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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

arden💭

@wakingnaturally.bsky.social

pull you closer to my skin

#wrensid #wrensfw

a close-cropped photo of sidurgu standing, naked with his legs spread slightly as wren leans into his hip, dragging a few fingers through the slit where he’s sheathed. one of his arms crosses her back to rest above her tail as she teases him.

another image, taken further out, revealing that wren is wearing a black tank top and shorts as she stands between sidurgu’s legs while he takes himself in hand, now unsheathed. one arm wraps around her thighs, and her arm rests behind him as he looks up at her, level with her breasts

January 31, 2026 at 7:03 AM

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Bog 🔞

@thebogwitchsupreme.bsky.social

Being an outside observer to Final Fantasy XIV is crazy. What do you mean they got Tom Morello to make music for a boss fight against Vince McMahon?

January 30, 2026 at 6:58 PM

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wwxwashere.bsky.social

@wwxwashere.bsky.social

January 30, 2026 at 10:19 PM

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Sterling

@sinnohsterling.bsky.social

oomf: *likes my tweet*

Me: Oh thank God they still like me

January 31, 2026 at 1:09 AM

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愚蠢的肉肉

@songming333.bsky.social

ほし

January 31, 2026 at 4:31 AM

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aria @ 7.4 ✨

@thanatosaria.bsky.social

fat tail friday again no problem!!! 🐊

✧ #gpose ✧ #aura ✧ #sayana ✧ #hirunmods ✧

sayana standing at the gates of pandaemonium, ominous fog obscuring the statues and chains in the background. she wears a black strappy and revealing bodysuit and armored boots, black fur lined pauldrons on her shoulders and accents of silver and red jewels. her hands are on her hips and her fat tail curls around her body.

January 31, 2026 at 4:56 AM

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i believe in 🍓

@unmovingtroika.bsky.social

powerscalers TAKE NOTES: urianger is the strongest scion

January 29, 2026 at 6:51 PM

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Incorrect Final Fantasy Quotes

@incorrectffqts.bsky.social

June 15, 2025 at 8:27 PM

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🇲🇴🇨🇭🇮 ✧

@mochimalha.bsky.social

My Y'shtola from 2022 💕

#ffxiv #yshtola #finalfantasy

January 31, 2026 at 3:10 AM

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Dana Goldberg

@dgcomedy.bsky.social

It’s pretty fucking wild that the DOJ is releasing files that include accusations that the President of the United States raped underage girls, to distract from the fact that the DOJ is covering up murders of US citizens by their own government.

January 30, 2026 at 8:00 PM

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Jacii Daytona 🔜 Shoebox!

@boltthebee.bsky.social

So says Metem (while Tom Morello's music blares in the background of the fight)

January 31, 2026 at 2:14 AM

fearne

@almandines.bsky.social

College class question got me scrolling PhD programs again 😔

January 31, 2026 at 2:49 AM

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Final Grantasy XIV

@grantthethief.bsky.social

It’s Friday night babyyyy you know what’s about to go down

A bear in pjs and a cap absolutely snore-ified, completely sleepmaxxing, a honk shoo mimimi of biblical proportion

January 31, 2026 at 1:22 AM

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GM Connie Chang 🌈🐸

@byconniechang.bsky.social

Fellow writers: I am deeply saddened to share that if we want the rewards of having written, we must submit to the mortifying ordeal of writing

January 29, 2026 at 11:26 PM

Reposted by fearne

regrettable ikemen

@lalelulelo.bsky.social

A nightmare, or perhaps a memory

lahabrea/thancred/minfilia | cw: possession, noncon, dubcon

(part 1/4)

Lahabrea, while possessing Thancred's body, folds Minfilia in half, poised to penetrate her. The necklace sways above Minfilia's flushed face. But just as he's about to fuck her, Lahabrea cedes control back to Thancred.

He looks down at the sight before him, lost, like a child.

Panel 1: Thancred stares down. He thinks, mind foggy: What... When-- when did I...?

Panel 2: Minfilia, none the wiser, reaches up: Thancred? Are you all right...?

Panel 3: Thancred's eyes look dull, mind still struggling to catch up as dread coils in his gut. His mind races: I should stop. I can salvage this. It's not too late. I can make it right. I can... I can... I...

'Stop' echoes over and over in his mind.

Panel 4: Thancred decides, however, not to stop: Forgive me.

Panel 5: Thancred leans down as Minfilia's hand brushes against his cheek.

Panel 6: As his hand moves to coil around her wrist, he kisses her chastely.

September 14, 2025 at 4:21 AM

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mads!!

@madsengland.bsky.social

(mar 2024) oh my daddy said shoot #ffxiv

April 16, 2025 at 8:15 PM

fearne

@almandines.bsky.social

Five classes you took in college:

(I love this prompt lmao)

- World Fables & Fairy Tales
- Media Ethics
- Multicultural Anthropology
- From Romance to Realism
- The Makings of Consumer Culture

spread between 3 degrees so good luck 👍

B'alith Tia | 7.4 spoilers @inmyleylines.bsky.social · 7h

Five classes you took in college:

- Biomedical ethics
- Indigenous languages of the Pacific Northwest
- The Gothic imagination in film and literature
- Intro to Hindustani classical music
- Pragmatics

(course titles not exact; undergrad was... uh, a while ago now)

Sarama Burwani @ 7.4 @saramaburwani.bsky.social · 7h

never mind jobs, etc., five college courses:

- "potpourri"/Concrete Mathematics, Graham/Knuth/Patashnik
- game theory
- time-series analysis
- constitutional law
- history of the soviet union

January 31, 2026 at 1:19 AM

Reposted by fearne

Zack Bornstein

@zackbornstein.bsky.social

Not to get political, but America is very pretty and has a lot of nice folks making cool things, and I think if we had a president who wasn’t actively trying to murder us, we could have a pretty good time

January 30, 2026 at 9:31 PM

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qoat (comms open!)

@qoat.bsky.social

“Gooner slop”
“Gooner bait”
“Gooner art style”
Why are you so afraid of feeling aroused?

January 30, 2026 at 3:26 AM

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Henry Gordon || The Infamous New Jersey Isekai

@wolhenrygordon.etheirys.social

"Please teach us how to make you obsolete we'll pay you pennies compared to the damage we'll do to your industry, please our death cult won't work if you don't feed it your creative work it's going to become sentient this time bro please teach-"