I apologize for how long it’s been since I left an update here. I’m doing alright, all things considered, and have been working on just getting through the past couple of years rather than writing much. My health is still wonky, as is its wont, and I still very much enjoy FFXIV. Not much has really changed for me aside from uhhhhh [checks list] most things.
I want to finish what I started and to keep writing for all you lovely folks on tumblr dot com, but I haven’t had the time or energy to keep up with it in a while. I’ve been writing, but it’s slow and mostly personal or paid work only. The last time I sat down to work on asks, it was like my brain was full of fog and I couldn’t think about where I could even start. It’s a slog to write anything as of the past year, even if it means a lot to me or I’m excited about it.
So! Onto what this means for the blog:
I won’t be updating this tumblr more than a couple times a year from hereon out. Asks may occasionally be answered if I’m able, but please don’t count on it.
If you’d like to continue any of the things I’ve written, make RP responses to them, or otherwise add to/interact with my past posts, by all means please do!
If you’d like to write your own sequels, routes, or character-specific pieces based off of something I made, please make sure to credit this blog and to tag me! I’d love to see and reblog your work! 💕
I’m still here and excited to read and interact with the fandom and other people’s ideas and characters from my little corner. I just don’t have the energy to write like I used to.
(And I do still write for FFXIV (just vereeeeery slowly). It’s just over on Ao3 and 99% of it is about a middle aged catboy with depression and two emotionally constipated boyfriends.)
So yeah… that’s what’s happening? I suppose?
I hope this makes sense to read through. My messages and inbox are still open if you have any questions!
Thank you for your patience with me and for your support and kindness. I’m sorry to not be able to follow through with this the way I intended.
Hello, I hope requests are still open. If so, can I request headcanons about Haurchefant and Alphinaud (separately) comforting their s/o after their dog died? It's been a year and I still can't really get over it, so I need some fluffy comfort. 🥺
Hello, Anon! While I’d love to be able to provide you some comfort in these (severely) trying times, I am not comfortable writing anything having to do with animal death at this time. In the FAQ/guidelines I also state that I do not and will not write the twins in romantic relationships.
I hope you’re able to find someone who is comfortable making this type of content for you, as I am definitely not the right person for this sort of thing.
Wishing you all the best! Please take care of yourself best you can!
Could I request some Zenos x Healer!WOL HCs? Bc healers are super squish and he's super Buff
Zenos is a man forged solely for the purpose of war. He holds a blade with the same familiarity one would give to breathing. He is built to be a weapon, to murder in cold blood, and yet the Warrior of Light in all their Empire-smiting glory slams him point blank in the face with a concentrated blast of healing magic and somehow that hurts more than impalement.
He’s sure he could break them in half, snap those allegedly-dragonfire-tempered bones of theirs to splinters, but they simply slap magic onto the wounds he inflicts with a determined grimace and keep at it. He’s not sure what sort of beast twists and distorts their own body with such a blessing as the one Hydaelyn has seen appropriate to give, but he knows they’ll not surrender easily. He simply hits them harder. In a war of attrition, the one who wins is those with harder armor.
Running into them in Doma sets fire in his veins fit to explode the second it reaches the volatile powder keg that is his heart. He nearly cleaves them in half in one blow but they weave magic into being as if pulling yalms of green and blue-white light into being is easier than seeing, than speaking, than letting their heart beat.
Zenos is not an idiot. He knows that mana runs out same as any other asset. He can feel it through his Resonance same as he can taste the aether in the air from their harried casting. He extends a hand, smiling at the vision they make in bloodstained robes (panting, collapsed to one knee, growling at him like the savage they are), and asks if they’d like to join him.
He’s not quite sure Eorzean healers are able break noses with a suckerpunch of concentrated aether until he takes one to the face in response. He laughs, mad with wanting, and tastes copper on his tongue like wine.
Ishgard is not happy with them. It’s not because of something heretical, but rather how everything the Holy See has touched has been corrupted for the sake of their war of attrition. They take one look at Ser Aymeric and his groom-to-be and clutch their pearls. An outsider. A man, no less. Their habits of pushing for children, for cannon-fodder soldiery, is not one easily broken.
Aymeric is unfalteringly happy, resplendent in theWarrior of Light’s company more than he’d ever been next to nearly anyone else, so they settle down with their neverending gossip and pointing fingers in hopes something will go wrong.
He proposed in the middle of the night, folded up against them and shaking with phantom pains of his time in the Vault. The Warrior kisses his cheeks and whispers, “Yes, love. I would have you always if you’ll let me.”
