#Aro writing

[aroworlds]

After six (very slow!) years of writing, Hallo, Aro comprises eighteen short fiction and creative-non-fiction pieces about allosexual aro protagonists--all collected on my website, Patreon or Tumblr.

Stories include:

Unspoken

Leaving

Friendship

Lucky

Attraction

Existence

Neuronormative

Loveless

Monstrous

Pressure, Side One

Pressure, Side Two

Abrasive

Question

Antagonist

Witch

Hunter

Pillar

Tomorrow

Please expect fantasy and fairy tale motifs, trans and multisexual characters, a dash of autism, a great deal of amatonormativity, and a pervasive struggle for recognition by family, society and community.

[cherrytea556]

Arospec writing prompt: Arospec characters and their "crushes"

This can vary in attraction (romantic, sexual, sensual, aesthetic etc) and it can also vary in reaction! Remember to vary the horizon!

Here's some ideas

Arospec characters indulging in their fantasies around their crush without wanting them in real life

Arospec characters that are ashamed of their "crushes" for various reasons

Arospec characters acting like knights in shining armor to their "crush" as a way to show their feelings for them or wanting a chance with them

Arospec characters who are conflicted with their "crush"

Arospec characters who only like to look at their "crush" like an art peice

Arospec characters being confused of why they have a "crush" (also varying of reason)

Arospec character's "crush" being their partner

Arospec character's "crush" being their friend (bonus points if their both arospec and either are aromantically married or platonically flirt or platonically don't give a fuck)

Arospec characters questioning if their "crush" is out of gender envy or beauty appreciation

Arospec characters questioning if their "crush" is out of truama or lonely reasons

Arospec characters that deny their "crush" and either try to get over it or judge everyone elses crushes as if they dont have their own

Feel free to add more in reblogs

[aro-sora]

Aro Writing Collection

Happy Aromantic Spectrum Visibility Day, I wanted to share some resources to find aromantic books/poetry/writing of any kind

A Carnival of Aros

Aro Worlds fiction

AZE Journal

The Aro Zine

Arospec Poetry Network (and their zine collection)

Aro & Ace books database

Queer Books database

Queer Fiction Book database

Aromantic stories recommended by Claudie Arseneault

AUREA's resources page

Aromantic books and no romance books on @aroaessidhe

Aromantic books on @aro-who-reads

Aro friendly media, Aggressively Arospectacular, and Aggressively Arospec Week on @aggressivelyarospec

@arospecfanworksweek for aro fanworks

Also I'm adding Commons Bonds as a book rec. It's a spec fic anthology of aromantic/platonic-focused works (you can find it in the aro books lists/databases linked above too)

If anyone has other things to add let me know!

(and thanks to @haveievermentioned for some of the recs)

[infiniteorangethethird]

story idea: soulmate au except instead of being about "love uwu" it's about mc realizing they aren't feeling anything towards their assigned soulmate and taking said soulmate on a journey to confront the Soulmate Gods bc clearly there must've been some mistake made on their part, only to realize along the way that a) they're actually aro and b) the whole soulmate system is just a ploy by the gods to keep humanity oppressed under their control so now their goal changes from finding a better soulmate to dismantling amatonormativity the soulmate system as a whole

[feelingthedisaster]

what alloroms poets whine about romantic love, i whine in amanormativity

[aro-prompts]

Write about an aro character who’s birthday is Valentine’s Day

[arotechno]

O. basilicum, part xii

And so, spring came at last to Verdigris. The frost melted, the trees bloomed, and the town traded its pallor for the lush green of new growth. The dreary cold went away, and with it went Ace, off to dig himself another grave—because what was the harm, really, in taking another shot at cheating death?

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I do.”

Basil kicked at the dirt with his good leg, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his trousers. Ace poked reverently at a newly sprouted bean plant.

“It’s just… What if you’re not ready?”

With a sigh, Ace straightened up from the garden bed.

“I’m ready, Basil. All healed up. I’ve got folks waiting up for me, and I don’t want to keep them worrying any longer than I already have.”

Please don’t go, Basil thought, I can’t lose you again. They’d kill you if they knew.

But Basil didn’t say any of that. What he said instead was:

“I know, just… Be careful, alright?”

