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almandines.bsky.social
fearne
@almandines.bsky.social
660 followers 320 following 6.2K posts
🔞NSFW, occasional dark/dead dove | NO AI | they/she | bi | 30+ | white

will probably overshare about writing. no, my name is not from CR.

#fearnexiv | #anora | #arina | #wolsid | #wolcred

almandines @ ao3 ( #fearnefic )

i: eildonmoon, h: mrhapsodyXIV
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almandines.bsky.social
fearne @almandines.bsky.social · 22d
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
jonathanhoefler.bsky.social
While the pasty incels who work the federal agencies continue to churn out feeble, bloodless AI pastiches of Axis propaganda, here’s how a living breathing artist powerfully invokes design history. This is by illustrator Emily K in South Philly, a free poster-sized download on her website: →
January 15, 2026 at 7:57 PM
Reposted by fearne
kccodes.bsky.social
The meme of a building falling over being held up by precarious looking sticks. The building is labeled "my mental health" and the sticks are labeled "putting my OCs in situations."
January 15, 2026 at 2:22 PM
Reposted by fearne
geoh-no.bsky.social
I love it when my friends tell me about their OCs and lore. "Look, I made a guy. This is why he can't ever find peace. Here's his dick"
January 16, 2026 at 4:26 AM
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korpspropaganda.bsky.social
i can't believe this is working
"I will not use the AI assistant." reply: And it will do a billion on the stock market." "billion - 1" [countless replies]
January 15, 2026 at 1:05 AM
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umaw.bsky.social
In April 2024, Spotify implemented a new scheme: songs with less than 1k streams per year would no longer receive royalties.

The data for 2025 was just released via Luminate, and 88% of songs have been demonetized.

Read it again: 88% of songs on Spotify have been demonetized.
January 15, 2026 at 4:58 PM
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gravastellar.bsky.social
January 16, 2026 at 4:36 AM
almandines.bsky.social
where's the "most embarrassing thing you've done in ffxiv" post

just wiped a group in sunken temple of qarn by spilling canteloupe on my keyboard, help
January 16, 2026 at 5:46 AM
almandines.bsky.social
YESSSSS so happy you posted this, I love it so much
January 16, 2026 at 4:29 AM
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tsuyuna.bsky.social
alt.
January 15, 2026 at 3:55 AM
Reposted by fearne
tsuyuna.bsky.social
The first death is in the heart.

| #gposers • #thanmin • #nsftuna |
Thancred kneels at the feet of The Word of the Mother. She pushes his head down to her thighs. His coat becomes an extension of her form, looking like a dress despite her nudity. (ref: Eros and Psyche, Gustav Vigeland)
January 15, 2026 at 3:55 AM
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mischiefmilly.bsky.social
-- pull me under, shake me harder 💎

「 #GPOSERS ⟡ #irie ⟡ #aura 」
My Xaela wol Irie standing with her right hip cocked, her right hand resting on it. She wears a light blue (raptor blue) dress with golden gauntlets, shoes, and lining along her breasts. The sun sets behind her, making the gold on her glint as she looks to her right
January 15, 2026 at 11:28 PM
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fantasmagoriam.bsky.social
I think Ysayle could easily land a modeling gig if she wanted

#ffxiv | #ffxivart | #matryart
January 15, 2026 at 11:03 PM
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neverknows.bsky.social
[Commission for @lemonberryy.bsky.social ] [ #FFXIV ]

Thanks a lot! 🫡

#FFXIVart #wolysayle
Myka (ffxiv oc) and Ysayle from final fantasy 14. #nevdrawings #commissions #commission #art #ff14
January 15, 2026 at 2:56 PM
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neutralious.bsky.social
October 1, 2025 at 2:43 AM
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crimsonsun.bsky.social
Pipin for the FFXIV playing card deck (...again, because I forgot a couple of details oops)
#FFXIV
FFXIV Pipin
January 15, 2026 at 10:00 PM
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glorifiedcrawfish.bsky.social
The blood of the covenant (2 people who met online by writing about fictional characters fucking nasty) is thicker than the water of the womb
January 15, 2026 at 2:18 AM
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meteorlno.bsky.social
January 15, 2026 at 11:03 AM
Reposted by fearne
kona572.bsky.social
水晶公
January 15, 2026 at 7:32 AM
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shadowswithal.bsky.social
rejoice and partake of my gift. or something
January 14, 2026 at 6:33 PM
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etroveria.bsky.social
😳💦

#ffxivart #halmarut
Fanart of Halmarut from Final Fantasy XIV wearing dark Ascian robe without her glasses looking at the viewer, smiling cunningly. The background is of black color with lighter abstract specks.
January 15, 2026 at 1:36 PM
Reposted by fearne
hutaba0718.bsky.social
January 14, 2026 at 1:52 PM
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aetheiryte.bsky.social
#cecexiv ✧ #kbxiv ✧ #kbpose ✧ #🕯️🌸

show me where my armor ends,
─── show me where my skin begins
January 15, 2026 at 2:25 AM
Reposted by fearne
daikikazuko.bsky.social
Doodled my gorl Aru real quick before bed hehe

#ffxiv #doodle #painting #art
January 15, 2026 at 7:31 AM
Reposted by fearne
gozufucker69.bsky.social
problematic rage gap. only one person in the dynamic is consumed by vengeance
January 14, 2026 at 6:45 PM
almandines.bsky.social
that's so crunchy but I think it elevates it tbh
January 15, 2026 at 6:27 AM