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shieldkeeper · 8 months

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FFXIVWrite 2023 Entries

Past Entries: [ 2020 ] - [ 2022 ]

Total Words: 27944

#ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2023 #writing #masterlist

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chrysalispen · 8 months

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ffxivwrite collections

i am probably not going to take a very active part in ffxivwrite this year for a lot of personal reasons (i'm not going to stop writing ffxiv fic, i've just been busy and dealing with ongoing health problems this year) so instead i am linking my older works here for anyone who wishes to read them!

a lot of things in my writing and my longfic plans have changed from when i wrote some of these, but ffxivwrite has always made for very good writing exercises and has even helped me solidify backstory for my WoL, so i've left them up to that end.

collection 1, sept 2019: tales of radiance

collection 2, sept 2020: above the tide of hours

collection 3, sept 2021: the cold heavens (still in progress as this was written while i was actively in the middle of moving out of texas ;; but tbh this collection has some of my personal favorites so i'm very fond of it still!)

collection 4, sept 2022: my tale again for me shall sing (largely wol-centric backstory)

#chrysalispen writes #aurelia laskaris #garlean warrior of light #ffxivwrite

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whitherwanderer · 8 months

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FFXIV Write 2023

[ about ffxivwrite ] - [ by @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast ]

Masterpost for all my FFXIVWrite 2023 entries! Personal favorites will get a little star at the end of the month. ⭐ You can check out my past entries here: [ 2019 ] - [ 2020 ] - [ 2021 ] - [ 2022 ]

PROMPT LIST

WEEK 1

1 // envoy 2 // bark 3 // altar (extra credit) ⭐

WEEK 2

4 // off the hook 5 // barbarous 6 // ring 7 // noisome ⭐ 8 // shed ⭐ 9 // fair 10 // ghost (extra credit) ⭐

WEEK 3

11 // once bitten, twice shy ⭐ 12 // dowdy 13 // check 14 // clear 15 // portentous 16 // jerk 17 // diagnostic (extra credit)

WEEK 4

18 // a fish out of water 19 // weal 20 // hamper 21 // grave ⭐ 22 // fulsome 23 // suit 24 // help from above (extra credit)

WEEK 5

25 // call it a day ⭐ 26 // last 27 // sole 28 // blunt 29 // contravention 30 // amity

#[ ffxivwrite2023 ]#let's see how many hikes in the desert will save me this year #this is my annual organization post #pls ignore

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starswornoaths · 8 months

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oh hey, found my 2020 masterpost!

#will I actually write something for this year?#who's to say #but I'm going to at least Try #and hey! I'm proud of at least some of these!#not tagging anything specific since none of it is. new. akjghldfs

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the-wardens-torch · 2 years

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Thoughts about the upcoming FFXIVwrite2022 that mostly devolved into me bitching about EW, so I’ll put them behind a cut out of courtesy.... Think of it as me sneezing into my sleeve instead of into your face.

I want to start by saying I LOVE FXIVWRITE SO MUCH HOLY SHIT. I’ve participated since 2018, and have nearly a hundred pieces of writing that I take genuine pride in to show for it. I’ve gone deeper into Fal’s backstory than I have for any OC I’ve ever had and both indulged my passions and taken myself out of my comfort zones along the way. Most of my followers found me through FFXIVwrite, and I found a bunch of talent to follow as well. I even got a kickass art prize.

2020 was my most productive year with 21 entries, annnd then I fell hard on my face in 2021. To be fair, its mostly because I was raising an orphaned kitten that required bottle feeding every 2-3 hours and was just too damn tired.

So what’s for 2022? Well, about that... I’m a bit worried. Downright scared, actually. I have plenty of bits of Fal’s story I can finish (and a few alts with unexplored backstories of their own who would probably ADORE the attention) but I just haven’t had the wherewithal. Usually the spirit is willing but the mind and body (and time) are weak, but now the spirit seems gone as well. I don’t feel inspired at all. I know a big part of FFXIVwrite is pushing past obstacles and just writing, but for me I just feel like I’ve mined all the good stuff out of me, and I’m afraid I’ll hit rock bottom if I dig much further.

Why do I feel that way? Well...

I've played FFXIV since late ARR, and Endwalker has been by far the most disappointing expansion for me. First and foremost, it killed SMN, which I’ve mained since mid-HW. I'm well aware I can just play a different class, write canon divergent and pretend nothing ever happened, but I really did kind of get my identity and Fal's caught up in pre-EW SMN, intentionally or not. And now its just... gone. Its been the better part of a year, and I’m still mad. Nothing else feels like the old SMN and I feel displaced.

I've tried really hard to like the story as well. It came with 8 years of baggage and the necessitated retconning some things and leaving some loose ends untied, but it just fell flat for me. The concept of dynamis was way too similar to pre-existing concepts in the game and Meteion/Hermes as antagonists felt like they came out of absolutely nowhere (though they were interesting characters in their own right.) The only part I really loved and felt the gravity of was the Garlemald arc, painfully clipped though it was. Putting us in a Garlean’s shoes was great storytelling, and the portrayal of refugees had a lot of care and nuance to it. The scene where Alisaie calls out Zenos, and the scene of Jullus crying into his mug of soup were probably my favorites of the whole expansion. If only they had done more with it.

Yes, I am being a whiny immature crybaby. I sat down wanting to write about my beloved FFXIVwrite and my fears of disappointing it, and I just ended up bitching about EW. My apologies if you read all of this.

#personal #not tagging this #with anything significant #because none of the sweet angels I've met through FFXIVwrite #need to see it #I just needed to hurl it into the void.