In response, Ace smiled, like he knew what Basil meant anyway. He often did.

“I’ll do my best.”

They lapsed into silence again in the garden. The morning sun finally breached the treeline, dappling the hillside in shades of white and gold. Basil breathed deep and wrapped himself in the quiet moment, committing it to memory in case there was never another one like it.

Just in case.

* * *

What Basil was not expecting in the slightest was to open the front door a mere week or so later to find Ace shuddering on Frida’s doorstep, haggard and dirty, an old bow on his back, with a young girl of about twelve or thirteen at his side.

“Hey,” Ace said.

“Hey yourself.” Basil looked between them. “You know, when I said you’d be back, I didn’t mean right away.”

His attempt at levity went unappreciated. Ace looked at him, pained. Something had gone deeply, horribly wrong.

“Come in, both of you,” Basil insisted, opening the door wide. “Frida!”

Frida came hurrying into the hall from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “Basil, dear, who’s at the—oh, gods above.”

“Hi, Frida,” Ace said. “This is Petra. She’s my friend—”

“Honorary sister,” the girl, Petra, interjected. Ace rolled his eyes, as if it were a private joke.

“Fine, sure, whatever.” Ace shuffled uncomfortably where he stood, while Frida just gaped at him. “She… we don’t have anywhere to go, anymore. Do you think you could—“

“Basil, keep an eye on that soup for me, will you? Come on, dear,” Frida said, guiding Petra by the shoulder toward the clinic. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Ace has told me so much about you.”

Petra went without argument, though she did look over her shoulder at Basil and Ace, eyeing the pair of them with a strange expression. Ace followed Basil silently into the kitchen and dropped into one of the chairs at the table. The air was fragrant with herbs and spices cooking in the large pot on the stove. Basil stirred it carefully with a wooden spoon, just for something to do.

He didn’t ask for an explanation. He wasn’t sure he needed one. It was clear the worst had happened, after all—the other shoe had finally dropped, and Ace was once again lucky to have escaped with his life.

“I should have gone back sooner,” Ace said hoarsely. “I could have—“

“There’s nothing you could have done.”

“They killed him. Bertrand’s dead, Basil. There wasn’t even a body left behind, just nothing but ash. If I’d been there, I could have surrendered—“

“They wouldn’t have spared him, Ace. You know they wouldn’t.”

Basil doled out a bowl of soup and placed it in front of Ace, who didn’t so much as reach for his spoon despite how hungry the journey must have made him. He sat motionless while Basil scooped out another helping and sat across from him, eyes searching. He, too, didn’t eat a single bite.

“Petra used to remind me of you,” Ace finally said, eyes crinkling with the admittance. “Optimistic. Headstrong. Not afraid of anything.”

“And now?”

“Now? Now all I see is my own grief. It was supposed to be different for her, Basil.” Ace frowned into his untouched soup, voice going soft. “I did this to her.”

In the silence that followed, Basil thought back to that first day, screaming himself hoarse in half-dead terror. He remembered the guilt, the sorrow, the many days spent unable to walk. Basil thought even further back, years before, to those peaceful days they’d spent together as children. That version of Basil had been long gone for quite some time now, and he wasn’t ever coming back. Optimism was a hard-earned burden he stubbornly carried, not a prize to be bartered for.

Before Basil could say anything of the sort, however, Petra came slinking back into the room with Frida on her heels, looking quite a bit less worse for wear than when they’d arrived. Her face was clean and her short-cropped hair smoothed out, with bandages plastered over the cuts that rogue branches and brambles had left on her skin. She peered at Ace knowingly, solemnly, as she sunk into the chair beside him, eyes roving over his sullen expression. Basil felt a kinship at that.

For his part, Ace was still hunched over his bowl, face and hands smeared with dirt and grime. He still needed to get cleaned up, once they got this situation sorted out. Basil would probably have to force him.

“You boys need to eat,” Frida chided softly, pouring soup for herself and Petra, who muttered a quiet thanks.

“I need to ask,” Basil said quietly. “Did anyone else make it?”

“I got mostly everyone out before the royal guard came,” Petra said. “But some folks didn’t want to leave. Bertrand…”

“Stubborn old man,” Ace muttered with subdued fondness.

