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of the dawn 🌄

-- Shepherd to the Stars --

My Azem, Persephone's, transformation, or as close as I could get with some edits. It's not exact (for example, she should have deer ears instead of hyur ears), but it's as close as I could get. When she steps, starlight is left by her hooves.

upheaval

@soulgathered // woe. ker be upon ye.

“hyth-lo-dae-us.” a familiar voice chirping out as arms snake around hythlodaeus’s midsection to pull him against azem, now leaning behind him. ker nuzzles against hythlodaeus’s head so he can pepper kisses against the soft skin of the other’s neck and ear. “cancel your evening plans, i’m back for a few days.” and what’s more important than hythlodaeus’s favourite guy? or, at least, the guy who declares himself hythlodaeus’s favourite. besides, if hythlodaeus had any pressing plans, they’d be with emet selch, and who cares about that stick in the mud.

“i brought you gifts from some artisans i met. you can consider them bribery to let me use your quarters while i’m here.” ostensibly ker has his own, he just rarely uses them to sleep in. why bother when he could have a sleepover with the bestie, huh.

FFXIV: Tea & Cake

In which Emet-Selch is forced to deal with the antics of his friends.

For perhaps the fifth time that evening, Emet-Selch caught himself sighing, arms folded and legs crossed, resting on an ornate chair of his own creation.   ‘If you keep doing that, you’ll deflate.’ Hythlodaeus noted, carefully watching the mixing bowl with the large spoon in front of him as it churned the bright brown mass inside.   ‘I’m not sure what about this situation is more absurd; the fact that you are actually baking, or that you insist on doing so in that... shape.’   ‘Oh, woe; the great Emet-Selch, Creator of Sandwiches. You should try it sometime, it’s a most therapeutic exercise!’ The bright red, fluffy tail swayed cheerfully, Hythlodaeus spared him a grin, his eyes a piercing emerald shade, pupils slit, and a mess of red hair crowned with the fluffy ears of a cat.   ‘Pray tell, what is wrong with this new shape? I find it quite fun!’   As if to prove a point, his ears wiggled. Emet stared, face fixed in a constant state of disinterest and scoffed. ‘Well, this at least will put a smile on your face afterwards.’ Hythlodaeus returned his attention to the mixing bowl, grabbing it and the spoon before the mixture could spill over.   ‘Would you like a taste-?’   ‘I would not.’ The response was instantaneous. Hythlodaeus pouted, his ears drooped and Emet furthered his point by holding out a hand, upon which appeared a large slice of cake and a fork on a sliver plate.   ‘You should try it sometime.’ Emet responded with a gentle shrug. A brief scowl settled across the other’s face, and Emet was almost brought to smirking to see such an expression settle on Hythlodaeus’ current face. The urge faded when the created cake burst into flames, charred to ashes in an instant.   ‘Petty, even by your standards,’ Emet noted, unravelling the ashes, fork and plate back into aether.  

Emet stopped counting in his head at the fifth minute of watching Hythlodaeus crouch before the oven, staring in with a look of glee. ‘I am no expert, but surely staring at it will not make it bake faster.’   Hythlodaeus looked to him, his fluffy ears on end and eyes sparkling.   ‘But, it’s beautiful. It’s not something I’ve just created. It’s something I’ve made.’   He returned his gaze to the oven and a squeal of delight escaped him of such a pitch that Emet shot to his feet, fearful that his friend had caught his blasted tail on fire.   ‘What is it?’ He demanded, settling down from his panic to his usual grumpy persona.   ‘It’s baking, it’s rising...!’   Emet folded his arms again, finding the stark white ceiling of greater interest. Truth be told, the smell emanating from the oven had begun to make him feel hungry. His mind spooled through all manner of dishes, pondering just what he fancied to bring into being to fill his stomach. His concentration broke as he saw Hythlodaeus, staring right at him with those slit pupils.   ‘There is no aether creation of food in this kitchen.’ His voice was stern, serious.   Emet arched an eyebrow, sitting up straight in his chair.   ‘You’re the only one in Amaurot who has a kitchen. Others? Workspaces, functional things. You? Pots, pans, and a waste of space.’   He watched the slow smirk curl its way onto his friend’s features, his tail was swaying again.   ‘Azem has one, too... He invited me over the other day and we got very messy with cream puffs!’ At Hythlodaeus’ words, Emet choked on his own saliva as his mind ran wild briefly.   ‘Did you... You surely didn’t go out in the streets like... that?’   ‘Mhmm, and to the Bureau of the Architect! All the young ones wanted to feel my silky ears and tail. Elidibus couldn’t keep his hands off me, marveling in it.’   He watched as Emet slowly buried his face in his hands, a soft sound of anguish escaping.   ‘Stars above... Hythlodaeus, this is almost as bad Azem returned in the shape of a sultry female, styling herself “Azeyma”, and nearly causing a riot in that... revealing outfit.’   Hythlodaeus sprung up to his feet again, cheerful.   ‘As I recall, it was you who were the first on the scene, trying to cover him up in your own robe...’   ‘He thinks nothing of his own reputation, Hythlodaeus! I cannot always be there to save him from censure.... Seven and counting.’ His voice trailed off into a low grumble as Hythlodaeus snickered softly into a flour coated sleeve.   ‘... The majority enabled by your actions; I might add!’   Hythlodaeus broke down into full laughter, wiping away a tear and only succeeding in smearing flour across his features.   ‘I am surrounded by imbeciles...’ Emet groaned.  