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ahlis-xiv · 4 years

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FFXIVWrite 2020 - Extra Day (2): Sleepless

Ahlis turned over onto her back for what felt like the upteenth time that night. She had retired at a reasonable time; in fact they both did, amazingly enough. It was rare that Aymeric relented in joining her, moreso than the times they could share a bed at all, and yet here she was, the call of sleep evading her.

Wordlessly she felt Aymeric reach to lay a hand upon her arm and regret began to prickle inside her chest. Not only was she unable to settle her mind to rest she was also preventing him from doing so as well.

“I should go to another room,” Ahlis offered quietly into the dark, dour in her mood. “Let one of us sleep decently tonight.”

“I forbid it,” Aymeric pulled himself to her and she could feel the warmth of his body, his face against her shoulder and the way he breathed against her skin.

“As you wish, my lord,” Ahlis said, unable to help herself from smiling, yet it was short-lived. He would do whatever she asked if it meant to help her rest, that she knew...but this request did not rise easy to her lips.

Well, it comes down to this: either we sleep well tonight, or I wake up and become even more of a moody arse come the morrow, Ahlis brooded to herself, and eventually she sighed. Decision made, she pushed herself up to slowly roll over onto her stomach.

“Can you rub my back for me?” Her voice sounded muffled as she lay down with her head mashed against the many pillows. “It doesn’t have to be for long, and I know we’re both exhausted, but it should help...”

Aymeric’s hand was upon her back before she could finish her trail of thought. Warm, yet incredibly careful. Too careful, Ahlis mused, to the point where it almost tickled her. He needed guidance, it seemed.

“More...yes, right there. Back and forth is fine...and don’t be so soft, put some effort into it.”

“My lady can be demanding,” Aymeric couldn’t help but chuckle at her as he followed her instruction. Ahlis turned her face towards him and an eye opened to look at him.

“Your lady has needs, ser, and he must needs meet them.”

“May I never disappoint her.”

Ahlis smiled and snuggled further into her pillows as Aymeric leaned to kiss her hair, and like a charm she faded away into sleep.

#ffxivwrite 2020 #my writing #ahlis #ser aymeric #oh LOOK it's fluff #and may I never disappoint myself to indulge #honestly tho back rubs? works every time #for her AND me lol #ffxiv writing #wol x ser aymeric #; final fantasy xiv

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fair-fae · 4 years

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FFxivWrite Entry #13: Pen to Paper 2

FFxivWrite 2020 Prompt #13: (You pick!) Masterpost Ange Vie @ange-vie Ishgardian though a Lalafell With arcanima she’ll weave spell She has a curious music box And all the mysteries it unlocks Just who is the boy called Ghost? What secrets does Miau Manor host? Soon she’ll find the answers true With friends like Fenrir to see her through Atlas Castellanos @opisliterallysatan Cursed blood runs through our veins Family even if we shed the names But I think we can cast off our fate Find some new paths to create Sometimes I fear I’ll turn into him But for you it needn’t be so grim Good as you are, you’ll always be you and we can see If in the end, with any luck, I’ll still be me Savo Kesslivang @savothesewercat A circus of fleas With knobby knees A Keeper of the Moon Who likes to rock a tune Does she really live in a sewer? Did she let that Elezen woo her? In the Black Shroud she was raised It’s the viol that she plays She’s crude and lewd Always sings with attitude Dirty and crass as she might be No one performs quite like she

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ffxivimagines · 4 years

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FFXIVWrite #1: Crux | lambs to the slaughter

Ao3 Link | 5.3 Spoilers

Azem guides them unto doom, a shepherd who leads Witches and blasphemous Saints, and despite this knowledge, Elidibus still finds himself blinded by their brilliant tales of a promised land.

Elidibus knows better than to wander about at night. He knows and yet he does—listening, searching, praying—in hopes that his God will see him and grant revelation. Zodiark is a silent god and His scripture is a prescribed set of ablutions for the sake of purity and devotion.

He is loyal. He is the most devout, the worthiest, and he has it in good faith that even the temptations of Azem cannot sway him. The rigors of denial are but a step of the many required for his ascension. Their promises of freedom and indulgence are only dangerous to mortal men. He has no want of their divine light, their false providence, that strange and never-ending tale they weave about a world divided and brought peace.

Zodiark brought salvation unto the Star. It was not them and their stolen mantle who redressed the balance and grappled with a treasonous God. Hydaelyn would see them all crucified for Her own gain, supping on their dreams and aether like a leech and tossing souls about within the Lifestream as if they were naught but toys. Her machinations have seen many of his Brothers and Sisters led down the path of sin. He swears that he will not follow them.

In his wandering and thinking, he meets them─the infernal Azem. They jaunt about with bare feet and a sunbeam smile as if he cannot see the knife they hide behind that cheer. He has no want to be a sacrificial lamb upon the altar of their broken faith.

“Come join me,” they call, stepping over the threshold between the holy halls of his chapel and that of the wilds. Had they been a demon, they would have been stopped long before nearing His domain. “Elidibus, old friend, why do you deny me so?”

He holds his rosary tight enough to ache. “Do not speak to me as if we are associates.”

“Shall I speak to you as a brother? A lover, mayhaps?”

“Nothing,” he snaps. “You will speak to me as nothing. Begone from this place. You are not welcome here.”

They laugh in bell-like tones, soft and musical where it shatters the silence, and do not listen to his words. “I am a traveler, you know. You could leave with me and He would never know.”

Elidibus grinds his teeth, turning away from them to stalk down the hall in hopes that they will leave him be. They simply follow. He is almost unbothered by the dirt they track along the halls when he is fixated on their words.