“They got out,” Frida repeated. “I don’t know what you mean, dear. Where are they now?”

Petra looked up from her soup, eyes hard and pained, and said, “I don’t know.”

In that moment, Basil’s blood ran hot, and he thought he finally understood, after all these years, what it was that had kept Hank going, day after day. How long did this have to go on? How could anyone let this go on? But what could Basil do?

Ace had stumbled into something far greater than either of them, something on the level of kings. And what had that gotten him? Another abandoned home, more missing friends, another dead guardian? There were no heroes and villains, no monsters come alive from fairy tales. There were only two kinds of people: those with power, and those without. It was a simple answer, but then again, those were always the hardest to accept.

That night, long after the soup had gone cold and Petra had been set up with a cot in Frida’s bedroom, Basil kept Ace company on the front step, both of them too tired to sleep. The sky was clear, and full of stars, but no matter how much Basil tried, he couldn’t discern any meaningful pattern among them. After all these years, that was it—he was all out of answers.

“So,” he said. “What are you going to do now?”

Ace picked at a loose thread on his pant leg and shrugged.

“I can’t leave Petra behind like that again. She was all alone, waiting for me for months. She deserves a better life than that.”

“Then stay,” Basil said. “Stay for now, stay forever, I don’t mind. You know I’ll always be here.”

Ace chuckled. “I don’t know if she’ll be able to stay put like that for long.”

“Are you sure we’re talking about Petra?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ace said with a glare, though there wasn’t any heat behind it.

Basil leaned back on his palms, searching the sky.

“You should rest,” he said. “Live the best life you can, for yourselves. It’s simple, but it’s enough.”

Ace nodded, though his expression told Basil he wasn’t convinced.

“I’m going to sleep.” He pushed to his feet and made his way back inside. “Goodnight, Basil.”

“Goodnight.”

The screen door slammed shut, leaving Basil alone in the quiet night. He pulled his knife from his belt loop and turned it over in his palm. Moonlight glinted off the blade.

Basil kept his silent vigil well into the night, until the entire hillside fell quiet and even the crickets went to sleep. He kept one hand on the hilt of his blade all the while.

Just in case.

[mockerycrow]

i saw ur post on being aro/ on the aro spectrum and it got me questioning…maybe i am too. i don’t really see that term float around a lot so i went on a research journey through the tag and youtube and maybe that’s what i’m feeling. i always just kinda thought i was selfish or too independent and that my line between friends & romantic partner kinda blur, but now that i think about it, i just really want a best best friend that i could fuck.

i think i’m more on the looser end of the spectrum because i do feel romantic attraction and i do feel love and i crave that. but i also am not the lovey dovey type either idk i’m just talking to myself here.

feel free to give advice or delete no worries

hi, no worries!! i’ve known quite a few arospec people in my life and i’ve heard your story a few times :-) when it comes to romance, sexual stuff, friendship, etc—you’re not selfish at all. everyone has their own wants and needs, and yours being different is not selfish at all. something you may be interested is a queerplatonic relationship perhaps?? everyone has different definitions for it, the usual definition is basically a type of relationship between two people that is not romantic in nature, but exceeds friendship—it’s very common for queer folks, especially aroacespec queer folks to have one. it can be similar to a romantic relationship, but it’s not exactly one, but it’s not exactly friendship, either. i recommend looking it up!! maybe it’s something you could be interested in as you said romantic and platonic feelings blur together? i hope this helps!!

my aromanticism is.. hard to explain?? i can feel romantic attraction, but it’s quite hard for me to actually fall in love. but when i do, i fall hard—i also have to be attracted to you as a person before your looks. that probably sounds odd, but it’s just how my brain works. that doesn’t mean i don’t find someone attractive, im just not attracted to them immediately. i also can fall out of love quite easily if i wish to. there’s more to it, but it’s so personal that there’s not enough words for it if that makes sense!!

