistently until she was crammed into it with him. She reached for the sketchbook and, while for anyone else he might grumble…he handed the book back, giving her a little pat on the head between her miqote ears.

For a while, they sat like that, Stella balancing the little book on Hades’ lap as she colored, Hades himself going back to his notes, occasionally glancing at the toddler. He snuck glances at her soul, as if someone would be able to tell if he lingered too long, fascinated at how the color almost precisely matched the ambient aether of the aetherial sea. He was deep into a multi page tangent on what it could mean combined with what other signs he had heard she was exhibiting when she tugged on his sleeve.

“What is it, dear?” Hades’ voice was softer than his usual prickly demeanor; he would never use the term of endearment if he suspected her father to be near, knowing with certainty now that, if the archon had his way, that Hades would have nothing to do with his daughter. But no matter what any of them did, Stella still sought him out with just as much regularity as her father, mother, or Hythlodaeus.

Stella flipped her book around proudly, ears flicking and small nub of a tail doing its best to swish while trapped between the arm of the chair and Hades’ leg. It was a little drawing of five stick figures, one much shorter than the others, three with red hair, one with purple…and one with white. For a moment, Hades was lost in the dozens and dozens of lives he’d lived, little children destined to live chaotic lives and die tragic deaths proudly bringing their ‘father’ their little creations looking for affection.

“Eme!” Stella pointed helpfully at the white-haired stick figure, and it broke Hades out of his reverie.

“No, no, Hades,” he corrected, and she frowned, pointing more forcefully at the figure.

“Eme!”

“Ha-des,” he pronounced slowly. Where had she learned that name? Now her face had a smirk that reminded him all-too much of her father.

“Eme!” she giggled at his frustration, and he let out a groan.

“You might as well give up,” Hades glanced up from his torment to find Hythlodaeus leaning on the frame of the office door. “Once kids decide what they want to call you, there’s no changing it.” Hades slumped forward onto his desk dramatically, and Stella jumped down with her prize, running over to Hythlodaeus and holding the book up to him.

“Oh, how lovely,” he crouched down to see it better. “I bet your mother would like to hang it up. Shall we go show her?” Stella nodded and, with one last smug look at his love, Hythlodaeus led her out of the office before her enthusiasm was the death of Hades.

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

Prompt #18: Hackneyed

---

Mathye inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled and closed his eyes. Exhaled and opened them. No luck. He was still staring down Ran'jit's chief flunky and assorted minions. Halone was quiet--the Greatwood was still filled with the tainted Light. Priming was out of the question--even more so that Ran'jit had figured out a way to temporarily block their Eikons. Mathye didn't trust that Eulmore's general wouldn't come flying out of nowhere to hit him on some vital energy point. Which meant he had to do things the old fashioned way.

As if you mind. A whisper from Halone, quiet mirth in her tone. Mathye smirked. She was right, of course. His goddess knew him well.

"Is that the best you can come up with?" He addressed the Chief Flunky. Names were irrelevant, he was either going to scare the bastard absolutely shitless or kill him. Both were preferable.

"I have heard every single hackneyed insult under the sun when I was home. I doubt there is anything here on this world that would stick, and based on your particularly...inspired insipid performance, I'm inclined to think that I'm right! 'Monster' is not going to get any sort of rise out of me. I've heard it before. I'm going to continue hearing it. Demon? Also heard that one before too. Darkness-damned? That's new but it doesn't have the bite that you think it would have!" The flunky and assorted minions were starting to back away in fear at the expression on the healer's face. Mathye hummed, tapping a finger against his chin.

"Let's see...I've been called frost-gash manwhore, I must admit that one was creative! The one who said it got disemboweled a few moments later. Unfortunate for him, my baby brother was in the room with us. He's very good with a sword, I'm quite proud of him." Mathye took one step forward, and the Eulmorans took one step back.

"Stay away!" The Chief Flunky got out, panic in his tone.

"Mmm..." Mathye pressed his lips together, thinking. "No."

[mrlarkstin]

FFXIV Write Day 1: Steer

[umbralaether]

FFXIV Write 2024

Day 1: Steer

Steer clear of Pandaemonium, lest you never return.

Astraea had heard the whispering about Pandaemonium, how the wardens and creatures alike were imposing and dangerous. You certainly did not want to be caught poking around where you shouldn't be, as the place was off limits for most people.