Why would he leave? What is there to run from? He is the Emissary, the preacher of Truth and Speaker for His will. He has nothing to fear from them.

(And yet a little part of his brain nags about how even Emet-Selch had left to follow them. Their devout Architect around whose ears this very chapel rose had been seduced by Azem's promises. Where is he now? Why has he not come along with them? What has him so busy that he would not only abandon his Shepherd's side, but even that of the chance to get in the way of Elidibus's ascension? He cannot fathom the answer.)

"Elidibus," they say as he opens the door to his chambers, "do remember my offer. I will be back, 'ere long. You stand at a crossroads. Be cautious that you do not choose the wrong path."

And when he closes it behind him, their voice vanishes same as their shadow. He kneels next to his bed and entreats His guidance one word at a time. Whether a crossroads, a crux, or crucifixion, he would have answers.

"Oh Zodiark, Father of Darkness, I pray..."

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rythasbrenelle · 4 years

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Prompt #4 - Clinch

(Note: The adorable arsonist mentioned below can be found at @fheylahaken.) Rythas, age 24; Belmion, age 17 The sound of hammering filled Rythas’ yard for the second time in as many days. It drew more than a couple glances; his neighbors weren’t so gracious that they’d forgotten the previous night. As it turned out, a woman stealing your mailboxes and lawn decorations to build a towering effigy in someone else’s yard was quite memorable.

Perhaps not as memorable as the explosion that had followed. But memorable nonetheless. “Fucking Fheyla,” Rythas grumbled, bringing the hammer down to drive another nail into the plank. The explosion his self-proclaimed best friend — oh gods, he could practically hear her say it, the enthusiasm in her voice a sharp counterpoint to the irritation that tinged his own — had caused had turned the yard into a crater, the mounted deck nearby into a smoldering wreckage, and the front of the house into a jagged maw that was great for letting the bugs and dry summer air in and not a whole lot else. He’d already had the crater filled with soil, and he was waiting on help with the front of the house. There wasn’t much he could do to repair the stone, at least not in a way that would make the house look anything like it once had. He’d leave it to professionals. The deck though. That was something he could do. So he focused on the solid thud of metal striking wood, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of hammering a nail into place. Though loud, it was soothing in its own way. He lost himself to repetition, let his mind wander while he worked. “Hey, Bel?” Arlianne’s voice was soft and unsure in the dark, but he heard it clearly all the same. It dragged him from the edge of sleep, returned him to the cave they called their own. “What?” Belmion grunted as he rolled over to face her. Though her raven hair blended into the darkness well, her pale skin was as evident as the moon hanging in the sky, and her ruby eyes had the faintest glow to them. Ordinarily, they were like little pinpricks of distant torchlight. This close, they were bonfires, bright and dancing. “Have you ever had a house?” she asked. “We used to have a rundown manor for a hideout, though it only lasted for about two moons. That count?” “Not really, no.” “Ah. Then no.” “That’s kind of a shame, isn’t it?” Arlianne mused, as much to herself as him. “You’ve never had a place of your own.” “Eventually, maybe I will,” Belmion said. He let his head sink back into the pillow, but he remained facing her. “You’ve been listening to Troifont. You really think a Green’s gonna sell any of us a chateau?” she asked, snickering. “Maybe. Worst case, I’ll build one,” he grumbled. Sleep was already claiming him again, but he scooted closer before it grabbed him entirely, letting the heat that radiated from Arlianne warm him. He felt her shift, sitting up, but his eyes had already drifted shut. They felt impossibly heavy. “Would you really?” “Why wouldn’t I?” Rythas ran a hand through his hair, combing out a tangle in his tresses. When his hand came away, his skin and bandages alike were soaked in sweat. He wrinkled his nose and wiped them dry on one leg of his trousers while he examined his handiwork. The deck wasn’t better than ever. In truth, it looked about the same as it did before, right down to the plants hanging from the railing. But he had to admit it was an improvement from the smoldering heap on the lawn that had been in its place not too long ago. “It’s a far cry from a chateau. But it’s something. Well done, Brenelle,” he told himself. His eyes wandered away from the deck to examine the yawning portal that was the front of his house, and his mood immediately dropped. “Yep. Not even close to a chateau.” (Prompt #3: Muster) (Prompt #5: Matter of Fact)

#ffxivwrite 2020 #ffxivwrite #rythas brenelle #fheyla haken

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efrmellifer · 4 years

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FFxivWrite ‘20, Four

Prompt: Clinch, during Heavensward, 1,315 words

With a quiet groan, Etien sat up, stretching first her shoulders, followed by extending her arms and flexing her fingers. The joints cracked in sequence as she flexed and rotated them, yawning, before she rose from bed, rolling back the thick covers.

She put on something other than her layers of clothing serving as pajamas, heading out to the dining room of Fortemps manor once she was dressed, delighted to see that Haurchefant was at the table alongside Edmont, Artoirel, and Emmanellain.

She took her seat, bidding everyone a quiet good morning, looking into her currently-empty teacup.

When breakfast had been served, Etien took her time eating, taking full advantage of the fact that she was being given a day to rest, after the exciting times she’d been having lately.

So she was quiet as she made her way through her food, adding to the conversation when she had something to say, but mostly keeping her mouth occupied with small bites taken at her own pace.

That is, until a question was asked of her directly.

“Have you a family, Etien?” Edmont asked her as casually as if he were asking her what the weather was like. “For all that Haurchefant has had to say about you, never has he mentioned anything of that sort. Are they never reported on?”

Etien blinked, then swallowed, searching for a way to answer that question.

