tae-ffxiv

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A much more recent comic I also forgot to post. IDK why the idea popped into my head.

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I feel that if I don’t repost this somewhere every year at some point, I’m living my life incorrectly.

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Comic thing I never posted. Drew when the expansion was new and I'd just gotten that armour.

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Unhealed Wounds Your Character Pretends Are Just “Personality Traits”

These are the things your character claims are just “how they are” but really, they’re bleeding all over everyone and calling it a vibe.

╰ They say they're "independent." Translation: They don’t trust anyone to stay. They learned early that needing people = disappointment. So now they call it “being self-sufficient” like it’s some shiny badge of honor. (Mostly to cover up how lonely they are.)

╰ They say they're "laid-back." Translation: They stopped believing their wants mattered. They'll eat anywhere. Do anything. Agree with everyone. Not because they're chill, but because the fight got beaten out of them a long time ago.

╰ They say they're "a perfectionist." Translation: They believe mistakes make them unlovable. Every typo. Every bad hair day. Every misstep feels like proof that they’re worthless. So they polish and polish and polish... until there’s nothing real left.

╰ They say they're "private." Translation: They’re terrified of being judged—or worse, pitied. Walls on walls on walls. They joke about being “mysterious” while desperately hoping no one gets close enough to see the mess behind the curtain.

╰ They say they're "ambitious." Translation: They think achieving enough will finally make the emptiness go away. If they can just get the promotion, the award, the validation—then maybe they’ll finally outrun the feeling that they’re fundamentally broken. (It never works.)

╰ They say they're "good at moving on." Translation: They’re world-class at repression. They’ll cut people out. Bury heartbreak. Pretend it never happened. And then wonder why they wake up at 3 a.m. feeling like they're suffocating.

╰ They say they're "logical." Translation: They’re terrified of their own feelings. Emotions? Messy. Dangerous. Uncontrollable. So they intellectualize everything to avoid feeling anything real. They call it rationality. (It's fear.)

╰ They say they're "loyal to a fault." Translation: They mistake abandonment for loyalty. They stay too long. Forgive too much. Invest in people who treat them like an afterthought, because they think walking away makes them "just as bad."

╰ They say they're "resilient." Translation: They don't know how to ask for help without feeling like a burden. They wear every bruise like a trophy. They survive things they should never have had to survive. And they call it strength. (But really? It's exhaustion wearing a cape.)

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gonna start a list of all my fave search infos

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"Would you still love me if I-" I would still love you if we reincarnated a million times and you killed me in each and every one of them. And I would be grateful that your face is the last thing I get to see before I die in every lifetime. Next.

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no, babe, i dont do casual. its mind numbing devotion for all eternity or nothing

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man with excellent self restraint dismayed to realize that not wanting anything is more likely a depression symptom than a carefully honed skill that atones for other aspects of his character

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I love characters who act selfishly to protect the people they love. Absolutely will 1000% hit that trope like a line of coke. I have no moral qualms about this.

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Out of curiosity, a question for you..

What is your main's in game title and why?

I'm not talking about the role but like. The lil things we fuckin grind for bc we wanna look cool, I wanna know about THAT

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Guy at the bar keeps trying to pick a fight with you and when you turn him down and say you don't want to take it outside he busts out the biggest, saddest, most shining puppy dog eyes you've ever seen

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it sucks so bad that 'lightning magic' in every media is just some pathetic little strands of electricity. i wanna see some LIGHTNING. show me a magic setting where lightning magic lights up a room like the sun, and the bolt is only visible as an afterimage burned into your vision. I wanna see someone cast lightning and have the thunder rattling the room and shaking everyone to their core. i want lightning magic to be a split second blast of so much power it leaves everyone's senses reeling. c'mon guys don't you know what real lightning looks like? we can be doing so much better than this.

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they should invent a feeling that can be put into words

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Prompt #25 (Make-up Day): Perpetuity

Dayir hasn't breathed in hours. The perpetual stillness of his chest not entirely unusual for him, but worrisome nonetheless.

He'd fainted, giving Amba just enough of a heads-up for him to catch him before his head slammed against the table.

He'd taken a closer look at the wound only to find that there was none beneath the blood. Almost like it had seeped directly from the skin or simply… manifested without a source.

He'd cleaned away the blood, stripped of Dayir's bloody shirt, and carried him down to their bed. He lays there now, looking almost content. But not a breath or a twitch of the eyelid to be had.

