#arr fic

[lost-khione]

To my ARR mutuals, if you miss your bois, I am open to RP-ing. You can summon me (ping or ask) and talk to an ARR boi,. I will do my best to reply as them haha. I do this with my friends. Might not reply right away. And I specialize with the bois I stan plus the bois I actually managed to write fics on (refer to my pinned post fic list) but feel free to interact. I know we all miss ARR. It's just sad to see the EN server go fr

[kannedia]

acquisition — for the single-word drive!

Iskra receives a curious gift from Nero.

[Takes place at a certain point between Heavensward and Stormblood]

The 'camera' was curiously light in his hands.

Iskra turned the object over in his hands again. The outer enamel was smooth against his fingertips. He could see a few buttons on what he guessed to be the front as well as some form some form of knob.

It was a gift from Nero.

The Garlean mechanic who had followed him across the world for data and restored the Ultima weapon. That Nero.

The man who invited himself to the investigation of the Crystal Tower to further pursue lost Allagan technology and then gave it up. That Nero.

The Garlean fugitive who had walked into The Lotus Stand as though he had owned the place and suggested that they awaken another Allagan weapon to fight a dragon Primal. That. Nero.

The Nero who had, as far as he knew, just gifted him with a camera and was in the middle of an in-depth explanation of how to use the device. Iskra couldn't fight the feeling that he was missing something.

"...Nero?" Iskra spoke up as he turned the camera over in his hands again. "Why exactly are you giving this to me?"

Nero stopped. His hands were frozen in midair in a matter almost theatrical. His gaze was at least ten miles away, if not more so. Iskra was halfway to guessing that the man had simply not thought that far when Nero began to move again.

His hands dropped first. Then his gaze turned slowly to Iskra. The look he was favoring Iskra with was unusual. At least as far as he had seen of him.

The silence stood for several more minutes before Nero returned to his usual countenance and huffed out a laugh. "Why indeed, hero. Is it so odd that someone should want to reward you for all that you've done?"

Iskra opened his mouth, several corrections already on his tongue, before thinking better of it and closing them. "I see. Thank you, Nero." He said instead.

Nero grinned at this and wrapped an arm around Iskra's shoulders. "Good. Now let me show what a selfie is."

[just-somehuman]

You’d seen the newspapers, you’d seen the officers, and still none of it made sense. He’d disappeared so suddenly without a single word. A week ago, he was grinning as bright as the stars you were certain he’d returned to. Now, there was an emptiness in the Capital; the air felt heavier, the streets quieter, despite nothing having changed. Death was a mistress you were familiar with, yet her typical heartache stung sharper than any other time before. Perhaps it was from the unexpectedness of his death, though you knew this thought was only a comfort. The truth was that, deep down, you felt guilty. In a way, you were wholly to blame. Had your heart not lead you towards another, he never would have let his heartbreak consume him.

You stared down at the untouched headstone opposite your feet. Where his rowdy laughter should have been was a cold, suffocating silence. It was Death’s silence, mocking you for causing it. In your hand, clutched between tense fingers, was a red camellia. It was the same flower he had gifted you on a patrol once, a wordless promise of devotion that you had so cruelly broken. You gently laid the flower atop his grave, its striking red petals sticking out sorely amidst the rows of dull headstones. Your dim eyes skimmed over the words engraved into the stone, like you were hoping they would change each time you read them. But, of course, they never did.

You were too late. Too late to his affections, too late to his aid, too late to apologise, and too late to say goodbye. Of the heart he had given you – that you had crushed and treaded on to give your own to another – all that remained was melancholy and a faint sense of longing. Perhaps, if you hadn’t listened to your heart, things would be different.

___________________________________________

inspired by @shonenkun309 's post

[scionshtola]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love💗(hi kels ily and your writing so much!)

🥺this is so cute, ty friend!! (hi azia ily and your writing too 💗)

the pain of perception | cori/y'shtola (shb, pre-relationship)

Corisande lifts her head in Y’shtola’s direction, her familiar features—the heart shape of her lips, the curve of her nose, her downturned eyes—just as obfuscated by the light as the rest of her body. There was a time that Y’shtola could have known what Corisande was thinking just by a simple shared glance. Now, though she could make her best guess, she could never be sure what was written in their expression. What Y’shtola might give to see the curve of Corisande’s gentle smile once more, before they venture toward a battle that could change her forever.  Y’shtola glances down at their hands, still pressed palm to palm between them. Corisande had not shied from one touch—perhaps she would not shy from another.

