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autumnslance · 56 minutes
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In light of the Lore FM thing: if you want audio recordings of fanfiction, SUPPORT PODFICCERS.
If you didn't know already: podfic is basically fans recording themselves reading fanfic, almost always available for free. There are so many amazing podficcers out there and they don't get enough love for all their hard work!
There's an audiofic archive here, thanks to Jinjurly.
And most podficcers tag their work as "podfic" on AO3 if you want to search there, too.
And if your favorite fic hasn't been recorded, there are ways to request them. I once got a podfic recorded as a gift for a friend in exchange for a Fandom Trumps Hate donation, and it was amazing! And as an author, I've used the "podfic welcome" and "podfic available" tags on works that I'd like recorded and that have already been recorded, respectively. And some podficcers might even take commissions or have requests open on their blogs.
AND it's a very welcoming and supportive community who are happy to share tips and tricks on how to get started, so you too can record fic for others! If you've ever thought "man, I wish there were a way I could contribute to fandom but I can't draw and I'm rubbish at writing," maybe podfic is for you!
Anyway. PODFIC IS A THING. SHOW IT SOME LOVE.
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autumnslance · 11 hours
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I have said page in the EE transcribed on this post, actually. While there have always been issues between the city-states and the tribes, the explicit "beast tribe" racism is fairly recent (like within 20 years of the start of ARR), and politically motivated.
Thinking about how Final Fantasy 14 had the main playable humanoid peoples who are considered "human" and the intelligent species who didn't live in the main cities who were generally referred to as "beast tribes." The Beast tribes are generally considered very dangerous because they will attack humans who venture out of the city, and try to summon their evil gods. This is mostly just presented as a fact of life, but as you progress through the game you meet plenty of beast tribe people who are perfectly kind people, and this comes to a head when you enter the Shadowbringers expansion and essentially travel to an alternate dimension called The First.
Here, the lalafell, who are considered a human race in your home world, are considered a beast tribe, and referred to as "Dwarves." They live in a little town outside the safe area of the city, aren't respected by the human races, and they keep building robots that attack people. Meanwhile, the Amal'jaa, who are considered a beast tribe back home, live in the city, are valued for their livestock, and are referred to as the Zun.
It really highlights how the difference between a human and a "beast tribe" is just entirely arbitrary, and likely results just from what race had the most power in each dimension's history. I'm not sure if this subtext was intended back during the early parts of the game, but you can definitely notice a shift in how the writing treats the beast tribes starting with Shadowbringers.
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autumnslance · 13 hours
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Write Your Story
I just showed my 11-year-old son how many coffee shop AUs there are on AO3.
Why?
He sat down the other day to write a Minecraft story about three kids who go through a portal in their back yard and end up in the world of Minecraft where they have to battle all the big bosses (I didn’t even realize there WERE big bosses in Minecraft but that’s beside the point). He wrote three chapters with a little input from me – his first beta – and y'all?
He was fucking excited. To be writing a story.
Today he came home from school and seemed a little down, so I asked him about it only to find out that some little asshole at his school told him, “There is already a Minecraft story.”
Me: Okay? So what?
Lucifer: If there’s already a story, no one will read mine.
Immediately, I dragged him in and pulled up my AO3 account. My boys know I write fanfiction, so I showed him my account and how many subscribers I have. Then I showed him how many Teen Wolf stories there are. And then, because it seemed like the perfect analogy, I said, “What if I wrote a story where two characters meet in a coffee shop and fall in love? No werewolves, nothing at all to do with the actual Teen Wolf universe. Just Stiles and Derek meet in a coffeeshop and fall in love.”
He laughed.
I showed him Mornings Aren’t For Everyone. Showed him how many hits it had, how many kudos, how many lovely comments.
Then I said, “So do you think, if anyone else wrote a story about those exact same characters meeting in a coffee shop and falling in love… would anyone read it?”
He laughed and said, “No because you already did.”
