#post-endwalker

[grandmattv]

Hey sorry I haven't posted in a while but Elpis arc in Endwalker completely obliterated my entire self and then Ultima Thule destroyed me again for months, but I finally pulled myself together and finished base Endwalker and ready for my WoL to heal

[turpalauri]

roevemberxiv 2025 | tender

[interesteddisinterest]

BONK! I love her. This scene was so funny.

[sabibunny]

The dark-robed voidsent 🐈‍⬛

[the-boundless-dark]

FFXIVWrite Prompt 11: Surrogate

Rating: G

Word Count: 650

Summary: Stella brings Hades a picture while he's working. [Takes place in the OT4 AU, while Hades and G'raha are still at odds with each other. Note, very rough draft, words did not agree with me tonight.]

[Master Post]

Hades glanced over his notes, head leaned hard into one hand while a quill rested in his other (how long until he replaced every painfully primitive quill in the house with an easier to use pen, he wasn’t sure). He had overheard only a little of Akira’s daughter’s new abilities that were making themselves known, and though his help had been spurned before even asking him — and of course he certainly did not want to help anyway — he couldn’t help but ponder over it. And the more he pondered, the more he wrote, and now his desk was covered in notes he had no way to give Akira without admitting he had overheard. Not just her suggestion that they seek his help, but also the firm dismissal of—

“Up!” He glanced down at the small voice, finding the tiny red-haired frame of Stella, shoving the sketchbook he’d made for her at him to hold, barely waiting for him to grab it before letting go and climbing into his office chair, pushing insistently until she was crammed into it with him. She reached for the sketchbook and, while for anyone else he might grumble…he handed the book back, giving her a little pat on the head between her miqote ears.

For a while, they sat like that, Stella balancing the little book on Hades’ lap as she colored, Hades himself going back to his notes, occasionally glancing at the toddler. He snuck glances at her soul, as if someone would be able to tell if he lingered too long, fascinated at how the color almost precisely matched the ambient aether of the aetherial sea. He was deep into a multi page tangent on what it could mean combined with what other signs he had heard she was exhibiting when she tugged on his sleeve.

“What is it, dear?” Hades’ voice was softer than his usual prickly demeanor; he would never use the term of endearment if he suspected her father to be near, knowing with certainty now that, if the archon had his way, that Hades would have nothing to do with his daughter. But no matter what any of them did, Stella still sought him out with just as much regularity as her father, mother, or Hythlodaeus.

Stella flipped her book around proudly, ears flicking and small nub of a tail doing its best to swish while trapped between the arm of the chair and Hades’ leg. It was a little drawing of five stick figures, one much shorter than the others, three with red hair, one with purple…and one with white. For a moment, Hades was lost in the dozens and dozens of lives he’d lived, little children destined to live chaotic lives and die tragic deaths proudly bringing their ‘father’ their little creations looking for affection.

“Eme!” Stella pointed helpfully at the white-haired stick figure, and it broke Hades out of his reverie.

“No, no, Hades,” he corrected, and she frowned, pointing more forcefully at the figure.

“Eme!”

“Ha-des,” he pronounced slowly. Where had she learned that name? Now her face had a smirk that reminded him all-too much of her father.

“Eme!” she giggled at his frustration, and he let out a groan.

“You might as well give up,” Hades glanced up from his torment to find Hythlodaeus leaning on the frame of the office door. “Once kids decide what they want to call you, there’s no changing it.” Hades slumped forward onto his desk dramatically, and Stella jumped down with her prize, running over to Hythlodaeus and holding the book up to him.

“Oh, how lovely,” he crouched down to see it better. “I bet your mother would like to hang it up. Shall we go show her?” Stella nodded and, with one last smug look at his love, Hythlodaeus led her out of the office before her enthusiasm was the death of Hades.

[laspocelliere]

Day Twenty-Eight: “Blunt”

“Twenty.”

“Thirty.”

“What are you betting on?” Varshahn drew level with the fence where Estinien and a few of the Radiant Host had gathered. Each saluted him as he drew up – child though he might appear – but Estinien only inclined his head in greeting, turning his head back towards the empty space of the sparring grounds ahead of him.

“How fast she’ll get him on his back, of course.” There was no small amount of amusement in the voice of the former Azure Dragoon as he nodded towards the match about to unfold in front of them.

