Okay but when will it be "tie your catboy up" day :3

(Go read Take Me Lost! archiveofourown.org/works/619446...)

[ #arkinwriting ]

Few things in this life gave Feo Ul pause. It was in their nature to follow their curiosity, to learn secrets, to pursue whatever fancy caught their eye. But the prospect of entering the dreams—or nightmares—of a Lightwarden did make them shiver, just a little. Not enough to stop them from doing it, of course. The King touched their sapling's forehead, closed their eyes, and let their essence slip into that other place. They didn't know exactly what to expect; man's dreams could be terribly unpredictable (which was part of the fun). But when they opened their eyes, they were greeted with… nothing. No memories, no visions, no voices or people. Nothing. It was as if the Light had entirely purified his mind, leaving behind not even the bleached remains of the person. Feo Ul's heart dropped. Perhaps they had been wrong to hope. Yet, just like their vigil over the ceaseless waves, something compelled them to remain in the oppressive Nothing, and continue to look. They flew this way and that, searching for any bit of Something. And eventually, they found it: the faintest of threads, a tiny distortion trailing into the distance. Easier to feel than to see, really. It was just like the one Feo Ul had seen on the horizon, and just the same, they followed it to its end. They were surprised indeed to find that it led to the Crystal Exarch.

From the sin eater AU I'm writing, first words for the new year.

[ #arkinwriting #damocles ]

I shouldn't be here, he thinks. He was never supposed to return to the Crystarium. It should have ended on Mt. Gulg, with the Exarch taking Arkin's burden and summoning himself to oblivion. He'd hesitated, up on the mountain. He knew Arkin would be hurt by his actions and he—he'd never factored remorse into his plan. He hesitated, starting his spell with less time than he'd meant to have. He'd spent too much time with Arkin, at the end, and not enough studying their enemy, and Emet-Selch had shot him in the back while he was distracted and now it is too late. Lyna is squeezing his spoken hand and he realizes he's heaving for air. His heart hammers in his chest. He keens, doubled over in his cot. His panic draws a pair of medics to his bedside, and the three of them together try to calm the Exarch. "It should have been me," he gasps wretchedly, unblinking vision now locked in the memory of Arkin convulsing, changing. "Absolutely not," Lyna says, voice tight.

Well underway on the sineater AU now. It's going well (for me, not G'raha)

#arkinwriting

Sweat dampens the hairs at Arkin's neck, flicking off in droplets as he parries his teacher's thin blade for the fourth—*no, fifth?*—time this session. The Thanalan sun beats down on his shoulders, aching from holding up the rapier and focus for so long. X'rhun bounces backward, unfazed by Arkin's answering riposte, but the distracting triangle of bare skin at X'rhun's throat, growing wider with every button he's undone in his own quest to battle the heat, shines with his exertion. Arkin tries to focus on the task at hand: ten successful parries in a row while weaving alternating spells— *Jolt, Verthunder, Verfire, Veraero, Verstone, Ver…where was I? Fuck—* X'rhun comes at him again. Arkin manages to dance away, but his concentration wavers, and his eyes once again drag themselves down to the spot where X'rhun's third button strains valiantly against taut linen, pulled over a fine dusting of white hair and sweat-slick muscle…

*Jolt… Veraero…* Crackling aether buzzes past his ear as Arkin darts out of the path of X'rhun's Verthunder. The older mage is on him a second later, his blade a glittering line in the corner of Arkin's vision. Arkin is just as quick, sword arm flicking up instinctively to protect himself. X'rhun is bigger, though. Arkin's arm trembles against the weight of his mentor pressing downward. X'rhun's words come hot in Arkin's ear: "You can lick it clean after you win, darling." Arkin's eyes widen in a moment of hesitation. It's enough. The edge of X'rhun's rapier slides against Arkin's ribcage. Shoulders slumping, Arkin takes a step backward in defeat. "A lesson learned, I hope? Do battle with your opponent's blade, and heed not their words." Despite his stern words, a smile plays across X'rhun's lips. "Rapier and focus up. Ten parries." "Yes, Ser." Arkin does hope he meant it, though.

A gift, because this was too fun not to write a little something for ✨

#arkinwriting #arkinxrhun

A 40-point list of fanfic author asks.

Oooh I haven't done one of these yet... 1 like/1 answer and I'll go in order unless you comment something specific!

[ #arkinwriting ]

CW: noncon

So I wrote a thing based on @mochamorii.bsky.social's comic below :3c

Accession, EmetExarch, 3576 words

[ #kinktober #arkinwriting #emetexarch ]

The Crystal Exarch freezes when he sees the door to his personal quarters is wide open. He hadn't left it like that, he’s sure of it; and he hadn't yet entrusted the key to Lyna. So, why… His hands tremble.