Still, her creation locked away here? Unfair, and certainly stunk of ulterior motives.

She stalked silently along the shadows, trying to sense the creature she was looking for. She pulled her hood tighter to her head, obscuring her face from the wandering watcher of this section. Slowly, she approaches the cell where Cactua was being held.

"Finally… free…!"

The voice that popped into her head was not her own, but that of Cactua. Somehow, telepathic speech was it's preferred method of communicating, though it seemed to only work one way at this time.

"Shh.. Yes, yes Cactua. I'll get you out of there."

Astraea worked quickly to unlock the door. Hades had told her explicitly not to come here, to let what had been confiscated stay that way. It wasn't worth her status, her reputation, to be caught in Pandaemonium of all places.

Click!

Cactua does what Astraea only assumes is a dance of joy, before it quickly ducks itself under her robes and out of sight. Now all she has to do is make her way out of here…

She makes a quick incantation to perform the teleportation spell to take her home and just as the aether begins to fizzle around her, her heart stops.

There, a short distance away, piercing blue eyes bore into her own. Arms crossed, a woman with brown hair begins her way towards her before the spell whisks her away.

Somehow, Astraea feels the icy prickle of that gaze even back at home.

[thevikingwoman]

FFXIVWrite2024 - Prompt 1

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 261

Meryta Khatin x Tansui | ENW start Rating: Gen. Reflection, enwalker intro spoilers.

Steer

The journey to Sharlayan seems endless. The water is beautiful, and the weather has been mild so far, making an easy journey. Just very long.

Meryta walks the deck, stretching her legs and her tail and her arms. There’s no real way to train, swinging and leaping with a katana or trying to fire arrows is bound to end in disaster. Not to mention doing magic. The small, green carbuncle following her is the best she can do, along with the moving and stretching.

Estinien has a similar problem. One leap from the top mast to the bow, and the captain quite strongly forbade any more of that. She’s not sure how he deals, but Meryta is wandering the deck restlessly.

Speaking of the captain, he’s at the helm, steering the ship with hands on the wheel. Not a wheel – she keeps forgetting what it’s called. It doesn’t matter. Instead, she thinks of a much smaller boat, steered by a confident hand on the rudder, winds in the single colorful sail.

She misses Tansui. This journey too far, and it takes her further and further away from him. Surely Sharlayan will have an aetheryte, and once attuned she’ll be able to go to him, the cost doesn’t matter to her.

Except that the Telophoroi don’t lie idle, and as usual time is of the essence. She sighs and closes her eyes. The sea doesn’t quite smell the same, but it’s close. She thinks of Tansui’s hands again.  Calloused and confident and too far away. It will have to do for now.

[dawnslight-aegis]

18. hackneyed (make-up)

“What are your plans for Starlight?” The question slipped out before Aymeric had the chance to think better of it, and he winced at the flat stare Estinien sent him in response.

They hadn’t known each other terribly long, and been tentative friends an even shorter period of time, but even so, Aymeric knew how sensitive the other man was to any even oblique mention of his family.

He cast about for a follow-up statement that wouldn’t sound completely trite, and settled on a peace offering: “My mother makes an excellent holiday roast, if you’d like to come by. Far better than anything we can afford on our pay, and I wouldn’t wish the Congregation’s idea of Starlight dinner on my worst enemy, much less a friend.”

A grunt was his only answer, and Aymeric sighed internally. He hadn’t expected much, honestly. The dragoon-in-training was recalcitrant on his best day, but he was also unfailingly loyal, and completely unconcerned with social status in a way that was incredibly refreshing. Aymeric liked him a great deal, even with his sour attitude – and if Estinien accepted the invitation, maybe it would stop his mother from fussing about him being lonely, which always inevitably led to her trying to persuade him to live at home rather than the barracks.

Aymeric had not had many friends in his youth, and truthfully, joining the Temple Knights had been as much an attempt to find somewhere to belong as a place to prove himself and serve his city. He had hoped that his fellow recruits would judge him on his own merits, but the highborn gave him a large berth for the same baseless reasons they always had, and most of the lowborn sneered at the idea of another noble son playing knight – especially one who was his father’s heir. Spending his nights in the comfort of his childhood home would only make that problem all the worse.

