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fearne

@almandines.bsky.social

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fearne @almandines.bsky.social · Dec 25

thank you for the share and for including writers 🥺 I'm fearne and I write ffxiv fic! lots of wolnpc and lately a decent amount of npc-centric stuff!

you can find me on ao3 here: archiveofourown.org/users/almand...

here are a few snips! 💜 (with links below)

For better or worse, G'raha Tia had been a historian. Of all things from the distant past, it was this to which the Exarch clung the tightest.

Deep in the bowels of the Tower, the Ironworks had left him a library stocked full of every text they could find, from cookbooks to grimoires to schoolchildren's notepads, and from it he had carefully curated his own private collection: a single shelf of rare, esoteric, and mostly handwritten tomes preserving a history it would be his life's work to erase. He'd obsessively read every page that even so much as mentioned the Scions of the Seventh Dawn in passing, committing them to his mind so thoroughly he could still recite many from memory if asked.

"Thancred Waters" was a name he knew only in ink. He was a ghost who haunted the margins—a handful of words in the dark and little more. This, the Exarch had long surmised, was by design.

But no name on a page could be a suitable substitute for meeting a man in the flesh. No written account could have possibly prepared him for the volatility, nor for the instinct to hold his breath and brace himself in his presence, to dig in his heels and stand his ground. He'd been prepared for an Archon, an academic from his homeland, but instead he found callused hands and a shadowed sneer. The similarities between them ended at the Sharlayan marks on their necks, and the Exarch's had long been consumed by crystal.

Cahciua’s bedroom had always been cluttered. An organized mess, she had called it the times Erenville asked her how she could ever hope to find anything she was looking for. Shelves of trinkets and overgrown potted plants obscured piles of loose paper wherever he had looked.

He remembered the chaos spilling throughout the house, having to shove aside a stack of mail or a new package of seeds to make space on the dining room table to eat his meals; rarely having a place to sit because every chair held a new fern or ivy specimen.

His own room had been sparse, entirely by choice. There, he could retreat from the chaos to a world that was clean and orderly—organized without the mess. In cleanliness there was harmony, a peaceful escape from his mother’s fondness for dissonance.

Some decades ago, the Crystal Exarch had taken to standing before a mirror each morning and repeating to himself his own name. He did this as he raised his hood, restored his shadowy facial glamour, and prepared to step into the endless scorching daylight as someone else. It was, at first, an affirmation that even as he walked alone in an unknown world, he still had a name. Later, it became a desperate mantra—a rhythm burned into his mouth, lest he fall silent and forget it entirely.

It was a name that did not belong among those who had come to see the Crystal Tower as a shining beacon of hope, for whom it would always provide.

But the more the tower gave to those around him, the more of him it consumed. He could live with it taking his flesh, his aether, his very lifeblood, but he could not stomach the thought that it might one day consume all of who he was. Thus, he held tight to this small ritual, meaningless to anyone else, in hopes that he could keep his name of all things so tightly guarded that it would somehow remain his even as everything else slipped away.

And so when it came time to share his name with another, it was a practiced sound, a familiar rhythm, worn into his teeth and tongue the way footsteps wore grooves into the stairs of an old family home.

The last time Thancred prayed to the Twelve, he was in Ishgard.

Even in the dingy shadows of the city's depths where he'd be hard-pressed to imagine the eyes of a god could reach, they'd cobbled together a tiny shrine to their Fury, built of ice-chipped stone and a broken, likely stolen statue. A handful of rusted and bent gil coins lay atop it, next to a stale loaf of bread that would have done a lot more to answer prayers were it kept in a Brume family's cupboard than offered to Halone.

Desperation, more than devotion, drove him to his knees in the midnight snow with the fire of a middling whiskey still burning in his chest.

He'd never paid much mind to Halone before, having always been stretched too thin between the Navigator and the Scholar. He'd belonged to both of them and neither, a soul adrift upon the waves. He'd had two homes but no roots to show for them, given a god the moment he'd been given a name.

But Halone was here—well, insofar as he could imagine the prayers of the lowly could reach her ears when those who lived in luxury atop soaring spires had an advantage so much closer to her halls—and she would do.

