#FFxivWrite Challenge

[silvaswiftcast]

FFxivWrite2024 Prompt #28: Deleterious

Characters: Silva Cataracta, Ricmorn Cataracta, and Hien Rijin

Rating: General

Summary: After getting thrown off her mount while on a ride through the wilds of Doma, Silva can't help but be annoyed.

Notes: It's all fun and games until BOTH of your partners are gently scolding you. Not too sure when this scene would take place, but I'd estimate it sometime during late Stormblood through the end of Shadowbringers!

Words contained in [brackets] are in another language, in this case, it's Doman.

Content Warnings/Additional Tags: Polyamory Relationship (V Relationship), M/F/M relationship, Injuries/Bodily Harm (Nothing Graphic/Bloody), Tending to Wounds, Playful Banter/Teasing. If I forgot to tag something, I'm so sorry!

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[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

[ahollowgrave]

Steer (verb): to direct the course of.  A young nun far from home. Some waterway of Vylbrand.

Wooden plants creak in protest as the ferry glides through water pushing the opposite direction. The ferryman whistles a tune as he gazes forward, his work second nature to him. You marvel at it. Watch as his arm flexes and the ferry effortlessly pivots past an outcropping of bright white stone. The canyon river is narrow and winding and he knows it well. His eyes - a velvety brown - catch yours and his big mustache bends with a smile and a wink.

You look away, embarrassed.  Lean over the edge of the boat. The water here is impossibly clear and you can see the smooth pebbles at the bottom. Schools of fish drift by, and minerals and rocks glint in the afternoon light. You spot and identify several useful water plants before the flow of water begins to make you dizzy. 

You could not bear to catch the ferryman’s eye again. Your stomach clenching at the mere idea. Thankfully, the ferry is full. Farmhands lean against one another, hats pulled low as they doze. Their hands are weathered with dirt packed under the nails, in the knuckles. They breathe in sync. A trio of adventurers in the front have a map out; they’ve been arguing in hushed voices since boarding. They talk over each other in familiar patterns. A child leans over the edge of the boat, their mother’s fingers clutching the back of their tunic. She points out a turtle sunning itself on a rock. Their laughs match.

A sharp, green shoot of yearning sprouts along your rib, pierces the soft muscle of your heart. 

Your pack rests solidly against your legs. A short but effective wall between the seat you claimed and the rest of the passengers. It isn’t personal, you try to say with your expression, you just need your space. 

The ferryman’s hands pull the rudder and the boat responds in a graceful, slowing turn. It comes to a stop with a gentle bump against the dock. There is a chorus of rough laughter from the bow and as you watch the adventurers clap each other on the back, share long-lived grins. They’ve had that argument before and they’ll have it at least twice more before it’s done. The mother and her child are the first ones off, carefully aided by dockworkers. The child squeals with laughter as a worker pulls a flower from behind their ear. You rub at your chest. Falling in behind the farmhands you shoulder your pack. You will lose your fellow passengers soon -- to the crowd and to their paths. You don’t know their names and only some of their faces yet still you grieve these minuscule relationships.

Laughter and song pour out onto the street from an open door. An tavern, bustling and busy in the middle of the day, bards reciting old favorites. From the street you glimpse skirts flaring in the steps of a spirited dance; flowers blooming with each turn. It would be easy enough to slip inside, find a corner to claim, build more tiny relationships between strangers.

The letter you carry -- carefully folded in your chest pocket -- is time-sensitive. And the address it bids you travel to is far from this harbor town. Isolated. You linger. You could delay your trip for a day, perhaps two. 

You leave the open door behind. Guided, as always, by the chilled hand of your most holy bride.

[discountdps]

Day 19: Taken

"Hey handsome, is this seat taken?"

Ran looked up at the Viera who was approaching his table at Xbalyav Ty'e. He could tell that Varian was slightly inebriated as he sauntered over.

"I'm afraid so. I'm waiting for my husband," he told his husband, giving him a tender smile. "We're on our honeymoon and he seems to have gotten misplaced."

Varian pouted before plopping down into Ran's lap. Ran swore he could see tears in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Varian's waist.

"Husband? Honeymoon? When did this happen?"

The profound sadness in Varian's voice caught Ran off-guard. He had initially thought his husband had just been joking, but after he saw how upset Varian was, Ran realized he was actually far more inebriated than he had initially appeared.

"You were there," Ran said, a smile still on his face. "Don't you remember?"

Varian buried his face into his husband's shoulder and started wailing. Ran tried to console him, gently stroking the back of his head.

"I can't believe you got married! And your husband has just left you here alone! I would never have done that to you." Varian wailed, causing Ran to chuckle.

"My love," Ran said, pulling Varian back slightly so he could look him in the eyes. "You're my husband."

"Me?" Varian whispered, his eyes growing wide.

"You," Ran told him, giving him a kiss on his forehead. "Let's get you back to our room so you can get some rest."

[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.”

[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.

[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.

[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.

