#ffxiv snippet

[wol-taleal-desharn]

"Welcome to the Future"

Just a little snippet based on a sidequest I was working one to level black mage :)

Taleal smiled softly at the elezen — pardon, elf man as he fussed and wrung his hands. She’d had to guide him back up the Catenaries to the delivery room with his wife and now, small newborn. The midwife clucked at the new father before taking a glance at the au ra.

“Oh, my! You brought the Exarch’s guest! Please, might you come welcome the young girl to the world?”

The au ra blinked, but maintained her composure with a nod. “Of course,” she murmured, stepping up to eye the babe.

She was so tiny, this wee little thing that just entered the world some minutes ago. Taleal flicked her eyes to the mother in the bed, who offered a tired but relieved smile.

Taleal, Warrior of Light, of Darkness, smiled to herself, and was reminded then that…this was the kind of thing she fought for. These small little moments; for new life.

Fighting for those who will follow, for the future. And the future was held right in front of her, all tiny and pink and swaddled in a blanket.

“Hello, little one, and welcome to the world. You have so much to see and to look forward to in this fantastical place you get to call home.” The baby opened her tiny little lips in a yawn, earning a chuckle from the midwife.

“Thank you, my lady. I’m sure this will be a wonderful story for her parents to tell her when she is older.”

Taleal nodded to the midwife before turning to the young mother. “She is a beautiful little treasure; and I hope she - and you both - are well blessed.”

The mother grinned, holding her arms out for her baby. “We are; thank you, Taleal.”

The au ra bowed at the waist before turning to leave, leaving the family in privacy to get to know their new little one. She was but midway down the stairs when she heard her name called. Looking up, she spied Y’shtola at the bottom.

“Ah, there you are - where have you been, my dear?” Y’shtola cocked her head to the side, looking up curiously.

Taleal brushed a fold out of her scarlet togi as she stepped off the stairway. “Ah, you know - giving encouragement, kissing newborn babes, that sort of thing.”

Y’shtola quirked a brow, lips curling in amusement. “I did not think you liked babes, Taleal.”

Taleal shrugged. “I ran into a new father, who was rightly flustered at the birth of his daughter. He simply needed some encouragement, and asked me to come meet the little one. The midwife bid me to welcome the babe, and so I did.” She hooked her arm through Y’shtola’s. “I assume that since you have come to fetch me, we are off to the Ocular?”

“Indeed we are - duty ever calls.”

Taleal shook her head. “There is nothing wrong with a babe, especially a newborn. They…” she pursed her lips. “They are a good reminder of what we fight for.”

Y’shtola smiled a rare, soft smile. “A fair point, my friend.” The two were silent as they made their way through to the Rotunda. “Do you ever think of having your own?”

“My own what?”

“Children, Tally.”

The Warrior shrugged, scoffing slightly. “T’would be a daydream, at best.”

“Dreams are simply goals we have not realized, yet. Do you think it impossible?” Y’shtola chided.

“Well, first I would have to find someone to have babes with…”

“You’ve no lack of suitors, surely.” They were making their way down the stairs of the Rotunda, onto the pathway leading to the Tower.

Taleal stopped, staring up at the blue crystal structure. “Perhaps, back home.” she muttered, frowning. “I would not be suited to their gilded cages.”

“I find that dreams - or daydreams - will find us, guided by fate when we least expect it, my dear. But you might also have to take her in hand and give a bit of a pull. We cannot expect destiny and fate to do everything; they have a lot to do, as it were, and certainly they guide much else in your life as it is.” Y’stola’s voice intoned, low but serious.

“Pray, whatever art thou speaking of?” Urianger’s voice cut in as he approached with Thancred.

Y’shtola hummed at the two. “Children, and the future. I was merely wondering if our dear Warrior wanted any.”

Thancred chuckled. “A most fearsome mother the worlds have never seen yet.” The comment earned light laughs from the others.

Taleal offered something of a bemused smile. “Mm, well. Mayhap I shall daydream upon it some more.”

The four made their way up the stairs of the Tower now, proceeding to their next mission.

[lettersnorth]

“Maybe I’m too much of a distraction.” "Aislinn, darling. You are the most welcome distraction that a man could ever ask for."