“I… am not an orphan,” she confessed, “but I doubt that I could truly claim membership in the family of parents and siblings I left behind.”

“Oh, no?” he pressed. “How unfortunate. I had hoped that I could send them a missive praising the conduct of their daughter.”

She smiled shakily, reaching for her tea to buy herself time before she had to speak again.

Settled after she’d had a sip, she gave him a more genuine smile. “Thank you, my lord.” “But of course,” he replied, and all turned back to their dishes, and later drifted off to their tasks for the day.

Etien didn’t have much to do, so she wandered around Ishgard, making of herself an errand girl as best she could—making small deliveries, rescuing kittens, things like that. It turned the day into rather a bus-man's holiday, but at least she hadn’t had to go delving into creature-infested dungeons or up against a primal. Picking up a few herbs for an elderly woman and dropping off spiced wine Gibrillont wanted to get out quickly wasn’t so bad.

It got her some fresh air.

She sat on a little copse of broken stones near the Aetheryte plaza for a little while, letting the cool air kiss her cheeks and the wintry sun start the beginnings of sweat under her clothing.

She had intended to let her mind wander as she did that, taking in some of the views of the open space to either side of the Steps of Faith, but she hadn’t intended it to take the path it was.

She was used to calling wherever she was home, sort of—she’d taken up a room in the Roost in the early days; then was half-in, half out of the Waking Sands; then she drifted in and out of the Rising Stones as needed.

And now, she was here in Ishgard. Had her own room again and everything.

Was Ishgard home? Some part of her really, really wanted it to be, and she wasn’t wholly sure why.

Yes, she had had thoughts about finding some patch of the snows and making a home there, silly though it was. For one thing, how would she build a house with no carpentry expertise? But she had dismissed those thoughts for how little water they held.

But, with the Fortemps family sheltering her, and the feelings for Aymeric that she couldn’t deny starting to well up, she was beginning to seriously ask herself again.

Was Ishgard—not the Coerthan highlands, Ishgard—home? Didn’t she want to stay?

A land full of snows wasn’t exactly the place to put down roots, but at this point, couldn’t she survive anything?

She kicked her feet where they dangled over the edge of the stones, sending a smattering of dust into the wide, icy chasm below her and a small rock careening over the precipice.

Slowly, she scooted back from the ledge and came to standing.

Well, it was home for now. A place to let the snow melt off her boots. And she could certainly have worse housemates.

While Etien was sitting at the literal edge of the city pondering whether it was her home, the men of House Fortemps were conspiring to make it so. If she wanted, that is.

“I remain unsure how the paperwork will differ when I share no blood or familial ties with her,” Edmont commented, chin in hand, “but I think it should be simple enough, if no other family would come to claim her, and she would will it, of course. Do you not agree?”

Haurchefant, called to this meeting specifically, nodded eagerly. “I think that would be most beneficial for her! And what a boon it would be to the house!”

Artoirel agreed. “An asset such as her needs protection, and I would be honored to call her a sister.”

“What does this afford the old girl?”

“Not very much she does not already have,” Edmont explained, “but it would add some extra legitimacy to a great deal of the support we give her and the Scions.”

“And make Aymeric’s eagerness to assist her at every turn look a little less selfish,” Emmanellain commented, eyebrows lifting.

“Selfish?” Haurchefant repeated, just a little shocked.

“Surely you must be aware of his fondness for her,” Artoirel replied, almost with a roll of his eyes.

“Well, yes. I was the one who encouraged—” he cleared his throat—“in any event.”

Artoirel sighed. “Precisely. So. Mistress Etien Mellifer of House Fortemps?”

“If she accepts our offer,” Edmont confirmed.

She strode in, boots clattering against the floors as she made her way to the foyer. But when she found all four of the Fortemps men standing there, looking like they’d just been deep in conversation, she stopped short, even pulling up her hands, as if her nails would cross some invisible line.

“Ah, Etien.” Edmont began, as his sons greeted her each in their own way. “We had a proposition for you.”

As she had earlier, she blinked. “All right?”

“After a great deal of thought, we have come to the conclusion that, were you to agree to such a thing, we would like you to become a member of the household. Officially.”

Her jaw dropped, leaving the points of her lower teeth exposed. “Oh!” She responded after a pause, her expression brightening. “That…” She brought a hand to her cheek. “I accept the offer.”

“Excellent, how wonderful to hear! I shall have to draw up additional paperwork, of course, but there is this for you to sign, to take the first steps in that direction.”

She came to the table, lifting the pen in her hand and pressing it to the paper, leaving a loopy signature in its wake.

When she looked up, all of them smiled at her.

“That alone is enough for me. Welcome home, my daughter,” Edmont enthused, a hand on her shoulder.

When she rose from kneeling, Haurchefant scooped her up in a hug, and tears leaked from the corner of her eyes.

“Not so tight, Haurchefant,” Artoirel chided. “You have made her cry.”

He set her down immediately, hands coming near her face as if to wipe the tears away.

Etien shook her head, thought, wiping at her eyes herself. “No, no. It wasn’t too tight.”

It was a last stitch falling into place, a quick agreement clinched. But of course it was quick. She wouldn’t have said no. This was her home now.

#FFXIVWrite 2020 #FFxivWrite #fic #UNICORN FAMMMMMMMM #I really am just hitting a bunch of backstory/elided moments I love this #also the paperwork goes through at the end of 3.0 #in case you were wondering

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ever-searching · 4 years

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Menord’s FFXIVWrite2020 Masterpost

September is over, and so is FFXIVWrite! I'm glad that I managed to do almost all prompts this time (only missing out three extra credit days to give myself a break). Hopefully everyone else had a good time, too!

