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fearne

@almandines.bsky.social

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fearne @almandines.bsky.social · 8d

thank you for the share and for including writers 🥺 I'm fearne and I write ffxiv fic! lots of wolnpc and lately a decent amount of npc-centric stuff!

you can find me on ao3 here: archiveofourown.org/users/almand...

here are a few snips! 💜 (with links below)

For better or worse, G'raha Tia had been a historian. Of all things from the distant past, it was this to which the Exarch clung the tightest.

Deep in the bowels of the Tower, the Ironworks had left him a library stocked full of every text they could find, from cookbooks to grimoires to schoolchildren's notepads, and from it he had carefully curated his own private collection: a single shelf of rare, esoteric, and mostly handwritten tomes preserving a history it would be his life's work to erase. He'd obsessively read every page that even so much as mentioned the Scions of the Seventh Dawn in passing, committing them to his mind so thoroughly he could still recite many from memory if asked.

"Thancred Waters" was a name he knew only in ink. He was a ghost who haunted the margins—a handful of words in the dark and little more. This, the Exarch had long surmised, was by design.

But no name on a page could be a suitable substitute for meeting a man in the flesh. No written account could have possibly prepared him for the volatility, nor for the instinct to hold his breath and brace himself in his presence, to dig in his heels and stand his ground. He'd been prepared for an Archon, an academic from his homeland, but instead he found callused hands and a shadowed sneer. The similarities between them ended at the Sharlayan marks on their necks, and the Exarch's had long been consumed by crystal.

Cahciua’s bedroom had always been cluttered. An organized mess, she had called it the times Erenville asked her how she could ever hope to find anything she was looking for. Shelves of trinkets and overgrown potted plants obscured piles of loose paper wherever he had looked.

He remembered the chaos spilling throughout the house, having to shove aside a stack of mail or a new package of seeds to make space on the dining room table to eat his meals; rarely having a place to sit because every chair held a new fern or ivy specimen.

His own room had been sparse, entirely by choice. There, he could retreat from the chaos to a world that was clean and orderly—organized without the mess. In cleanliness there was harmony, a peaceful escape from his mother’s fondness for dissonance.

Some decades ago, the Crystal Exarch had taken to standing before a mirror each morning and repeating to himself his own name. He did this as he raised his hood, restored his shadowy facial glamour, and prepared to step into the endless scorching daylight as someone else. It was, at first, an affirmation that even as he walked alone in an unknown world, he still had a name. Later, it became a desperate mantra—a rhythm burned into his mouth, lest he fall silent and forget it entirely.

It was a name that did not belong among those who had come to see the Crystal Tower as a shining beacon of hope, for whom it would always provide.

But the more the tower gave to those around him, the more of him it consumed. He could live with it taking his flesh, his aether, his very lifeblood, but he could not stomach the thought that it might one day consume all of who he was. Thus, he held tight to this small ritual, meaningless to anyone else, in hopes that he could keep his name of all things so tightly guarded that it would somehow remain his even as everything else slipped away.

And so when it came time to share his name with another, it was a practiced sound, a familiar rhythm, worn into his teeth and tongue the way footsteps wore grooves into the stairs of an old family home.

The last time Thancred prayed to the Twelve, he was in Ishgard.

Even in the dingy shadows of the city's depths where he'd be hard-pressed to imagine the eyes of a god could reach, they'd cobbled together a tiny shrine to their Fury, built of ice-chipped stone and a broken, likely stolen statue. A handful of rusted and bent gil coins lay atop it, next to a stale loaf of bread that would have done a lot more to answer prayers were it kept in a Brume family's cupboard than offered to Halone.

Desperation, more than devotion, drove him to his knees in the midnight snow with the fire of a middling whiskey still burning in his chest.

He'd never paid much mind to Halone before, having always been stretched too thin between the Navigator and the Scholar. He'd belonged to both of them and neither, a soul adrift upon the waves. He'd had two homes but no roots to show for them, given a god the moment he'd been given a name.

But Halone was here—well, insofar as he could imagine the prayers of the lowly could reach her ears when those who lived in luxury atop soaring spires had an advantage so much closer to her halls—and she would do.

The prayer was an amorphous thing, an amalgam of thoughts and pretty words while he tried to force his silver tongue to dance around the truth. "Bring her back" felt rather profane when it really meant "Take her from Hydaelyn." None save himself, god or otherwise, would dare oppose the Mothercrystal—a thought proven correct when the only thing he heard in response to his silent plea was the crunch of unfamiliar footsteps on the snow.

The stranger passed him by without a word. That was how it was in Ishgard—crowds enough that he could never find a moment to himself, but he was still never anything but alone.