😈

[ #arkinwriting ]

Day 7: I Love You for #WoLGrahaWeek2025 (and today, #grahatiaday!)

I did it, I finished Take Me Lost, Make Me Found! Enjoy not one but TWO final chapters for G'raha and his Warrior 💕

Read Chapter 8 and 9 here: archiveofourown.org/works/619446...

[ #ffxivfic #shbspoilers #wolgraha #arkinwriting ]

Eventually, the other man rises. “You should rest now,” he says, and begins to turn. Arkin reaches a hand out, tangles his calloused fingers with the Exarch’s flesh ones. “Wait,” he whispers. The Exarch does. Entranced, Arkin raises his other hand, finds the collar of the Exarch’s robes, tugs him downward. Somehow, the other man doesn’t resist, just as caught in the moment. “Just—” Arkin squeezes his eyes shut. “I won’t try to look. Just… please,” he manages, and closes the distance between them with a strangled sound. Their kiss is brief, if not quite chaste. Unexpectedly, the Exarch gives as much as he takes, though he pulls back first, mouth glistening, and it’s all Arkin can do not to draw him down a second time. “I—” The Exarch shakes his head as if to clear it. Arkin’s heart sinks, and he flushes in shame. “I know I shouldn’t,” he stares down at his hands. “We shouldn’t. I’ll… I’ll rest now,” he says. *Please don’t tell me I can’t have this.*

Day 6: First Kiss

I'd love to make this into a comic when I have a moment...

From Take Me Lost, Make Me Found on ao3
archiveofourown.org/works/619446...

[ #WoLGrahaWeek2025 #wolexarch #ffxivfic #arkinwriting ]

“May I touch you?” “Please,” Arkin breathes. The mage loosens the leather cords that secure Arkin’s laced chestwrap just above his tail, and the covering falls lightly into his lap, exposing the tanned curve of his back and shoulders to the lamplight. He feels the cool touch of crystalline fingertips on his spine, and can’t help the gasp sucked between his teeth. A moment later, hands grasp each of Arkin’s wrists, one cool, one warm. The Exarch’s low voice in his ear: “Let me take care of you,” and his arms are gently pulled behind and up so his palms are resting on each forearm, wrists pressed together. The hands lift, and he stays posed obediently as he hears the soft slap of the unfurled ends tossed against the stone floor. Touch returns with the scrape of jute coiling around his wrists, and the rough twist of the first knot, practiced fingers working swiftly. Arkin knows well the coarseness of his rope, even as well-used as it is. But the feeling of another body so close—arm wrapped around him from behind, pulling cords taut across his broad chest, cloth and crystallized muscle pressing into his back and then abruptly leaning away to secure a hitch before reaching back in—is entirely new. Arkin is so used to tugging his own strings in this play, of being both the puppet and puppeteer, that the absence of one role, and presence of a new actor, renders him lightheaded, almost faint. The Exarch is embracing him again as he holds the line taut against Arkin’s bare skin, and he deftly ties the second rope to the first, tucking the knot under his ribs. Forward and back, subtly pulling the Warrior this way and that as he finally secures the last knot in the harness and then—ah—one last strong tug and the whole pattern tightens and locks, from wrists to ink-darkened biceps to the long bands criss-crossing collar, sternum and ribs. The river of Arkin’s thoughts slows, then stills; like a midwinter night after snow, everything falls silent, heavy, blanketed.

“My world will have no need for heroes,” the Ancient is telling him, but Arkin knows that’s not true. He continues pushing forward, the pounding of his head ever more insistent… He’s in a dark place. The angry lines of Emet-Selch’s mask are all that he can see. Something on the floor reflects the reddish glow from the mask. From the darkness comes a quiet groan. That voice… His heart pounds. “I’d sooner die than give you what you want,” G’raha Tia says weakly, from somewhere below Arkin. Emet-Selch clicks his tongue. “Yes, well, that is why I paralyzed you. It matters not. I have millennia to wait, and you have… well, however long it takes for that crystal of yours to finish its work. Your connection to the Tower will work against you now, heir of Allag.” Arkin can just make out the outline of G’raha, slumped on the floor. His breath hitches, and his chest tightens. He crouches down, and realizes the floor is smeared with what must be G’raha’s blood. “Arkin will stop you long before I—” G’raha is cut off with a choked cough as Emet-Selch presses the toe of his boot against his neck. “Your Warrior is very nearly an eater now, and my thanks to you for arranging it,” the Ascian replies, bending close. Arkin’s wrath is so dizzying he nearly blacks out. Get the fuck away from him, he wants to scream, nearly feral with the urge to wrap his hands around Emet-Selch’s throat and squeeze and squeeze until— Something shatters, and then expands. Arkin realizes in that moment that the Light has won.