Most days he attempted to distance himself from his parentage – both the truth and the rumor – but no one, not even his detractors, could begrudge him going home for Starlight.

And so he was sitting at the dining table, regaling his father with only slightly embellished stories from his recent forays into the highlands, while his mother put the finishing touches on a meal she still insisted on cooking herself, when there was a dull thud against the heavy wood of the front door.

His father always dismissed their meager household staff to their own family homes for the holiday, so Aymeric rose and hurried to the door himself, trying not to be too hopeful. Perhaps it was merely a group of carolers, or a friar accepting alms for the children of the Brume.

Opening the door revealed a rather disgruntled young elezen man, hair released from its customary tail, and clad in linen shirt and calfskin trousers that looked nice, if a bit rumpled, and entirely unsuitable for the season. Aymeric stared at him in shock for a moment, before his face cracked into a wide grin. “Estinien! I did not think you were coming!”

His excitement was met with a glare. “Are you going to let me in or not? It’s bloody cold out here.”

Aymeric stepped aside just in time to avoid being pushed aside as Estinien shoved himself through the doorway without waiting for an answer.

“My apologies. What made you change your mind?”

Estinien folded his arms across his chest, thin mouth set in an irritated line that Aymeric was beginning to suspect was partially embarrassment. “I never said no. And you were right, what they serve at the barracks tastes like chocobo’s arse,” he declared loudly, and Aymeric could hear a soft snort of laughter from his father in the dining room.

As they walked towards the dining room, Aymeric murmured a quiet, “mind your language in front of my mother, please.”

Estinien’s ears turned a bit pink, and suddenly he went from looking like a man of two and twenty to a boy of fifteen. “I’m not a bloody imbecile, I know how to behave,” he hissed back, and Aymeric very politely did not point out the hypocrisy in his word choice.

As they entered the dining room, so did the Lady de Borel, heavy silver platter held in delicate hands that had begun to shake more often than they did not. Leaving Estinien to stand in the doorway, Aymeric darted over to his mother and took the platter from her, ignoring her protests as he did so.

“Well, who’s this, then?” asked his father, peering at Estinien over his spectacles, and Aymeric smothered a laugh at how uncomfortable the man looked. ‘Twas uncharitable of him to find amusement there, but the man looked as if he had stepped onto a battlefield filled with dragons, rather than a friend’s home with his elderly parents.

“Estinien Varlineau, ser,” he responded, awkwardly, shifting his weight as if unsure of his welcome. “Aymeric invited me.”

As Aymeric put down the heavy platter of food, he decided to throw the poor man a lifeline. “Father, you will remember that I mentioned a young dragoon who saved my life two moons ago? That was Estinien, who has since become a good friend of mine. As he is unable to return home for Starlight, I invited him to ours.”

His mother gasped and walked over to Estinien, taking his hands in her own. “Oh, of course! Thank you so much for looking after our boy. Come, sit.” She tugged him towards the table and Estinien followed, looking a bit overwhelmed as she ushered him to the seat next to Aymeric’s own. His father rose and pulled out her chair for her as she walked back around the table, sinking into it gratefully, and Aymeric squashed a twinge of worry for how unsteady she seemed.

Estinien sat as he was bid, casting a slightly bewildered glance in Aymeric’s direction as he carved the roast and deftly transferred it to plates. “That’s laying it on a bit thick, isn’t it? As I recall, it was you saving my damned fool hide. Twice.”

Aymeric shot him a warning look, then shook his head, face falling back into a pleasant mien. “Ah, but if you had not wounded that dragon as you did, it would not have fled the battlefield, and instead finished what it began with the rest of our company. Thus I owe you my life, and my thanks.”

Ducking his head and fidgeting, Estinien didn’t say much throughout the dinner, only speaking when spoken to (and without any more swearing, praise Halone), save to compliment the cooking, which made Aymeric’s mother glow with pride. They had scarcely finished eating when his parents excused themselves, his father gently guiding his mother up the stairs as she leaned on him in exhaustion.

Aymeric sighed. Clearly she had overtaxed herself today – ‘twas likely that this would be the last Starlight dinner she cooked herself.

Turning to his guest, he held up the half-empty bottle of wine, then refilled only his own glass when Estinien shook his head. “I am glad you came. They worry too much, and I think you being here eased that somewhat. Or at least made them less likely to openly fuss over me.”

