#azette

[lord-luminous]

Unironically, AZ and Floette feel like a couple. They just look so happy together running Hotel Z with each other. I love that for them. I hope we get to see them together often in game.

[luxu-loveskh]

things i learned when comparing Azetts height with my oc avenirs height

Azett is tall as fuck

even taller then i thought

WHAT IS THIS

AVENIR LOOKS SO SHORT AZETT WHAT THW HELL

[goldensunset]

how do you pronounce Az? (there is only one correct answer)

Ay-Zee

Ah-Zee

Ay-Zed

Ah-Zed (correct one)

is this bait or is this coming from a different language’s point of view bc in english it is literally confirmed to be read as ay-zee !!!! they said that in da trailer

[is-the-character-aroacespec]

Is he aroace?

🧡    💛     🤍     🩵    💙

[darkdragon768]

You ever just had a song you've heard multiple times a day when you were younger/ages ago but can't remember it now?

Well this was me but I just coincidentally rediscovered it and I'm in HEAVEN.

[silverwolf242]

I know the pokemon Floette is pronounced like flow-et or smth

But my German brain always goes. Flöte. (ö can be spelled as oe)

That means recorder (the instrument) btw.

[kamenkuma05]

You are right and you should say it

I wonder if the reason AZ was trying so hard to get Floette back was because she was his wife

[coerthanrobin]

Faith

[Spoiler warnings for the level 85 MSQ, and content warnings for depression/suicidal ideation.]

Deep in the lowlands of Coerthas, there is a cabin. More precisely, there are many cabins - some belonging to hunters or woodsmen, some lost to the snows, some belonging to those who prefer to live far from others. But this particular cabin doesn't belong to the two women who live within it. The one who it belonged to died in the final days of the Dragonsong War.

Azette Sejois, formerly of the Supreme and Sacred Tribunal of Halonic Inquisitory Doctrine, worried about that when she first arrived here. When her sister-in-law all but dragged her out of the cold and the dark and into this warm, safe cabin. She doesn't worry about it, now.

It's been long enough since they fled the city that her fear of pursuit has settled into naught but a background anxiety. There are bigger things happening in the world than the escape of a single forgotten Inquisitor, if her brother's occasional reports are anything to go by.

_

There is a time and a place for telling the tale of Azette's escape from the Supreme and Sacred Tribunal. There is a time and a place for telling of Morgane's bravery, and Aurelien's. But it is not this time, and it is not this place.

This is the place for a tale of desolation.

Fire crackles in the hearth. Outside, the weather seems almost mild for Coerthas-that-is. Clear and crisp and cold, but without any sort of winds or gales.

Morgane Sejois sits nearby, warmed by the fire as she works on stitching a tear in one of their shirts. Their shirts - for their worldly possessions are split and shared between them, here. By the grey-blue colour, it was probably Azette's once. She isn't really sure. She does know that Morgane has been wearing it more, of late. She does know Morgane looks good in it.

Azette stares. At everything, and at nothing. Her vision shifts and fades into an almost-greyscale as she watches, the fire dancing and burning itself on to her retinas.

She takes a breath, and forces herself to blink. Afterimages of the fire stick beneath her eyelids as she climbs to her feet.

"I'm going to get more firewood," she says, at length.

The motions are automatic. Pulling her coat on; buttoning it up; lacing her boots; lifting the axe from its place by the door; letting her hand slide across its worn wooden haft; opening the door.

Azette has just enough time to see Morgane glance at the near-full logpile, then to her, before she shuts the door behind herself.

She breathes, and watches the air mist and curl in front of her. The weather seems almost mild for Coerthas-that-is. Clear and crisp and cold, but without any sort of winds or gales.

She takes one step, then two. The snow crunches beneath her boots as she walks her path toward the wood that has become her second home in these past moons. It should be peaceful. The idyllic dream of a winter paradise. A warm cabin, and crisp snows. But with every step, all she can think about is Morgane's fingers, stitching a torn shirt back together. A shirt with no owner.