Day 2 of #WoLGrahaWeek2025 - Comfort/Hurt

I have a migraine today, so have some excerpts from the #wolexarch fic I've been writing this year 😘

Read Take Me Lost, Make Me Found here: archiveofourown.org/works/619446...

[ #arkinwriting #ffxivwriting #ffxivfic #wolgrahaweek #shbspoilers ]

How did I ever imagine I could outsmart him in his own woods? G’raha shakes his head, feeling a flush of embarrassment with the hazy memory. He’d been nestled up in an ancient oak, imagining himself perfectly hidden in the midst of Odin’s domain as the Warrior’s ears flicked up toward the sound of his voice. He remembers that Arkin hadn’t looked up; no, he’d allowed G’raha more dignity than he deserved for that little stunt. He’s so wrapped up in his ragged old thoughts that he misses the root snaking across his path entirely, the toe of his boot catching and making him stumble and spill out into the dirt. A pained grunt escapes him. Arkin turns back with a surprised huff. bending to help G’raha up. He inspects the heels of G’raha’s palms for scuffs, thumbing over the welling cuts with an effortless touch of aether. He doesn’t even require spellwords here, G’raha thinks; the forest no doubt remembers its wayward prince and bends to his will. “My apologies, Raha. Should we slow our pace?” His voice is quiet, pitched low under his emerald hood. “No. My attention wandered, is all. How much further to your village?” Arkin’s eyes dart between G’raha and the woods, estimating. “Another half-sun’s walk or so. But no one is expecting us. We can stop to rest if you like.”

G’raha knows Arkin would rather keep moving. Despite his familiarity with the route and his command of the Elementals, Arkin had been nervous to make this journey at all. His title made him a target, he had explained back in Gridania, and though he had no fear for his own safety or G’raha’s, he didn’t wish to bring that scrutiny upon his village, or his mother. So they wear hooded cloaks to conceal their faces, ears and tails, and move furtively at dawn and dusk, often straying from the footpaths through wilds Arkin knows from his own untamed boyhood. They’d passed nary a soul since the start of their sennight-long journey, thanks to his companion’s skillful shepherding. Along the way, G’raha had been introduced to other denizens of Arkin’s past: the moss-filled grotto he spent sleepless muggy nights in while bow-hunting for antelope; a brook he’d oft used as a landmark, one of many that marked his once-a-moon trek between the remote village and Buscarron’s Druthers to sell textiles woven by his aunts and cousins; and further out, the grove where he’d first met an Elemental, though Arkin said he didn’t know what it was at the time. To G’raha’s ears, the stories sound idyllic, if a bit lonely. His own childhood had been spent mostly in the company of fellow students, though he supposes he spent enough time absorbed in storybooks. Reading fairytales versus living them; it has been a while since G’raha felt that pang of envy for the Warrior’s life experiences. G’raha shakes his thoughts free. “Let’s keep on,” he says, rising to his feet.

A little something for WoLGrahaWeek! It's my first time being in fandom for something like this, I'm so excited to contribute ✨

Day 1: First Meeting / Introducing Friends and Family

[ #wolgrahaweek2025 #ffxivwriting #arkinwriting #wolgraha ]

Praise for being the Warrior is received with a smile on his face and the knowledge it's his duty to be a vessel for people's gratitude.

Praise for being himself is entirely a different thing. Very welcome but rare in his experience.

[ #arkinwriting #arkinposting ]

“Yes,” G’raha says immediately. “Please.” There is little more than Arkin’s hands on him that he wants at this moment. “I don’t think you’ve healed me since…” he frowns, the memory hazy and sluggish to bring to mind. “Since we battled together in the World of Darkness?” “That’s right. I’ve learned quite a bit since then.” Arkin places a hand on G’raha’s side, feather-light. With his other he strokes through G’raha’s hair. Afflatus Solace, he murmurs. G’raha watches as the mist from the baths condenses around the aether being pulled into his body, forming the shape of a lily for a few brief moments before scattering. He feels something shift inside him, too, like tension releasing that he didn’t know he’d been holding. Arkin moves into a half embrace, stretching his palm wide across the small of G’raha’s back. He leans in close, kisses G’raha’s forehead and whispers the same words against his damp skin. It sends tingles up G’raha’s spine. He lets out a shaky breath. All the while, Arkin continues running slow fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his eyes. “It—it’s been a very long time since someone has touched me like this,” G’raha says quietly. “I’ll keep going as long as you like,” Arkin replies. He traces G’raha’s jaw. “You’ve a bruise here,” he murmurs, his thumb trailing warm aether in its wake. “And here,” Arkin’s touch moving to his collarbone, his chest, the bend of his knee. He tends to every cut, every contusion, every small hurt, bringing soothing aether to each spot. If he weren’t the Warrior of Light, he’d likely tire, but his work seems not to affect him at all.

