Astraex «the "I Just Get These Headaches"»

And last but not least, our glass cannons <3 (The egis are arguing about what to order for takeout while Carby murders them in its dreams for being too loud...)

Time to run out of range of the healer(s)! Pew pew! Exactly two bnnuys were harmed in the making of these, but don't worry, they were Brio clones and therefore weren't real enough to feel any pain when I buried them twenty feet into the ground so I could JUST pose the weapon

Next up, melee relics! Floor tanks, pseudo-floor tanks, and generally stabby bitches out there, rise up! (ilu <3)

Continuing the series, here's the #2 crankiest healer in Eorzea (STOP EATING MECHANICS, THEY'RE ORANGE, NOT ORANGE-FLAVORED) flaunting his shinies

Finished the Obscurum step of all of the current relic weapons on Friday (so... so many hunt trains...) with ten days to spare before 7.55 drops, so here's to the meatiest meat shields to ever meat shield until Evercold changes everything around... v.v

(Everything. Everything is wrong with me.)

Author's note: 100% a crack fic (that blends WoL and player, plus game mechanics) inspired by a Discord exchange between friends from earlier today (included under the cut). Enjoy. And yes, I'm so omnicrafter-pilled that I can distinguish all the different sound effects of everything crafting- and gathering-related - including Rapid Synthesis failing - when someone else is doing it. My friends live in fear of my judgment. Word count: 530

It was a clear, sunny day on Oizys (not that there was much variation in the weather up there, anyway) and Fang was happily hammering away under the watchful eyes of the Loporrits, peaceful in his personal reassurance that a certain Viera was still suffering from intense space burnout and would not be going anywhere near a teleporter for at least another week or two. Plenty of time for him to catch up on datasets without any judgmental eyes burning into the back of his head as the sound of his materials cracking from the strain of his efforts filled the air, or a cry of “did I just hear you fail that?!” ringing out from across the base as he hastily swept the ruined contents of yet another cosmic crate under a nearby tarp, breaking his concentration and his will to live. Yes, there was no risk whatsoever of being observed by someone who would most definitely disown him as an apprentice (seriously, he’d been at this long enough, why hadn’t he been promoted to journeyman yet?!) if he saw the way the Hrothgar went about crafting.

I am so very tired.

(until 7.3)

Farewell: "But when will I see you again?" "Oh, never, never!" "Never?" "Well, maybe someday!" "When? Tomorrow?" "Oh, no!" (Seriously, though, if I didn't have to face the wrath of my not-a-static, I'd never leave the moon. >.>)