A faraway look came over Estinien’s features, doubtless thinking of his own parents, and he shook his head. “Wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Fancy house aside, you actually live like people.”

“Glad I am to have disabused you of the notion that I am some spoiled little lordling, playing at war,” Aymeric responded, a faintly bitter twist to his words.

“Oh, have no doubt, I still think you’re spoiled. Just in a normal way, not the highborn brat way.” Estinien grinned and tossed back the last dregs of his wine as if it were a mug of ale.

Aymeric laughed and shook his head. “’Tis better than the alternative, I suppose.”

Wood scraped over stone as Estinien shoved his chair back. “I should be getting back, I’m sure they’ll have us doing drills in the morning.” He turned away as he stood, then paused, not looking back. “Thanks,” he muttered, then tromped towards the front door without another word.

Whether he meant for the invitation, or for the arrow to the eye of the dragon that nearly killed him, or for the offer of friendship, Aymeric didn’t rightly know, but it warmed his heart as surely as the wine did.

[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.

[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.

[irisopranta]

FFXIV Write Day 9 - Lend An Ear

The sound of the bard’s harp rang through the aether plaza in Ishgard. “Lend me your ear as I tell you the tales of the Warrior of Light.” The young Haillenarte kids came to see what the bard was about to sing. Lucille was intent on hearing about the hero’s tale. Julien, the lover of music that he is, was studying how the bard played, figuring out what notes he was playing. And Noel, he wanted nothing more than to be brave as the hero once was. The three cheer the bard as he finished his song. Afterwards the three headed to their mother’s shop for lunch with her. Fortunately, their father was there As well.

The three were excited, reenacting the stories in the shop. Iris was mostly amused with how her children tried to perform the leaps that a dragoon would. The three ran out of the shop to play with their friends and continue to pretend to be the warrior of light.

“So when are you going tell them?”

“Not for a while. Though I am glad that the bard said that the Warrior was a guy.”

[aerialsquid]

FFXIV Write 2024 Day 17: Sally

(Continuation of this scene.)

Author Note: This fragment has a content warning for nonconsensual aether feeding that might tangentially resemble an assault. Idk how to tag this besides 'fantastical violation metaphorically resembling real world ones' but like. Make your reading choices accordingly.

--------

It didn't hurt, was the problem. Even with his chronic anxiety Martyn took far too long to realize something had gone terribly wrong. Dollmaker had put the weird mouth embedded halfway down its neck on Martyn before, after all. No reason to not assume this was more of its wet kisses. Whatever strange stilling of the aether that Dollmaker did to disassemble and reassemble its dolls meant there was no pain when the teeth sank into Martyn's shoulder and the vast, dark maw began to feed. 

There was an odd tugging, a sense of dizziness, a feeling of cold creeping along his arm and then a feeling of emptiness that even someone who'd touched every magical discipline Eorzea would allow had no vocabulary to describe - not just emptiness, but an active, sucking void, a whirlpool that he was being pulled into.

His weary mind frantically battered the pieces of his thoughts together with the strange sensation until finally, by a mercy, the answer snapped into place.

The voidsent was devouring his aether, bite by slow bite.

This wasn't – I didn't agree to this, stop this–

"My doll, precious doll, sweet doll," Dollmaker moaned. "And how delicious your essence. Sweet and potent, fluttering with purest life. Just a taste, doll, just a taste, you owe me that much, you owe me…"

The oddly comforting locks around his limbs now revealed themselves for the chains they had always been. Martyn couldn't move, couldn't scream as the teeth dug into his flesh. The massive tongue laved at his arm, drawing his essence in deeper down the voidsent's throat.

Nonononono

His cane was across the room, as useless as if it were in remote Thavnair. Nothing to channel with. No focus. Incredibly unsafe, incredibly ineffective, but good gods he couldn't even cry for help. With that monstrous mouth across his vision, all Martyn could think of was the rotting undead goobue wandering the ruins of Amdapor, its hunger so vast that its own stomach had opened a maw of its own. The Gourmand, they'd called it. 

Spectral teeth bared in the dim light of the tunnel and snapped down on Dollmaker's gluttonous neck. The monster jerked, body wriggling at the impact. "What is this? What–" It slapped the teeth away. The slow drawing in of aether continued, but it had broken Dollmaker's focus just long enough.