with certainty | cori/y'shtola (arr, pre-relationship)

Y’shtola prodded at the scars, her eyes narrowing when Corisande did not react. She turned their hand over and skimmed her fingers along the inside of their wrist, brushing the singed edges of what was left of their wrist wrappings. They had not found a moment to replace them since the battle, swept from one task to the next as they were. “Pray, which healer is responsible for this remarkably poor work?” The sharpness of her words contrasted the gentle hold she kept on their arm. “I should like to have a word with them. A burn so deep as this one appears to have been would take hours to heal properly.” Corisande would laugh, if it did not feel like so much work. If her skin did not itch, did not feel stretched taut over her bones, fragile and paper thin, at war with the ironic spark of warmth blooming in her chest. Still, that Y’shtola should take such immediate offense to the shoddy quality of care they received was enough to bring a small, fond smile to their face. If only they had someone else to blame. “I will keep that in mind for next time.”

an echo of loneliness and a growing hope | cori/y'shtola (arr, pre-relationship) (why did i title it this lol)

When she opens her eyes, Corisande cuts a lone figure against the dark horizon, the blue crystals of their Ironworks gear glowing in the night. Visage hardened into a grim expression, hair blowing gallantly in the breeze as the moonlight coalesces around them, they look every inch the hero Eorzea knows them to be and very little like Y’shtola’s dear friend. Loneliness echoes in her chest at the sight.  She approaches Corisande and touches their elbow lightly—always their elbow, avoiding the flinch that comes when she touches their wrist ever since the day they defeated the Rhitahtyn sas Arvina. She tilts her head down to meet Y’shtola’s gaze, and a myriad of things to say run through her head. You should not have to do this alone. Please be careful. I will come with you

sweet distraction | cori/y'shtola (rodeo au 🤠)

Their lips curled into a sly grin then. “You look like a quick study.” Y’shtola did not like the way her heart skipped a beat at their words. Music started up again on stage, and Y’shtola’s protests died in her throat when Corisande moved their hips in time with it. They tugged on her hands with each slow swivel, and Y’shtola could not stop her gaze from following the long line of their legs, from where their dark jeans tucked into their tall brown boots to where they clung tightly to the curve of their ass.  “Please?” Corisande asked. “Just one song.” “One song,” Y’shtola relented. Corisande beamed down at her, and Y’shtola could not help but smile back.

untilted tipsy kiss prompt | cori/y'shtola (post enw)

They pull her closer, the silk of her robe smooth under their fingers. The taste of wine lingers on her lips, sweet and inviting, and they chase after it, deepening the kiss. “You let me go on for so long,” Y’shtola says between kisses, breathless and giggling against their lips. “I enjoy your going on. Though,” Corisande says, her body warm and mind abuzz from more than just drink. “You may have to repeat some points.”

[totaldramadrawingsandstuff]

Some art I did of one of my favourite fics (don’t judge me) called ‘Expect the unexpected’

The creator of said fic is Hashag_i

my drawing is of chapter 7, my personal favourite chapter

Please go and show their fic some support!

[vihola]

How do I get over this

[laspocelliere]

Day Four: Reticent

“Cold little thing, isn’t she?”

With the arrogance of youth, Thancred threw himself onto the sofa. Propping his feet languidly up, one arm dangling rakishly across his forehead, he tried to arrange his posture in a way that conveyed that he was exhausted, truly, by these recruits and his weighty responsibility in their gathering.

“Barely says a word, no matter how high I turn on the charm with her.” He flashed an easy smile over towards the desk, but Minfilia wasn’t having any of his roguish antics today. A frown was lurking somewhere around the corners of her mouth, and that small, insistent worry line between her brows had appeared.

“It might be good for you, to have someone immune to your charms,” she said absently, looking over the reports in front of her on this strange Coerthan girl. Out of her line of vision, Thancred started, just barely, at the implication that Minfilia didn’t include herself in that immunity group. 

“She didn’t seem very willing to talk to me either,” the Antecedent continued, the frown on her forehead deepening as she thought over every interaction they’d had thus far with the young sellsword. “I don’t think it’s shyness, either; warm welcomes and willing friendships have always been a solution for that, in my experience. Look at how far Yda has come.”

“I don’t think ‘shy’ is a word I’d use to describe Yda,” Thancred mused, hand dramatically draped across his forehead once more, blotting out the candlelight. “But I concede your point.”