Aymeric is well put together in his daily life. He sticks to a schedule so rigid it’s a wonder he’s personable and not forged stiffer than a dragoon’s lance. He does not have enough wiggle room within his schedule to run a country, manage an alliance, keep track of his fiancee, and plan a wedding. So, like many of the other things he’d taken to delegating, he nails Lucia with a truly heinous list of artisans to send knights and pageboys to track down before burying the rest of his waking hours in the small fortress of paperwork he’d been chipping away at for weeks.
He barely manages to scrape out enough time for a fitting that it’s nearly a surprise when Lucia sweeps the papers off his desk with an insincere apology and marches him back towards his estate with instructions to wash up and “with all due respect, Lord Commander, change out of yesterday’s clothes.”
He forgets dates and times when inside his office, names and places overlapping between proposals and bills, and it’s nearly a surprise when he exits his room (thankfully freshened up) to the sight of his fiancee and greatest love smiling at him in all white.
He’d gladly trade all of his soul and then some just to see the Warrior in the colors of Halone more often. He wears it well, Aymeric thinks.
The wedding itself is uneventful (if you count Vidofnir giving them her blessing as tame) and Aymeric is halfway to declaring himself a heretic just for the excuse to worship his love (his life, his husband) the way he wishes to.
So he kisses him sweetly, softly, and promises all that he can give in sickness and in health, to have and to hold, for better and for worse. “─to love and to cherish from this moment onwards for all my days. This is my solemn vow.“
My 2020 FFXIV Works Anthology is now available via Gumroad!
This 250-page anthology includes over 35 pieces featuring SFW and NSFW FFXIV writing. The works included within span multiple major expacs and contain spoilers for Patch 5.3.
NPC-centric pieces are towards the beginning while more WoL-focused ones follow. Some pieces include specific or ambiguous WoLs while others are OC-centric and include specific character lore.
The anthology download file includes a PDF copy ONLY. EPUB and a MOBI files can be added onto your purchase if you so please.
Please be aware that this PDF is available ONLY in English at this time. There will not be any translations unless otherwise stated.
My 2020 FFXIV Works Anthology is now available via Gumroad!
This 250-page anthology includes over 35 pieces featuring SFW and NSFW FFXIV writing. The works included within span multiple major expacs and contain spoilers for Patch 5.3.
NPC-centric pieces are towards the beginning while more WoL-focused ones follow. Some pieces include specific or ambiguous WoLs while others are OC-centric and include specific character lore.
The anthology download file includes a PDF copy ONLY. EPUB and a MOBI files can be added onto your purchase if you so please.
Please be aware that this PDF is available ONLY in English at this time. There will not be any translations unless otherwise stated.
Hey y’all! I finished further prompts for FFXIVWrite but ended up burnt out by the 20th due to some irl events. I’ll be working on putting together another pay-what-you-can PDF for year’s end. If there are any specific pieces you’d like to see included, pkease let me know! 💖
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.
The Crystal Exarch would rather not be another one of the Warrior’s inadvisable rock-like snacks.
The Crystal Exarch knows better than to leave shiny objects and odd baubles lying around where the Warrior of Light can see them. He’s found them licking odd rocks and trying to eat glasslike moss on more than one occasion since their arrival on the First. As such, he takes care to put away any odds and ends that they may be tempted to put in their mouth. He does not expect to be one of the many stone-like things they try to bite, though.
He startles when their fingers wrap about his wrist, pulling his hand toward their face. There is all of a second between the action and when he feels a tongue and teeth against his fingers. He sputters, face turning a brilliant shade of red. “Wh─my Warrior, please! Are you quite well?!”
They pause, blinking slowly, before looking at what they have in their grasp. “Oh,” they say, releasing him, “my apologies, Exarch.”
“It’s fine,” he manages to say, feeling quite the opposite. “Are you in need of a meal?
“No, but, uh… thanks. I didn’t mean to bite you.”
He smiles in what he hopes passes for a reassuring manner, replying, “No harm done. The kitchens are always open, should you have need of them.”
They grin back at him, brilliant and guileless, and excuse themself to complete some inane fetch quest with a bounce to their step. He watches them leave with indulgence. Their cheer is not without burden. He had no way to guarantee their safety as a container for the Light. Even had they cursed him for dragging them to the First, maybe even tried to end him for the transgressions he committed against their friends, he would have accepted it without complaint.
(But here they are! In the tower like they promised a young G’raha Tia they would after his return! It makes his heart soar as if he was still but a boy.)