By force Martyn ordered his body to flinch away, his neck to turn inch by agonizing inch. He pulled in what precious aether Dollmaker hadn't already devoured, coiling it, sharpening it.

Don't touch me don't touch me you can't touch me

Protection to harm his enemies, to make any hand that touched him suffer. The sharp edges of a thousand sabotender needles exploded from Martyn's body. Dollmaker screeched, dropping Martyn's body from its arms as it clawed at the tiny spines embedded in its dark flesh. Another burst and spikes of ice slammed into its mask, leaving a crack along it. Glowing blue seeped through the crack and the eyeholes of the mask, shimmering in tune with the rising rage in its voice.

"Fiend, how dare–how–!"

Later, Martyn would realize the moment the rage turned to horror and regret in the voidsent's glowing gaze. Right now, he just wanted the vile thing to burn. 

Martyn shook himself, rolling up to curl on his side. His clumsy arms folded around himself, a protective gesture for the blue mage's last resort. When you couldn't win a fight, you made it a draw. Fire aether channeled between his palms. The dripping voidsent reached out for him again, its voice high and piteous.

"Wait–doll, please, Martyn–"

There was the reek of sulfur, the crack and roar of flame, and then nothing at all.

--------

Credited as the source of the “bomb” voidsent family's name, Self-destruct, when used by blue mages, converts the entirety of its caster's energy into fire-aspected aether to cause an explosion. The application of oil has been observed to make it more effective─though likely also more painful.

[cafe-melanion]

❤️

Steer and Horizon Prompts:

Odysseus and Venat, Ancient Times

(Reminder this is all rough and I'm not submitting to the contest so I will join prompts)

Dawn was breaking just over the horizon as he guided the wheel of the ship. He had been awake all night, navigating through the quiet solitude of the ocean, the gentle waves below reflecting the sea of stars above. His family was asleep below deck, oblivious to the beauty he had admired all night.

“Still awake?” He glanced back, grinning at his friend.

“Ship hardly steers herself, and neither you nor Pen seem willing to learn.” He beckoned at her to join him. “Are they still asleep?”

“Tele wore himself out watching dolphins yesterday, he might sleep the rest of the voyage.” She snorted. “And Penelope despises the tossing and turning of the waves; she's sleeping as much as she can, rather than retching the whole way.”

“I think this will be the last voyage for those two.” There was a sense of melancholy to the thought. He loved the sea, loved to travel, but it was unfair to Penelope and Telemachus who were more accustomed to urban life to join him regularly.

Especially now that he was to be Azem.

This was the last voyage they would take together.

He gripped the wheel tightly. “I appreciate you helping with the move, Tele’s excited to start at the school in Amaurot. There weren't a lot of young ones in Ithaca.”

She gave him a quick look before averting her gaze. “Always, you know how much you and Pen and Tele mean to me.”

He wondered… Venat had been a friend for many years now, an older friend of Penelope's from her girlhood. She had always been there for Pen and he wondered if there had been something more between them, or unrequited from Venat’s perspective.

He wasn't opposed if she was, if anything he found himself hopeful.

“Pen told me something silly last night, and I couldn't sleep.” She was standing against the rising sun, her form a dark silhouette against the dazzling light.

“And what's that?” He couldn't imagine what Pen could say that would shake someone like Venat. She never startled, always seemed ready to tackle whatever came to her with wisdom and forethought.

“She asked me to join your family, said you had both expressed interest.” He could see her hands clasped tightly behind her back, the only real sign of her unease.

He hadn't been sure Pen remembered. They had briefly discussed who a third could be to their partnership, if they decided they ever wanted to open up to it. He hadn't remembered Pen saying anything, but he had certainly mentioned Venat and Pen’s knowing little smile as he suggested it before their conversation turned to others. “Oh.”

She laughed quietly. “I didn't know what to say. Oh rather summed up what I said at the time.”

“And now?” He was hopeful, but he also didn't want it to come between their friendship.

That was the important part, that she felt comfortable enough in either scenario.

He drew in a deep breath. “You're my friend, Pen’s friend, first and foremost. If you don't want this, we can forget it was ever mentioned.” He swallowed, nervous. “Besides, I'm about to be Azem, I won't be around as much. I wouldn't blame you if… if it wasn't what you wanted.”