[casualbuttercupblog]

about your post "shiping an aro/ace man with no regard(...)" post

I wanna start writing for Alastor but I don't really know what an aro/ace relationship looks like. Frankly (and this may sound stupid), I started re-watching all Ghibli movies bc if someone knows how to write meaningful platonic stuff is Mayazaki! Aside from that, to a certain extent, I think a relationship with him could be summarized as "more than friends, less than lovers" BUT idk if that's accurate, I still feel a bit insecure because I'm not aro/ace myself and wouldn't want to upset anyone. Would you happen to have any advice? :)

Ah, okay, I can only speak from my experience, and I'm not the only aromantic person in the world. And I am not ace, I'm pan. But I can try.

Aromantic is defined as "feeling little to no romantic attraction." I'm married. My husband is more of my best friend than anything, I feel very little romantic attraction, but he's one person that I have that tiny little kernel of romantic attraction in my heart for.

So yea! Your concept actually works really well. I would focus more on the platonic aspects of their relationship and why they enjoy being around eachother. What makes them want to do this?

For example, my husband is a hopeless romantic, and I want him to be happy. So, with a lot of the romantic things he wants, I do them because it makes him happy. From what I know about the ace community, some of them feel the same way about sex. I'd ask an ace blog if you can.

I hope this helped, but basically, focus on the friendship between the pairing. And why Alastor does things, is it because he has something to gain? Or does he just care about this person and want to see them happy. And remember, I'm not the only aro person in the world. My experience isn't the end all be all. We're all pretty friendly, tho!

[transcendragon]

Prompt Flash Fiction - Love Potion

Prompt: “You have to understand, the use of love potions is both morally gross and legally r-”, you interrupt the alchemist, and say the potion is meant for yourself. There’s a long, awkward silence. Some of the many vials in the alchemist’s back room shelves tinkle. There’s so many that they surround the entire room in a rainbow of potions that sparkle gently in the light. It was a sight that…

[unknown-lifeform]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Zack Fair/Genesis Rhapsodos, Zack Fair & Genesis Rhapsodos, Zack Fair & Cloud Strife, Zack Fair & Aerith Gainsborough Characters: Zack Fair, Genesis Rhapsodos, Cloud Strife, Yuffie Kisaragi, Aerith Gainsborough Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Zack Fair Lives, Retelling, Road Trips, Minor Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough, Queerplatonic Relationships, Aromantic Genesis Rhapsodos, Trans Male Genesis Rhapsodos, Eventual Smut, ....extremely eventual, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, queerplatonic lovers technically, plot heavy, Slow Burn Summary:

In which a newly not-degrading Genesis decides to start travelling with Zack instead of remaining there in Banora. Things change, Zack has to face some uncomfortable realities, and the worst assorted group people has to spend a horrible amount of time trapped in a car together as they try to save the world

[infiniteorangethethird]

writing aro stories rocks actually it's like every time an amatonormative stereotype pisses me off I can just add another aromantic character to restore the balance of the universe

[rocksandaces]

For aro/ace writers:

- you don't have to write sex scenes. Tolkien didn't

- you don't have to write romance. Lewis didn't

- you can write very close friendships that have nothing romantic nor sexual in them. Scott Lynch did

- you can write sexual relationships that don't involve romance. Sapkowski did

- you can write romantic relationships that don't involve sex. Pratchett and Gaiman did

Don't let anyone tell you that some kinds of relationships are impossible or that a story must contain some themes. It's your story, write it the way you want

[aro-prompts]

Write about an aro character crashing a wedding

[arotechno]

O. basilicum, part vi

There wasn’t any particular moment in which Basil finally realized that the curse wasn’t real.

There was no sudden clarity, no revelation, nothing he could pinpoint as before and after. It was just the slow, gradual dawning of something that, if he thought about it, had always been obvious to him, deep down.

When he’d first heard those tall tales, so many years ago, maybe there was already a part of him that doubted their validity. How could it be that he, who was only ever a child trying to live a quiet life and make friends, could be cursed? How could he be destined to bring evil upon the world, when it was other children who had beaten and berated him? What divine irony was that, that he should be considered the monstrous one, while others—with their supposed pure and unyielding love—could attempt to maim or even kill him with impunity?

The thing was, believing it had been easy. It was not hard to convince himself that surely, monster or not, evil or not, he had been cursed with some affliction. The truth was far harder to stomach—that anyone who believed they had the right to hurt him had been deluding themselves. Basil had never truly believed that there was something inhuman about him; but when that was how other people treated you anyway, what use was the truth?