So I clicked on the Sterek tag and refined to coffee shop AU. His mind was blown to see that they ALL had thousands of hits and kudos and comments. Then I clicked on JUST the coffee shop AU tag and showed him all the fics across all the fandoms written by countless different people.
I’m going to tell you all now what I told him because it applies to everyone.
Write your story. It doesn’t matter that someone else has written a story about that subject. They didn’t write YOUR story. Only you can do that.
And I want to read your story.
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autumnslance · 13 hours
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May DWC Day 1: Appearance
@daily-writing-challenge
Ardbert Hylfyst wasn't a man to take things on faith.
Perhaps he'd been so, once. Before the Flood. Back when he still had the luxury of indulging in the naivete of a fresh adventurer.
But he'd learned wisdom since then: nothing could be trusted, least of all the words of the Ascians. So while he'd listened to the man in white as he told them of the Source, the Scions, and the Warrior of Light, Ardbert took all of it in with a grain of salt. Especially when it came to the last thing.
"Ifan Kaleid", the Warrior of Light. Hydaelyn's chief instrument on the Source.
It wasn't that Ardbert didn't believe Elidibus' recounting. What piqued his curiosity was the fact that one mere man could be viewed as such an obstacle to the Ascians, even with the Mothercrystal's blessing. What about this person in particular made them so dangerous? He wouldn't get an answer from the Ascians, that was for sure. Even if any among them knew exactly what made this “Ifan” such a threat, they wouldn’t communicate their weakness to a mere tool - which Ardbert knew he and his friends most definitely were.
So he’d resolved to simply go and see the Warrior of Light for himself. 
It hadn’t taken Ardbert any difficulty to track him down, as Ifan’s residence in Ishgard was common knowledge. Actually observing him without being suspicious was another matter, so Ardbert had to wait for an opportune moment before he could get a decent look. So here he was; leaning against a wall, gazing over at the white-clad hyur speaking to the levemetes in Foundation.
He didn’t seem special. Nothing about Ifan screamed “mighty hero”. He was a little on the short side, in fact, though Ardbert could hardly criticize from a mere five fulms and nine ilms himself. Handsome enough, he supposed, taking note of Ifan’s faintly roguish features. Ardbert blinked as Ifan gestured whilst in conversation, struck by how similarly his fingers moved to Lammit’s when she cast a spell - that same manual grace. Then Ifan let out a loud laugh, and Ardbert's ears tingled at the surprising edge of roughness on an otherwise fairly musical voice.
Ardbert didn’t realize he was staring at Ifan as the mage concluded his conversation, giving the levemete a smile and a gentle wave before turning to leave. As he did so, he happened to glance over in the warrior’s direction.
Their eyes met.
Shit.
Ardbert mentally smacked himself. He hurriedly averted his gaze in as casual a manner as he could, affecting a neutral expression. With any luck, Ifan would just find Ardbert a little strange, shrug, and walk awa–
“Need help, friend?”
Bugger. Shit.
“Uh… no. Just, uh….” Ardbert began as he turned his gaze towards the mage. Ifan had approached him and stood a few fulms away with a slightly airy smile on his face, regarding Ardbert with curiosity. The warrior was struck by the deep shade of Ifan's eyes. Like ocean water. It took him a moment to remember that Ifan had asked him a question.
The levemete counter. You’re waiting for the levemete counter.
“Just wanted to get a good look at the Warrior of Light, is all.”
Ardbert Hylfyst, you absolute fucking–
Ifan blinked in surprise. Then he chuckled. “Heh. Fan of me, are you? I can’t say the adventurers wanting to ‘get a good look at me’ are usually as experienced as you seem to be.” He said, gesturing again to indicate Ardbert’s bearing.
“A fan. Yeah, you could say that.” Ardbert replied with a nod, opting to take Ifan’s assumption in stride - not like he could think of a better excuse right now, anyway. “Sorry to be awkward about it, but you know how it is. Meeting your heroes and all that.” he added with an intentionally nervous laugh. “I’ve heard a lot of stories about you, Warrior.”
“You can just call me Ifan.” The mage extended his hand for Ardbert to shake, a smile on his lips. “What about you?” 