[avirael]

FFxivWrite 2024

Day 01 - Steer

Some seagulls cried and began to fly in circles above his head as Nhagi'ra pulled the small boat through the sand and towards the water. For a moment he paused and looked at the feathery thieves with a hand over his eyes but was still blinded by the bright warm sun shining down from an endlessly blue sky.

The next thing he heard wasn’t a seagull, although it sounded equally excited - just not that positively excited.

“Hey!”, the Hyur woman yelled at him from the other side of the beach. Without hesitation she threw her basket into the sand and ran towards him. “What do you think you are doing there!?”

Nhagi'ra let go of the boat and instead put his hands onto his hip in a self-confident gesture. “I’m going to go fishing!”, he declared proudly but if it was praise he expected he wasn’t going to get it.

“Don’t be silly! I bet you have no idea how to fish! And neither do I remember allowing you to use my boat!”, the woman retorted and grabbed the rope from his hand, that normally would be used to moor the boat at its landing and which the Miqo'te had used to pull the vessel over the beach.

Dumbstruck Nhagi'ra let her take it. He hadn’t expected her to be angry. On the contrary! He had wanted to do her a favor and had assumed she would be happy about it.

“But Elsie, you said I owe you! You fixed my leg, you gave me food and let me stay all this time, so I wanted to pay you back somehow! I thought it would be good if you had more to sell than the few crabs you catch in those nets at the dock.”

“So you decided to steal my father’s boat?”, her voice was clearly angry and Nhagi'ra honestly couldn’t understand why.

“No!… Borrow it maybe?… I guess I should have asked first though…”, he admitted quietly and paused while Elsie nodded, before asking. “But why did you have it fixed when you aren’t planning to use it?”

She looked like she wanted to say “That’s none of your business!” but instead she crossed her arms in front of her chest and asked, “Who says I wasn’t planning to use it?”

“When though?”, the Miqo'te replied. “When there are no crabs left to sell and you will have to eat seaweed because you can’t afford food anymore?”

Elsie fell silent and somehow Nhagi'ra suddenly felt like he said something wrong. “I am sorry… It is none of my business…”

“No. You are right..”, the woman replied. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

She let go of the rope and instead ran one hand over the hull of the boat. “You know, it was my father’s boat... When Dalamud’s shards caused the sea to rise we wanted to flee to the village. We hoped it would be far enough, high enough, so the water wouldn’t reach us there. But then that silly old fool went back! Said his boat wasn’t moored well enough and that it was our only way of making money, that we would starve without it!”, she explained and Nhagi'ra could see her fighting against tears and felt even worse for having asked at all.

“Of course he saved the stupid boat!”, she continued in a mocking tone. “It was damaged but still here the next morning! But my silly old father was washed away by the flood and never seen again! I thought if I just fixed that damn boat…”

Her voice trailed off and she stared to the sand at their feet with a sad expression.

“I am so sorry…”, Nhagi'ra offered, his ears flat at his head. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have…”

“No, it’s fine. You are right after all. Fixing this old thing may not give me my father back but since it is fixed now I should also use it!”

Just like that the shadow on her face was gone again and with expectation in her eyes she stared at him. When he just stared back cluelessly, she raised her eyebrows and pointed at the boat with one hand. “Now are you going to get this thing into the water or will I have to do that myself?”

Immediately Nhagi'ra snapped back to attention and hurried to push the boat the last few meters over the sand without more questions, although he certainly had a few.

Finally his feet reached the water and he felt the weight of the boat lifted from his arms as the vessel began to float. For a second they both just stared at it as if they were surprised that it really swam, then Elsie exclaimed. “Now, jump in, before it goes off without us!”

Hurriedly they climbed into the vessel and to Nhagi'ra’s surprise it was a weird and wobbly sensation beneath his feet. He hadn’t thought about it feeling much different than standing on solid ground, after all the ship that had brought him to Limsa Lominsa hadn’t swayed like this, but now he felt like the boat could capsize any moment and suddenly remembered that his swimming skills were really not the best.

While he still tried to steady himself, he heard Elsie chuckle. “Do you even know how to steer a boat?”, she asked with a hint of mockery in her voice.

“Uhm... maybe not...”, the Miqo'te hesitated. He had spent most of his life in the Black Shroud and his adventurer's work hadn’t brought him to the ocean before but after making such big announcements ealier he couldn’t admit that now, especially not to a girl from La Noscea, could he? So instead he put on a confident smile and asked, “But how difficult can it be?”

Elsie raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Oh, you think you can figure this out on your own? Be my guest!”

Nhagi'ra shrugged and started to work on what he assumed was the mechanism to set the small sail. For a few minutes he tried this and that but only managed to get himself tangled up in a rope and almost stumble overboard.

“More difficult than you thought, isn’t it?”, the Hyur woman chuckled.

“Maybe a little”, he murmured as he freed his leg from the rope that had curled around his ankle somehow. “Do YOU know how to steer this ship though?”

Elsie scoffed. “It’s a boat and of course I do! Do you honestly think my father didn’t teach me?”