You can find my prompt texts (and warm-ups) below the readmore link. Each link is accompanied with a short description and the most important content notes.

Here is the tag with all the writings (in chronological order).

If you have any questions or comments, please let me know!

Warm-ups

Warm-up 1: Haiku Who: Generic/everyone What: The journey continues. Content notes: None (Link)

Warm-up 2: Expression Who: Narangelel "Nara" Kha What: Narangelel has a serene face, but it has nuances. Content notes: None (Link)

Warm-up 3: Limerick Who: Storm Haeron What: "Stoneface" has earned his nickname. Content notes: Implication of nausea (Link)

Warm-up 4: Voice Who: Storm Haeron What: Storm’s voice can be likened to the earth. Content notes: None (Link)

FFXIVWrite Prompts

1. Crux Who: Cain Locke What: Cain struggles with things he'd rather not accept. Content notes: Implication of sleep deprivation and disordered eating (Link)

2. Sway Who: Storm Haeron What: A wealthy Ul'dahn tries to secure a book deal from Storm. Content notes: Oblique mention of sex work (Link)

3. Muster Who: Brenda Larkspur What: Brenda worries about getting overshadowed. Content notes: None (Link)

4. Clinch Who: Merces Ninthstar, G'ilas Tia What: Merces muses about his work while repairing a fence. Content notes: None (Link)

5. Matter of Fact Who: Lumien Chaunollet, Valencian Miraudont (NPC) What: Lumien's cousin tries to convince him. Content notes: Mild cursing (Link)

7. Nonagerian Who: Sasameru Kokomeru What: Sasameru visits his grandfather, who isn't quite senile. Content notes: Poison (non-lethal, mildly graphic) (Link)

8. Clamor Who: G'ilas Tia What: G'ilas survives the battle of Cartenau, but at what cost? Content notes: War, death, injury and blood (somewhat graphic) (Link)

9. Lush Who: Narangelel "Nara" Kha What: Nara thinks of her home and her journey. Content notes: None (Link)

10. Avail Who: Haldswys Ghimdaegwyn, Sasameru Kokomeru What: Haldswys sees trouble brewing and decides to act. Content notes: Oblique mentions of violence, threats of violence, alcohol, mild cursing (Link)

11. Ultracrepidarian Who: Chaudelais "Chaz" Mendel What: Chaz tries to show off his knowledge. Content notes: None (Link)

12: Tooth and Nail Who: Generic/Dark Knight WoL What: What does it mean to be the chosen of Hydaelyn? Content notes: Mentions of blood and violence; vague allusions/spoilers to Shadowbringers 5.0 storyline; written as song lyrics (Link)

14: Part Who: Isla Ironborne (NPC) What: A woman thinks about her brother and her role in the world. Content notes: Mild cursing (Link)

15. Ache Who: Merces Ninthstar What: Merces’s headache leads to unpleasant thoughts. Content notes: Nausea, vomiting, migraine (mentioned, semi-graphic) (Link)

16. Lucubration Who: Sasameru Kokomeru What: Sometimes studying is difficult. Content notes: None; written as a limerick (Link)

17. Fade Who: Brenda Larkspur What: Brenda thinks and reminisces while looking at a crystal. Content notes: Discussion of parental death (non-graphic) (Link)

18. Panglossian Who: G'ilas Tia, Wilhelm Blackthorne & Koharu Sunfeather (guest characters) What: G'ilas's friends question his actions while patching him up. Content notes: Brief mention of life-threatening danger (non-graphic) (Link)

19. Where the Heart Is Who: Storm Haeron What: Storm muses about the whereabouts of home. Content notes: None (Link)

21. Foibles Who: Cain Locke, Dreicon Sunfeather (guest character) What: Cain can't help but be baffled by the Xaela he is helping out. Content notes: Mention of violence (non-graphic) (Link)

22. Argy-Bargy Who: Chaudelais "Chaz" Mendel What: When Chaz is denied something he wants, he gets frustrated. Content notes: Moderate swearing, mention of serious injury (Link)

23. Shuffle Who: Haldswys Ghimdaegwyn What: Haldswys visits a fortune teller. Content notes: None (Link)

24. Beam Who: Narangelel "Nara" Kha, Chotan Kha (NPC) What: Narangelel's mother finds her on a river bank one morning. Content notes: None (Link)

25. Wish Who: Cain Locke, Lumien Chaunollet, Merces Ninthstar, Storm Haeron, Narangelel "Nara" Kha What: A look into a few individual's lives and their wishes. Content notes: None (Link)

26. When Pigs Fly Who: G'ilas Tia, Merces Ninthstar, Brenda Larkspur What: G'ilas enlists Brenda's help to teach Merces humour. Content notes: None (save for jokes of questionable quality) (Link)

27. Endearing (Extra Credit) Who: Cain Locke What: Cain is tempted by something he sees in the marketplace. Content notes: None (Link)

28. Irenic Who: Lumien Chaunollet What: Lumien might be even too good at apologizing. Content notes: Bullying, canon-typical racial prejudice, heightism (Link)

29. Paternal Who: Narangelel "Nara" Kha, Storm Haeron What: Nara makes a new acquaintance while sailing from Kugane. Content notes: None (Link)

30. Splinter Who: Everyone (Cain, Narangelel, Storm, G'ilas, Merces, Sasameru, Lumien, Haldswys, Chaz, Brenda) What: The cast meet their First shard and Warrior of Light versions. Content notes: Implied eye injury, canon-typical body horror (non-graphic); minor spoilers to early Shadowbringers 5.0 storyline (Link)