Again, the warrior was struck by the hue of Ifan’s eyes. There was a faint… sadness, there. And hardness. Ardbert continued to stare even as he reached out to grasp Ifan’s hand firmly and shook it before answering.
You practiced this. Arbert. Your name is Arbert.
“Ardbert.”
You’re an idiot.
“Ardbert. Nice to meet you." Ifan greeted, returning the handshake with equal vigor. "You're an adventurer, aye? Are you new in town?"
“Could say that. A few friends and I are doing a job here and there, stopped by the city. When I heard the Warrior of Light was here, well... You get the picture.” Ardbert replied as casually as he could manage, crossing his arms and leaning back against the stone.
“And?” Ifan asked, tilting his head and looking at Ardbert expectantly.
“And…?”
“Do I pass muster?” A note of teasing crept into Ifan’s tone. Ardbert felt his breath catch a little for some reason.
“...Hard to say.” Ardbert answered at length as he shifted his weight. “You can’t exactly get to know a man speaking to him in the street. Need at least three drinks at a good inn, in my experience.” he added as a joke.
“True enough.” Ifan laughed. Ardbert found himself smiling a little at the sound. “Well, I guess that settles it.”
Ardbert’s smile faded. “...Settles what?” he asked, suspicious.
Ifan gestured again towards the direction of the Brume. “Three drinks, right? A lot of people would question calling the Forgotten Knight ‘a good inn’, but I’m fond of it.”
“You’re… offering me a drink?” Ardbert repeated with obvious incredulity.
“You said you wanted to get to know me better, right? I’d planned on having a drink regardless, and you seem to be decent company.” Ifan answered with a grin. “Or am I too much of a myth in your mind to let me treat you to a round?”
He had come to satisfy his curiosity, that was true. But there was a difference between observing him and what Ifan was offering; a private conversation where Ardbert would likely be expected to offer details about himself. And the more he revealed, the more likely it was that he’d slip up and clue Ifan into who the warrior truly was.
It’s too dangerous. Too dangerous by half.
…But…
How long had it been since Ardbert had just… had a drink? In a tavern. A real tavern. It was less the alcohol and more what such an act meant to him; being able to pull up a chair with a friend and put life on hold for a little while. To folk with busy lives, as adventurers often had, it was more than a balm - it was necessary for your own sanity.
“...Fuck it. Why not?” Ardbert replied, hefting himself up off the wall and giving Ifan a grin in return. “Especially since you’re buying.”
“A better incentive I’ve yet to find.” Ifan said with a wink and a tap to the side of his nose. Then he paused. “...Normally I wouldn’t be so forward, mind. You just seem…” He glanced back at Ardbert. “Earnest.”
Ardbert’s eyebrows rose slightly. His cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink, and a nervous little laugh escaped his lips. “...You’re a lot stranger than the stories, I’ll say. But I won’t count my luck.” he said with a smirk. “Lead the way.
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autumnslance · 14 hours
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autumnslance · 15 hours
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THE RISKBREAKERS' 10TH ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION!
Saturday, May 25 marks the Riskbreakers' TENTH ANNIVERSARY as a free company!
We'd love to have you join us on Crystal/Balmung for as much of our celebration as you'd like: 💎 Noon - 1PM Pacific: Fall Guys 💎 1PM - ~4PM Pacific: Return to Ivalice raid sweep 💎~4PM - close: Open bar night at the Sandsea (RP)
On behalf of the entire company, THANK YOU so much for an absolutely incredible ten years. We can't wait to keep saving the world alongside you all!
...And if you're looking for a new social/RP/PvE free company on Crystal, please don't hesitate to hit me up!
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autumnslance · 15 hours
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DWC - Day 1 - Appearance/Mysterious
@daily-writing-challenge
To anyone looking in from the outside the gathering would have had the appearance of a typical family meal. 
The patriarch seated at the head of the table, nursing his coffee and flipping through whatever papers seemed to have garnered his attention this particular morning. His wife seated beside him, quietly (and not so subtly) eyeing their only son who seemed blissfully unaware of the scrutiny - or perfectly content to ignore it. 
