#my Azem

[raidenfanclub]

throws 500 incomplete sketches at you and runs

[nephiieatsuranium]

I haven't really drawn my Azem (Nikifóros is his name) and this is probably the only time I ever did an OC x Canon ship 😭

Anyway AzeMet content for the sake of my sanity 😭😭🙏

[blucifer08]

The Binding of Fenrir

[queenraikichi94]

Here are all the major arcana tarot cards that I did for the trend of Cards of Carteneau that is in twitter. You can check them and others here!

https://twitter.com/hashtag/CardsofCarteneau?src=hashtag_click

[florestxiv]

Azem's love language is words of affection and acts of service. The service is 🦈🦈 🦈

Bonus fun:

[morvollo]

thinking about hades/azem interactions early on in their courtship.

really it’s azem that initiates everything, but hades always always indulges him (despite pretending azem’s flirting was simply a nuisance). hades loved the attention more than he would ever admit.

also, i don’t think hades took azem’s interest seriously for a long time. probably assumed azem was just being insufferable for fun. (which azem absolutely was being insufferable for fun! but also absolutely wanted to climb hades like a tree)

[rabbit-illustrations]

Transformed version of Vall's Azem Vall's Azem is Aether (based on the god of light and upper air. And I just pretend his name isn't confusing in the FF14 universe) Much like his name would suggest he is a bottomless well of aether and a master at manipulating it If he was some kind of trial boss I like to think the crystal change depending one whichever element they're conducting at the time

[nabaath-areng]

"But I could never live up to those expectations! Why would you risk so much by entrusting this duty to me of all people? Once the star falls to ruin, don't you dare say I didn't warn you!"

[umbralaether]

FFXIV Write 2024

Day 1: Steer

Steer clear of Pandaemonium, lest you never return.

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

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

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

"Finally… free…!"

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

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

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

Click!

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

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

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

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

[ihaveatypeanditstrickstergods]

I can't draw well enough to make this happen, but a vivid idea of an Azem-centric animatic to the chorus of No Longer You from Epic the Musical just popped into my head and I wanted to type it out so y'all could share my vision.

I see a song of past romance...

Now this one depends on how you headcanon your Azem's relationship with other Ancients, but in my mind it's Hades, Hythlodaeus, and Azem (in my case Ariadne) together and having a good time on a busy street in Amaurot. Hythlo's presence in particular is important.

I see a sacrifice of man

Image of the same street, but it's now the Final Days. The sky is dark, and Hythlodaeus and half the people in the background are gone, replaced with outlines where they once stood. I personally would have Hades and Ariadne clearly arguing in this as well, but again, there's a lot dependent on personal Azem headcanons.

I see portrayal of betrayal...

Azem stepping down from the Convocation. They take their mask off and drop it...

...And a brother's final stand

Only for it to become one of many masks on a dark background. We now see Hades, Emet-Selch, during the second half of the fight against him at the end of Shadowbringers

I see you on the brink of death, I see you draw your final breath

This is the biggest variation depending on personal Azems, but it's effectively where were you when the star was sundered. In Ariadne's case, it was probably somewhere far from Amaurot fighting something... maybe a shot of her falling back as (and this is important and universal) everything fades into light.

I see a man who gets to make it home alive...

The light coalesces into the Mothercrystal and in its light we see a humanoid silhouette...

But it's no longer you

Of the Warrior of Light

[raidenfanclub]

Have an insane amount of ffxiv doodles from my twitter

[extrabora]

A sad little idea I couldn't get out of my head. Old habits die hard I guess :(

[sp8ce-queen]

hades & azem <3

[caladhel-iarian]

Say It Like You Mean It

Emet-Selch inspects the selection of drinks with a critical eye. A splash of scotch here, a tankard of foamy ale there, a finger of neat gin with a sprig of rosemary…

Ah .

His hand is already reaching for the whiskey a split second before his eyes register what they’re seeing. If he has truly resigned himself to an evening of Azem’s incessant chatter and Hythlodaeus’ constant teasing, he has a feeling he will need a glass of something strong–and possibly the rest of bottle to follow. One of the two idiots is already grinning at him unabashedly while the other does a fine job of pretending at propriety.

If, of course, one ignores the impish glee in his eyes that says he’s already concocted some new and terrible scheme. 

As the attendant moves on to the next table, Emet-Selch sighs and takes a sip of his whiskey to bolster his nerves before he arches a brow at Hythlodaeus.