#FFXIVWrite #FFXIVWrite 2020 #FFXIVWrite2020 #(finally I'll be using the right tag)#now I'll just hope that Tumblr doesn't mess up my formatting #might add pictures later if I can find the time and the energy

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yzareenxiv · 4 years

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FFXIVWrite 2020 Prompt 30: Splinter

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=ZwLvcaDMhU8&feature=share

CW: Torture, blood, sexual themes, violence

Slender, strong fingers pressed against each other, steepling under the King’s chin as he stared down at the lump of flesh that he rested his feet upon. With it’s handless arms and footless legs bound to the torso, it made an acceptable footrest. One that he could easily turn around at this body’s whim and use to make himself cum in any one of a number of orifices. It almost made him feel nostalgic, for the days when furniture such as this was littered about his home. The footrest was attractive, too, with it’s tanned skin.

The problem was, it wouldn’t stop weeping. Even with it’s tongue cut out, it wouldn’t stop making that damn noise. What was worse, insult upon injury, was that it hadn’t worked.

SHE hadn’t come. His Orchid with her heart apparently made of stone. He had been so damn meticulous- finding the whore sister in the vastness of Garlemald, ingratiating himself with the Empire, spreading information and gil and ale and other pleasantries, taking the girl, then slowly, carefully, weaving the wires that should have wrapped around his Orchid’s very being and brought her swiftly to his arms.

What had gone wrong? What was he not accounting for? WHY HADN’T SHE COME?!

He heard the shriek of pain before realizing that he’d viciously kicked the side of the footrest. The sound grated on him, it wasn’t the lovely screams that Y’zareen (dare he call her Zareen, even in his mind?) would give him. This voice was harsh, breaking every time it went high-pitched, it was all...just…wrong. He kicked the footrest again, knocking it over on the side, then rose to his full height and glowered down at it. A kick at the head, that would shut it up.

One kick became five, became ten, became a madness filled with hatred-fueled stomping and kicking and beating until splinters of bone cut open his hands and his immaculate attire was soaked in sweat and blood. Still, the thing breathed. It didn’t scream, but it breathed, bubbling breaths full of foam and phlegm and all the disgusting evidence of life. His body was aroused, so hard his pants were uncomfortable and he had to adjust himself to find some relief. Somewhere in the madness, he had cum, and the Crimson King found himself feeling utter revulsion for the physical form he was bound to.

Sweeping his hair back out of his eyes, leaving a streak of gore in the dark strands, he stood up and tugged at the dripping sleeves of the once-white shirt. He’d played this game for long enough. It was time to try something different. If Y’zareen was going to play the cold-hearted bitch and reject the ties of her own blood, then it was time to tug at the ties that he knew bound her. It was a shame her husband was dead, that would have made it so much easier- but there were others. Her Pack. Her ‘Family’. A dozen or so people that she trusted, that she loved. It was a risk- they had taken down one of his creations already, and had plenty of experience fighting against voidkin. Still, he had connections now. Connections they wouldn’t expect.

The question was, who first?

As he mused, the bleeding, dying woman that had once been a Jaguar miqo’te, the last living sister of Y’zareen, the last living daughter of Serhan, breathed her final breath.

The Crimson King stormed out of the room, snapping sharply at the guards that stood at either side of the bedroom door. “We’re leaving.”

“Yes, milord.” came the reply. One of them glanced into the room, moving just his eyes, and felt his gorge rise. Perhaps that is what gave him the courage to ask a question. “What about the… her, milord?”

“That?” The King flicked bloody hair out of his eyes with an insolent gesture and shrugged. “Why should I care? It’s just a broken piece of furniture.” He turned on his heel but something...something tugged at his senses.

Something wasn’t right.

Walking back into the doorway of the room, he concentrated so he could see the flow of aether. The body on the floor still glowed and as he watched, the glow faded, and faded, and -there.

Oh….now that was curious.

The Crimson King, thoughtful now, turned and headed for the bath, leaving his two men confused and green around the gills as they tried to decide which of them would deal with the mess in the room.

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

Shirogane

A gemstone, slightly flawed, set in a golden bracer, made a nearly inaudible crack as a small splinter flaked away. The nearly invisible hairline fracture that marred it’s surface widened minutely, new fractures spreading across the surface.

Aether, pulsing through a woman with every heartbeat, slowly began to bleed from the fracture, as the dam that had been crafted by faith and prayers and crystals in a place that no longer existed splintered and began, slowly, to dissipate.

A voice, sad and soft, whispered in her dreams.

“What happens to a god when it is forgotten?”

Zareen woke up screaming.

#ffxivwrite 2020 #ffxivwrite #cw: torture #cw: blood #y'zareen serhan #stories #the crimson king #shits happening yall #hold on to your butts

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chrysalispen · 2 years

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Prompt #2 - Bolt

AO3 LINK HERE

NOTE: This is part 1 of the follow-up to the prompt fill “Ultracrepidarian” from FFXIVWrite 2020. If you haven’t read it, you can find that link here.

Fic under cut.

===

"I really don't know why you're going to all this trouble," Aurelia said. Her words went all but unnoticed by her aunt, currently situated in a nearby chair poring over a book while the tailor's assistant silently hemmed and hawed and scribbled something on his tablet between measurements.

Despite the bone-numbing cold of the street outdoors, the small boutique felt stiflingly hot. The ceruleum heater chugging away in the corner was the obvious culprit, as Aurelia could see from her perch that the dial was turned all the way up for some mad reason. She could feel rivulets of sweat trickling down her temples and into the valley betwixt her breasts: a decidedly unpleasant sensation that also left her feeling acutely self-conscious. Her arms ached from shoulder to elbow for holding them up and out without moving for so long, an added discomfort which wasn't helping to improve her mood.

