Ffxiv Write 2023 - Tumblr Posts

FFxiv 30 Day Writing Challenge SEPTEMBER 1st - 30th, 2023

Welcome to YEAR 7 of our annual FFxiv 30 Day Writing Challenge, folks!

Last year we had 11,165 total entries! Which brings us to a total of 42,947 unique written entries over the last 6 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 6-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, 2023. 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/ixGUFKnYqKLz64Cw5

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 || #FFxivWrite2023 || kofi

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 7 - Noisome

Pandaemonium Spoilers up to Patch 6.4

Lahabrea was not a man to wear his annoyance openly, especially after he'd chosen to abide in duty alone all those years ago. And yet, certain things- or rather, certain people- never failed to make his nerves bristle.

He'd quarreled often with the previous Azem, their perspectives never able to align due to her sheer selfishness. If she had any code guiding her actions, it was clearly an internal one and not her oath of office, as he took great pains to remind her.

Her successor annoyed him even more. As one of his former students, someone who may well have joined the Words of Lahabrea or become a trusted Warder of Pandaemonium had he not encountered some sort of mental breakdown, Lahabrea thought he might have more insight into how this new Azem would see the world.

What a fool he was. The latest Azem took the precise letter of the law and found some way to twist its interpretation to suit his latest antics, violating the spirit of the regulation but not breaking it to the point of earning censure. A practice enabled and all-but encouraged by Elidibus Ascendant. Even more annoyingly, Lahabrea found that he couldn't fault Azem's logic, even if he disagreed utterly with the methodology he used.

One would think this understanding would spark greater harmony, but no. It only made his actions even more noisome than Venat's had been.

Worse, he now found himself almost smiling fondly at the man's latest instance of malicious compliance. Charmed by how thoroughly he understood the rules and proceeded to flout each and every one of them, then successfully argue his case to avoid punishment. And, more damningly, something twisting in Lahabrea's gut wanted to silence Azem's manipulative tongue with his own mouth.

An inconscionable thought. Inappropriate to the highest possible degree. The man was young enough to be Erichthonios' peer, for the star's sake. Not to mention that he would be categorically, functionally unable to give Azem what he seemed to long for, if one trusted his little favors and acts of service to send a message.

It was unthinkable. Impossible.

...Desirable. A trap. He'd fallen for this sort of unpredictable behavior before, and it tore his soul in half, estranging him from himself and his son. No love for anything else, none for the star, no room for anything except raw ambition-

No. He wouldn't fall for it again. Wouldn't fall again. He'd sworn upon the grave of his wife that he would cast aside all fickle emotion.

And yet, like a particularly noisome insect, the desire buzzed in his ear, thrummed through his veins, stoked with each visit, each gift, each simple gesture of kindness laden with subtextual meaning to any with eyes to see it.

Damn him. Damn Azem for saddling him with these... unnecessary feelings.

FFXIV Write Day 14 - Clear

Unsundered Era, mild NSFW.

Aphroditos=Ancient!Xander Hestia=Ancient!Celeste

It never failed: If Hades- now the new Emet-Selch- called, the man named Azem, once known as Aphroditos, would answer his summons. As surely as Hades would answer his, whatever his needs.

The intent had been to share a celebratory drink. A clinking of glasses, a transparent rose wine, perhaps a shared meal because Hestia had dropped by earlier in the day with something fresh and delicious and unlike anything either of them could create.

Then, when masks and hoods and propriety were due to return, Hades took hold of his old friend's hand. And Aphroditos found he didn't have the heart or mind to pull it away, head thick and buzzing and humming with the alcohol.

Hades kissed with the desperation of a man wandering for a moon in the desert who'd just come upon an oasis. Aphroditos, in a brief moment of sobriety snatching through the haze, had to admit that Lahabrea's kisses imparted much the same- a cry for closeness, a plea.

Don't leave me alone. I need you. I love you. Don't leave me here to die without you.

Fuck. It was Hades before him. Hades, not Lahabrea.

Don't get distracted. Focus on returning his kisses, his groping. You know his body like it's your own, you should be better at pleasing him than this fumbling!

If Hades noticed any awkwardness or hesitation in his old friend's ever-eager touch, he said nothing. Aphroditos felt his body move as if on autopilot as sweat-slick robes peeled from flesh, tongues tracing prayers along salted flesh and familiar grooves of muscle. (Always so much more than Hades ever gave himself credit for.)

Amid the molten gold honey of Hades' eyes, Aphroditos couldn't help but see the heartbreak in Hestia's when she realized they'd fallen into bed with one another again. They weren't courting, it's not as if she had a claim, but she wanted him and cared for him, and like a thief in the night, there was Aphroditos, stealing Hades away.

Hades took a dominant role that night. Not a role he relished, but one taken out of necessity, as his partner couldn't seem to provide much more than old, memorized routes of pleasure, run as if by an automaton.

Hades buried his face in his lover's neck. Aphroditos found himself wishing for the scrape of beard and stubble. His stomach twisted as he imagined the look of condescension and condemnation upon Lahabrea's face at their Convocation Meeting the next morning when his neck was covered in the bruises Hades sucked into his flesh.