[naelmasn]

The child showed curiosity right away, with his mismatched eyes exploring the surroundings as if he had never set foot outside his front door. The world was so big and he was so small. He wanted to run and jump, wet his shoes in the stream, say hello to every being he encountered, and laugh as he rolled down the hills. He wanted to do so many things now that he was here, but at the same time he couldn't take his shaking hand off the hem of his mother's robes.

[ahollowgrave]

-- laughter echoes among sinking ruins.

][ featuring @abyssalmermaiden's gorgeous Aryailles.]

[galianbeast]

old quinfort/valan stuff. they were so gay and transgender to me.

[avirael]

Sparing you the direct side by side comparison here but I really think Nhagi’ra has a bit of Flynn Rider energy, as in he’s a charming but kind idiot. Maybe a little more silly/clumsy than Flynn 🤭

Imagine him just walking by and seeing a woman attacked by some monster. Of course he heroically rushes to her help just that he slips/trips, falls down down a ravine or something and breaks his leg.

Meanwhile said woman (who can absolutely save herself) chases away the monster on her own and finds him stuck and whining.

Still he immediately puts on his most self-assured, charming face to impress her, which pathetically fails of course.

I Imagine it goes like this:

“Can you walk?”

“Of course I ca- Aaaah! - No! No, I can’t…”

“Alright, let me help you…”

[thevikingwoman]

FFXIVWrite2024 - Prompt 1

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV | Words: 261 | read on Ao3

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

Steer

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

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

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

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

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

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

[aroseyetbloomedwrites]

Reprieve - Etienne/Francel [ The Night of Occam's Razor ]

Having been provided it previously, a silver key rests in Francel’s open palm, looking down into it, his fingers, long and slender, pull forward and fold around it. There is a deep seated exhaustion taking root in his bones as his gaze glances off his fist, and upwards, to the bar, from where he sees Ambrose, and Yoan putting up their dirtied rags. The last of theirs, well—Occam’s guests having left, trickled out into the sweeping cold of the old night, to return from whence they came. He thinks, as he watches Ambrose come around the bar with Yoan, that perhaps he could call it his as well, the guests, the employee’s, the establishment, and not in any sense of ownership as a statement, no matter the gil he had provided, and the services rendered, but because of a different type of investment he has made. The emotional output. By no diminishing standards, the months he has come here, to do this, for and with Etienne, he—loved it, loved them. And so, ‘theirs’, in every sense of the word, he thinks, might just have a right to be imagined in his mind, as it would in Ambrose’s, or Yoan’s, or Etienne’s and Doctor Camille. 

Francel feels a hand touch his shoulder, and having traced the path Ambrose marked across the way from bartop to stairwell, of which he leaned against the banister, knew for whom it belonged to. There is strength in that grip, and if the musculature that the professor boasted of spoke to anything, it was that grip. Francel’s shoulder felt the weight of it. Yoan had held back, and for a time, looking towards the door as if he waited for that final permission to leave. 

“Make sure to tuck in that Etienne, aye?”

The hand leaves his narrow shoulder, and Francel turns his head to follow the pathway Ambrose carved towards the door, Francel trails behind, gripping the key Etienne had given him last time tightly in his hand. He pockets it. Puffs up his chest mid step, and with a familiar, fond curl to his lips, sees them out with a —

“Of course I will! Be warm, Fury keep you safe in your travels.”

At the doorstep, left wide open, a cold wind blows in, chilling Francel’s bare fingers, and his lengthsome ears, Ambrose turns to regard him, Yoan a few steps ahead, not bothering to pull his gait as he walks away, leaving Ambrose at the stop, looking into Francel’s smiling face. There is a tiredness beneath bright blue eyes, but a redness in his cheeks, and the ends of his smile might nearly meet those blue depths, in a way that showed Francel’s satisfaction, and his contentedness. Ambrose seemed to consider this expression for a brief moment, but he does not look overlong, for the footsteps of his companion have grown distant, and Francel’s nose was turning a delightful shade of red, he merely laughs aloud, and steps back and down the curb. 

“Do not let the door hit my ass on the way out.” He turns away, waving a hand over his shoulder.

The parting note leaves Francel slightly confused, he will watch for a moment, as Ambrose breaks into a jog over the pathway to catch up to Yoan, a crystalline snowflake or few blow in, sticking to the brocade of Francel’s vest, he can feel the chill of the wind sneak beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, and pour down the buttoned collar of his shirt. Like tendrils of ice sneaking in to cool his sternum, and the way his heart heats and beats in his breast. Spooling hot blood also, in the pit of his stomach as he leans back, pulls the doors closed, and… flips the lock with a decisive ‘click’. Barring the establishment for all that were already readily within it, and, without.