She tried again.

"Aunt Marcella?"

Marcella het Laskaris heaved an annoyed sigh, stuck her finger in the spine of the book to mark her place, and met her niece's gaze with undisguised impatience in her pale grey eyes. "Glory be, child! You and your questions will be the death of me."

"What? I just wanted to know if you heard what I said, that's all."

"Yes, dear. I heard you. This is a generous gift, so kindly be grateful for it and stop concerning yourself with the whys and wherefores. It's not as if the expense is coming out of your pocket."

"Oh hells, here we go again," Aurelia muttered under her breath. For the first time that afternoon she found herself thankful for the loud rattle of the space heater.

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind." She didn't know why she was even surprised by these exchanges anymore. Aunt Marcella had been like this since the day she'd come to live under her aunt and uncle's roof six years ago: always ready to dish out a hearty serving of advice to her brother-in-law's only daughter, whether it was solicited or not. Along with that gravy boat full of piping hot cultural guilt to pour on top, Aurelia thought dismally.

But any altercation she had with her aunt in a public place would get back to her uncle and that was its own headache she didn't want to deal with, so in the end Aurelia settled for the answer most likely to placate her.

"Aunt, I don't need a new dress yet. It can wait until matriculation."

"That's not the point, dear."

"We're not attending a ball, aunt-"

"And what sort of attitude is that? Why are you being so difficult, Aurelia? I simply want you to look your best for our guests."

"Aunt," she was no longer patient enough to keep the irritation from her voice, "I have half a dozen evening frocks that will serve quite well enough for a dinner with Uncle's friends."

"Not this one," Aunt Marcella said. Aurelia frowned.

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

Her aunt had returned to her reading and either didn't hear her, or (and Aurelia thought this rather more likely) chose not to. The heater rattled into the tense silence for a few more beats.

"You may drop your arms, young mistress," the man said, and Aurelia obeyed with a barely suppressed sigh of relief. It took conscious effort not to shake the stiffness out of her arms. "Thank you for your patience, my lady. Shall we look at some fabric samples? We've just received a shipment from Nagxia."

"Oh, there's no need to trouble yourself," Aunt Marcella interrupted. She strode towards them, imposing despite her relatively meager height, tucking her book into her handbag as she closed the distance. "Hannish silk will do very well for this event, I think. That is, if you still have it in stock."

"I'm quite certain we do, my lady. A moment, pray."

The assistant took his leave to return a few minutes later with a brace of cloth bolts, one tucked beneath each arm, which he spread out upon the table for perusal. The first was a delicate pale peach-toned rose that put Aurelia in mind of the tea roses in their greenhouse. Pretty enough, but it reminded her too much of the dresses she wore as a child.

The second was pastel green, a leafy color that she would have chosen for herself. She cast a hopeful glance at her aunt, but Marcella was already shaking her head. "You said it yourself, dear," she said. "We aren't planning to attend a ball and green is all wrong for this time of year."

Aurelia began, "Neither is-"

"I'll hear no more, Aurelia. You'll enjoy the end result, that shade of pink will be very becoming on you."

Equal parts embarrassed and annoyed, she left them each to their tasks - the assistant to roll out the yalmage and cut, her aunt to confirm that the actual work would be completed by Master Ignatius himself and dictate when she expected the finished product to be delivered - and drifted toward the window to watch the sky deposit a few more ilms of snow onto Garlemald's streets. It fell in an ethereal white curtain, softening even the stark lines and unrelenting ugliness of imperial architecture.

That veneer of serenity wouldn't last, of course. The forecast on national radio just that morning had predicted there would be a storm rolling in. Not a large one by any means but by nightfall everything from the palace to the outlying regiones plebes would be blanketed in a fulm at least and the roads would be nigh impassable. It was probably why her aunt had been so insistent they complete the errand today.

But that cryptic response nagged at the back of her mind all the way back to the villa.

Not this one.

What had Aunt Marcella meant by that?

#chrysalispen writes #ffxivwrite2022 #aurelia laskaris #garlean warrior of light #marcella laskaris #more wol backstory things

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whitherwanderer · 2 years

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FFXIVWrite 2022

[ about ffxivwrite ] - [ by @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast ]

Masterpost for all my FFXIVWrite 2022 entries! Personal favorites will get a little star at the end of the month. ⭐ You can check out my past entries here: [ 2019 ] - [ 2020 ] - [ 2021 ]

PROMPT LIST—

WEEK 1

1 // cross 2 // bolt 3 // temper 4 // recycle (extra credit/AU drabble day)

WEEK 2

5 // cutting corners 6 // onerous 7 // pawn 8 // tepid 9 // yawn 10 // channel ⭐ 11 // broke (extra credit/AU drabble day)

WEEK 3

12 // miss the boat ⭐ 13 // confluence 14 // attrition 15 // row 16 // deiform ⭐ 17 // novel

Had to end this one early this year, but I did write some things I enjoy. Thanks for following along! Here’s to next year.

#ffxivwrite2022 #YEEHAW

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lucienfairfax · 4 years

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day 29: paternal

“There’s a... young man? Out in the yard. He seems lost.”

Father Iliud looked up from his reading, then waited for his eyes to focus on Barryn’s anxious face. The youth was possessed of an exquisite sensitivity, and Iliud intuited that he didn’t just mean lost in the prosaic, directional sense.

