AO3 (FFXIV, Stargate Atlantis, Baldur's Gate 3, Dragon Age: The Veilguard, Love and Deepspace.)
Prompt-based ficlets: #ink and silver stars.
WoL
A Seeker of the Sun miqo'te, whose canon universe is the Seasons and Promises verse, an MSQ adjacent story where a plan thousands of years in the making culminates in a reunion in Ultima Thule. A mother of three, married to Hades and Hythlodaeus. Main battle classes Dancer and White Mage. Enthusiastic baker and botanist. Azem's reincarnation.
Tags: #stitched by starlight // #aesthetic: stitched by starlight.
Azem
The Fourteenth seat, who adores her people and their city, yet cannot help but see their flaws. Rumours of her being a creation and 'not real' have followed her since childhood. Content to bend the rules as suits the purpose to aid others; unrelentingly kind in the most stubborn of ways. Married to Hades and Hythlodaeus. Main classes Dancer and Paladin.
Tags: #woven in sunlight // #aesthetic: woven in sunlight.
Izeira
What happens when a tangle of Azem's most extreme emotions stored in an unidentified concept crystal meet a new soul in the aetherial sea? A sweet girl burdened with increasingly desctructive powers, Izeira is yet attempting to learn how to lean into her 'gifts'. When not adventuring, she resides in Ishgard. Married to Aymeric and Estinien.
Tags: #spirit of hearthlight // #aesthetic: spirit of hearthlight
Yskari 'Kari' de Riva ('Rook')
A Crow originating from Clan Lavellan, given to the Crows in her teens following quiet warnings from her Inquisitor cousin. Heartsblood is an AU that tells her canon story, while the Moonlight and Midnights universe follows game canon. Soft heart underneath it all â big fan of hugs. Involved with Lucanis. Codex entries.
Tags: #heart of firelight // #aesthetic: heart of firelight
MC
Tags: #elixir of midnight // #aesthetic: elixir of midnight
Writing for prompts:
FFXIV
Azem/Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus + pairings within the trio.
WoL/Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus + pairings within the trio.
Izeira/Aymeric/Estinien + pairings within the trio.
Opens with Darling, set during the Final Days. After learning the truth of the future from Venat, Azem tells her daughter stories about her family and attempts to work out a way to save her from being sundered.
The continuation begins with One Step Closer, where the WoL tries to work out what life looks like after the choice she made in Ultima Thule.
A look at some of Antonia's (WoL's previous but one incarnation) story, As Sun Upon the Snow, fits within this universe, but contains no direct references to it.
Fics and aesthetics: #seasons and promises verse.
Reflections
Azem/Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus, Modern AU.
Reflections in Stardust
Of course Hythlodaeus' new roommate and oldest friend is a musical theatre snob and playing in productions of Shakespeare at the National...
Fics and aesthetics: #reflections verse.
Regency
In which there are myriad rumours surrounding the taciturn and anti-social Hades, but fellow not-quite-outcasts Azem and Hythlodaeus are not one bit deterred.
Is a marriage of convenience really a marriage of convenience when it's also quite plainly for love?
Fics and aesthetics: #for want of a ribbon.
Fate Eternal
A soulmate AU detailed here, in which soulmates can feel one another's intense pain and both the WoL and Emet-Selch endure more than one sort of agony over the course of the MSQ.
Fics: #fate eternal.
Betwixt the Stars
A sci-fi AU detailed here, in which Amaurot's civilisation is divided amongst a fleet of starships, with much of its key functions and defense centered on its fourteen flagships, captained by the Convocation. Hades and Hythlodaeus command The Underworld, while Azem's ship is The Shepherd. Their marriage is the worst kept secret in the fleet.
Fics: #betwixt the stars.
Souls in Bloom
A WoL x Hades x Hythlodaeus flower shop AU, in which the so-called Witch of Elpis is a sparingly spoken florist who has an uncanny ability to know which flowers her customers need, something Hythlodaeus and Hades discover when the former insists on seeing if the rumours are true.
Fics: #souls in bloom.
Of Tea and Tempests
A reincarnated Azem crosses paths with Emet-Selch during a protracted conflict between the people of her nation and that which he has decided to lead into battle. Stems from drabble six of Metempsychosis.
Fics: #of tea and tempests
Royalty AU
The crown was never meant for Hades. Azem and Hythlodaeus were never meant to return to court. After ten years apart and a decade of heartache, is there anything of what they were that they can save?
Fics: #a dance by heart
Supernatural creatures AU
When a so-called witch nurses a rather tame 'wolf' back to health, it brings a vampire to her doorstep. And it turns out that the wolf would quite like to stay...
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For Wolmeric Week, Day 6: (A twist on) Shared space.
The door has been locked for nothing but show.
Nothing but an insistence from Estinien that the both of them stay put, precisely where they are, while he answers a summons to an unscheduled meeting that she is certain is not going to be a good time for anyone â and least of all the individual who thought dragging him from bed was a wise idea.
After all, such a fragile thing as a lock means nothing to her. Means nothing to Aymeric, who seems quite content to have had choice essentially stolen away from him and given a very nice excuse to continue to linger in bed while the warm lights of Radz-at-Hanâs many-hued glass lamps cast hints of rainbow brightness over the blankets.