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In fact this was quite typical in the Blythe household whenever Ricard stopped by to ‘visit’ in order to keep his mother from stopping by his estate unannounced (a strategy that while it sounded good was ineffective in practice), but one step inside the room would have given away that this particular morning was anything but typical…if  the tension was anything to go off of. 
Even the staff had been unwilling to stay in the room for long, only stepping in long enough to refill a drink or to remove a plate and quickly scurrying away, leaving the three to their rather heavy silence that no one quite seemed willing to break.
Or no one had, until Catherine Blythe’s tolerance for silence had been reached.
“Enough is enough. Where the hell were you for the last three weeks, Ricard?”
“Catherine…surely there was a more tactful way to ask the question…” Beside her, the silence now broken, Gerald sighed heavily, setting the paper he’d been ‘scanning’ down and reaching for his coffee before glancing between his wife and his son. 
“Perhaps, but I’d rather get a straight answer and someone is rather adept at side-stepping questions if given the opportunity. Besides, there’s no one in here but the three of us, and you don’t care if I curse and you,” she pointed across the table at Ricard who was looking entirely too amused for his own good, “- seem to find new ways of making me curse on a daily basis. Now answer the question, son.”
“A question for a question. Why does it matter? As I told father - I informed him and the office that I wouldn’t be in but would be available if needed and all the work was handled. There were people at the estate who could get a message to me if they needed to. And - as we’ve previously discussed - my private life is very much my own and I will share when I’m good and ready to.”
Gerald cleared his throat gently. “...You did say you were going to stay out of things, dear…”
A decision that clearly wasn’t well thought out, as he winced back in his chair as his wife’s attention whipped over in his direction. 
“That was before our son decided to disappear for almost a month without leaving any indication of where he was going or who he was going with.” She turned back towards Ricard, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t care how old you are, Ricard, you are still my child, and as foolish as it is I worry about you when you disappear like that. So you could be a bit more considerate and perhaps tell us where in the hell you’re -”
A heavy sigh left him as he reached up and ran a hand through his hair, glancing up at the ceiling for a long moment as his mother continued her lecture. 
He considered waiting for a ‘good’ moment, he really did. But there wasn’t going to be one, and what better way to break his mother out of one of her tirades than to shock her off course?
“I’m courting Cordeila Gray.”
Gerald coughed, nearly spitting out his coffee - managing to lower the cup to the table before slowly turning to look at his wife who had, rather abruptly, stopped talking and was staring wide-eyed at their son.
Rare was the event that could shock Catherine Blythe into silence.
“...What was that, Ricard?”
Ricard grinned - a shit-eating grin to be sure, but a grin nonetheless - before finishing off his coffee. He stood, adjusting his vest and brushing a few imaginary crumbs off of his slacks before giving his father a gentle pat on the shoulder and moving around to kiss the top of his mother’s head. 
“I thought it was quite clear. I’m courting Cordelia Gray. The last three weeks I was gone because I was with her at her family estate. Don’t worry - everything is by the books, no foul play, nothing out of the ordinary. I’ll be organizing a dinner in the next few weeks for the four of us to sit and spend some time together, so how about you don’t show up at her door-step this time, hm? Since I’m actually providing you with a first and last name this go ‘round.”
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He offered a wave over his shoulder as he moved towards the door. “Father - I’ll see you at the office next week. Mother - perhaps you should take it a bit easy today. You look like you’ve just had a shock.” A quick wink and he was through the doors and gone, leaving the elder Blythes to themselves and their thoughts.
“...Gerald?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Did he just say he was voluntarily courting someone…”
Gerald’s stunned gaze shifted from the door, where Ricard had been standing moments before over to his wife. “...he did.”
“And he told us who it was. Said he was going to arrange a dinner and all - I didn’t imagine that.”
“No…no you did not.”
“And we’re certain that was our son?”