“There must be a way to get to her,” Minfilia continued, tone vaguely reminiscent of when a puzzle was placed before her and she needed only to find the right piece for everything to slot neatly into place.

“That’s your problem,” Thancred replied languidly. “You think everyone is secretly as warm and as accepting as you.” He peeked out from under his arm with one cracked eyelid, but Minfilia still wasn’t looking at him. He adjusted his stance where he lay, trying to get a more picturesque version of himself and flexing his growing shoulders just so. “This one’s a perfect example that that isn’t true. Some people are just frigid, Minfilia, and she’s a perfect example. Getting any warmth or even conversation out of her is going to be like trying to bleed a stone.”

He went back to his pictured version of relaxing, but the tension in Minfilia’s shoulders didn’t ease. It was true that the newest addition to their little band was far from a cheerful type. She was wary and reticent, like a fierce bird of prey who suddenly found herself underground.  Her eyes were unsettling to say the least; dark and unreadable, with a certain sharpness to them that seemed to say that everyone beneath her gaze had been examined, analysed, and found wanting. 

What life could you have been living, Minfilia thought mournfully, for you to have those eyes so young?

The irony of such a thought was completely lost on her. 

“We’re not giving up on her,” she said aloud, straightening her spine purposefully. From his devil-may-care perch, Thancred sighed dramatically. “She has the abilities we need, and the Mothercrystal has clearly brought her to us for a purpose.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Thancred said on a sigh, hauling himself upright and raking his fingers roguishly through his hair in the same practised movement. Minfilia’s gaze landed on him at last, and he grinned his crooked smile. “She’ll bend to my graces sooner or later.”

The expression on the Antecedent’s face was enough to make him dial himself back, but not without a reassuring wink. “Don’t worry though, Minfilia. You’re still my number one girl.”

He strode out the door on a hasty retreat without a backward glance, both of them wondering exactly what sort of expression her face had made at the declaration.

[sharlayandropout]

Food

At the Find, in the months between the Labyrinth and the Tower.

[shonenkun309]

May is very promising I'm telling y'all!!!

THE WAY HE'S LOOKING AT HER IS- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[altruistic-meme]

why do i always end up in the position where i get pissed off about fandoms villainizing specific characters. why do i set myself up like this.

[lost-khione]

Invisible Thread

Summary: What if Akiyasu’s father died before he was old enough to know about being an onmyoji? This is a story about little Aki and his encounter with a certain ayakashi. The story assumes that his mother knows that his father is an onmyoji but doesn’t have complete understanding of the details.

Note: I missed writing and for some reason my comeback fic is about Aki bc I saw a prompt ‘Invisible Friend’ but uhh it turns out the prompt was actually ‘Invisble Guest’ and well,, anyway, I’m still thankful for stumbling on that prompt that resulted to this fic!

To Sae, my Aki stan friend, this is for you

Word count: 680 words

----------

Mother and I are at the Capital today. We visit from time to time when mother needs to buy some things. I’m starting school this year so we bought the supplies that I will need. I think we already got everything. Mother is still talking with someone she knows. I got her permission to visit this shop filled with various knick-knacks to pass the time. 

I walk further inside to check the other items in the shop when I feet a little tug from the supplies I am carrying on my back. I stop and look backwards but there is nobody behind me. I take a step forward and there’s a little tug again. I retract my foot and start turning around but I feel it again. 

There must be something in my bag, I think to myself.

I take a step backwards and take off my bag. On a closer look, I see an almost invisible thread stuck on my paintbrush. I try to remove it but it remains stuck. I can clearly see it going somewhere. I look around and see the people walking on the street oblivious to the thread.

It must be something that only I can see. Mother told me that my father has some sort of spiritual power and the things i can feel and see is because of that. She told me that she will show me my father’s belongings once I am older but for now, she warned me against doing anything reckless. I think my father’s death is connected to his powers which is why mother is not that keen on letting me use mine.

I take the paintbrush out of my bag and walk out of the shop. I check and see my mother still busy talking with her friend. I know my mother warned me but I can’t ignore it when it is stuck on my paintbrush. I decide to follow the thread and see where it leads me. I gently tug on the thread and it seems really sturdy. Whoever is on the other side must want this paintbrush.

The thread eventually led me to a shine not far from the bustling market. I have spun the thread on the paintbrush as I follow it. I give it another tug and this time, I can see it lead to a tree. The person who made it must be on the other side. I tug the thread strongly this time as I approach the tree. Surprisingly, a dango fell on the ground. Just as I am about to raise my head to get a look at who attached this thread on my paintbrush, I hear my mother’s voice calling for me worriedly.