With him curled lazily around her, Izeira takes the time to study quarters that she has spent more than one night in, yet never been truly settled enough â had peace of mind afforded her to such an extent â to take in the details. It is not a matter of accumulated clutter, nor painstaking neatness, but some... endearing tangle of the two, for everything appears to have its place, yet none of it looks to especially fit together in an obvious fashion.
And hardly any of the objects taking up space on various surfaces are actually Estinienâs.
It is a slow realisation, her gaze first settling upon a near empty bottle of the scent she favours (one she now knows must have been replaced and not miraculously refilled or forgotten about in a fit of absentmindedness), then one of Aymericâs scarves folded ever so carefully and set down beside it. A deep blue shirt cast over the back of a chair, the gold stitching about the collar something that he would only grumble about in his own attire. A tangle of flowers and feathers caught forever in one moment in time, that for one day or another had adorned her hair. An ear cuff of a familiar shape and colour; one she knows Aymeric thought had slipped beneath the bed or between the floorboards one morning, and must have been squirreled away by an Estinien whom she recalls was not especially helpful in the search.
The book on the bedside table is one she has heard Aymeric reading to him. Short stories akin to fairytales containing some moral lesson or another that she has known Estinien to pretend to scoff at while draped across their husbandâs lap. And the glass meant for tea, though most definitely the work of a Thavnairian craftsperson, is of the same design that he brought back for her one evening and she has been enamoured of ever since.
There is more; little bits and pieces â evidence of them everywhere. Letters in a haphazard stack. The gloves she knitted him. A pocket watch that had ceased to work and that Aymeric had decided to part with in favour of a more reliable mechanism.
She turns, careful not to tangle the sheets about her, and presses a kiss to the line of Aymericâs jaw before murmuring, âItâs a treasure trove.â
He makes a sleepy, content sound and tightens his arms around her.
âItâs a hoard,â she insists, which invites a funny little quirk of Aymericâs lips.
âWhat is?â
âThis. Here.â
Whether he is humouring her or not, she cannot precisely tell, but he lifts his head to gaze about the room and take it in anew, then lounges back down and reaches a hand to tenderly brush back her hair.
âDo you believe he knows?â he asks in soft tones that suggest he means not to tease her, but has taken her thought to heart. âThat is, that he realises?â
â...I donât know. I think... if he knew it was obvious, he would have it hidden.â
That Estinien would not have left his heart scattered about the room for all to see.
A thoughtful hum precedes a delicate, âDo you like it?â
âI love it,â escapes her before she has time to form the thought.
Aymeric smiles one of those smiles that makes her heart ache in all the right ways, then drops a kiss against the tip of her nose.
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For XIV Heatwave Festival, Week 4: "Look at you." Follows on from this ficlet.
Distantly, she makes a vague acknowledgement of the idea that perhaps she ought not to be doing nothing more than lying contentedly amidst rumpled sheets and allowing the fire still coursing through her veins to once again begin to slip from a teasing warmth to a heat that will not be ignored.
She only flushes a more vivid pink than already graces her cheekbones as she opens her eyes to discover Hades gazing down at her with a keen, pleased edge to the study he is making.
âLook at youâĻâ he murmurs in near purring tones, bowing his head to nose along the line of her jaw.
That there is nothing remotely resembling composure or order to her at this very moment, she knows all too well. More so as he goes chasing after the flush to her features with the brush of lips and she learns her only answer is an embarrassingly delighted sound that she hears followed by a note of soft laughter from Hythlodaeus.
Hadesâ fascination, she finds she has not the wherewithal to consider the cause of, too distracted as she is by his pursuing a leisurely path of kisses that lead to the crook of her neck, where he lingers long enough to make her arch against him.
As he so often does, Hythlodaeus picks up the thread of her unasked question, pressing closer and letting a hand slide aching by aching fraction just south of her hips, telling her, âHe likes this,â as he plainly watches for their husbandâs features to colour as her own. âYou, dishevelled and taken apart andâĻ here to enjoy.â
From their beloved, there is a low growl to accompany the anticipated blush, yet all it betrays is pleasure and nothing akin to even a feigned refuting of the observation made.
âYou usuallyâĻ gather yourself rather swiftly,â Hythlodaeus continues, punctuating his statement with a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. âAs if you feelâĻâ
Embarrassed to have so openly wanted. To have needed and revelled andâĻ
âWhen this is overâĻâ
She responds to the thought of that by demanding a kiss from him, sparks ricocheting through her very bones as her tail lashes, draping itself about his waist as he nudges her onto her side to press between the both of them.
(Again.)
It is about as much as she can handle, her body aflame, and as her awareness slides back into nothing but a desperate, wanton need toâ
Hythlodaeus lifts a gentle hand, encouraging her to look back at him as Hades anchors an arm around them in a fiercely possessive hold.