Nhagi'ra shrugged. “Don’t know…”

“Why wouldn’t he? Because I’m not a man?”, she complained but her words lacked sharpness. Instead it sounded more sarcastic as she continued. “You thought I needed your help with this? Haven’t you learned your lesson the first time? You know, when you tried to save a poor helpless woman from a monster and ended up breaking your leg while she shooed off the creature by herself?”

Nhagi'ra rubbed his neck and felt his face heat up. “Sure, go ahead, rub salt into my wounds…”

Elsie laughed a high, clear laugh that was strangely infectious, so even Nhagi'ra had to grin about his own stupidity.

“Alright, please teach me the art of boat-steering, oh great master Elsie!”

Calmly and patiently she showed him how to set the small sail, taught him how to use the tiller to steer the ship into the right direction and explained to him how and where to best use what nets. Carefully he mimicked what she did and to his surprise it worked better than he had expected after his first failed attempt.

Nhagi'ra couldn’t tell how long they were gone but by the time the beach with the small dock and Elsie’s home appeared again on the horizon, the sky was already turning orange and he felt pretty exhausted. With combined strength they pulled the last fishing net back onto the boat and proudly the Miqo'te observed their catch.

“Woah! Look at that one! I’ve never seen a fish like that before!”

Elsie chuckled and clapped him on the back. “Quite a good catch for your first tour! Maybe you should consider a career change. I think we could make a decent fisherman out of you after all!”

[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]

[silvaswiftcast]

FFxivWrite2024 Prompt #27: Memory

Characters: Silva Cataracta, Ricmorn Cataracta, and Hien Rijin

Rating: General

Summary: When Silva, Ricmorn, and Hien create a garden together, they never expected so many memories to be made in it.

Notes: The last few days have been really weird mentally/emotionally for me, so I did some comfort writing for today's prompt with my three idiots 💜

Content Warnings/Additional Tags: Polyamory Relationship (V Relationship), M/F/M relationship, Mentions of War. If I forgot to tag something, I'm so sorry!

» Link to Chapter

[sea-wolf-coast-to-coast]

Prompt #1: Steer

Submit your entry here: https://forms.gle/jDWjFKfmeaGnH3PL9

#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

[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.

[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.”

[laspocelliere]

Day Twenty-One: Shade

“Come here?”

Aymeric’s hand at her wrist was gentle, and she went willingly. The sun was bright and glaring over Tuliyollal, setting the ocean waves crystal shades of turquoise and sapphire. In the shaded dock of their private cabin, the couple had been sequestered for the better part of the day, door locked firmly against any intruders, and any prying eyes were sorely disappointed to find that their view of the sea was completely blocked from anywhere else on the mainland.

They were alone, and she could breathe again.

They’d done little through the day but sit in gentle silence together, but he pulled her out of the burning sun anyway, down into the comfortable lounge chair on the deck and into his arms. His skin was warm with sunlight, and he was golden all over in the way he’d taken so well to warmer climates; first in Radz-at-Han, and now here in Tural. She let him wrap his arms around her and pull her back against his chest, dipping her head to press her lips to his bare forearms, and feeling his brush against the top of her head in turn.

“You were meant for this, you know,” she told him quietly, gaze drifting out towards the picturesque scene before them of crystal waters and coloured coral. He made a questioning noise against her hair, and she leaned more comfortably back against his chest.

“Travelling like this,” she clarified. “You fit in everywhere you go, and I’ve yet to find a place you didn’t immediately adapt to.”

The unsaid was just that, but he heard it anyway. Unlike her.

She, by virtue of her status as the Warrior of Light, was never going to properly fit in anywhere. She was a hero and a guest wherever she visited, and the enormity of who she was no longer allowed her to simply exist anywhere, regardless of how her traveller’s heart would want to slip anonymously from city to city. That, combined with the very nature of her, made it impossible for her to fit in anywhere. She was unsettling in ways that Aymeric could never be, and cold in ways that were foreign to his nature – inner secret workings of his heart aside. He could play the game better than she could; always had.

Nosing into the curve of her neck, Aymeric kissed her bare skin, porcelain pale but still warm from the same sunlight that had touched him. “It’s because of you,” he reminded her softly, and his words whispered against her skin, setting down a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature. “I would never have left Ishgard, if not for you. I would never have been who I am, if not for you.”

“That’s not true.” She turned slightly in his arms, enough that she could meet his piercing gaze. “Even had the war not ended, you would have gone. You knew what Ishgard needed before anyone else, and you would have found a way, outside of her walls if you had to.”

With one hand, he hooked his fingers under her chin, and tilted her face up to look at him. The whole world was in his eyes, always had been, and it still managed to take her breath away that every day he chose to look at her like that. “I wouldn’t have wanted to go anywhere, if it weren’t for you.”

His lips tasted like salt and sea when she kissed him, and he was always the warmest thing in any room. With the sun shining high above the peaceful, bustling city beyond, he kissed her slow and languid, because they suddenly had all the time in the world. Hands smoothing across her bare skin, he pulled her into his arms and carried her further back into the cabin and its cooling shade, as far away from prying eyes as possible. What he had in mind next was for no one but the two of them.