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#gpose fics
sharlayandropout · 5 months
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Caught
Part I
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Part II here
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abyssalmermaiden · 18 days
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"Thank you..."
(with Odette of @ahollowgrave <3)
copying over my tags on Pigeon's post:
ghost Viola has been lonely for thousands of years-getting all dressed up for a fancy date with a woman as beautiful kind and genuine as Odette is something she would have enjoyed while she was alive- and it means even more to her now. Viola rarely gets truly nice things in any version of her story and this among the best and sweetest TTuTT <3 her ghost outfit would normally be what she died in but I'm saying that Odette's abilities and the love and care she offers allows Viola to view herself differently and that affects her appearance, even though she's dead Odette is helping her to have a present not just a past
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tsunael · 4 months
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This is old but I’m getting it out of my drafts.  From Day 16 ‘Guardian’ of last year’s Au Ra April: 
Guardian. Noun. A defender, protector, or keeper.
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necromeowncy · 3 days
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"𝘠𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦…"
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"It feels… nice."
Spent today writing a lot for my Vampire AU fic and made these because the vampire brainrot is eternal.
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impossible-rat-babies · 2 months
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vierapril day 12--connection/scion
"always has she been my better..."
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elliewiltarwyn · 3 months
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🧘🏾‍♀️ for a screenshot associated with meditation or calm
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"You know... I wasn't wholly serious. You don't actually have to meditate facing the sunset for any of this. We can do this anywhere."
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"Shush. Meditating. Like you said I should."
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"...gods, you're such a dork. I missed you, Ellie."
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"...Missed you too, Lyse."
It didn't work out for them during the war of liberation, and Ellie's perfectly happy with her partners in the present day. But it'd be a lie to say she doesn't still deeply care for Lyse, and she's glad it's reciprocal and their connection remains close. And she still treasures getting to spend time with her as she learns how to throw a punch; there's no better mentor in the discipline for her, she's fair certain.
thanks for the prompt, @vasheden!!
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myreia · 17 hours
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— vi. the last
They stay. They go. Ebbs and flows, as certain as the tide that will take his ship to sea. Their responsibilities take them in different directions. This is the way it has always been, and in truth, they prefer it. Independent to a fault, wanderers in answer to different calls. But the time apart makes the time together all the more sweeter. Goodbye for now does not mean goodbye forever.   Till next we meet.
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coldshrugs · 1 month
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yesterday i learned i have early signs of corneal dystrophy that will eventually lead to partial blindness and necessitate a corneal transplant. and like it's very early, something to watch for the next decade or so. but it's scary and i'm scared!!
i'm just shouting into the void to get it out of my head. there's not really anything to be done. i'll stop thinking about it in a week and be normal.
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starrysnowdrop · 8 months
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Before she knew it, tears overflowed and ran down her cheeks. As soon as she realized it, she started to wipe the tears on the sleeve of her robes.
“I’m so sorry, I promised myself that I wouldn’t cry—“
Hali was interrupted by Aymeric wrapping his arms around her form gently, to which she replied by buried her face into his chest, her hands gripping the fabric of his coat.
Aymeric held her in a tight yet soft embrace with his hand rubbing her back in an effort to soothe her.
“‘Tis alright… I’m here, Hali. Even when you cannot see me, I will always be there with you.”
Hali giggled with her face still buried into his chest. “Aymeric… you’re going to make me cry more!”
~ Excerpt from Snowdrops
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scionshtola · 3 months
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ft. best friends to lovers, secret romance, and a love triangle of sorts...A Flame in Winter hits shelves across Eorzea today!