“Aki! Why did you run off here?”

I sneak a glance up the tree but all I manage to see is black hair swaying in the wind. That person must have hidden inside the tree hole. I turn around to look at my mother and notice that the thread hangs beside him. That person must have cut it. 

“I’m sorry mother. A thread is stuck on my paintbrush and I can’t get it off,” I explain to her while showing my paintbrush with the thread spooled on its handle. 

My mother looks at my paintbrush and replies, “Akiyasu, why are you playing with a spider’s web?”

“This is a spider’s web?” I ask my mother, feeling confused. “I thought it was some sturdy thread. I tried pulling it off but I couldn't. I followed it here.”

Mother seems to understand what happened. She stops asking me any more questions. She must have felt that this is because of my ‘power.’ Mother gets like that. Whenever I see or feel something and try to investigate, she asks me but then stops herself eventually. I think mother doesn’t really perceive such things which makes it hard for her to ask me about them.

We go home with my paintbrush and the spider’s web. I hope that the next time we go to the Capital, I can meet this spider.

[kannedia]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Day 16 - Third-rate

*insert corny pick-up line*

Breathe in, breathe out.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Remain calm, Beatrix told herself before reminding herself that she could handle what she had planned to do. The advice she had was good.

She approached Mikoto with her nicest smile.

"Want a raisin?" She paused deliberately. "No? How about a date?"

Mikoto looked up at her confused. As did Lilja.

"Oh, no thank you. I'm not hungry." She replied before returning her attention to her research.

Beatrix had a feeling Lilja was trying to give her a look of sympathy, but it was hard to be certain with the shades she always wore.

---

Gerolt snorted, putting his hammer down on one of his many worktables with a solid thud.

"Don't know what's funnier lass," He said with amusement. "Those lines or that ye tried them."

Beatrix merely groaned and leaned back against the least used worktable. This would be the last time she went to Thancred for advice. The third-rate flirt.

[scionshtola]

the one time i’ve ever wanted cori to be able to wear hats is for a cowboy hat

[biff-adventurer]

today i met tiny chris

poor wean's da got et by a 'bon. now he wants 'em all dead. wiv' crossy eyes like them as drawed in the picture shows. dinnae get et and ye might be his new da.

he actually made me think about two things - the npcs/people we've helped along the way, and the writing of accents.

it's no secret i gave biff this accent - it tells you he ain't a city slicker but rather a rural boy, it tells you his folks ain't got a lotta money (at least, one would think), and it associates him with a specific cultural/ethnic profile (gaelic, i know/studied a little more about irish than scots so i lean irish)

i think we should, as a society, be wary of continuing to associate class with specific ethnic communities, but i'm not learned enough to make a post dedicated to my specific thoughts on that (yet? tbd)

mostly, i think it's important to look at the way characters speak as a vehicle of writing. when you write a character's accent, is it useful for what you're trying to establish in the scene? is the noble supposed to fail to understand the vernacular of his server? is it useful if the character is always going to say "dinnae" instead of "do not"? when dealing with non-western characters with accents, how far is it okay to go until the dialogue goes from representation to racist charicature?

writers have the power of flexibility. writing is about persuasion more than anything else, and we should remember to persuade our audiences that these are people. they aren't real, so don't bother with "realistic" - but they represent real ideas, concepts and associations in our world. it's important to be careful what you do with these, intended or not! and if you make an oopsie? acknowledge, accept and continue on your journey to being your best.

my preferences for writing accents based on my experiences, observations and education lean thus:

pick and choose what words require emphasis. if the whole sentence requires it, then so be it! but make conscious choices. words weigh differently, and they carry double the weight when they're written out to represent an accent. just really think about whether or not this is the point you want to say to, t', ta, or tae. the whole sentence doesn't need to be written out phonetically b/c avoiding doing that helps us steer clear of reiterating caricatures.

include culturally specific verbiage. "what's the craic" or "how's it hangin'" depending on who your character is. in india, lots of people greet each other with religious phrases (in english, it'd sound like saying "god is good"/"good is god" call and response) - so a thavnairian character could say anything between "sisters be with you" to "mindhurva guide your path today" (and also yours, brother/sister). but also: wain, wean, child, sweetling,

be careful which non-english words your character uses. i don't call it chai tea latte, i call it chai latte. my wife doesn't call it green tea latte, but matcha latte. i actually don't drink chai latte, i drink chai. but i call it both chai and tea interchangeably; so, when i want someone to know how to prepare my tea, i might ask for chai instead of tea. because with chai, you get half or whole base milk instead of water. you get dried ginger or an array of spices depending on the auntie. with tea, you get dried up leaves and some hot water. big difference for me.