There was no divine destiny, no cosmic reason, good or evil, that he should be born the way he was. It was simply the way of things, like nature. The sun rose every morning. Basil did not have a heart.

This new understanding should have brought him solace. It should have been vindicating, to know that his belief in his own humanity hadn’t been misplaced. It brought him no such peace. But it didn’t make him angry, either. Instead, Basil only felt a quiet sense of resignation. After all, what difference did it make? 

Before they knew what he was, the children of Swallow’s Point had treated Basil just like they would any other. He was strange, perhaps—he didn’t always relate to or understand the things they would joke about, like their crushes or their lofty dreams of being wed to someone wealthy from the capital—but they did not shun him. The way they turned on him so rapidly made it obvious that it didn’t matter who he was, only what he was. Once they decided there was something wrong with him, it didn’t matter who he’d proven himself to be. It wouldn’t have even mattered if he could prove the curse wasn’t real.

Deep down, Basil knew the truth: they would have considered him to be a freak either way.

When he tried to broach the subject with Jim, he’d only received a strange look in response. The others had reacted much the same, if a bit more graciously (save for Dusty, who’d jokingly agreed and then made him repeat it next to the new garden beds to “at least put that horseshit to good use”). Ann had attempted a clumsy diatribe about why he shouldn’t speak of himself that way before quickly giving up in embarrassment. When he’d mentioned it to Frida, it had been during a crying spell immediately following a nightmare, and she’d only tried to console him. Only Hank had given him somewhat of a straight answer, saying, “You know better than that by now” with a knowing expression before lapsing into silence on the trail.

And so, that had been that.

Today, Basil sat on Frida’s porch, toes in the grass, weaving. The motion soothed him, and reminded him fondly of warm days in Swallow’s Point, making daisy chains and flower crowns in the meadow. Now, however, he was working on a much more ambitious project.

“What’s that you’re working on?”

Basil looked up from his work. Ann crested the hill to the house, pack over her shoulder. As usual, she carried her bow on her back and a knife on her belt. It was rare to see her without them, even though the village was relatively safe and Hank always went about town unarmed.

“A sunhat. I want to finish it by summer,” Basil said. His attempts in years previous had not gone as planned; his best hat had only held up for a few weeks before falling apart. He hoped his new strategy would be more successful. “What’s in there?”

“Hides,” Ann said, hefting the bag. “Frida asked for them. Can’t imagine what she needs them for.”

Basil’s face lit up. “For blankets!” he explained. “Warmer ones, for when folks are sick.”

Ann’s lip twitched in a smile. “Well, look at you. Someone’s become the perfect apprentice.”

“Helping people,” Basil said, bashful. “It just feels right. Everyone took care of me when I was younger, so I ought to do the same. We have to look after one another. No one else will.”

An odd look passed across Ann’s face, and she took a knee in front of Basil with a sigh. Damn, he thought. Not this again.

“Kid, we’re not gonna be able to protect you forever.”

“I know.”

“You’re absolutely positive you don’t want me to teach you how to shoot? You have the steady hands for it.”

Basil’s stomach lurched. He’d accompanied Ann and Hank on a hunt exactly once, and he’d thrown up in the bushes and had to go home. That had been the end of that.

“I’m sure,” he said, voice strangled, idly fiddling with the loose strands of soft green grass poking out of his unfinished hat.

“Basil. I know you don’t want to hear it, but if you’re going to walk around in the woods by yourself like you have been, you ought to be able to defend yourself. This is me trying to keep you safe.”

“I’m not doing it.” Basil crossed his arms over his chest, indignant. “I promise to be careful, but I’m not shooting that thing.”

Ann sighed and rubbed at her temple. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

Most people in town had never held a weapon in their life. Plenty of the villagers went wandering about, yet only Basil was subject to Ann’s incessant prodding about learning self defense. It was unfair to be treated this way—in a short time, Basil went from feared and derided to lauded as something uniquely precious. He was either a scourge on the world or the paragon of hope and virtue; there was no winning either way.