Etienne is nearby, he is just a room away, and has been, having escaped as things were winding down, and no more bodies were trickling in, to sort what had been paid, and what needed to be ordered for the following weeks. Francel will pace from the front double doors of the Razor, across wood floorboards, past tables and benches, to the far side of the entryway floor where a single door stands. It was not locked when he tries the handle, and he had, after all, promised to see Etienne before leaving, as is what he always does. The door gives when he presses in on it, leading him to a lengthy wing with doors aligning either side, he follows it to its end and takes some stairs, a quick jaunt upwards, and then he is opening another door, which parts into a bigger room with a narrow pointed ceiling lined with skylights gone dark and cold. The far side of the room boasts a few windows which are curtainless, but considering they were up a floor, there was no need for them. A desk was facing away from the windows, littered with paper, books, a scale, letters needing to be sent out—an old cup of coffee that must have been there for a few days. It was the kind of thing that elicits a smile from Francel. But, what really drew his gaze, seeing as the desk, where his eyes had flitted to first, was empty, they ghost instead, to the chair positioned a few steps in front of it, the back of it turned towards the door, as it is angled towards a crackling fireplace, he can see arms on the armrests of the plush chair, and know for whom occupies it. But there is silence, he was not greeted upon entrance, and the body in the chair does not move to come retrieve him. To come hold him. Unperturbed, Francel will find fondness curl in his belly, and curl at his lips, even if he cannot rightly see Etienne, but, to know the busy, energetic man, to be asleep where he sits. 

On quiet feet, leather soles against solid wood, he sidles his way gently to the loft bed in the farthest corner of the room, the space and table beneath it is filled with boxes, and bags of all sorts, he does not disturb these as he leans on quiet toes to lift himself marginally higher to seize a blanket corner and pull it from the edges of the lofted bed. And when he pads back, to pace around the chair fully, he will be given pause, to finally look upon this resting Etienne, pale skin aglow in the light of the fire, and Francel will find his heart stuttering. White hair will be swept across one eye, but the back is slightly sticking up from when it had been pressed against the back of the chair, creating a facade which is open, endearing, and addled with sleep. His eyes are closed, and while there is an underlying edge of darkness beneath them, Francel will wonder if this rare moment of respite would be enough to lift the shadow, even marginally. And yet, Etienne is always so energetic. Francel cants a hip, shifting his weight onto another foot, and leaning down at the waist as he gazes longingly at Etienne. Whose mouth is slightly ajar, wisps of air easing past in little breathes he can almost hear. Lips which kiss him with such passion, and longing, oscillating between a chasteness he never imagined would be his, and a need he never thought possible to be in his grasp, to bend to him, to be his to express. 

There are papers on Etienne’s lap, gone a little askew as they slowly begin to slide from his lap. Francel catches them before they can make streaks of white on the dark floor and sets them on the side table. He does not read what they are, but were Etienne to ever need help with them, he hopes the half-wolf would know for whom he could call upon, but then—doctor Camille, and Etienne, they have been doing this for some time by themselves, Francel could never make an imposition or presume he would be needed in that manner. Papers safely aside, Francel stretches out the blanket, from corner to corner, and drapes it gently over Etienne’s body, very carefully needling the corners of the blanket over his shoulders to cover the majority of him. The blanket is large, and settles warmly against the front of the man, folding into the crease made where lap turns into upright waist. Francel tucks him in, making sure the blanket covers Etienne’s front, in the fullest, and then, as he is leant in, he will turn his head, crane down his neck, and press soft, full lips against a high cheek bone, but then suddenly, jutting out from the edge of a blanket, a hand grabs his wrist just as Francel were pulling away. Eyes go slightly wide, as Etienne meets his gaze, there is a sudden alertness to them, a clarity which demonstrates that underlying layer of having been a soldier, or—it just had to do with Francel being about to make his escape, and Etienne was having none of that.

“You weren’t bout’a leave without saying bye, were you?”

There is still a layer of grogginess to Etienne’s voice, a sleepiness which made his voice pleasantly rough and gravely. Francel has butterflies in the pit of his stomach. Etienne’s hand is large, and warm, where it grasps around the tender bone of his wrist. Francel turns his hand, and Etienne lets him, their fingers come together, folding against one another. 