Ser Aymeric stood in the middle of the cleared area, stripped of his formal Ishgardian armour in favour of the lighter fare that he wore more frequently now that he was spending so much time in Radz-at-Han. He held Naegling in one hand, his grip loose but his shoulders tensed for movement. Across from him, the Warrior of Light stood facing him with something almost like a smile flitting across her expression, her own dragon-forged sword in one hand.

Mayhaps I commemorate her with a new one, Vrtra thought to himself, eyeing her blade contemplatively. She, as her partner, was dressed simply for combat, and stood matching his posture move for move. Only the sharpest of eyes – and those who had been tracking her healing’s careful progress – would be able to mark the way she favoured the wound she’d taken to her side, or the way her new scar tissue pulled uncomfortably at her neck and shoulders as she settled into a stance.

“They’re going to spar?” Varshahn’s tone betrayed his surprise, and no wonder. The Warrior’s recovery had been slow and painstaking, beginning months before her arrival to the city and carrying on for many weeks after. It seemed only recently that she’d grown weary simply walking the city streets – here, she seemed to think she was ready to fight.

“It’s the only time it’s a fair fight,” Estinien replied, seemingly content to be intentionally obtuse. “None of us stand a chance against her when she’s fully well.”

The satrap seemed to weigh his words, studying the hero from a distance with the sort of fatherly eye that betrayed his age far beyond the simulacrum he employed. “She will get hurt.”

That, at least, made Estinien turn to face him, one eyebrow arched. “You think for a minute that he’d hurt her? I’m more concerned for Aymeric.”

The couple faced each other with the easy familiarity that came only with many years spent together. Members of the Radiant Host gathered comfortably at the fence, arms crossed and nudging each other good-naturedly at the idea of seeing the two seasoned warriors face off against each other, while bets were placed in more than a few hands.

“They blunted their weapons with temporary alchemy,” Estinien added, turning back towards the pair. “It’ll be fine.”

It happened in an instant. 

One moment, they were motionless, staring wordlessly at each other. In the next, they were on each other, blades clashing with a sound that rang out into the bright sunshine. They moved nearly faster than it was possible to follow, dodging and slashing around each other with a viciousness that never would have given away the true nature of their relationship for any casual onlooker.

Varshahn, however, only had eyes for the Warrior of Light’s face.

It was true that she wasn’t at her full capabilities; he’d seen her in battle during the Final Days, and this was a mere shadow. That wasn’t what drew his attention. It wasn’t even the way she found lightning-fast ways to move around her own limitations, or how she was avoiding landing blows that would cause any actual damage to the Lord Commander.

What caught his eye was her fierce, nearly savage joy at having a sword in her hand once more.

“She’s been cooped up too long.” Estinien’s voice at his side was quietly approving, and his eyes followed the same path as the satrap’s. “Just you wait. This will do more for her recovery than any healing poultice ever could.”

It was over nearly as quickly as it had begun. A few moments of violent movements later, and the champion of the Source had the Lord Speaker of Ishgard flat on his back, her blunted blade hovering directly above his exposed throat. 

“Pay up.” Estinien collected his winnings with cool assurance, stowing his coin safely away where it could be irresponsibly spent later. On the training grounds, Aymeric got to his feet, relief warring with pride in his expression as he squeezed the Warrior’s wrist just a fraction of a second longer than was strictly professional before moving away into position again. The expression on her own face was as hard and unreadable as ever, but there was something lighting her expression – something in her eyes, maybe, or that particular tilt of her head where any other person would have laughed – that made her nearly impossible to look away from.

Perhaps it does make sense, the ancient wyrm thought for a brief moment, why so many of these mortals seem to love her so. 

At Varshahn’s side, Estinien had disappeared.

“Don’t make me lose the money I just won on you.” Having hopped the fence in one nimble movement, the former Azure Dragoon approached the couple with his lance drawn and held loosely at his side, prepared to enter the fray with as much determination as any true battle they’d faced.

On the sidelines, Varshahn turned to look up at one of his Radiant Host, wide-eyed with an almost childlike innocence on his small face.

“How does one enter the pot?”

[pali-himbo]

Started with some cute times, ended with some trauma.

[extrabora]

I keep thinking about their life post-EW and A’nora finally getting to have a real family for the first time in her life 🥺🥺🥺

G’raha would be such a doting husband 🥹