“I would assume so - otherwise it was a mysterious stranger who wanted to come in and deal with the questions you often put forth to our son…”
The stifling silence returned for a long moment before Gerald realized his mistake. “I didn’t mean it that…” He’d barely started to speak when the croissant hit him between the eyes and he sighed. 
Fortunately for him, Catherine’s attention was already turned back towards the empty doorway - one could almost see the wheels in her head turning. 
“Leave them be Catherine.”
“I know…I know. It’s just….he was betrothed once before and that fell through, and this is only courting - just to be sure I don’t think it would hurt if I…”
“It would.” Gerald stood reaching down and taking his wife’s hand, gently urging her up out of her chair and looping her arm through his. “Leave them be. We’ve met the woman once before, we’ll meet her again, and whatever happens will happen. Do not press.”
She huffed as the pair exited the room…she’d leave things be for now. 
But she never had been one to ignore a good mystery. 
She and her son had that very much in common.
Mentions: @promethea-silk
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autumnslance · 20 hours
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My entry for the FanFest EU 2023 art contest! I had the idea somewhere in my mind ever since I finished Endwalker... wanted to show the winding journey through the Aitiascope dungeon
I made it as a finalist, which I'm still so blown away and happy about...
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autumnslance · 21 hours
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But they were all of them deceived…
Learn more about heeled boots archery both I guess on my Patreon!
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autumnslance · 21 hours
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27. Your favourite part of the writing process. 28. Your least favourite part of the writing process
27. Finding the right words, turning out pithy, memorable sentences and phrases, creating good characters and interesting settings and seeing them come to life regardless of my initial plans. Sometimes revision and/or rewriting, cuz I get to change things.
28. Same as the above, but stressed and frustrated.
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autumnslance · 23 hours
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That mtn dew collab announcement is scummy as hell. The unhinged 90's point hunt marketing campaign vibes are off the charts, but lets not forget both mtn dew and puma are on the BDS boycott list. Like people are going to do what they want with their money and the FFXIV community is not immune to mount recolor (hell i have the chocolate korpokurr), but this collab's method is super exploitative and just feels like a comically bad escalation of their external collab model.
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autumnslance · 2 days
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(@driftward) Glimpes of the past meme. What has AERYN ACHIEVED? A CRITICAL C'ORETTA moment? When was IYNA INJURED? And when Dark, uhhh, Dark.. uhhhh.. AUTUMN AFRAID? And maybe a bonus MORTAL moment with... (wait for it) MEVAN?
Gremlin. All of these prompts on the same doc came to a bit over 4000 words. Half of these words are these scenes.
There's a lot here, so under a cut they go!
send ACHIEVED for a scene from my muse's past in which they completed / achieved something they were proud of
“Top marks again,” Emelia said, smiling brightly. “Even beating out the older students.”
Aeryn shrugged, trying to remain modest but seeing how pleased her parents were made her smile in return.
“Your academic skill has been noticed,” Tanzel said, reaching over to squeeze her skinny shoulder. “My old friend at the High Crucible has been following with interest. He is willing to sponsor your continued studies, on the condition you apprentice with him afterwards.”
“Truly?” Emelia asked, while the grandmothers murmured in the background.
Aeryn frowned. “I like alchemy, but I want to study magic.” She ignored Nani Shaila’s derisive snort.
Tanzel nodded. “I told him so, even with how…difficult, casting has been for you,” he said diplomatically. “But he thinks a well-rounded education in the current theories will be an excellent foundation, given the work they must do for the satrap.”
Her heart beat a bit faster. She could still study what she wanted—she was so close to figuring out how to tap into her aether, she just knew it—and would have secured herself a position in the High Crucible as well. She nodded eagerly, trying to contain her excitement.
Even better, Zaine was coming home on leave in a few days, and she couldn’t wait to tell him.
send CRITICAL for a scene from my muse's past in which they thought about / were reminded of something they're insecure about
C’oretta paused just inside the door of their house, hearing the nurse Master Hamon had insisted upon talking with her mother. “Now then, Miss C’leiha, let’s get this done before your daughter gets home.”