He's stopped breathing before. He was fine.

Amba sits on a stool he'd pulled up beside the bed, brushes the back of a finger along Dayir's jawline.

"Where are you now?" he asks.

He's stable, Amba knows that. He can sense it in his corporeal aether - almost normal, but for it being abnormally still.

"I'm going to need you to come back now, okay?"

His voice is instilled with a false calm. He's not going to panic. Not going to cry. Now is not the time.

Ongsall is curled up on the bed beside Dayir, her head draped over the spot that had seemingly been bleeding. She looks up Amba with sympathetic eyes, and lets out a mild sigh. There's a hint of a whine in the sound, but her tail gives a small wag, as if to offer some comfort.

"You know what's wrong with him?" Amba whispers.

If only she could speak. She's always been able to sense something that Amba couldn't. Maybe if that something could be communicated there would be some answers to be found.

As it is, she only stares back at him with those sympathetic eyes.

He turns his gaze back to Dayir's face.

Every time he'd suggested seeking outside help, Dayir had shot it down, with fear or frustration, and he'd tried to respect that, despite his own fear and his own frustration. But this…

This is different. He can't ignore it any more, waiting with baited breath each day for something to maybe happen, pretending nothing is wrong with his husband.

"I'm not going anywhere until you start breathing again."

He'd tried to wake him. It hadn't worked.

He takes a deep breath in.

Now's not the time to panic. Now's not the time to cry.

Maybe now's the time to admit he needs help.

Prompt #29 (Bonus): Fine

"I didn't used to remember dying."

Words spoken into a comfortable quiet, greeted by a less comfortable quiet on Amba's part.

It takes a moment to absorb what he'd heard.

"What?"

"Dying. I didn't remember it but lately I've been…" he trails off as he looses track of the thought. He brings his hand up to the place on his stomach where a sword had once been. It's warm there. Wet.

His brow wrinkles in confusion and he look down to his palm. A light smear of blood there, from what's soaked through his shirt. He stares at it a long moment in a daze.

"Well that's… new…"

Amba surges to his feet behind him and is next to him in an instant.

"It's fine…" Dayir says, eyes still fixed on his palm. "Nothing to worry about."

"This is absolutely something to worry about," Amba says, a hand on his shoulder.

"It's fine. It doesn't hurt." That's not true. Not completely. It does hurt, but no more than always.

Amba grabs him carefully by the shoulders and guides him toward the table to sit down.

"It's fine." Why can't he think of anything else to say?

The world fades around him as Amba kneels before him, face all business as he opens Dayir's shirt so he can inspect the wound - if there is a wound.

Amba only takes a quick look - the short impression of fingers pressed against his midriff - before he gets back up to grab a wet cloth.

Dayir runs his fingers over the source of the blood - it doesn't feel like there's a wound there - and stares down at his fingers, perplexed. There's a roaring in his head.

"I don't feel right…" he mumbles.

And that's all he remembers.

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Prompt #29 (Bonus): Fine

"I didn't used to remember dying."

Words spoken into a comfortable quiet, greeted by a less comfortable quiet on Amba's part.

It takes a moment to absorb what he'd heard.

"What?"

"Dying. I didn't remember it but lately I've been…" he trails off as he looses track of the thought. He brings his hand up to the place on his stomach where a sword had once been. It's warm there. Wet.

His brow wrinkles in confusion and he look down to his palm. A light smear of blood there, from what's soaked through his shirt. He stares at it a long moment in a daze.

"Well that's… new…"

Amba surges to his feet behind him and is next to him in an instant.

"It's fine…" Dayir says, eyes still fixed on his palm. "Nothing to worry about."

"This is absolutely something to worry about," Amba says, a hand on his shoulder.

"It's fine. It doesn't hurt." That's not true. Not completely. It does hurt, but no more than always.

Amba grabs him carefully by the shoulders and guides him toward the table to sit down.

"It's fine." Why can't he think of anything else to say?

The world fades around him as Amba kneels before him, face all business as he opens Dayir's shirt so he can inspect the wound - if there is a wound.

Amba only takes a quick look - the short impression of fingers pressed against his midriff - before he gets back up to grab a wet cloth.

Dayir runs his fingers over the source of the blood - it doesn't feel like there's a wound there - and stares down at his fingers, perplexed. There's a roaring in his head.

"I don't feel right…" he mumbles.

And that's all he remembers.