“Well?” he prompts. “Are you going to share this juicy gossip of yours or aren’t you?”

Insufferable as ever, Hythlodaeus only mirrors Azem’s grin. With one hand cradling the drink he’d all but demanded in exchange for his information, he holds Emet-Selch’s eye and enjoys tiny sips from the sparkling wine. Exceedingly tiny sips. Exceedingly tiny sips that don’t appear to empty the glass at all.

Emet-Selch grits his teeth. Those sips, he is swiftly realizing, are purposefully designed to drive him straight up the wall.

And damn him, it’s working.

“Patience,” Hythlodaeus drawls, “is a virtue, Most Esteemed Emet-Selch.”

Emet-Selch scoffs. “I have no time for virtues,” he retorts. “I have plenty of work to do and that does not include sitting around with baited breath while you malinger in your melodramatic revelations. If you–”

“Ah, but all work and no play makes Azem terribly sad,” Hythlodaeus counters with annoying cheer. Beside him, Azem’s enthusiastic nods are nearly enough to snap their neck and belie the big, sad eyes glued to him. 

With herculean effort, Emet-Selch ignores them.

“Our duty to Etheirys,” the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect continues, “though important–! can wait while we celebrate our dear friend’s happy return. After all–” He tips his wine glass in Azem’s direction as though intending to toast the miscreant. “We have so little time with one another these days. And I plan to make the most of it before we fulfill our promise and return to the star together.”

Emet-Selch swears he feels his teeth cracking as his jaw clenches. His knuckles whiten around his glass.

“Yes, well,” he grinds out, shooting Azem a dirty look. They only lift their brows in return, the picture of innocence. The effect reminds him of an owl. “That assumes we live long enough to see that blessed day come.”

He waits. A heartbeat. Two. It takes about ten seconds before his words really sink in.

“Hey!” Azem splutters, spraying grape juice everywhere. They bolt up straight from their lazy spawl and swipe a hand across their chin, frowning at the Third Seat. “Are you trying to imply that I’d get us all killed?”

He gives them a withering look that has them quickly averting their eyes and clearing their throat.

“Oh, please. As if you have not dragged us into countless dangerous situations,” he says, his voice coated with sarcasm and disdain. “You are a magnet for trouble, Azem. Frankly, it is an absolute miracle you have survived this long.”

“No, it’s isn’t,” Azem replies, and their smug smile has him torn between wanting to throttle them and licking the drop of grape juice from their lips. “Lady Luck loves me. I’m her favourite.”

Hythlodaeus’ quiet laughter breaks the tension. “I can see why,” he agrees, eyeing Azem with no small amount of admiration and interest. “That just-crawled-out-of-bed hair and those rumpled robes are quite fetching on you.”

“Thank you,” Azem chirps, oblivious. “That’s very kind of you, Daeus.”

Emet-Selch rolls his eyes. “Lady Luck has peculiar tastes, then,” he mutters into his glass. He downs another mouthful of whiskey, using the alcohol to keep his tongue busy before it can say something incredibly stupid. Something like But she will have to get in line because her favourite flavour was my favourite flavour first.

“Yeah?” Azem challenges him, their tanned cheeks reddening as Hythlodaeus continues looking them up and down. “What does that say about your tastes, huh?”

The whiskey burns as it travels down the wrong pipe and Emet-Selch coughs, his eyes widening in sudden concern. Has this complete fool somehow learned to read minds?

“W-What?” he gasps, covering his confusion and unease with his trademark scowl. “What is that supposed to mean?” He dabs at his chin with a napkin and turns his head away, his nose in the air. “I have no particular tastes, I will have you know. I simply have high standards.”

“Remarkably high,” Hythlodaeus agrees, and there’s a note in his voice that has Emet-Selch narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “How fortunate the sun is the highest thing in our world, hm?”

Cheeks slightly flushed–and by Etheirys, he hopes Hythlodaeus mistakes it for the blush that accompanies alcohol, though his hopes, admittedly, don’t soar high–Emet-Selch huffs. The glare he offers the Soul Seer tells the other man that the implications of his subtle ribbing have been perfectly understood and are equally unwanted.

At least by one person at the table, anyway. Those implications have apparently flown straight over Azem’s head without ever stopping to roost. And that is just the way Emet-Selch prefers it.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, downing more whiskey to hide his discomfort.