“I told you before, Mida,” C’leiha said. The nurse’s name was not Mida. “Khell wants a big family, but I am not interested in having children.”
C’oretta bit her lip as the nurse took in a deep breath. “Is that so, Miss?” The nurse said mildly.
“Pregnancy is awful, and the changes to one’s health and body, even lasting after, ugh,” C’leiha shuddered. “And I’ve missed opportunities with my career I wouldn’t otherwise. No, we shall not be having a big family. I’d be happy with just the two of us.”
C’oretta forced her smile back on and called “Mama, I’m home!” before she stepped into the room.
C’leiha sat up, beaming. “Oretta! Welcome home, darling, did you have a good day at school?”
Reminding C’leiha that she was training at the Pugilist Guild now wouldn’t be useful, so C’oretta only nodded, still smiling, shrugging slightly at the nurse’s apologetic look.
send INJURED for a scene from my muse's past in which they sustained a significant injury
To all of my children in whom Life flows abundant…
The sky burned. Iyna’s head ached as if struck, though it was her side that felt every flame.
…To all of my children, to whom Death hath passed his judgment…
She had been returning to the Citadel when something had obviously, terribly gone Wrong with the transmitter, Dalamud distantly pulsing red in the sky above.
…The soul yearns for honor, and the flesh the hereafter…
Her flesh was certainly yearning for relief of some kind, though not that of the Lifestream just yet. She pulled herself to her feet, wincing and holding the gushing wound at her side. That wasn’t good.
…Look to those who walked before to lead those who walk after…
Her ears rang, the words hard to make out, but she turned back to where her contacts had risked dropping her off and hobbled that way.
…Shining is the Land's light of justice…
The land was twisted and torn, what parts of the city that hadn’t collapsed burning. She blocked out the sounds and scents of people dying, as she had hundreds of times over the decades.
…Ever flows the Land’s well of purpose…
What the fuck had Garlond done?
…Walk free, walk free, walk free, believe…
She stumbled on, holding her side, calling on years of training and discipline and hate and stubborness to keep going, the ringing sound almost like a song in her ears urging her forward…
…The Land is alive, so believe…
“Iyna!” The familiar voices of her rebel contacts drew near, and she almost wanted to weep in relief. They were still there. They had come to find her, knowing she wouldn’t have gotten to the city proper yet, in her circuitous route to throw off suspicion.
Caution was no longer needed. There would never be a better time.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said, swaying into her allies’ arms. “They’ll think I died with the rest.”
“You still might. Gods, this is a lot of blood!”
“Carry her, we have to go.”
A hrothgar scooped her up, and they ran through the burning woods to their transport.
The song continued, a terrible lullaby sending Iyna into dreams of more fiery skies and burning cities.
When she woke days later, side stitched and burns covered, she did not remember the dreams nor the song.
(Later she recognized the voice)
send AFRAID for a scene from my muse's past in which they were scared / under threat
Dark shouldn’t have wandered away from her siblings.
They were noisy even when not chattering and laughing and so she had slipped away to hunt for herself, and had found a nice young antelope she could easily take with her bow.
Then the boar had arrived, scaring off her quarry and staring at Dark with its angry eyes.
She stood frozen, hoping if she just didn’t move one way or another it would go. At thirteen summers, she was taller than many adult Hyurs, but still unmistakably adolescent in her gangly limbs that did not match the size of her hands and feet, nor her still plank-straight torso. Her shortbow’s pull was strong, enough for wildlife up to small deer, but a boar?
It was larger than her, its hide thick and tough, its yellowed tusks long and pointed. It huffed out a heavy breath.
Dark swallowed a whimper and tried to stop her trembling.
It rushed forward. Dark screamed, loosing her arrow instinctively. It pinged off a tusk.
There was a shout, and the boar was body checked by a large roegadyn man, his spear driving into the creature’s side. Dark let loose another arrow. This one, luckily, pierced through the boar’s eye, finishing its ferocious death throes.
She fell to the ground, shaking and choking out a little sob.