The prayer was an amorphous thing, an amalgam of thoughts and pretty words while he tried to force his silver tongue to dance around the truth. "Bring her back" felt rather profane when it really meant "Take her from Hydaelyn." None save himself, god or otherwise, would dare oppose the Mothercrystal—a thought proven correct when the only thing he heard in response to his silent plea was the crunch of unfamiliar footsteps on the snow.

The stranger passed him by without a word. That was how it was in Ishgard—crowds enough that he could never find a moment to himself, but he was still never anything but alone.

It wasn't worth it, he resolved as he stood and brushed soot and snow from his knees. If ever he were to whisper the name of another god, the Twelve would have no place upon his tongue.

Reposted by fearne

wwxwashere.bsky.social

@wwxwashere.bsky.social

February 3, 2026 at 10:27 PM

Reposted by fearne

Rina ᓚᘏᗢ

@rinya.tgirl.gay

Art of a manga girl running, the background is plain red, and there is a caption nearly fitted in saying:
Not to self diagnose
But I think I'm fucking cooked

February 3, 2026 at 2:51 PM

Reposted by fearne

⚜ Syph ⚜

@syphrosyn.bsky.social

Got Phantom Train in roulettes today & in chat someone said "Oh, having fun with that OTHER train?" 🚂

So I needed to make this

February 3, 2026 at 11:44 PM

Reposted by fearne

arden💭

@wakingnaturally.bsky.social

three whole snippets lmao. but! notoriously private couple flirting at the ball :)

She laughed, low and lingering. "I'm certainly not here for my own entertainment. My presence may as well be for your pleasure."
He inhaled deeply, chest rising hard and fast against the buttons of his shirt. "Come again?"
"Again?" Her head tilted back, the column of her throat exposed as her laughter became a sigh. "I prefer not to get ahead of myself, though a lady can hope."
She expected him to pinch the bridge of his nose, to decide the cover of conversation was not worth her teasing and stride off for some other corner of the ballroom. Instead, he remained in his spot as though he'd grown roots there, verdant eyes trained on her face.
"You're not enjoying yourself." He hadn't asked it, hadn't even spared their surroundings a cursory glance to see how she'd been spending her time. Instead, he reached for her.
"I wasn't," she allowed, "until you deigned to show up." Her smile was so bright she nearly felt it herself. "The evening is perfectly lovely now."

He breathed in, not a gasp but sharp, short. With it, something in his jaw shifted as though touching her hurt, the sear of her skin like the burning of his fingertips when he'd come back in from the snowy balcony. He dragged them over her bare shoulder regardless in a rare display of affection. Highlighted by the ballroom's brilliance, the brazen gentleness made heads turn.
His hand left her body, twirling her hair around his index finger instead. If the attention bothered him (it surely did), he made every effort to conceal it.
Wren heard it in his words, more terse then.
"Well. A drink?"
She pointedly looked at the little crystal cup in his free hand. Full of something sparkling and bloodred, the faceted glass glittered. Before he could speak, she wrenched it gingerly from his hold. He watched her lift the rim to her lips and then she was tilting her head back, her vision filled with the ceiling's ornate artistry as she drank deeply.

She finished draining it, sighing again. "Well. Shall we?"
Sidurgu's brow lowered slowly, his surprise fading into an amused gratitude. He offered his arm.
When Wren slipped hers into the crook of his elbow, he set off. Attendees still sober enough to be aware of the space they took up and avoid standing still to gawk parted, and he chose the path least crowded with drunken dancers and nobles desperate for another long look at them. Wren matched his long stride through her shoes' extraordinary height, though he'd clearly tempered his pace with her heels and gown in mind.
It was, she decided, a wondrous thing, these few ilms more than she'd grown used to. Beside her, Sidurgu's throat was at her eyeline, and pressed close to him as they walked, she glimpsed the open button of his collar and the almost imperceptible smear of crimson lipstick it revealed each time he looked to his left.
Beautiful. Shed have to press her mouth there again, later, to refresh the color.