âYou need not worry. We will never think less of you for it.â
No. After the ArcadionâĻ After that awfulâĻ
A day spent in bed with her heart aching and body insisting upon surrender to instinct, both tenderly cared for as she tipped from shame to anger and back againâĻ
And this, that she had fought as she had felt it taking hold of her, afraid of making herself a burdenâĻ
Hades nuzzles just beneath her jaw and sends a hand wandering along her thigh to leisurely hook his fingers beneath her knee and draw it up over his hip, a warm and worshipful hum pressed over her pulse.
âDo you understand?â Hythlodaeus asks, all traces of teasing gone.
Through the haze, she recognises his need for an answer; for her to know that he means every bit of what he says.
It takes more effort than she imagines to form a true word and not a simple sound.
But as she moans a, âYes,â into his mouth, she is assured that he knows her meaning.
I'd like to see Rafayel being the injured party đ¤ I don't know how they end up there but, he needs stitches apparently!
Sylus/Rafayel, with mention of established Sylus/Rafayel/MC.
On the heels of slamming shut the driverâs door, Sylus lets out a tight sigh and most deliberately averts his gaze from the rear view mirror.
That is, he endeavours not to yield to the temptation - the need - to glance in it and discover the state of the creature currently occupying the back seat, yet it is a matter of moments before he finds himself surrendering, concern winning out over the need to prove any point.
âYouâre not wearing your forlorn âpay attention to meâ face, or your âask me what wonderful thing I didâ one, soââ
From Rafayel, there is a huff of something laughter-adjacent, too breathless and brittle to be true amusement.
It it a sound that makes him want immediately to turn and examine just what has caused such a sound to rise from his lover, yet he knows very well that to move too quickly and to press too much is to invite a snapping and snarling; not to mention the possibility of an exit from the car simply to try and prove a point.
Instead, he settles for a low, insistent, âTell me.â
Another one of those soft sounds, this time through clenched teeth.
âYou were right.â
âAs much as I would enjoy hearing those words on another occasionâĻâ
He turns, locking the car in the same instant, which earns him a half-hearted growl and a stubborn redirecting of Rafayelâs gaze as he takes in the sight of him, flushed and with one hand pressed just south of his left shoulder, a dark stain marring the fabric of what was once a pristine crimson shirt.
âBullet or blade?â
âBullet,â Rafayel grits out, still refusing to look at him.
âIs it still in there?â
âNo. Grazed my arm.â
âI assume you finished the job.â
Statement, not question.
Rafayelâs lips curve into the variety of sharp, satisfied smile that, in other circumstances, he would find enchanting and an invitation to coax and provoke him into pressing teeth against his throat and tucking that smile just beneath the line of his jaw.
âThe next person to attempt to sell Lemurian genetic material will know what happened here,â is a promise in low and deadly tones.
âGood.â
He does not remind him that he offered his assistance and was perfectly willing to miss this eveningâs auction; does not tell him that he has been so distracted that he has had only the wherewithal to do battle with his aether core, and has, in-fact, returned from said auction with nothing. The fact is that it may well have changed nothing - that Rafayel is choosing not to inform him that he quite possibly allowed the bullet to strike him.
From beneath the passenger seat, he pulls a small box, which he tosses onto the back seat.
âDonât suppose youâve got some seaweed crackers in there?â
Sylus lets it be seen when he casts his gaze towards the ever-darkened sky, though cannot fight down a wry little smile.
âNot your day,â he drawls, clambering after the box in what he knows is not an especially elegant fashion, yet it is enough that the sight of it seems to distract the injured party he has trapped in the car with him.
Rafayel is silent as he allows him to cut away the sleeve of his shirt with scissors retrieved from the box, and offers up not so much as a hiss as he pours sterilised water over the wound that has mercifully seemed to stop bleeding as much as it wills.
âYou should have stitches.â
âIââ
âI know you wonât go, so let me do what I can for now, until we get home and I can make a decent job of it. And let her berate you for as long as she wants.â
Only after he has applied a temporary dressing and bandaged it tight enough to hopefully dissuade any further bleeding does he realise that Rafayel has been quiet and suspiciously docile for the duration of the whole affair.
Not only that, but he is staring at him.
There is yet a hint of pain tightening eyes that have softened, and while there was not so much as a telltale shimmer to betray tears, now there is a particular brightness to them.
âHome,â Rafayel echoes softly.
He had said it unthinkingly. Is suddenly surprised that he has not uttered it before.
For it is true. With those he loves beneath the same roof, how can it be anything else?
As Rafayel lifts a bloodied hand to brush the backs of his fingers against his cheek, Sylus turns his head ever so slightly to nip at his fingertips.
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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch âĸ No registration required âĸ HD streaming
Lord Haurchefant took it upon himself to change Ajisai Kawanami's perspective of the dreaded Eorzean horsebird by having her ride pillion until she was comfortable taking the reins.
There was a slight misunderstanding wherein Ajisai believed 'Pillion' was the specific bird. By the time she learned otherwise, Pillion had become stubbornly attached to the name, refusing to answer to any other.
Weee ! A very horsebird birthday to my beloved friend @eidingate. I am so very grateful we are friends. I've really enjoyed getting to know you, learning all the Eidin lore, and seeing the amazing things you've done with gpose.
Thank you for the fun prompt! I had a really good time taking screenies of Ajisai and Pillion!