Cold Autumn pushed himself off the boar’s twitching, whimpering, dying body. He stood there for a moment, shaking himself, muttering prayers and curses to both Nophica and the Elementals, apologizing for what had transpired, thanking them for the bounty of the boar’s body while keeping his sister safe, promising to see none of the boar wasted. The ritual helped him calm down, giving Dark the time to settle as well, and whisper her own prayers in response, following her eldest brother’s example.
His broad shadow fell over her, and she looked up. His expression of relieved anger was almost more frightening than the boar had been. “I told you to stick with us,” Cold said.
She nodded. She had disobeyed. The others were calling from the woods, hurrying through the underbrush, asking if everything was all right.
“We’re fine!” Cold called, deep voice easily carrying through the woods, slowing their siblings’ rush. He reached down and grabbed Dark’s upper arms, his hands huge and strong as he hauled her to her feet and looked her over. “Hurt?” he asked, tone gentler.
She shook her head.
“Good shot,” he said. “Finished it quicker than I could alone. Don’t do this again, Mouse.”
She nodded, flinging forward to hug him tightly. He returned the embrace, and then led her to rejoin the others.
send MORTAL for a scene from my muse's past in which they had a brush with death, either themselves or someone close to them
The tunnel’s collapse was sudden, no Earth inspired nearby to sense, let alone stop, it. Mevan’s training with the town physicker wasn’t so much interrupted as changed in its course, following him to the site as people were pulled out of the rubble. She and the physicker were kept busy, hours passing in a blur.
She used the basic cleanse inspiration, many of the miners too injured to hiss at the sharpness of the aether scouring their forms. She used alchemical solutions to dull their pains and medicate scraped and torn flesh. She traced her hands over their wounds as if she were stitching them, her inspiration knitting them together. She set broken bones, weaving torn tendons, ligaments, muscles, flesh into whole pieces before splinting the limbs or wrapping the ribs, the spines.
Through it all, Mevan grit her teeth, mouth full of the taste of copper and grit, bones aching, skin tender, innards twisted. She felt each cut and bruise, each break and tear, that her patients experienced, her inspiration’s sympathetic reactions guiding her to what needed healing.
Her back ached, legs tingling as if asleep as she worked on a broken spine. She wasn’t good enough to deal with nerve damage yet; hopefully Master Ildris would come soon, a message had been sent to the enclave…
A shout, as one more body was pulled from deep in the rubble. They called for Mevan, and she ran to see. The man barely breathed, every attempt a shallow, raspy hiss. He was a mass of blood and bruising, limbs crushed and mangled. She set to work.
Sparks danced in her hair as she cleansed him, more blood welling and pooling in places it should not be. His skull had been mostly protected by his helm and luck besides, so there was no brain damage—not from being struck, anyway. She ignored his extremities for now, seeking the damages in his pulverized and punctured torso.
It was so much. Too much, making her sway as blackness crowded her vision. But she sucked in a breath and set to work. Mevan was only Celestial inspired, but she had aetheric reserves that made even Divines jealous. She could keep going. She had to.
So she began knitting his wrecked organs back together. Clearing and repairing his lungs so he could breathe…but his airways were blocked, so take care of that. That caused a skip in his also damaged heart, so hurry there, finish the lungs in a moment…but now other things were failing, more blood and bile where it shouldn’t be, a cascade that she chased, trying to catch up to the failing pieces. She even tried turning the sympathetic bond around, willing her own organs to remind his how they ought to work—
“Mevan,” Ildris’s voice, soft and sad. Her thin, calloused hand rested on Mevan’s. “Ease his pain. And let him go.”
“But I can—”
“No,” her mentor said. “There are some things beyond even Inspiration. You’ve done more than could be expected, but it’s just as important that we know when to give in to fate.”
Mevan’s vision blurred, from both weariness and tears. The man was too weak to groan, but as deep as she was in his innards, she felt every agony. She withdrew; slowly, carefully, and with Ildris’s guidance, dulled his nerves and released the humors that would make him feel better than he was. Mevan fumbled for one of her vials, pouring it down his throat, sensing further relief as he relaxed, little other sensation left to him as she watched his battered organs fail.