Of Aurelien and her mother, alone in House Sejois for the closing days of the year.

She thinks of the sacrifices her family has made for her mistakes. For her anger, and her failure. For her weakness. She doesn't want them to waste their lives on her. She doesn't deserve such a kindness.

Apostate; traitor; assassin. Murderer.There's so much blood on her hands, inky-black, and it stains everything she touches. Everyone she touches.

She's broken.

She stops walking.

She doesn't tell herself to. Her legs just...stop.

That's odd.

Azette tries to take a step forwards. Nothing. She tries again. Nothing, again. Like she's caught on something.

She looks down, at her feet. And she sees them. She sees hands, blackened by frostbite, grasping at her boots. Trying to drag her down into the snow.

Azette screams, and tries to kick them off; tries to break free of their grasp. The hands shimmer and fade into ash.

Without them holding her back, Azette's leg scuffs forward through the snow, tipping her balance forwards and dropping her on to the ground. Her head hits...a stone, or a log. Something, beneath the snow.

It hurts. Everything hurts.

Azette clutches her head, trying to catch on to any solid thought as her ears start to ring.

Murderer. Murderer. Their blood is on her hands. They'd be alive if not for her. They'd be alive. Morgane would be at home, with her husband. They'd be happy.

She shouldn't be here.

Ashes flutter past her face, and she freezes in place.

She pulls one hand away from her head, and just stares. Ashes pour from her own flesh like she's burning alive. Her fingers twitch, against her will.

She tries to scream, again, and coughs up ash instead. Curls in on herself, staring at her hand.

Deep in the Coerthas Lowlands, Azette despairs.

There's not a single thing she can do to stop whatever it is that is happening to her. Perhaps it's divine punishment. Perhaps Halone has come to take her, for her sins. Her vision grows black, and Azette does nothing to fight it. How could she? How could she fight such a bone-deep pain? Such a desire for oblivion?

She hears a voice reverberate through her mind. Rejoice. I shall free you.

Her eyes slip closed, as the pain of it all grows too---

"AZETTE!"

Her eyes snap open.

Morgane rushes to her side, dropping to her knees and sliding the last half-fulm through the snow to reach her. She grasps her hand and holds it tight even as the ashes scatter and fade.

"Azette. Oh, gods, what's happening to you?"

Oh, Morgane.

Always so worried.

Doesn't she see that this is for the best?

"Azette, darling, hold on. Don't give up. Just hold on."

Azette almost laughs at that, her grip on Morgane's hand loosening. The darkness is coming back, creeping into the edges of her vision.

"I-I'll find a way to help you. Remember what I told you in the prison? Remember how I told you to have faith, for just a little longer?" Her voice sounds frantic. There's fear in her eyes, desperation. Azette doesn't understand it.

"Go. There's no saving me." Azette's voice sounds wrong, somehow. Distorted, and weak. Speaking feels strange, as smoke bursts from her lips.

"We're a damned stubborn family! Gods take you, Azette, I won't let you give up and die." Tears fall from Morgane's eyes. She clutches Azette's hands like a lifeline.

"The Gods won't take me." Azette smiles, sad and empty. "They forsook me long ago."

Morgane's fingers tighten their grip, and the next words she speaks are harsh as sharpened iron. "Blessed are we who abide in Her grace, for we shall never be forsaken."

The words wash over Azette like a balm. The old, familiar prayer.

"Pray with me, Azzy. Blessed are we who abide in Her grace, for we shall never be forsaken." The words mean something, even now. Even to an apostate. "Come on, damn you!"

"...Blessed are we who abide..." She chokes on ash.

"Try! You have to try!"

"Blessed are we who a-abide in Her grace, for. For we shall never be forsaken." The darkness recedes, a little.

"Again!"

"Blessed are we who abide in Her grace, for we shall n-never be forsaken." Azette's fingers twitch and curl around Morgane's hand.

"That's it. Just pray with me." Morgane has tears in her eyes, and snow in her hair. She's beautiful. "O wrathful Fury in heavens on high - pray grant us the strength to overcome the evils of this world."