It wasn't worth it, he resolved as he stood and brushed soot and snow from his knees. If ever he were to whisper the name of another god, the Twelve would have no place upon his tongue.

fearne

@almandines.bsky.social

"What fics do you want to write this year" if you saw my to-do list you would choke

January 2, 2026 at 6:29 PM

Reposted by fearne

Eli the Dragonfucker 🔜 Isshocon

@bananly.bsky.social

I am a chronic post liker. I will like your post. It will mean many things. 'This is good', 'I hear you', 'It gets better', 'This was funny', 'Yahoo', 'Throwing eggs'. You will deal with it. This is our social contract

June 14, 2025 at 3:59 PM

Reposted by fearne

Sokera! || On Holiday! 🤍

@pyixus.bsky.social

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆
The Moon.

Wisdom • Intuition • Imagination
#Sifiya | #★

January 2, 2026 at 1:08 PM

Reposted by fearne

maddie 🌸 remade

@drkmind.bsky.social

haunting your city

thancred, ryne, & named wol | mature | shadowbringers msq

#drkmindfic

🔗: archiveofourown.org/works/76913986

"He can't stand to be around me. Because I'm not her. I'm not his Minfilia."

There's an impulse to offer assurances in the form of denying what they both know to be an obvious truth; ultimately however, Khaliun settles on commiserating.

"Neither am I." And he despises her for it, every single day.

Minfilia's absence has had five years to fester.

January 2, 2026 at 6:25 AM

Reposted by fearne

★ Slappy / Jay ★ 🍎🐍🍏 Comms open!

@slappy0pappy.bsky.social

Winterers #Halmarut #7.4Spoilers

January 2, 2026 at 11:48 AM

Reposted by fearne

#1 ryneposter @ 7.4 spoilers

@specterxiv.bsky.social

did you know that one of the early concepts for fatebreaker was a prince on a white horse

#gpose

January 2, 2026 at 11:03 AM

Reposted by fearne

Aza 🔞 | Ovulating Gooner

@azathiel.bsky.social

January 2, 2026 at 9:44 AM

Reposted by fearne

elizkras

@elizakras.bsky.social

#FFXIV #FF14

January 2, 2026 at 6:28 AM

Reposted by fearne

Trinity Berry

@berryberry-arts.bsky.social

in honor of once again being jumpscared by my own critical role fanart on Pinterest here’s a favorite vaxleth piece I’ve done
#vaxleth #criticalrole #criticalrolefanart #fanart #throwback #crspoilers

January 29, 2025 at 12:26 AM

Reposted by fearne

blue 🐻🐰

@dreadwyrmtrance.bsky.social

#7.4spoilers
mini halmarut n her funny little guy

January 2, 2026 at 9:11 AM

Reposted by fearne

Neugin

@lostcitymagic.bsky.social

A message for you all to carry through the year

Image is a popular astronaut meme. An astronaut is looking at the earth from space saying wait, I am worthy of love? An astronaut is behind him holding up flowers and saying always have been

January 1, 2026 at 6:32 AM

Reposted by fearne

Daniel 🐰 preorders close 1/14 !

@froggercube.bsky.social

🪴

#7.4spoilers

January 2, 2026 at 7:30 AM

Reposted by fearne

fearne

@almandines.bsky.social

i stole this format from @mischiefmilly.bsky.social

2025 was a good writing year, even if I only really wrote in the latter half of it. so here we are 💜

#fearnefic

2025 writer wrapped

favorite characters:
thancred
arina (wol)
keyleth (critical role)

favorite tropes
flashbacks
doomed relationships
casual sex that doesn't stay casual

goals for next year
keep the momentum
original writing
take more risks

favorite piece
altar

one where you tried something new
anchor

January 2, 2026 at 6:19 AM

Reposted by fearne

fearne

@almandines.bsky.social

pre-ShB thancred/exarch
12.4k
mature
tags below

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/75525016

#fearnefic

Liars' Dance
almandines

Summary:
Thancred sometimes fancied himself a man of many secrets, if only because an air of mystery went far when it came to drawing the unguarded attention of many a fair maiden, and he thought himself equally adept when it came to insight. It took a liar to know one, after all, and he knew them well. But the Exarch's secrecy felt different somehow, and it left a bitter taste on his tongue.

alone in a new world, thancred's only guidance comes from a regrettable source: the crystal exarch

December 10, 2025 at 2:52 AM

Reposted by fearne

fearne

@almandines.bsky.social

you're so right. or at least, she should try

#fearnefic

"Hold it steady or you'll slip and you'll be the one bleeding." Thancred placed his hand on the back of her wrist and guided her hand the rest of the distance to the fresh rabbit carcass in front of them.