“Oh, but if I were to shut up,” Hythlodaeus trills, “you would never hear that absolutely fascinating bit of gossip I picked up recently. And I assure you, it is something you will not want to miss.”

A long-suffering sigh escapes Emet-Selch. Hythlodaeus, blast his hide, knows exactly how to bait his curiosity and reel him in. When he isn’t leaving him writhing on the hook, that is.

“Fine,” he says reluctantly. “Spill it, then. Before I change my mind about this whole affair and leave you both here to drag yourselves home later.”

“We-e-ell…”

Emet-Selch swallows a groan. He’s known Hythlodaeus for over a century and the first thing he ever learned about his friend was that his sly grins never mean anything good.

“I have it on good authority that a certain someone–due to his stubborn nature and unfortunate sense of decorum and embarrassment–missed a perfectly mind-blowing evening last night with an exceptional ray of sunshine,” says Hythlodaeus. “Complete, I was told, with smooth jazz.”

Emet-Selch stares at the other man with a mixture of confusion, horrified fascination, and an undeniable sense of mounting dread.

“Are you… Are you telling me that I missed out on a night of… jazz?” he echoes. This is the interesting gossip Hythlodaeus has been alluding to all afternoon? A night of jazz? He can listen to jazz in his own home whenever he pleases–

“In a manner of speaking.” Hythlodaeus’ fingers trace the rim of his glass in slow, continuous circles. Every rotation creates a soft squeak that sets Emet-Selch’s teeth on edge. “But the jazz was not the important part, Emet-Selch.”

“I hate jazz,” Azem interjects.

He fights the urge to roll his eyes and, instead, spares Azem a brief, exasperated glance.

“Noted,” he says dryly, before returning his attention to Hythlodaeus. “But I fail to see how missing an evening of jazz equates to missing a mind-blowing night.”

“I was there,” says Azem.

“Yes, thank you,” sighs Emet-Selch. “I fail to see how missing an evening of jazz with someone I could not care any less about equates to missing a mind-blowing evening.”

“Ow.” Lips curled in a winsome pout, Azem rubs their chest, directly over their heart. They brighten up a moment later when Hythlodaeus gently pats their hand.

“Ah, well,” says the Bureau’s Chief, his eyes gleaming dangerously in the restaurant’s mood lighting. “Perhaps I should also mention there was nudity involved.”

The sudden sputtering has several diners at nearby tables turning in their direction. Emet-Selch coughs until he’s certain he’s lost a lung, his throat and chest burning from the unexpected whiskey. He does his best to ignore the stares leveled his way, but he feels the eyes boring into him, curious and condemning by turns. Ignoring puzzled glances is a skill he acquired only a few weeks after meeting the gremlins currently having dinner with him, and it’s a skill he isn’t sure he appreciates developing. When no other disruptions seem forthcoming from his table, the other diners return to their meals.

“N- Nudity?” he hisses in a strangled voice. “You are joking, right? This has to be a joke.”

“Not at all,” Hythlodaeus demurs. “I never joke.” He doesn’t bother acknowledging the incredulous noise that crawls its way up Emet-Selch’s throat and out into the world. “There was nudity and, my source confided, a full bottle of someone’s favourite wine.”

“It tastes like dzo piss and vinegar,” Azem chimes in, and their face scrunches up the way it does after they eat something sour.

Emet-Selch's sharp frown goes blissfully ignored by its intended recipient. 

“First, I do not ever want to know why you know how dzo urine tastes,” he snaps. “And second, that wine is an acquired taste only appreciated by those with the most refined and discerning palates. That is… I can’t understand why anyone, even an idiot, would waste an entire bottle of it on… whatever this is.” He gestures vaguely at the table, his companions, the whole restaurant and the city at large. Why would anyone ever use such an extraordinary wine to get wasted and nude? It boggled the mind.

“Ah. That is the unfortunate part.” Hythlodaeus heaves a dramatic sigh. Closing his eyes, he shakes his head and tsks softly. “You see, that wine was not drunk nor the smooth jazz enjoyed because the esteemed personage for whom they had been prepared never bothered to show up.”

“I was lonely,” Azem agrees, nodding.

Emet-Selch has always believed he knows the limits of his patience. The last century has seen it pushed, pulled, stretched and compressed. Though he knows ire is a sliding scale and the goalposts can be moved at any time, he also knows that scale always operates within certain bounds. He has always thought he could confidently say he’s seen it all, that he knows just how annoyed he can get. He also thinks he is usually good about heading off his temper before it takes a nose-dive over a cliff.