“I was saying my goodbyes just now, but you slept so peacefully, for, how could I wake you?”

Etienne gives one of his lopsided smiles, and white lashes lower over the glow of his eyes in the firelight, Etienne tugs on Francel’s hand, and the young lord tentatively acquiesces by way of stepping between the sag of the blanket between the taller’s legs. And will lower himself into the others lap, turning sideways, that he might hook his legs over Etienne’s and slide an arm around his shoulders. Hands relink, and rest on one of Francel’s thighs. The position itself is a strange one to the young lord, whom has not done something of this variety before. Etienne puts an arm around his back, his hand strokes down Francel’s spine, and then curves around his waist to hold his hip, and suddenly, it clicks in Francel’s mind, that he need not be so stiff, Etienne will hold him steady, he will not be upended, he will not slide off. He relaxes, as Etienne leans back against the chair again, and there is a naturalness to the way Francel will lean forward, shoulder to Etienne’s chest, turning his face inwards to tuck it against the fine lines of Etienne’s neck. And it suddenly hits him full force, the warmth of the fire against his side, a blanket tucked around Etienne’s chest for his fingers to pull down, that he can drag his hands over Etienne’s front, and into the opening of his shirt to press his fingertips against warm skin. Tickled gently by the hair that peppers his front. Francel runs his nails over this, and Etienne tucks his chin atop Francel’s head, and sighs through his nose.

“How ‘bout you jus’ don’t leave.”

Francel closes his eyes, squeezing his knees together over Etienne’s legs and the side of the chair they sit in, Etienne, holding him firmly, Etienne, kissing the top of his head, Etienne, the smell of him in his nose. Warmth against his body… 

“Now, how could I?” 

Francel intones, and his voice dips in such a way that belies his tiredness, now that he has been bidden to relax in his lover's embrace. How could he, when Etienne’s voice growls gently in his long ears, with his large hand holding to his thigh, his own hand trapped beneath, a hand curled around his hip… How could he, when they share a warmth, and their hearts beat together, and Francel’s lips move, as though he were to say something, but nothing comes out, just a rush of air, as his lungs and heart squeeze. 

“Etienne…”

But, Francel is met with silence, he cranes his neck back, moving as minutely as possible, only to find in his silence, and in his thoughts, Etienne had closed his eyes again, leant his head back against the grand chair, and was currently breathing soft and deep, with Francel in his arms, a familiar and desired weight and warmth against his front. There was no greater sense of calm and quiet than this. Francel tucks himself close again, a smile playing at his lips as his nose brushes the tendon in Etienne’s neck, he kisses the warm skin gently, curls his fingers against Etienne’s chest where he holds, and breathes in long, deep, and steady. Let him be surrounded by Etienne, and he will know no greater contentedness than this.

Francel does not return home, that night. 

[kaitontenchu]

Unwritten Bonds

-

"...Thanks for comin' to talk with me, Esti." The slightest bit of hesitation caught Kai's tongue at the utterance of his adoptive brother's name. "I - It's been a while for sure...!"

Keenly catching on, Estinien let out a sigh before taking another swig of his ale. He approached the younger man and placed a gentle palm atop his head.

Kai's ears perked up at the sudden weight.

"What are you getting flustered over, boy? You used to call me that name when we were just naive little kids. We both grew up, but that's it. Our lives may have run a different course and will continue to do so, but you will always be my little brother in the end."

Kai felt his face flush in a rush of comfort. He lowered his ears and simply nodded. A content smile being the only response he needed to give back to Estinien.

[howdygravytrain]

aymeric's a simple man: he sees wife, he loses his shit /pos UwU

a simple set done before dawntrail (i think i'm nearly done sharing all the pre-dt screenies??)!! also granson somehow getting his ass transported to the source works because yes 🤠 super short, but as always transcript is below!

TRANSCRIPT

Panel 2: Granson: Who is that hot lady?

Panel 3: Aymeric: THAT'S MY FUCKING WIFE!!!!

[iona-xiv]

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡. 𝐼𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑟𝑦, 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑠, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑔𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑒. --

“𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑,” 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑑, ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑎 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑟. “𝐼 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢.”