February 3, 2026 at 11:58 PM

Reposted by fearne

Lumeria Studio🌟Shop Open

@lumeriastudio.bsky.social

~Art Nouveau style: Couple~

#ffxivart | #wolgraha | #grahatia

G’raha being held and kissed on his cheek by his lover. There are moon and stars motifs around them

February 4, 2026 at 12:07 AM

Reposted by fearne

cheembs xiv

@asterposting.bsky.social

zenos

February 3, 2026 at 11:06 PM

fearne

@almandines.bsky.social

Reading fic after having an edible can be such a gamble because I leave comments in delirium and then I wake up to a "replied to your comment" email and get to find out whether I said something insightful or forgot how to use words

February 3, 2026 at 9:46 PM

Reposted by fearne

(tiny flea voice) 🦌🌊 @ comms open!!

@bunnythermos.bsky.social

you can draw whatever you want

( #ffxiv #wolcred #thancred )

a drawing of missy straddling thancred on the ground somewhere in the ala mhigan quarter, near to punching him. the only thing stopping her is thancred himself, holding her back by the arm. they both seem very discheesed. an offscreen speech bubble reads: "missy, stop!!"

February 2, 2026 at 7:48 AM

Reposted by fearne

chira 🎋

@artofchira.bsky.social

bad people can and often do make good art. attacking the art as retroactively subpar to free yourself of moral dilemma and give yourself permission to not care means you're innately equating quality of art as representative of moral virtue (it's not) which is how you get purity culture

February 3, 2026 at 6:54 PM

Reposted by fearne

ciph/kris @ "ShB", source: Me

@ciphox.bsky.social

#ffxiv

crude digital sketch of thancred tied up like the trolley problem guys

February 3, 2026 at 2:24 PM

Reposted by fearne

YMR // 🎮 post-shadowbringers

@ymr18.bsky.social

live your own life [ #ffxiv #ffxivart #ryne #thancred ]

FF14 art of Ryne, Thancred and Minfilia. Thancred looks at Minfilia's blurred face and sees Ryne through it. I have no idea what was I on. This picture symbolize Thancred's acceptance. He does not see "his" Minfilia anymore, he sees a Ryne with her own personality

February 3, 2026 at 1:52 PM

Reposted by fearne

🦆Ducky Comms OPEN‼️

@missconduck.bsky.social

Reposting!

BW Bust: 8/10 slots open
Halfbody Color: 8/10 slots open

🦆Ducky Comms OPEN‼️ @missconduck.bsky.social · 20d

‼️ Batch 1 Comms \ o / ‼️
[February-April]

BW Bust; 10 slots, starting at $30
Colored Halfbody; 10 slots, starting at $60

🎨👉 artistree.io/missconduck

art commission sample; a grayscale bust sketch of the artist's feline humanoid character

art commission done by the artist for another, depicting the halfbody sample featuring two different characters. Commissioned by Makshefa XIV

February 3, 2026 at 12:25 PM

Reposted by fearne

Red Saidi

@redsaidi.bsky.social

tw suicide

This is a little hard to write, but I had a realization a few days after my 34th birthday last January 26: sepuluhkupang.bearblog.dev/10-life-less...

10 - life lessons at 34 that I probably needed when I was 24

you have to live

sepuluhkupang.bearblog.dev

February 3, 2026 at 6:02 AM

Reposted by fearne

eld🐺

@eld-creative.bsky.social

Minerva for @riaminime.bsky.social
#eldpersonal

Sketchy portrait of a long haired woman in military uniform, with shining purple eyes and earpiece going down to her mouth; she's smiling at the viewer and removes bangs from her face, splashed with quite an amount of blood, with a gloved hand

February 1, 2026 at 1:50 PM

Reposted by fearne

The Comfy Dude

@2house2fly.bsky.social

The best genre of computer error messages

"An error occurred. The Wizard must be stopped."

February 3, 2026 at 4:09 AM

Reposted by fearne

Stevoisiak

@stevoisiak.bsky.social

I made a filterlist for uBlock Origin to remove Generative AI features on websites. Includes blocks for
* Google AI Summaries
* YouTube Ask button & chat summaries
* GitHub Copilot
* Facebook AI chat
* X's Grok buttons
* Deviantart DreamUp
* Booru AI images
* And more

github.com/Stevoisiak/S...