“I am considering it.” She bowed her head. “But there is the slight issue that I was recently recruited to the Words of Azem.”

“You what?” He spluttered, peering at her suspiciously. “Since when?”

She laughed and spun around. “Why, the very same day you received your promotion. I needed a bit of a shake up, and imagine my surprise when I came out of Igeyorhm’s office just to see you walking out of Azem's office with a look of confused horror.” She shrugged. “It was meant to be a surprise, but then you were busy and I had training, and well… I didn't think it would matter.” She looked down at her feet. “Since you and Pen were so happy with each other, there never seemed room for another.”

He shook his head. “I won't push, but if Pen has already broached the subject, I'm all for it. I was more worried you'd have expectations I couldn't deliver, being away so often.” He gazed out along the horizon, seeing the gleaming city of Amaurot rising in the distance. “It's our fate to wander the Star, and some company would be welcome.”

[akirakirxaa]

FFXIVWrite Prompt 5: Stamp

Rating: G

Word Count: 631

Summary: Stella is unhappy with her cup. [A side story from the OT4 AU.]

[Master Post]

An earsplitting shriek rent the air in the Warrior of Light household. Akira leapt from her spot on the sofa, where she’d been sitting cozily by the fire with a good book, and shot like an arrow toward the sound coming from the dining room. She skid to a halt before a sight that might have been funny if it wasn’t so loud.

Stella was standing, ears down and to the side angrily, next to the dining table. Her lunch, which Hythlodaeus had offered to fix for her, sat untouched on the table, full of various finger foods Akira knew for a fact she liked and had made sure both Hythlodaeus and Hades both knew about in case of emergencies when she or G’raha may be unavailable. Hythlodaeus sat in one of the dining chairs, bent down as if trying to speak on her level but looking thoroughly out of his depth.

This was…odd. Hythlodaeus had been a natural with Stella from day one, and she adored him. Maybe not in the same way that she always seemed to seek out Hades, as if sensing the former Ascian was trying to keep his distance and determined not to let him, but she had seen her daughter delightedly seek out Hythlodaeus more than once to do her hair or read to her. Hythlodaeus finally looked up to her with an exhausted, defeated half-smile, and that was when Akira noticed the strange cup on the ground.

It was different than any other drinkware in their house, and Akira was almost certain it was because it had been created. It was a wholly unfamiliar design to her, featuring a handle on each side, a little lid, and a piece that protruded from it that reminded her of the nipples on bottles she had seen meant for children who could not breastfeed, except instead of being made of rubber, it was made of some hard material that kept its shape. Though it had clearly been thrown to the floor, there was no spill. Was it still empty?

“NO!” Stella screeched again — how could such a tiny child be so loud? — and stamped her feet.

“It’s a design from Amaurot,” Hythlodaeus explained wearily as she picked up the small device and discovered it, indeed, had liquid in it. “It was all the rage, more convenient for children to hold for themselves but kept the drink inside so it wouldn’t spill. I…did not anticipate how much she doesn’t like it.” Akira flipped the cup in her hand, shaking it over one wrist. Hardly a few drops came out.

“What’s in it?”

“Just water.”

“I see.” Akira, cogs turning in her mind, took the cup and very deliberately walked from the room, holding it like she would often hold a mug of tea.

Stella watched her closely. And, if nothing else, she had stopped screaming.

Akira returned to the sofa, taking up her book and sitting herself back before the fireplace, finding her place and taking a sip from the cup.

And waited.

And, as if by magic, she felt the sofa dip down just a bit as Stella climbed up next to her. Akira kept from looking over at her, taking another drink from the new cup. She could feel her daughter’s eyes on it. And then…

“Drink!” Stella demanded.

“What do we say?”

“Pease?”

Akira bit down on the smirk that wanted to bubble up and handed over the cup. She felt eyes on her as Stella took her prize and ran back to her plate of goodies in the dining room.

“How…?” Hythlodaeus started, and Akira set her book back down, turning to lean back over the back of the sofa with a grin.

“I’ve found children want nothing more than what’s yours.”