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sharlayandropout · 5 months
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Caught
Part II (Part I here)
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laspocelliere · 11 months
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“We agreed,” she reminded him softly, and he realised he’d taken an unconscious step towards her, “that it would be foolish.” “We did,” he agreed, nodding his head slightly. He took another, more deliberate step, gaze fixed on her face as she inhaled slowly. “We agreed that it’s dangerous.” “We did,” he said again, softer now. He drew up before her, both unable and unwilling to look away from the conflicted expression on her face, or the question in her gaze. Her fingers flexed at her side, curling into an uncertain fist as she fought for words. “We agreed that we’d stop this.” “Yes.” His agreement was barely audible, close enough now that their breaths mingled together in icy clouds before them. “But,” she breathed out, “you keep looking at me like you–” “I do.” He lifted a gloved hand to cradle her face. Her eyes fell closed in something like relief; like heart-rendering acceptance. Aymeric leaned down, pressing his forehead lightly against hers and closing his own eyes in turn, heavy with the weight of confession. “I do,” he repeated, softer, and she breathed his name like a prayer, covering his hand with her own. Holding him there, for as long as the fragile moment allowed.
let the heavens falter (let the earth proclaim);
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abyssalmermaiden · 7 months
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a surprise kiss just because the other couldn’t stop thinking about it
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"I'm glad you're here." Aryaille was grateful that if Yloise noticed the way her voice had squeaked, she didn't seem to care.
prompt list
Yloise, beloved, of course belongs to @yloiseconeillants
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velnica · 4 months
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Homeward (Orpheus/Eurydice)
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A ficlet about Eurydice, Sanson's Ancient self, and Orpheus, Guydelot's Ancient self.
He is here again, with his sweet melody that filled the night air like a thousand nightingales. It is obvious that he is here for me, though I do not know why he would, when he can have his fill of adoring audience with far more enthusiasm elsewhere. Yet for nigh a moon he had greeted me as I leave for home, leaning his tall frame against the stone wall outside the building. His is a striking form under the moonlight; a shining jewel to my tarnished brass.
"Good evening, Eurydice," he says, as per usual.
"Good evening, Orpheus," I reply back, like all of those other days. He smiles back, and nothing else is said; from here on the only sound left will be my footsteps, and a song that follows them until I round over yonder corner. So I walk down the stairs and along the pavement as is routine, but I fail to shake the feeling that something is different tonight.
I look up at the moon, seeking answers. Is it his looks? No, Orpheus has always looked the same; confident and bright, as is his right as one of Altima's protégé. Is it his smile? No, it is always gentle and sincere; a smile just for me, he'd said once, and I could not find the lie in those words.
I crane my ears back towards him when it hits me: Orpheus's melody has a different lilt, imperceptible perhaps to those who have not listened to it near nightly, but it is there—half a note deeper and half a breath slower, as if it is waiting for something to happen, something to rouse it back to its usual tempo.
The book against my chest feels inadequate to contain the sudden swell of heat that blooms within. It's an absurd proposition, that someone like Orpheus could be waiting for someone like me; Eurydice; a plain-faced clerk with far too serious a furrow between my brows and minuscule talent for nothing else except recording history.
And yet...
I stop at the far end of the path, where the pavement's patterns meld to a different design. He is still leaning against the pillar; playing, waiting. The wind takes that exact moment to change, and with it, so do I.
"Your melody is different tonight, perchance you can explain its intricacies as I walk home?" I ask, before blushing several shades deep. By the Star, that sounded far too bold—
Orpheus's melody suddenly shifts, this time rising up to a trill, akin to a flight of birds looping through the air. He near jogs to catch up, not breaking even a single note, then stops next to me.
"I've one better. Let me play you a new composition, and you may tell me your opinion of it."
"You know I'm no good critique. I know little and less about techniques," I confess. Instead of chastisement, Orpheus just grins.
"Pah, I've no shortage of people raring to tell me that I ought to use a different scale for more sophistication or some such; no, I'd like you to describe to me what you feel when you hear it, just as you have always done."
I colour even more. It is such a simple ask, and I've always opined on his songs—often unprompted—when he barges into my resting spot at lunch; yet tonight it feels like my answer will forever change the course of... of...
Orpheus waits, still with that handsome grin on his face. His beautiful turquoise eyes shine from behind the mask, and I am drawn ever closer as if pulled by an invisible string. The heat returns to my chest and before I can make a fool of myself, I nod.