“Now, let’s see how we did,” Arkin says finally, unclasping the bandage clips near G’raha’s tail. Slowly, slowly, he unwinds the bloodied fabric until at last it falls wholly into his hands. He tosses it over the edge of the bath. G’raha looks down at himself, his skin unmarred but for his own self-inflicted damage, of course, carving its jagged lazurite path down his side and over his hip and thigh. “There are no scars at all,” he says. “I don’t even know where the incisions were.” “There was just one, here.” Arkin touches the spot, just under G’raha’s ribs at his side. “Crystal had already enveloped your original wound. The medics did what they could to clean up the rest of the damage. You needed blood, and your shoulder had to be set so it could heal properly. Mm, speaking of…” Arkin holds out his hand to help G’raha into the water. G’raha eases himself down to sitting, finally able to immerse himself up to his shoulders with a sigh of relief. He even undoes his braid, letting the tips of his hair get wet, though the air is so humid now it hardly makes a difference. Arkin, too, sinks down into the pool, shifting so his chest is at G’raha’s back. His wet fingers slide over G’raha’s crystal shoulder, over the place where— The red glow of a mask slashing through the darkness. A boot on his shoulder, breaking him. On his throat, suffocating him. His Warrior, porcelain-and-gold, feral, hungry, staring right at him— G’raha flinches away from Arkin’s hand and shudders, curling in on himself. “G’raha?” “I—I am fine.” “G’raha…” Arkin’s voice is shaded by reproach. “You promised me. No more secrets.”

Bit of a longer #wipwednesday today. I wrote 4k words last month for the last chapter of Take Me Lost, but I think it's only about half done, so hopefully this suffices as a nice preview!

[ #arkinwriting #ffxivfic #wolgraha #shadowbringers ]

Chapter 7 of Take Me Lost, Make Me Found is live!
It's G'raha's turn in the blender 😈 But we're in the home stretch now!

archiveofourown.org/works/619446...

[ #ffxivfanfic #shadowbringers #shbspoilers #wolexarch #wolgraha #arkinwriting ]

On his way to you? Myself, more like,” he says with a smirk entirely unbefitting of his circumstances. This impulsive streak will be the death of me, won’t it? The taunt seems to get a rise out of Emet-Selch, though. The Ascian presses his boot roughly into the Exarch’s shoulder, hard enough that he can feel the joint shift uncomfortably. The red of Emet-Selch’s conjured mask burns angry afterimages into the Exarch’s vision. “Oh, my dear Exarch. He didn’t even so much as mention you. There’s naught but bloodlust left in your Warrior.” The words ought to sting, but they only serve to make the Exarch more sure. “I understand now,” he says slowly. “You watch him too. You’re just like me, aren’t you? Well, not quite. My Warrior will never return your attention, whether he turns or no—” The Exarch howls as Emet-Selch slams his heel down at the juncture between skin and crystal. A crack rings high and clear through the air as he feels a fracture spider down his arm from shoulder to elbow. “Touched a nerve, did I?” he presses through clenched teeth.

What's a little obsession between enemies? (CW bodily injury) #wipwednesday (a day late shh)

[ #ffxivfic #arkinwriting ]

In which the Light is breaking Arkin apart and Amaurot is more than ready to swallow him up.

[ #arkinwriting #ffxivfic #ffxivwriting ]

Chapter 6 of Take Me Lost, Make Me Found is live 🎉 It took me a month but I'm super happy with this chapter. Poor Arkin is going through hell.

archiveofourown.org/works/619446...