---

“𝐼𝑜𝑛𝑎,” ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ. 𝐻𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑠 ℎ𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑚 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑛𝑜��ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟—𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑦𝑒𝑡. 𝐼𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑑, ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑝𝑠 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑡ℎ, 𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑗𝑎𝑤𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑐𝑘. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑙𝑜𝑤, 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔.

[avampyone]

More OC inspo charts I'd been meaning to do for Arazul and Gabriel since I use them a lot in writing drabbles too and etc.

Since their stories intertwine as being Studium rivals in the past and sets them on their course, it seemed only fitting to put them together here.

[lettersnorth]

“We should go target practice sometime.” "Oh, fancy a competition, do ya? It would help test our aim." Luma joked, chuckling lightly. "A friendly wager could be partaken as well if you're up for it." Though he feared it would be a wager he may lose. Aislinn’s mouth curves up in a thrilled arc. “Come on now, I’m always up a little friendly wager. Especially if it involves my shooting.”

[azems-familiar]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Azem/Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus (Final Fantasy XIV), Azem & Emet-Selch & Hythlodaeus (Final Fantasy XIV), Azem & Venat (Final Fantasy XIV), Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Emet-Selch & Hythlodaeus & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV) Characters: Azem (Final Fantasy XIV), Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Emet-Selch (Final Fantasy XIV), Hythlodaeus (Final Fantasy XIV), Venat (Final Fantasy XIV), Scions of the Seventh Dawn (Final Fantasy XIV) Additional Tags: how the FUCK do i even tag this thing, Ultima Thule (Final Fantasy XIV), Patch 6.0: Endwalker Spoilers (Final Fantasy XIV), Queerplatonic Relationships, it's tagged both & and / for a reason, i listened to "answers" on repeat a lot and it made me very sad, Canonical Character Death, it's Hythlodaeus and he's alive at the end so it'S FINE, Angst with a Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, the canon divergence is emet and hyth don't fuck off at the end, Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), no beta we die like literally all my favorite characters, Named Azem (Final Fantasy XIV), Nonbinary Azem (Final Fantasy XIV), Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), i have not finished the endwalker patch quests or all the related raids, so if my lore is off don't @ me Summary:

“Then give me an alternative, Seleukos!” he says, pushing himself upright to match them, face twisting. “Give me some other way, any other way! We as the Fourteen have a duty to this star and I, for one, intend to ensure there is still a star to have a duty to when this is all over.”

“To the star?” Azem asks, and laughs, disbelieving and jagged and aching. “What about the people? The lives? What use is the damn star without the life that makes it beautiful?” - None of them had ever truly had a chance, back then. But now here she stands, so close to silencing Meteion’s song of oblivion and proving Hydaelyn’s, Venat’s faith true, showing the world to a new future, and she wants - has, almost - to show them it’s still possible. A long time ago Emet-Selch asked her for an alternative, and now she can give him one. - Azem, Emet-Selch, and Hythlodaeus, in Amaurot and at the end of the universe.

[dogicrimsonofficial]

Haurchefant gripped his sword, ready to shout for the beast to move aside while preparing to block that swipe, take the brunt of it… when something collided with it from above. A shape, Elezen with brown hair and bright green eyes, a scar on his cheek and freckles dotting his cheeks had landed on its head, his own blade burying deep into the maned neck. Not enough to kill, but enough to disorient, to annoy, to wound. 

Ifroix wore an unfamiliar grimace, the fall having not been great for his injured leg - but he looked towards Haurchefant all the same, desperation clear from his eyes. 

“Go!” he shouted, bashing his shield against the beast's head to keep it disoriented. 

It was merely a split second of eye contact, of a simple nod, and Haurchefant was running off again, past the massive beast that was taking the younger Elezen for a ride.

---

Finished one of my personal pieces finally, decided that this looks good enough, no need to color it. Just some art of a side-character I created that accidentally became adored by couple of my friends by being too much of a bro.

[tsukiakurotori]

Learning Something New

As he watched her, noting just how intently she was reading, he began to smile in amusement. “What is it?” the Lieutenant beside him asked. “Nothing.” Just something adorable. It appeared that when deeply focused, Tsukia’s tail would go completely still, not a movement to be seen as it curled around her on the bench. However, he could tell whenever she reached an interesting part. Because the very tip of her tail would involuntarily twitch in excitement. Haurchefant wondered what other little habits she had, including ones she herself didn’t even know about. It will be quite fun to find out.