Emet remained on his chair still, his interest fixed on Hythlodaeus as he perched on a stool; tongue poking out one corner of his mouth in focus. His hands clasping a piping bag filled with a hideously bright pink icing, hunched over a large circular lump of chocolate brown that had emerged from the oven and rapidly cooled. Behind him, a marble sink had filled with soapy, bubbly water where bowls and utensils obediently washed themselves.   ‘What is the.... attempt behind this, Hythlodaeus?’   ‘Do you remember when you first took your seat in the Convocation and we had that party, just the three of us?’   ‘I do remember that. I do not, however, remember the cake there being that hideous shade of pink-’ ‘Oops...’ Hythlodaeus stared at the large blob of icing spurted across the cake from squeezing slightly too hard. Shrugging, he continued with a gentler pressure.   ‘Well, I’m not going to make it the same, am I? I don’t want the same cake. I want a cake that I made...’   A drawer opened, and a pallet knife flew out into Hythlodaeus’ waiting hand.   ‘Besides, that cake was a hideous purple abomination.’   Emet rolled his eyes at Hythlodaeus’ comment. “Catty” seemed a perfect description, somehow.  

The doorbell chimed and Hythlodaeus’ ears went on end, leaving the piping bag to continue it’s work; piping gentle roses along the base, he leapt from his stool and sprinted to the door. Curious, Emet rose from his chair, about to follow him when he heard Hythlodaeus’ cheerful exclamation and in the instant, he knew exactly who had come calling.   ‘My friend! How were your adventures? Come in, I have something I’d like you to try!’   Emet lingered in the kitchen, torn between staying and greeting the other who was both the joy and bane of his existence. Then he heard Hythlodaeus giggling.   ‘No-! No! S-s-stop, they’re sensitive! Nooooo! Stooooooop...!’   He stepped into the hall, and his mind took a moment to process what he was witnessing; there was Hythlodaeus, squirming and giggling in the grasp of one taller than him. Then there was Azem, in yet another form; golden hair and skin, grinning with white horns and scales as he cradled the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect in his arms and nuzzled against his fluffy ears. Hades wondered if this was what it must be like to be sane in a world gone mad.  

‘Come in, have a seat, tell me everything I’ll get tea- and cake..!’   Hythlodaeus’ cheer continued as Emet trailed him back into the kitchen. Hades watched his friend quickly pass a hand over the finished cake; the pink icing brightened to yellow with golden glitter, the icing flowing into a shining sun.   ‘That doesn’t count.’ He answered to Emet’s raised eyebrow as he turned with the plated cake in his hands. A cupboard opened, cups and saucers hopping down to the counter.   ‘Hythlodaeus...?’ Azem’s voice called in from the lounge, and the man in question’s ears perked up again.   ‘Yes?’   ‘How do you manage to sit with the tail? I’m still figuring that part out.’   ‘I just curl mine around me.’   A relieved sigh came from the lounge.   ‘Ahh, that’s so much better, thanks!’   Hythlodaeus’ ears wiggled again, his tail swaying as he beamed.   ‘Are you going to join us, Hades?’   Emet’s mind finally snapped out of the stupor it had been stuck in, finding his friend smiling up at him, cake in hand and tray full of cups and a teapot hovering just behind. His stony features broke into a warm smile.   ‘Yes... Yes, I think I will.’  

15. ACHE

cw: this piece contains some depiction of violence and blood. 

disclaimer: this piece contains spoilers for patch 5.0 & patch 5.3 of Shadowbringers.

Pain doesn’t hurt like it used to.

Emet-Selch tries to find a word to describe it accurately.

There’s a sense of it being there, yes. Especially in this moment when he’s set upon by something of his own making. 

He told the truth.

In return, the truth fought back. It’s the first time in some time he can actually remember that happening. Conquest always had obstacles to overcome, but nothing like this. 

But of course. This was…

No, this is Azem. 

Even shattered, the Fourteenth had never been one to go down so easily. 

He hasn’t forgotten that.  Won’t.  Now it’s a matter of fact. 

This battle has gone a little differently than even what Emet expected; another surprise in quite a string of them. He thought to keep it to the skies, to the spires he had so immaculately constructed from his memory, but…

The streets had been a better place in Azem’s mind. They had always been someone for the people, for life not just as a concept but as an actual tangible thing. 

So interesting then that the one person who embodies his oldest friend is…

Dangerous.  A murderer.  A failed project of a god, and no less that of the Destroyer on the Source.  Otolin Stone. 

It’s ironic, isn’t it? 

A flurry of fists sounds out, and sends him skittering back down the streets. Aether impacts the old stonework and causes craters. Misses are turning into near-misses. Near-misses turn into hits. 

But Azem had been like this too, hadn’t they?

Less like stone, more like a diamond.

His thoughts turn inward, too introspective, and then he finds himself on the receiving end of a right hand. A knee. A roaring elbow that flashes against his skull, and turns him inside out.

It hurts, but… 

Oh, what’s the word? 

For someone of such strong memory, the way to describe the sensation eludes him.

“Have… have I proven it yet?”

For someone so dangerous, his voice is quiet and soft. 

Just like theirs.

It hits Emet in his chest, a thing that lays him low in all ways, the sort of quiet thump that can only come from longing.

An ache.

Right.  That’s what it was called.  The word nearly rushes from his lips, but instead finds itself lost in the trickle of blood. 

Instead, he just looks up at the World/Woe and Smiles/Sobs. 

“Make me a memory, Stone, and then you will have proven it.”

No half-measures will assuage his aching heart and slumped shoulders.

Only death can do that, and he’d only have it one way.

By way of the Apocalypse/Azem.