Though his body reacted as ever it did when he and his reticent white-haired friend fell into each other's arms and beds, the new Azem couldn't deny that he took little actual pleasure from the interaction. If anything, he felt lonely and empty, despite the new Emet-Selch clinging to him and still lingering inside, as if hesitant to part their bodies for even a moment.

Clarity after sex was a damnable cliche for a reason, and Azem hated that this episode left him feeling like he should just disentangle himself and leave while his empathy told him he needed to at least wait until his friend and colleague awoke before setting off.

The hours that Emet-Selch slept felt absolutely interminable. The second Azem had enough freedom of movement to get up without waking him, he took advantage of his friend's showers to clean the remnants of the previous night off and out of him.

...and of course, the noise of the showers would wake him. Emet-Selch sat up in the bed, half-covered by his blanket and rubbing his eyes as Azem, freshly cleaned, walked back to the bed and took a seat at the end of it.

"Aph, it's half-past three, what in blazes do you think you're doing? Come back to bed and finish getting a proper night's sleep. We have work soon and I want to enjoy this."

The whine and demand implicit in his tone only made Azem sigh. "I- Look. Hades. We can't keep doing this. Things are... different than they were when we were younger. You have someone else you're sort of dating, and I've got my thing going with Lahabrea, and I just- I can't."

He could feel Hades' shoulders square, his posture bristle as he pulled the blankets tighter to his chest.

"Hades, we tried this, remember? We tried, and tried, and kept trying, and it just never worked out. You were never as invested as I was- or weren't being honest with your intentions. I got tired of the games, and it's clear that each time we do this, we're only making the situation worse. So whatever this is, it needs to stop."

Out of the corner of his eye, Azem could see the new Emet-Selch shaking with barely-suppressed fury, eyes narrowed into slits as if that would conceal the sadness in them.

"Well, if my presence is so objectionable, then leave. I'll enjoy the rest of my evening alone, and meet you at the Convocation Hall when it's time for business, Azem."

As ever, the man hid behind theatrics and passive-aggression when emotional honesty would have served him better. Azem sighed and rose from the bed, crossing to the door.

He waited for the inevitable cry of "Wait!" or "And just where do you think you're going?" that usually followed when he called Emet-Selch on his bluff. It never came.

Masked and hooded once more, Azem stepped out of his old friend's apartment, and slowly made his way into the late-night streets of Amaurot. If any noticed their Counselor to the People shambling back to his own quarters at unthinkable hours of the morning, they didn't bother to offer comment.

FFXIV Write - Day 15 - Portentous

Late Shadowbringers spoilers, some disturbing/violent imagery.

'Twas never an easy thing, to behold the specter of the apocalypse rolling in from afar. Worse still was finding oneself with a front-row seat as the events unfolded. Though these portentous events were not his to experience, in truth, but the words and memories of another.

It didn't make the visions that haunted his dreams any less vivid. Though he'd made of G'raha Tia's lived experiences a portent, he'd relived the events recounted in them in his nightmares so oft that it lent a terrible credence to his words of prophecy when spoken aloud.

Some nights, Urianger saw his dearest companions in the Scions fall unconscious one by one, suddenly dropping as if the strings of their lives were cut by some capricious reaper. One moment, alive and well and happy, the next... gone.

Those nights were considerably easier than the vision he found himself faced with this eve.

He'd never been to Garlemald, nor heard much of it from natives, but his mind could well paint the picture of a frozen landscape covered with metal buildings and cut across with roads of smooth black stone composite. He could see his old charges, Alphinaud and Alisaie, dressed for the weather in matching ensembles of red and blue as they addressed Emperor Varis himself in some attempt at peace talks. Standing with them, strangely alight by the flourescent glow of the overhead bulbs, was Xander. The Warrior of Light.

...his beloved, by then, if G'raha's words could be believed. If the ring adorning his left hand within the dream-world spoke true.

And then the Emperor's face warped with sadistic glee. There was a sudden hissing in the air. Cries of alarum and coughing as hands flew to throat and face. Desperate, clawing, gasping for breath as Black Rose subsumed the available oxygen, smothering aether and the very energy required to sustain life itself.

Xander tried to choke out an order for the twins to run. Tried desperately to cover their mouths, their faces, to filter the gas with something, anything, before it worked all-too-quickly on their smaller bodies.

It wasn't long before he curled on the floor next to them. Coughing, choking, gasping and pleading as he fumbled with his linkpearl to communicate the danger.

It would have been easier to watch him fight to the last breath for life. Instead, Urianger witnessed the moment the light of hope- of life- died in his lover's eyes. The moment he resigned himself to his fate, and pulled the twins to his side in what might, in brighter days, have passed for a gesture of familial comfort.

Urianger longed to save them, to run to their sides, to protect them. But when he forced himself to move, it felt as if his legs were mired in a pool blackest pitch.

And all throughout Garlemald- nay, the world- lives crumbled, and the rest was silence.

He awoke in a puddle of his own sweat, gasping in the still, stagnant air of the First. It wasn't pleasant, but it was a marked improvement over what he'd just experienced in his dreams. Pixies fluttered to and fro outside his window, chattering about inanities amongst themselves.

A sense of normalcy returned, despite the oddness of his current circumstances.

'In the end, 'tis but a dream. And a foul dream it shall remain if I can but stay the course until the end.