above all, make sure it's legible most of the time. you can do this by avoiding writing a character's accent out completely phonetically. this isn't to say "conform your character to what people think they should talk like". this is about being aware that writing implies an audience. if you want your writing to connect with people, the important parts should be clearly communicated in the text. especially if you're writing in english. if i wanted my characters to speak hindi, why would i bother writing the story in english at all? you want people to see your character a specific way. write them the way you hope they'll be seen--if you've done a good enough job, it will lead to so much joy and satisfaction. if you haven't--it's back to the drawing board! but you get the chance to learn even more.

[laspocelliere]

Day Thirteen: Butte

The heartbeat of nature.

They were words she hadn’t heard – wouldn’t hear, not for many years – but were written on the inside of her bones regardless. Imprinted, somewhere on her soul, where none could take it away. The sunrise over the hills of Thanalan was sharp and golden, warmer and wider than the watercolour mountain sunlight she’d first seen as a child. The one that had entranced her, and first opened that calling in the ice-packed recesses of her bruised heart, had become the resting place by which she measured every subsequent sunrise she made sure she was there to see.

Stretched out on her meagre bedroll, she watched the colours unfurl across the sky with something almost like reverence. Pearly pinks and dreamy purples wove in and out of fiery golden light, stretching across the desert horizon so fully that it was nearly impossible to find the edges of the world. From where she’d made her camp, near enough to the edge of the cliffside, it looked as though she were peering out from over the edge of the world.

Shifting onto her stomach, she watched the light grow stronger, chasing away the barren shadows from the land far below. Nearby, alerted to her movements, her chocobo lowered his head towards her, a gentle rumbling sound near-purring from his throat as he laid his feathery head near her arm. Absently, she stroked the soft down of his head, surprised at the fondness she felt for a creature she had only agreed to take on for practicality’s sake. 

It was only because of his gift of flight, after all, that had allowed her to spend the night safe atop this isolated butte. Steep enough on all sides to prevent anyone sneaking up, and high enough for her to see them coming anyway. A monolith in the desert, surrounded by an ocean of stars at night, and swimming with sand and sunlight at dawn. It was a raw, untouchable beauty, so far removed from the lush mountains and rivers of her childhood, that it all nearly caught in her throat just trying to breathe it all in.

Silent, yet strong.

With her fingers buried in the soft feathers of her chocobo’s head, his doelike eyes fallen shut with contentment at being petted, she stared forwards at the endless horizon as the sun rose. Somewhere beyond, there were people she’d been sent to meet, tied to her by the inexplicable curse she’d been saddled with from birth. The one that was suddenly being referred to as a gift. A Blessing.

Warrior of Light.

The title tasted strange in her mouth. Like metal.

Or blood.

She couldn’t say yet that she trusted these Scions that had appeared, nor Minfilia’s intentions. But they allowed her her space, and it kept coin in her pockets more steadily than it ever had been as a gladiator in Ul’dah, or the sellsword groups before that. That, at least, was worth seeing through, even if she didn’t necessarily believe that earnest look in the Antecedent’s eyes – the one that almost spelled out the word messiah in bright, crystal blue – when she looked at her. 

Sighing, the young adventurer, rolled over, her back pressing firm against the unforgiving rock beneath her. Her chocobo – she really should give him a name – rested his head comfortably somewhere near her shoulder, and she let her shoulderblades press into the bedroll, the dry dirt beneath, and the malms of solid stone beneath that. Beneath the cloudless sky, her arms were yet unblemished, her hands still to grow the callouses that would become permanent fixtures from years of swordplay. She slept through the nights without issue, and her mind was quiet.

In her mind, the horrors were behind her.

She was younger than she’d ever be, and had no idea of it.

Dawn broke over Thanalan, and she stared up into the sky as the colours changed. Until the blue was so bright she needed to shut her eyes against it.

Or be blinded.

[ievaxol]

Alphinaud: Oh yes, I was so very clever. “Become a guardian of Eorzea,” I implored, and sat back to watch my perfect army cleanse the land of chaos.