But Emet-Selch is wrong and tonight is proving that to him. His irritation is reaching new and unusual heights the longer he listens to Hythlodaeus’ drivel peppered with Azem’s accompanying remarks. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he notices the throbbing in his temples and resolves to drop in at the apothecary for some aspirin on his way home.

“...You are telling me,” he says in the tones of someone reaching the end of his tether and accelerating, “that someone went through the trouble of preparing a romantic evening complete with wine and jazz and… and nudity , and they are upset because I wasn’t there?”

“Hm.” Hythlodaeus hums, tapping his lips as if in deep thought. “When you put it that way, then yes. I suppose that does sound similar, doesn’t it.”

Setting his glass carefully aside, Emet-Selch groans and buries his face in one hand. What he wouldn’t give for the floor to open up and swallow him right now. A combination of frustration, disbelief, and something that feels a little too much like guilt to be comfortable washes over him and he rubbed his eyes, wishing he had chosen to work overtime instead of leaving his office. 

“This is absurd,” he mutters, his words muffled by his palm. “Why on earth would someone go through all that trouble for me?”

“I’m sure I can’t imagine,” says Hythlodaeus. He glances at Azem, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Can you, dearest Azem?”

“Because I wanted to fuck,” says Azem. “But you never showed up.”

Emet-Selch’s head immediately snaps up, his eyes widening and his face deathly pale. He stares at them in complete and total silence for several seconds while his brain tries to process what he’d heard. His mouth opens and closes wordlessly, repeatedly, and his tongue scrambles for something–anything–to say.

“You… You what?” he finally manages. It’s little more than a whisper.

“I wanted to fuck,” Azem repeats. “Bump uglies. Get down and dirty. Do the horizontal tango. Make the beast with two backs. Do the hippidy-dippity. Shake the sheets. Get my corn ground.” 

To Emet-Selch’s rising horror, they make a wide circle with their forefinger and thumb, then poke the finger of their other hand through the hole to illustrate.

“Bake a cream pie,” they tell him and anyone else with ears in the nearby vicinity. “Glaze the doughnut. Put the sour cream in the burrito. Assault with a friendly weapon. Dip the wick. Walk the snake. Hide the salami. You know. Fuck. ”

Beside them, Hythlodaeus presses a fist to his lips to stifle his laughter. When that doesn’t work, he tries a napkin.

Emet-Selch is reasonably certain his face has caught fire. His cheeks burn darker and hotter as Azem continues rattling off various euphemism, most of which he has never heard in his life and all of which he could have happily done without ever hearing. The longer they go on, the more he regrets ever being born and Hythlodaeus’ barely suppressed laughter is not helping anything.

“Yes, yes, I understand!” he blurts, desperate to stop Azem’s litany of lascivious language. “No need to go into further detail!”

“Get that daily dose of vitamin D,” Azem replies.

Emet-Selch chokes on air.

“Are you sure?” Hythlodaeus’ voice is sugar sweet, but his eyes glint evilly. “I must admit, I am curious to know what other delightful terms our Azem has learned in their travels.”

“Ride the bony pony,” Azem supplies helpfully.

Emet-Selch emits a sound somewhere between a mortified groan and strangled gasp, his eyes so large they nearly engulf his face. They dart around the restaurant, checking on other diners while he silently prays that no one else has heard Azem’s contributions to this horrible conversation. Hythlodaeus, damn him, is fighting a losing battle to keep his face straight; Emet-Selch can see the tears of laughter glistening on his cheeks.

“Board the train to pound town,” says Azem just as the attendant walks by and Emet-Selch feels his soul leave his body.

“Stop,” he pleads, his voice hoarse. He holds up one hand, palm out in surrender. “Please. Just stop.”

[disciple-of-frost]

Glamtober Day 20 - Another Time 📖

Weapon: Augmented Hailstorm Grimoire Head: Ktiseos Petasos of Casting Body: Ktiseos Robes of Casting Hands: Ktiseos Gloves of Casting Legs: Ktiseos Bottoms of Casting Feet: Ktiseos Boots of Casting Earrings: The Emperor's New Earrings Necklace: The Emperor's New Necklace Bracelet: The Emperor's New Bracelet Rings: The Emperor's New Ring