The priest, following Barryn outdoors, took a moment to gaze up at the clouds scuttling across the expansive sky; in his advanced age, he found that such sights as tended to go unnoticed by younger men captivated him utterly. How many such blessings would he be granted -- how many more instances of grateful beholding would be given him, before infirmity took him, and then death? Presiding over a lichyard, he certainly did not have the luxury of ever forgetting about death’s inexorable march towards him, towards them all.

Nor did he have the luxury of forgetting that the lives of men were inextricably entwined, and that every small act of goodwill was of great value. How could he forget such a thing, when he saw daily how one lost life could cause such deep and profound agony to many?

It is this deep and profound agony that he saw on the stranger’s face now, his haunted gaze fixed a hundred malms away.

“I apologise for my intrusion,” Father Iliud began gently, resting his fingertips lightly at the stranger’s elbow, “but I would offer a hand or an ear if you are in need of one. You are welcome to come inside the church, out of the chill.”

“Dead,” the other croaked, and then stirred, as if the sound of his own voice had awoken him from slumber. He turned his head, met Iliud’s eyes. “The wild roses...”

The autumnal chill was naught compared to the unnatural cold that crept up Iliud’s spine and spread throughout his body. “Please, friend. Come inside.”

---

Dayir wrapped eir hands around the steaming mug, afraid that their trembling would cause it to crash to the floor otherwise. The light, herbal fragrance cleared some of the fog from eir mind, but behind the fog was pain, and fear, and despair.

“I wasn’t there. I could have done something if I was there.” Desperately, ey wished for Ishan -- Ishan’s blazing fury was frightening to those it was aimed towards, but to Dayir it was validating. Ey felt bolstered by the vent of Ishan’s rage, secure in the knowledge that though they suffered differently, they did not suffer alone. But Ishan had taken off in his own direction as soon as they’d left the Waking Sands, leaving Dayir to fumble eir disoriented way to Camp Drybone alone.

“Perhaps,” Iliud responded. “But regret is seductive. It will pull you in and pull you down, and in its embrace you will only find more and more to regret, until it is all you know. You must fight it.”

“I cannot fight,” Dayir insisted, eir voice thick with tears. “I am weak, and in protecting me, they have... they....”

Dayir was a fair bit taller than Iliud, and harder to embrace than the others he sheltered and provided with succor. But Iliud did his best, and Dayir was comforted by the effort, by the offering of warmth and closeness from someone who knew its value.

“Your mind is fevered with sorrow,” the priest spoke, softly but firmly. “Your vision is clouded and your looking-glass is cracked. Grieve, my child, while you have time and space to do so. Stay here, and work, and weep as you work. It will help.”

---

Later that evening, telltale footsteps rang through the church’s nave and echoed in the hall where the small array of chambers lay. Dayir sat up in the homely yet homelike bed just as Ishan filled the doorway.

He didn’t say anything at first, and avoided Dayir’s searching gaze as he shrugged out of his outer layers and kicked off his boots.

“I probably smell like ass, so, sorry,” he muttered as he sat on the bed. Then he wrinkled his nose. “I retract my apology. You smell worse.”

Dayir started to laugh, but as overwrought and relieved to see eir companion as ey was, the laughter quickly overbalanced into tears. Ishan sighed and nudged Dayir’s head onto his shoulder, hoping to all hells his voice wouldn’t break when he spoke.

“I vowed I’d protect you, and then I left you at the worst time. I shouldn’t have left you. I won’t again.” His voice did break... but that was all right.

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite 2020 #xiv.fic #.dayir #.ishan #insourced content #i got to 'all good things' on my alt today so this is fresh on my mind rn #(i should write about dayir explaining eir pronoun situation to people at some point #although i think ey really only bother with it with the scions and associated folk and then it kind of. catches on with allies after a while #hmm)

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elegant-etienne · 4 years

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20. Dull (or 36. Camaraderie if that calls more)

FFXIVWrite 2020 Day 27 - Dull.

One word prompt meme.

Thanks for the ask, @maybeimawhale!

Behind the cut: addiction and recovery talk, problematic thinking.

The thing no one tells you is that recovery is... boring.

It's repetition. Good habits instead of bad. Being mindful of one's mood and one's reactions, staying away from triggers, and the like. When you're feeling anxious or sad, you take it easy. When you feel isolated, you reach out. Because you no longer have whatever it was you used to numb you (alcohol, starving, self-harm, drugs, a relationship), you have to try and work through the ugly stuff.

The truth is, you were suffocating under the weight for being just the sweetest, bestest, most sober, responsible, caring, compassionate being. There's no one else to blame for it. Not the man you broke up with, not the one with golden eyes. Not even the ones further back, who hurt you, who molded you into something then threw you away when you were too old, too much work, too different.

You took that first sip after so many years and said a prayer to no longer be dull.

You tell yourself it's alright. You're not running. It's alright if you drink because you can look yourself in the eye when you do it now. It's different. You're not physically dependent on it now. Your body is different. You're not self-medicating. There's nothing to self-medicate for anymore. You've gotten through the roughest of it. You manage all the other symptoms. Back then, before, that was far too much. But you can stop now, if you have to. You just don't want to. You don't want to.

So occasionally you're hungover. It's alright if you don't miss work. So you threw up in the canal. It was only the once. So you always drink a little more than your friends. So your best friend looks worried every time you order a drink.

Sooner or later every cheque that you've taken out against yourself will have to be cashed, your ledger balanced, and you will have to face the truth: is this a problem or a Problem?

(Because you won't be able to keep lying and saying it isn't one.)

Until then, though? Riding that razor's edge, always so close to slipping back into the black...

It's exciting.

#asks #writing #ffxivwrite 2020 #maybeimawhale

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