His grin bursts into stars. "Come then, let us begin," he says as he lifts his harp and starts walking, in sync with his new melody.
I fall into step with him and listen to this new song, to Orpheus's voice, to the plucking of strings against his fingertips and I let myself feel. The melody tugs at the corner of my lips and before I realise it, I am grinning wide, heart light and aflutter.
I look up at the sky again and send up a wish—to the Star and the Moon, may this feeling never, ever fade.
Continued in Invitation.
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necromeowncy · 1 year
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Home. (I really love my wolgraha apartment)
Located at Aether > Sargatanas > Empyreum Ward 23 > Ingleside Apartment #2.
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ubejamjar · 1 month
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This in response to @uldahstreetrat ‘s ‘what would be your wol/oc's perfect date?’ post. I wrote a whole thing and I didn’t want to just throw it under a reblog (I’ll still reblog the post, don’t you worry!)
Caution: This vignette is 100% indulgent, day-dreamy, wolmeric, marshmallow fluff. It’s so sweet it makes my teeth hurt.
[Original Post Here]
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The Perfect Date
Aymeric and Ajisai would meet for tea and sweets at the café hidden in an alleyway. It’s a small building; its windows open up to the Sea of Clouds and it’s like being lost in the sky. It is perfect because the owner, Nata’li, knows of the Warrior of Light and the Lord Commander, but he has never seen their faces, so here, they are simply Aymeric and Ajisai.
They’ll sit at a little table by the window, a cracked blue cup filled with Halone Gerbera at its center. The flowers’ soft, white petals open wide to cheery, yellow centers that beam at them like old friends. Aymeric will tell her the story of how they came to be known as the ‘Fury’s favored flower’ as he pulls out a chair for her. He’ll laugh when she pulls out his chair with theatrical flair.
Nata'li will bring them a pot of tea; it’s a Far Eastern blend—a black tea, slightly smoky, with a citrusy edge. Ajisai likes it best with steamed milk and a bit of vanilla; Aymeric will add a few drops of birch syrup. They’ll take their tea with lavender shortbreads, sweet crumbs clinging to their fingers as they chat about nothing and everything all at once.
When their teacups are emptied and the shortbreads are long gone, they’ll linger as if ignoring time will preserve this dream in amber. They’ll trade little pieces of themselves in stories and laughter until Nata’li shoos them out.
“I open in the morning,” the Miqo'te will say with exasperated affection, “Go, be in love elsewhere and tomorrow I welcome you back, hm?”
But they won’t want the night to end, so they’ll stretch it out a bit longer, take the long way back to Ajisai’s little house. When they get there, she’ll open the door and ask if he’d like to come in for a moment, just to warm up before heading home. Aymeric will, because he always does, and they both know he’ll stay the night.
Ajisai’s home always smells of cinnamon sticks and evergreen, like a kitchen at Starlight. Books, notes, and sketches crowd every available surface, a trail of daydreams and research captured in charcoal and ink. They’ll both drink wine—too much wine.
Aymeric will carefully move her papers and books out of harm’s way. Then, he’ll ask her to dance, insistent even when she complains she doesn’t know how. When her eyes find his, gold lost in blue, he smiles, and she crumbles.
So they dance.
It’ll start with a simple waltz, a gentle, fairytale thing that sways to a song they feel rather than hear. It’ll end with the two of them holding each other close, spinning, and giggling until they’re too dizzy to keep going.
Then they’ll lay on the plush rug in her living room, fingers intertwined. Dreams will be traded between them like secrets—glimpses of a future they’re not sure belongs to them. It’s full of things like sleepy mornings wrapped in each other’s arms, handholding in the sunshine without fear of reproach, and the comfort of knowing their hearts’ home.
It’s so wonderful, so tangible they’ll start to think of how they could make it so. However, before either of them will find an idea, they’ll drift into spiced wine sleep, warm and content in a present that is already theirs.
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