[ #ffxivfanfic #shadowbringers #shbspoilers #wolexarch #wolgraha #arkinwriting ]

Screenshot of text which reads: Mouths. So many mouths. It swivels toward him and, with an unearthly shriek, is upon him in seconds. There’s no time. He raises the cane defensively, rasps out Holy— Light. An explosion. All white— He shakes his head to clear his vision. He’s clear across the courtyard, and the creature is screaming and screaming, every maw agape in agony as the Light boils it alive. He scrambles to his feet. Again. “Holy.” This time Arkin braces himself, and merely skids backwards a few fulms, but keeps his balance. Again, the creature thrashes about with a terrifying screech. Its wails rise like alarum bells, forcing Arkin to press his ears flat against his head. Windows in the edifices that stretch high over their heads shudder, then shatter completely, raining down glass and embers into the courtyard around them, and he has to scramble back to avoid being shredded. The howls grow louder and louder, seeming to rent the skies themselves—another of Emet-Selch’s expert illusions, Arkin is sure—until meteors larger than the corpses of the Ancients scattered all around him are colliding with the pavement in deadly blows. He flattens himself against one of the rocks, putting it between him and the beast, and once more calls on his conjury. This third time is not so smooth. The magicks find their target but the cast is unstable. A torrent of Light pours out from him and into the channel of his spell, and it’s far too much for the Warrior to bear. He doubles over, muscles spasming as he vomits white-hot aether, emptying out onto the rubble, unable to contain it.

#WIPWednesday
(cw emetophobia, spoilers for Shadowbringers)

Longest chapter yet and I might have to split it yet again, but Arkin is finally almost to the end...

[ #ffxivfanfic #shbspoilers #arkinwriting ]

Chapter 5 of Take Me Lost, Make Me Found is now live!
archiveofourown.org/works/619446...
feat. quite a lot of Light sickness and plenty of introspection.

[ #ffxivfanfic #shadowbringers #shbspoilers #wolexarch #wolgraha #arkinwriting ]

Tears well up, blurring Arkin’s vision. He turns to face his companion, finally, expression twisting in anguish. “You overestimate me. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been unable to stop it.” He thinks of Moen, Haurchefant, Minfilia, Ysayle—a litany of names; his precious friends. He chokes on his first sob and feels Urianger’s arm wind around his shaking shoulders. He leans into the half-embrace as he cries. “I couldn’t even stop him, when he locked himself away. I d-didn’t even try.” He feels Urianger’s breath hitch next to him. His voice is thick as he replies, “That we should have to bear the burden of loss is the terrible duty of survivors such as ourselves. We are left with naught but memories, and too often bitter hindsight.” Arkin’s throat is too tight to permit him to speak, so he just nods against Urianger’s shoulder. But there is no respite for the Warrior and his misery. Arkin can feel the Light winding through him, testing for cracks in his resolve. His skin feels suddenly hot, and the sickening hunger rips through him with new force. He jerks up and away from Urianger, ears flattening, his heart pounding as he works his body back under control.

A little #wipwednesday from Chapter 5 of Take Me Lost, Make Me Found. Exploring more Scion friendships 🥺

[ #ffxivwriting #arkinwriting #ffxivfic #wolexarch #shbspoilers ]

[ #ffxivfic #wolexarch #arkinwriting ]

Take Me Lost, Make Me Found - Chapter 4 - Chickadddddd - Final Fantasy XIV [Archive of Our Own] An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Ch 4 of Take Me Lost, Make Me Found is up!

*slaps roof of fic* This bad boy can fit so much Light poisoning, stress baking, rope & spice! Not even covid could stop me, pls enjoy <3

archiveofourown.org/works/619446...

[ #ffxiv #ffxivfanfic #wolexarch #shbspoilers #shadowbringers #arkinwriting ]

Am actually so close to done my newest chapter now, never mind that it's the length of the entire rest of the fic /).(\ I hope you'll forgive me for taking my time when you see it!

It's got:
- Light corruption
- magic lore
- apples
- rope suspension
- assorted spices

[ #ffxivfanfic #arkinwriting ]

'Arkin’s weight shifts with a soft creak. “Before we begin,” he says, turning something between his fingers—the Nightworld coin, the Exarch realizes after a moment. “I want you to know this first.” He steps forward, closing the space between them. “I’m in your hands, Exarch. I trust you to handle what I need. And, if it’s in my power, I will gladly give you what you need.'

Over here ✨vibrating✨ with wanting to post the next chapter of my story but even though it's easily already the longest chapter, I am not sure if I'm gonna split it up or not. Have a spicy snippet though

[ #ffxivwriting #ffxivfic #arkinwriting ]

It li~ives! This one is Exarch POV and the man is... suffering

[ #ffxiv #ffxivfanfic #wolexarch #shadowbringers #shbspoilers #arkinwriting ]

Ch 3 of Take Me Lost, Make Me Found is drafted and waiting on edits, hoping to post tomorrow!

Do you like rope? Bottom WoL? WoLExarch during THAT part of ShB? Give it a read!

archiveofourown.org/works/619446...

[ #ffxiv #ffxivfanfic #wolexarch #shbspoilers #shadowbringers #arkinwriting ]