Her own breath paused, briefly, as his finally rattled to a stop.
Mevan slumped against Ildris, who held and rocked her, brushing a kiss across Mevan’s temple, as she had when Mevan was a child and sobbing about how she missed her home, how she couldn’t reach the promise of her inspiration—not until she found her calling to heal.
“I know,” Ildris said. “The first is the hardest.”
“It gets easier?” Mevan rasped, her vision swimming, darkening as she shivered; she had been healing for hours, and this had been the worst. She had hit aethershock.
“No,” Ildris admitted, as Mevan’s consciousness faded away.
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autumnslance · 2 days
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huzzah my dinky little portable scanner has a working cable again! AND it's thursday!! :D
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autumnslance · 3 days
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Been following this through the day and she's involved in various other AI projects. Also seems to be deleting negative comments/criticism, and calling anyone who dissents as classist and ableist while not addressing concerns...nor how accessible options already exist that don't separate the reader from the original fic and author.
Also the "opt out" or locking has no safeguard against someone uploading a PDF and other such loopholes to this app.
OTW is trying to get someone an account but it's not hitting any legal boundaries they can see at the moment that they can use to do anything on their end.
Other Links:
OTW's Legal Position
More on the Opt Out emails
Creator's History
App Hiatus due to the feedback (Reddit)
Creator's TikTok
Hey I don’t know if this is being talked about on Tumblr but thankfully the AO3 subreddit has a conversation going about this app that just went live.
TikTok user unravel.me.now has just launch an app (lore.fm) she is calling “Audible for AO3”. It’s an app that uses AI voices to read out fics.
🚨She is requiring any authors who do not want their fics to be on this app to OPT OUT by emailing [email protected] 🚨 🚨She has not given an actual template or how you’re supposed to prove you’re the author or said how her team will process this or how she will keep these requests secure🚨
I do not have this app. I haven’t seen anyone use it yet. According to Reddit users, unravel.me.now’s earlier TikToks stated she envisions the app being able to create libraries stored on that app and to have version of “Spotify wrapped”. That implies that eventually data collection must happen, if it’s not happening currently.
I don’t know the actual capabilities of this app. I don’t know the legalities. I do know that it personally feels like this app is trying to turn AO3 into a content generation source and I haven’t heard of the app allowing you to leave a comment or kudos or interact with the original work.
I’m just sad about this.
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autumnslance · 3 days
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The 'write for yourself uwu' culture shift has done real damage to fic writers imo. I recently had a post on the importance of strategic commenting break containment and I'm surprised by how many strangers who rb it in agreement feel the need to reassure in the tags that they do write for themselves, but...
There is a kernel of truth in the heart of this sentiment--if you only chase stats, you are unlikely to find joy in your writing. At the same time, I think we've veered too far in the other direction.
It is only natural to want engagement and the write for yourself crowd often overlooks how communal an effort fic writing usually is. So many story ideas are born from casual discussions about h/c's and favourite scenes and what ifs and the comment box is a cornerstone of this process. Not only can the discussions in the comment box be a hub for idea generation on their own, but even when the said idea generation takes place in DMs or Discord chats, commenting is often the first/easiest way into befriending authors; it's where community building starts.
Further, the write for yourself crowd similarly overlooks that the things a writer can write for themselves are often vast and many at any given time, and relative engagement levels across fandoms/ships can play a large part in which of those ideas a writer chooses to pursue--or whether they choose to publish their finished work at all.
In sum, I don't think we need to be this apologetic as writers for wanting feedback and engagement for what we post -- writing is hard work and it's only human that we want something external out of it in turn, however rewarding the process might intrinsically be.
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autumnslance · 3 days
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you ever think about the lore snippet from the XIV cookbook about how thancred likes getting warmwine from camp bronze lake.
coz i do.
happy thancred thursday
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autumnslance · 3 days
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Thancred doodles
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