He settles down to complete a quest of his own; namely, tackling the stack of old tomes piled haphazardly atop the Ocular’s newfound table. Each one is an account of the Warrior of Light’s exploits over the years. While he has no doubt about the validity of Heavensward or the accounts of major battles left behind by soldiers, he is still left wanting after reading through all of Stormblood and even supplementary stories collected from survivors. The timeline is odd and the pacing uneven, prompting him to worry that there is some major detail he has missed that could be the key to saving them from the same tragedy that befell them in his original world. He settles down and begins to read.
The first is all short excerpts and journal entries about serving under Ser Aymeric de Borel, an upstanding Ishgardian man whose collaboration with the Warrior of Light ushered in a new age for the isolated country. While he is more than familiar with the man from Count Edmont’s memoirs, he tries not to skim.
The second and third are accounts from Garlean conscripts whose battles against the Warrior of Light left them terrified and resentful of the empire that sent them to die. He wonders how it felt to be like them─left powerless against the might of a Champion of Light, facing down their might as one would death personified.
He cannot imagine it.
The fourth threatens to put him to sleep and the fifth very nearly does, dry recordings of daily events that they prove to be. He does not need to hear that someone brushed their teeth three times within a bell. He really, truly doesn’t.
The Warrior of Light returns just as he runs out of words to read. “I see you’ve returned. Welcome back,” he says warmly.
They do not reply, striding to his side as if in a daze to grab his arm once again. Their fingers slide from his forearm toward the wrist, raising gooseflesh all along his spine. While his crystal is not so sensitive as his skin, it is not without some feeling (even if dulled considerably). The pressure of their palm against him, the gentle bite of nails against a golden vein—he can feel all of it.
“Are you ill,” he asks, peering at them with worry and curiosity, “or is this perhaps one of those odd debuffs you spoke of.”
They look at him as if seeing through him, eyes fixed on someone who is no longer there, and say, “You look good.”
Had he any fewer years pretending to be the Crystal Exarch, he may have let his mask slip. His ears twitch beneath his hood and he has to make a conscious effort to keep his tail tucked near to his legs and not shooting straight up like an overeager housecat.
The Warrior of Light, his inspiration, saying that he looks good… why, it’s nearly enough to make him swoon.
He’s so caught up in not revealing himself, mind stuck on loop over the sound of their voice, that he misses the shift of their grip until he finds his fingers pressing against their mouth. He sputters, moving to pull away, but finds himself thoroughly overpowered.
“If you could release me,” he says, with no less panic than he feels before trailing off.
They look at him like they do prey and very pointedly part their lips to press one and then two of his fingers against their tongue. It’s unbelievable, incredible, impossible— there is no way they would allow this of him. Not even in his wildest, most misled dreams has he assumed himself desirable for their eyes.
The Warrior seems to have none of his hesitation, licking against the pad of his index finger as if to tease. He shudders at the press of it, warmth carrying into crystal and slowly warming him to something less cold and more mortal.
His shorts feel uncomfortably snug when they allow him a tentative wiggle, fingers making aborted movements before he begins to adjust to the anticipatory mortification floating about in his head. He can’t not like this. The little voice of G’raha Tia is screaming “coward” at him like he would have had the courage in the past (he didn’t) and complaining about his being too polite (he isn’t).
It’s only when the Warrior drops to their knees, locking eyes with him, that he startles, arms flailing to keep them from debasing themself so and only succeeding in smacking his elbow into the floor and knocking over an entire pile of journals.
Ah, he thinks, I see.
He scrubs a hand over his face and groans. His entire backside hurts from having slept on the same spot for well over a bell, the driest of accounts left open on his lap.
He was right, they would never see him in that way. They did not when he was fully mortal—that spitfire Archon with odd eyes and odder hobbies—and they certainly would never feel that way now.
The doors to the Ocular click and swing open. “Oh! Exarch, I thought you’d like this,” the Warrior of Light calls, nearly skipping to his side to present him with a parcel of swirled blue and red candy as if he does not reek of lust. “Reminded me of you!”
“Thank you, my Warrior. I will treasure it.”
And if he spends too long staring at ribbons of brittle, blue sugar that evening, even Feo Ul has the decency not to comment on it. He has done his utmost not to be swayed by old wants, but he is still only a man.
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.
Hey, ya’ll! I’ve had the pleasure of being part of this incredible project as one of its writers. If you like FFXIV, want to support a fantastic team of creators, or just want an excuse to do some online shopping, make sure to check out the shop! I’d love to hear what you think!
Daring Dalliances | Main Story | Rating: G | Part 1
Summary:
Wherein the Warrior of Light makes a questionable decision for the sake of homemade jalebi, Thancred attempts to be the voice of reason, and the Crystal Exarch wingmans his way into the rapidly developing hellscape that is getting them a fake fiancée.