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

Prompt #25: Perpetuity

-----

Dulia-Chai had helped her with the dress and the travel arrangements. One of Klynt's contacts had provided the identity-papers. As far as everyone knew, she was taking a holiday in Tullioyial to start buying presents for the winter solstice.

They didn't know she'd diverted to watch her grandmother be consigned to perpetuity. Astrid DeGlass, dead from either grief over her granddaughter's loss, or murdered by a member of the Arsenic Book Club. Given the absolutely vicious glares Anabella Rosfield was boring into her back, Riven could believe the second. As for the first...she didn't know. Didn't want to know. Far easier to focus on her cover--the widowed daughter of a titled noblewomen who was representing mother's at her long-ago friend's funeral. Her dress was Far Eastern silk and Northern lace, her veil the most delicate tule, the widow's reeds form-fitting her body, draping and accentuating her best features.

(Her shoes were scarlet red and gold, sinful high heels that were just barely covered by the dress's hem.)

She'd been the talk of society since she arrived, and it had been that little devil that'd made her get the dress, get the shoes--it had made her put the Arsenic Book Club in their places. Her imagined tie to nobility certainly topped them, and she had such better things to do with her time than entertaining herself with a pack of proventials.

(adding to the chaos, Anabella's second husband flirting with her. Ew.)

Maybe it hadn't been the devil. Maybe it had been revenge. Slights and smarts and barbed compliments from when she'd become her grandmother's perfect little doll. She didn't want to think about it.

With her shoulders squared and her back straight, Riven watched as Astrid's coffin entered the DeGlass family crypt--and with her arrival, the end of a bloodline.

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2024 4. Reticent

Characters: Y'zel Tia, Y'shtola Rhul Expansion: Dawntrail Rating: G Summary: Y'zel is made to hear, feel, think Notes: No smoochies here. Are you proud of me?

“You are changed.”

Y’zel didn’t look up as Y’shotla stood before him, lazily separating his research notes from his students’ homework assignments. “Hm…have I?”

“I suppose it’s a mixed blessing. I don’t readily miss your mewling over your paramour’s, but I do feel the absence of your company,” Y’shtola said, pouring them tea before sitting down across from Y’zel at his desk. “Though, I suppose being the Doman Consort does keep you far from home.”

Y’shtola closed her eyes as she lifted her saucer so that she could take a cautious sip of her tea. Meanwhile Y’zel mostly ignored the gesture for a moment, straightening his paperwork before removing his glasses and leaning back in his seat with a sigh. “Home is it now? I cannot think of any one place I’ve stayed long enough to dub ‘home’.”

“And here I am the romantic one with the sentiment of home not being a residence but where the people they care for are. Perhaps, I too, have changed,” Y’shtola said, absently brushing her ear, or more accurately the earring upon it.

Y’zel didn’t respond, eyes attempting to avoid his cousin’s gaze as he idly fingered at the paperwork on his desk, only focusing upon her out of habit and necessity to read her lips. He opened his mouth briefly, almost finding himself rudely asking ‘Is that all?’; however, he decided it was best not to hurry her off and give cause to worry. “I am as I always have been. My mind is just full and my responsibilities continue to stack up before me.” 

Y’shtola shook her head. “I cannot, nor care to, imagine what mental gymnastics it takes to maintain your dual lives and keep your sanity. I can only ask as someone who cares for you to ensure you’re taking care of yourself. You’ve always had a way of…contorting yourself into a situation rather than seeing how or if you can fit into it naturally.”

The notion hung in the air, Y’zel flicking his ears back a little in annoyance as he was given unsolicited council. Still, he could not dismiss the observation made. Shifting uncomfortably in his chair he sat up and finally moved to nurse his tea. Y’shtola tapped her finger lightly against her mostly empty cup as she looked around the small office before setting it on the table. “I’ve interrupted enough of your time checking in. I should get back to the Annex and see what more Krile needs of me before she departs for Tural.”

“Tural?”

“Yes, Tural. It seems the New World has taken a keen interest in our friends. Tural’s Dawnservant has opened its borders to us to observe their Rite of Succession. My interests keep me here so I’ve not made plans to join the envoy, but I imagine it should prove enriching for those curious of distant cultures. At the very least it’ll help foster global citizenship post Final Days.”

With that, Y’shtola stood then walked from the room, leaving Y’zel to turn to a map of Hydaelyn and think.