"O wrathful Fury in heavens on high - pray grant us the strength to overcome the evils of this world." Azette squeezes her eyes shut, and tries to just breathe through the pain.

"You're doing so well."

"Blessed are we who abide in Her grace, for we shall never be forsaken. O wrathful Fury in heavens on high - pray grant us the strength to overcome the evils of this world. Blessed are we who abide in Her grace, for we shall never be forsaken. Blessed are we who abide in Her grace, for we shall never be forsaken!"

Azette opens her eyes, and the ashes are gone.

She lets out a slow breath, savouring the feeling of her lungs being clear of smoke and acrid poison, and meets Morgane's eyes.

"Are-- are you alright?"

"I am." And... she is. The sorrow that had felt inescapable a moment ago has faded and settled. Drowned out by the feeling of holding Morgane's hand. Drowned out by fervent prayer.

Morgane laughs, tears in her eyes, and leans down to press a kiss to Azette's forehead. "Good. Don't you ever worry me like that again, do you understand? Or I'll be very cross."

Her lips linger. And as she pulls back, their eyes meet.

They breathe, and the air curls and mists between them.

Morgane clears her throat, blush on her cheeks from the cold, and climbs to her feet. "We should...get back. And try to find out what just almost happened." She dusts off the snow from her trousers; clears her throat, and extends a hand to help Azette up.

Azette stares at her for another second from her place on the ground. Two. Three.

Then reaches out, and takes her hand.

 _

O Halone, see me to victory. Grant me the strength to overcome this evil. Pray forgive me my sins.

Help me to cleanse my soul. Render unto it Your judgement.

Blessed are we who abide in Your grace.

[azuz097]

アゼットとゾディ。

元気で自由奔放なアゼットと、厳格で堅物教師なゾディ。Unyというちょっと変わった人種の子ども達が通う学園で教師として働く2人のお話。

彼らの漫画⇒https://tonarinoyj.jp/episode/13932016480028986757

[liedream]

To mention it, due to his status, A/ngra is often times lurking in unexpected places. If one looks they can see shadows laughing in corners or their own pointing at them as if amused by their antics, he’s done this a few times to certain people and has been screwing with others as well by not letting them know he’s there but isn’t at the same time. He doesn’t overhear secrets usually but he will abuse this to cause problems out of boredom or give a warning when he so chooses.

Truth be told he actually laughs more at the chaos caused from him telling others just what is happening. He finds it to be enjoyable to watch people turn on one another and almost kill each other. Though nothing will ever top K/irei and S/hirou fighting in front of him when he was unborn.

[endangered-liaison]

FFXIVWrite Prompt #25: Wish

She wishes she hadn't been made this way.

_

Wyda wishes it more than anything, sometimes. She wishes it when she catches the disappointment in Brave's eyes. When she catches the flash of irritation, just for a moment, in Victoria's face as she's reminded about something important for the fourth time in one day. She longs for it when the desire to self-destruct churns within her like a poison. She wishes she'd been made wiser, less curious, less dangerous, as darkness plays across her fingertips and across her mind. If she hadn't been made this way, body and soul, then maybe people would approve. Maybe she wouldn't disappoint.

_

Max wishes it every time she lashes out. Every time she tells someone to go fuck themselves. Every time Vic gets upset, or angry, or disapproving. Every time Wyda winces in discomfort. She wishes it every time one of her injuries twinges, the reminder of a stupid war chosen by a stupid girl. Most of all, she wishes it every time her body is wracked with coughs, her lungs failing her like she failed so many others, breath catching and rough like dragging a chisel along the inside of her throat. If she hadn't been made this way, body and soul, then maybe things would be better. Maybe everyone would hurt less.