Or, the fake-dating canon-slightly-compliant AU wherein which the Warrior of Light values dessert more than their morals.
Part One of MSQ (non-character oriented route) under cut!
Ishgard is not happy with them. It’s not because of something heretical, but rather how everything the Holy See has touched has been corrupted for the sake of their war of attrition. They take one look at Ser Aymeric and his groom-to-be and clutch their pearls. An outsider. A man, no less. Their habits of pushing for children, for cannon-fodder soldiery, is not one easily broken.
Aymeric is unfalteringly happy, resplendent in theWarrior of Light’s company more than he’d ever been next to nearly anyone else, so they settle down with their neverending gossip and pointing fingers in hopes something will go wrong.
He proposed in the middle of the night, folded up against them and shaking with phantom pains of his time in the Vault. The Warrior kisses his cheeks and whispers, “Yes, love. I would have you always if you’ll let me.”
Aymeric is well put together in his daily life. He sticks to a schedule so rigid it’s a wonder he’s personable and not forged stiffer than a dragoon’s lance. He does not have enough wiggle room within his schedule to run a country, manage an alliance, keep track of his fiancee, and plan a wedding. So, like many of the other things he’d taken to delegating, he nails Lucia with a truly heinous list of artisans to send knights and pageboys to track down before burying the rest of his waking hours in the small fortress of paperwork he’d been chipping away at for weeks.
He barely manages to scrape out enough time for a fitting that it’s nearly a surprise when Lucia sweeps the papers off his desk with an insincere apology and marches him back towards his estate with instructions to wash up and “with all due respect, Lord Commander, change out of yesterday’s clothes.”
He forgets dates and times when inside his office, names and places overlapping between proposals and bills, and it’s nearly a surprise when he exits his room (thankfully freshened up) to the sight of his fiancee and greatest love smiling at him in all white.
He’d gladly trade all of his soul and then some just to see the Warrior in the colors of Halone more often. He wears it well, Aymeric thinks.
The wedding itself is uneventful (if you count Vidofnir giving them her blessing as tame) and Aymeric is halfway to declaring himself a heretic just for the excuse to worship his love (his life, his husband) the way he wishes to.
So he kisses him sweetly, softly, and promises all that he can give in sickness and in health, to have and to hold, for better and for worse. “─to love and to cherish from this moment onwards for all my days. This is my solemn vow.“
haurchefant and male wol wedding/marriage headcanons?
Haurchefant is a bastard child and, as Ishgardian law dictates, would take on the last name of the House he’d marry into. Unfortunately for Ishgard, it’s traditions, and all the ensuing legality, the Warrior of Light doesn’t give two chocobo pellets whether or not them taking on the House Fortemps name is according to the rules.
They both wear formal uniform, Haurchefant’s that of a Knight of a High House (with all the bells, whistles, and crisply painted House Fortemps coat of arms that includes) while his husband-to-be is in the best robes (and kicks) he could find in the whole of Eorzea.
They hold the ceremony inside the chapel of the Vault for the sake of tradition and one of Haurchefant’s mother’s last wishes. The Warrior is resplendent in his finery, prismatic midday sunshine streaming through the stained glass to paint him not unlike a king. Of all the times Haurchefant has thought himself to be in love, this is potent enough he feels it like a stab in the chest.
Between adventuring, getting nearly murdered by karakuls, and loving one (1) Ser Haurchefant Greystone, the Warrior is decently sure they’ve never seen their lover in formal dress. They’ve seen him in uniform and naked as his nameday both, but the figure he cuts in his suit is regal enough he could be a true Lord of the House and then some. They can barely get through their vows between wanting to stop and appreciate (because Halone preserve us all his thighs looking so good should be illegal).
The whole “you may not kiss the groom” business goes well. They keep it just inside the line of Very Nearly Scandalous, grinning all the while and so brilliantly happy it feels like the seventh heaven.
Even decades later, they reminisce together and laugh, hand in hand and heart in heart.
Two FFXIV PDF anthologies are complete and available for download free via Gumroad!
I know how tough it’s been as of late. We all want a break from current events (preferably a veeeery long all-expenses-paid vacation from it) and I hope these anthologies at least prove to be an enjoyable distraction during quarantine.
One is fully SFW (Ratings G-T) and the other is NSFW (Ratings M-E). Both are over 100 pages each and fully typeset, covering content from A Real Reborn through Shadowbringers. Did I mention that they’re both free? Further detail below!
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