“I don’t know what it is you all see in me,” Basil said. “I’m not some kind of hero.”

“It ain’t about you being a hero. It’s just that, well…” Ann grimaced, looking rather sheepish. “You’re young, and you only narrowly survived your way here. It gives the rest of us something to live for, knowing you’ll be alright.”

Basil suppressed a smirk. It was a peculiar sentiment, given that he in his young life had experienced far more direct violence than most of the other townspeople. Ann didn’t seem to notice the irony. Instead, she looked at him wistfully before shaking herself out of it and pushing past him into the house, ruffling his hair as she passed.

Once she was gone, Basil plucked another blade of long grass from his basket and returned to his weaving. He worked steadily for a while, worming his toes in the cool dirt. After some time, he grew curious and scooted up closer to the kitchen window to eavesdrop..

“...he’s so stubborn about it, Frida! Can’t he see how important this is?”

Startled, Basil leaned closer to hear, hands stilling.

“Ann, please don’t push the boy. If it’s upsetting to him, we ought to not force him to do it.”

“Someone’s going to come for him some day. You know where he’s from. If he wanders off too far—”

“Hush now. It’s safe here. No one is going to come.”

Ann took a ragged breath. “Hank was right from the start. We should have done something about this.”

“Absolutely not. We do not need to risk further traumatizing the poor boy.”

“Frida, do you know the way he talks? Things about being cursed, about—”

“Yes, yes, he’s said the same to me too. It’s a common myth, Ann. He’s growing up, trying to understand what he is.”

“He worries me. I told myself in the beginning not to get attached, because—”

“He’ll be alright, dear. He’s a teenager now, and a smart one at that. You should see the way he is around the house; so bright and kind. Thank you for looking out for him.”

Basil set his project aside, hands trembling. Anger washed over him, though at what, he didn’t know. Anger at the people who had lied to him for so long, perhaps. Anger at those who had hurt him and ruined his life. Anger at himself, even, for still being frightened after all this time, for being too weak to protect himself, for proving Ann right with his own fragility.

Not wanting the others to know he’d been eavesdropping, Basil grabbed his cane and scurried further from the house, adrenaline pushing him a good deal across the hillside before he dropped back into the grass, legs quaking. He stayed there for a long while, arms wrapped around his knees, trying to breathe slowly through the anger and panic.

The sun was setting by the time Frida came to fetch him, settling beside him in the grass, not minding the way it stained her skirts.

“Basil, dear? Are you okay?” she asked, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. It was his quilt, the same old one she’d given him the day he’d arrived in Verdigris, those years ago.

Basil shrugged.

“Is it alright if I touch you?”

Basil nodded, and Frida draped an arm around him and tugged him close, brushing his shoulder gently with her thumb in a soothing motion. He was nearly taller than her now, though that wasn’t saying much. Both of them were still short. For a moment, they sat quietly in the rustling grass, watching the sun go down over Verdigris. Eventually, Frida spoke again.

“You know you aren’t cursed, don’t you, Basil? There is nothing evil or wrong about how you were born.”

“I know,” Basil said softly. He nestled closer to her side. “A part of me always knew. But it doesn’t change anything.”

“I know. But I thought you deserved to hear someone say it to you anyway.”

Briefly, Basil felt a twinge of regret, thinking of those left behind. Ace, if he was truly still out there, and any others like him would have to go on believing in a lie that had only been crafted to hurt them. But that pain was quickly superseded by the feeling of the huge weight he’d been carrying for years being lifted from his shoulders. Two years before everything had gone wrong, Basil had been warned of his own existence like it were a ghost story, and he and Ace had both carried that burden like a seed deep within their chests from that day on. The moment had brought them together, but it also represented a threat to whatever little peace they’d had.

Now, however futile or fleeting the feeling was, Basil buried his face in Frida’s shoulder and wept, relieved.

[genderqueerdykes]

transhet people are absolutely lovely. straight trans women & straight trans men have a beautiful experience. straight aro and ace people are still queer and live queer lives. straight non binary, genderqueer, gnc, bigender, genderfluid, intersex, two spirit and other queer people are a blessing to our community. any straight queer person belongs, no matter what. cis people can be queer, so can straight people. queer hets belong all the same