_

Azette wishes it every moment she isn't caught in dreams that aren't her own. If she'd been more noble, she never would have ended up here. If she'd been less noble, she never would've been caught. If she cared more about the blood on her hands, perhaps she never would have killed anyone. If she cared less about the blood on her hands, perhaps it wouldn't hurt. She wishes it as she curls up, eyes fixed on the window in her cell, clutching the needlemarks marring her already-scarred skin. She yearns for it when she thinks of Morgane - if only she hadn't been made this way, she wouldn't feel what she does. If she hadn't been made this way, body and soul, then either more people would be alive, or she would be dead. And either way, that would be a boon for this world.

_

Morgane wishes it every time she tastes blood on the back of her tongue; every time her teeth tingle. She wishes it every time she looks at her nails, filing them down with care. When she was a teenager, she'd bloodied her fingertips from trying to file her nails away. The tips of her fingers still bear those scars. She wishes it when she runs her thumb across them, and when she thinks of her chosen family. When she thinks of Aurelien, and of Azette. She thinks of it and she knows that she doesn't deserve her husband's love, nor her sister's care. If she hadn't been made this way, body and soul, then perhaps her husband would not have married a monster.

_

Fleur doesn't wish it. Not any more. She did, for a long time. For many long years, she wished so much about herself would have been made differently. She didn't notice, when she started to like the person she is. It was slow, and so gradual that it slipped her by. A passing of moons and years marked only by her diminishing loathing. Until one day, she looked at herself in the mirror - and she saw exactly the person she wished to be.

Azumi turns to face her, smile as bright as the sun, and holds out her hand. "Are you coming, flower?"

Fleur mimics her smile, and steps into the light of day. Their hands interlink, and grass tickles her ankles. "To you? Always."

If she hadn't been made this way, body and soul, then she would not be here in this moment. And there is nowhere she would rather be.

[d-stabilize]

I think there was like, a throw away line from Lysandre?(I'm reading Bulbapedia to try and figure shit out) that says something like "True. I'm a descendant of the king's younger brother. That being said, that story is 3,000 years old, so it might not be entirely reliable."

I think the backstory i gave AZ is better then whatever was going on with that younger brother bullshit.

[bourgeoisfury]

Letter to Azette Sejois

Righteous Inquisitor Sejois,

        I have recently learnt of a sect of criminals whom hold aggression toward the Dufresne Bellworks. Being a member of the Bellworks’ security regiment, I am seeking a cessation to the actions of the aforementioned sect. I would be most thankful to hear any further information you have to offer on the whereabouts or a more detailed nature of these criminals’ activities.

I have been informed of a certain ‘history’ that is shared between this band of miscreants and the Dufresne Bellworks. It seems we, the Bellworks, or more specifically, Hyrtwyda Eyhafrynwyn, and Gwenneth Gilrouis, managed to disrupt the criminals’ operations somewhat, drawing their ire. I would know more of the scoundrels’ motives if you have evidence to their operations or objectives. It is not an unwise idea to attempt to bait them in to a confrontation where we may hold the ‘upper hand’ in negotiations, so to speak.

Halone guide you,

      -Aedos de Valleritignon

Addressed to: @coerthanrobin

Mentions: @endangered-liaison @rose-in-the-stone

[nursejoymaisy]

I have started reading a novel called "The Tale of Azett" a story about an ancient Kalosian King. It was written by a young nobel woman from ancient Kalos who lived through the collapse of the ancient kalosian kingdom during the end of the Great War. It is unown how much of the story is based on true events and how much is fiction, but it gives us a rare glimpse into the world 3000 years ago.

Its hard to believe there was once a time when pokemon were a rarity in this world.

The story is mostly focused on the various relationships. When I heard it focused mostly on the woman in Azett's life, I expected a romance, but every relationship thus far has been platonic

[grilledcheese-aspiration]

Read by tag: add “/chrono” to the end if you want to read from the beginning

🔮 Waverly Chronicles 🖤 Season 🔮 Hood Views 🖤 Waverly Community College 🖤 How Waverly Works 🔮 Waverly Builds 🖤 Just Visiting (non-story)

Stories: 🔮 Batz Odell 🖤 Leonardo Cane  🔮 The Kzian’s 🖤 The Burton’s

INTRO + the Waverly Gazette:

Waverly, oh Waverly - Founded by high flying, sea soaring witches for a place to call “home” for Spooksters everywhere! Can you believe there are people who don’t like the ~spooky~ variety? Blasphemy! The stuff of nightmares, really!

The two isles connected by a single bridge is where all the scary, spooky, and extraordinary residents proudly call “home”.

“Uptown”, the little city is that never sleeps! Take note, the place really comes to life at night with all the wonderful and fun night life Uptown has to offer! Be sure to check out the dining patio that overlooks “Hometown” and the ocean!

Speaking of “Hometown” this is where all our Spooksters reside and go about their daily lives. Some have families giving the education system a run for their pumpkoins - “Run by Spooks for Spooks” that develops into a thriving community college just up the hill there! Some are out to simply explore entrepreneurship in hopes their businesses will also thrive - they’re hiring by the way!

Waverly welcomes you with open arms, we won’t bite but we might give you a fright - won’t you stop by for a quick spell?

ABOUT:

🔮 Waverly is a fully integrated hood. Meaning, the sims will own community lots and sell things for other sims to purchase/place into their inventory. Whether its things they crafted themselves or things they’ve purchased wholesale to sell to the hood. Items purchased can be given, mailed or even re-sold if wanted to!

🖤 Waverly has an in-hood University that is fully functional as if they’d gone to the University subhood. Sims attending Waverly Community College or “WCC” can graduate and receive their diploma or they can attend the University subhood to get the same results. Just as fair, any YA sim has the option to attend University at all.

🔮 Waverly is strictly rotational, households are rotated by season. I play with 30 day seasons so the sims have time to do what they need to do and gives me time to enjoy the game without having to constantly take photos/write story! Think of it as manual story progression :3

Waverly’s Subhoods: Magic Town, Spooky University (if students want to live on campus) and Offworld (shopping district)

[coerthanrobin]

FFXIVWrite Prompt #4: Clinch

Sebastien hums as he ties knots in their fishing lines, attaching hooks to them with unusual dexterity for a man his age.

He sits on the bank of a river in the Coerthas Lowlands. The sun shines brightly, and his eyes drift shut, feeling the breeze.

"Father, the fish will have escaped by the time you finish with the knots if you keep getting distracted like that." Azette can't help but speak up, laughing at him good-naturedly.

His eyes blink open and he looks at her, surprised and delighted. "Oh! Of course. I'm sorry, Azette. You know how my mind tends to drift with my age."

He passes her the fishing rod, and she goes about the careful process of baiting the hook with hands unmarred by conflict. Satisfied with her work, she pulls the rod back, then swings it forwards, watching the arc of the line before it lands true within the slow, meandering path of the river.

"So, how is life treating you, my girl?" Sebastien asks, blunt as a club, before swinging his own fishing rod forwards.

She laughs. "Mother asked you to check in on me, didn't she?"

He scoffs as if insulted. "Is it so unbelievable that I might simply want to take my favourite daughter on a fishing trip?" He doesn't deny her claim, though, and she grins.

"I am, as ever, your only daughter."

"Untrue," he counters, and pouts at her. "I'm rather fond of Morgane."

That has her laughing, bright-eyed and happy, and she leans over to bump shoulders with him.

Her long hair drifts in the wind. She should cut it short, one of these days. Her wife has developed a tendency for running her fingers through the first few ilms, and Azette has an inkling that she is imagining how she'd look with it in one of those modern, stylish cuts. Perhaps she'll indulge her, one of these days.

"I will be sure to pass on the message to her. Perhaps it's her you should have come out fishing with, hm?"

Sebastien chuckles, adjusting his fishing line and pulling it back a little to test something he'd mistaken for a snag. "Oh, heavens no. She can't bear fishing. You meanwhile, are my blood daughter, and I've been building your tolerance for this since you were five summers old." His eyes drift closed again, the sun striking his old face. "A dastardly plan, I know, but how else am I going to get anyone to come fishing with me?"

Azette rolls her eyes - and her response is interrupted by a snag on her line. All thoughts of conversation die down as she tries to pull her catch inwards, fighting with it every ilm of the way before finally managing to pull the rod skyward, her prize soaring through the air to land in her outstretched hand.

It's...an old temple knight's helmet.

It's scarred and rusted, half fallen apart from its time in the water. She groans, unhooking the mass of metal from her line. "Truly? A helmet? This is like a bad joke."

She struggles to get her words out between Sebastien's uproarious laughter, and she tries her best to scowl at him before thwacking his knee with her new possession.

He feigns pain, gasping in mock offence. "You assault a member of the clergy?!" His voice is shocked, and she almost does it again just out of the principle of the matter.

Azette sighs, placing the helmet on the ground next to them and starting to work on replacing her line's hook. She ties the clinch knot easily enough. and reaches for the bait. But her hand slips, and the hook rakes an ugly cut across her right palm.

White-hot pain sears through her mind, and she yelps. The world sharpens at the edges for just a moment, the truth of it all scratching at the corner of her consciousness, but she can't really appreciate that right now with how much this hurts.

Sebastien's fishing rod is forgotten in an instant and he's by her side. His hands take hers softly, and a handkerchief, wipes at the blood spilling across her palm. "Oh, darling. It's alright. You're fine. Breathe for me, Azzy, it's alright."

She sniffles, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

"I promise you. It looks bad, and it feels painful, but it is naught serious. This will heal as good as new, I give you my word." He clutches her hand, wrapping the handkerchief around it as an improvised bandage, and his hands glow with healing magic for just a moment. The pain begins to fade, and she starts to breathe a little easier. "Just breathe, slow and steady."

 He slowly lets go of her hand, and she clenches her hand a few times, experimentally. It twinges in pain every time, but...far less than it had, at first. "In life, there are things that frighten us. Things we don't understand, things that can make us panic." He wraps his daughter in a hug, stroking her hair with love and affection. "But it's important to remember, my darling, to take a breath. To slow down, and think about your place in this world. Rather than rushing into action, or rushing in reaction to something. Sometimes you must needs take just a moment, to appreciate your place in this world."

Her eyes close, and she breathes, slow and deep. She smells spearsincense and communion wine and her father. And for just a moment, the pain recedes. When she opens her eyes again, she can see clearly. "This isn't real, is it?" She asks the question, but she knows the answer already.

"I'm afraid not." His voice sounds tired, now. Less alive than before. More like she remembers it being at the end.

She pulls back from the hug, to regard him. To try and memorise the details of his face, in this dream.

"Oh, my darling. I so wish I could have known the woman you've become." He smiles at her, peaceful despite their situation.

"I do not think you would have liked her," Azette replies, hands clinging to his coat. The handkerchief on her palm is gone, now, exposing an older, deeper scar. "I do not think you would have liked who I became, without you."

He sighs, giving her a kind look. "You found your way, did you not? Even if it took you time, and missteps; even if you faltered and stumbled? You found your path."

She did. She found her path, for all the good it did her. Locked in a cell, punished for the nobility she chose to display in place of cowardice. She became an honourable woman, in the end. It just cost her everything to do so.

She has just one question left to ask, now that the lie of this dream has been revealed.

"Did you know?" She has to ask. "About the church. About Thordan, and about Ratatoskr?"

Sebastien seems to consider the question for a few long moments. In the end, he shrugs. "I am simply a part of your dream. Would it give you more peace to know that I was another innocent victim of the church? Or that I was complicit in the deception of Ishgard?"

Her grip tightens on his clothing, hands shaking despite herself. "It would give me peace to know, father."

He smiles at her again, sadness in his eyes now. "Then you will never know peace." The answer is simple, and cuts her to her core. It chills her more than the snow which has begun to fall, surrounding them and blanketing the ground. "The dead keep their secrets, Azette. A selfishness, perhaps, but...we have already died for you. I'd say we've earned one selfish desire."

Azette just breathes, and clings to her father. Around them, the snows begin to bury the Lowlands.  And bodies drift along the river.