"Hold it steady," Minfilia whispered as she drew the dagger from its sheath, then dropped the leather belt back down the ground as silent as she could manage.

"Or worse, if it's not a dead animal and instead something trying to kill you, you'll miss the artery."

The knife was still too heavy, its handle a bit too wide around for her palm. She'd been told she'd grow into it, but the only things she'd grown into so far were silent feet and a sour, unfamiliar anger. The former she put to use creeping closer to the tent; the latter ensured she could not keep her hand still.

Twenty fulms may as well have been an eternity, but he'd taught her well, and he did not wake.

"I don't see what skinning rabbits has to do with learning to fight." The carcass was matted with blood on one side and reeked of piss, and more importantly, it was no longer alive to fight and teach her anything.

She crouched in the dirt beside him, studying the way the light made the ever-present shadows beneath his eyes seem so much harsher.

$"Just finish the job. One clean cut, then you can get under the skin." He guided her hand to its front feet stretched out limp in front of it, and held it until she'd finished cutting a ring around the bone. She held out the dagger and took a slow, quiet breath to calm the trembling, then lowered it to Thancred's neck. Just finish the job. One clean cut, then she'd be free of this. It was hardly the first time she'd pictured this moment. Every dismissal, every shove to the ground in mismatched training spars, every time she'd heard him speaking to someone else when he said her name. She would do it—she had told herself night after night she could find the strength, she could make something change. But with the blade a fraction of an ilm from his throat, her kindness betrayed her. (Ran'jit always warned her it would. If only she'd listened.) She hesitated, breathing slow, and reaffirmed her resolve. Just finish the job. One clean— A hand grabbed her wrist with force enough to bruise, sending the knife tumbling from her grip far from its target, just barely nicking the side of his chin instead. Thancred's eyes shot open, glaring and alert, and Minfilia felt smaller than she had in years. He pulled her toward him.$

"I'm sorry," she squeaked, shrinking as far as she could from his iron grip and turning her face away. "I'm so sorry I'm so sorry I'm—I didn't mean it, I wasn't going to—" Tears drowned the words and she coughed weakly.

It would have been less terrifying had he yelled at her, thrown her to the dirt, stabbed her instead—she practically deserved it. Instead he simply stared at her with intense but tired eyes and a frown on his face. He sat up slowly, gripping her wrist and pulling her along the whole way, and reached for the dagger where it had fallen beside him.

He placed it back in her hand and closed her fingers around it.

"It's here," he said, tilting his head and pointing to the side of his neck. "Across the front is less effective. Messier."

When she made no move to do anything with the knife, he did it himself, guiding her hand until the blade sat at a vicious angle not far from his collarbone.

"Understand?"

Through full-body sobs of shame and fear and shock and a foreign grief, she choked out a yes.

"Good. Your next victim won't be so lucky."

December 27, 2025 at 11:20 PM

Reposted by fearne

fearne

@almandines.bsky.social

y'all mind if I critical role post on main again?

post-campaign 1 vaxleth (but it's only keyleth)
2.4k
mature
tags below

🔗 archiveofourown.org/works/76692646

#fearnefic

anchor
almandines

Summary:
Vilya's face is little more than a distant echo in the depths of Keyleth's memory; a crusted-over puncture wound at the back of her heart, slowly healing like a scab and just as itchy. Vax'ildan is instead a vivid, weeping slash across the front of it, bloody and raw and held open by the dagger she refuses to remove, every feather and every dream tearing it wider and wider.

It's different.

At least her mother only left once.

--

Keyleth can go anywhere but forward.

December 30, 2025 at 4:14 AM

Reposted by fearne

nona🍊

@shadowswithal.bsky.social

and in a dream i'm a different me with a perfect you

January 1, 2026 at 7:44 PM

fearne

@almandines.bsky.social

i stole this format from @mischiefmilly.bsky.social

2025 was a good writing year, even if I only really wrote in the latter half of it. so here we are 💜

#fearnefic

January 2, 2026 at 6:19 AM

Reposted by fearne

Mharwyb’s Gen Fic Gasleak

@horsetuna.bsky.social

Hunger Games AU will be published daily until complete.

Please enjoy the first two chapters to start. Happy New Years!

archiveofourown.org/works/769086...

January 2, 2026 at 5:38 AM

Reposted by fearne

arden💭☁️

@wakingnaturally.bsky.social

i got so fucking romantic, i apologize

#wrensid | #wrensfw

wren, a femra with black and white scales, lying on her back, one arm overhead. her other hand rests on sidurgu’s (an au ra with long silver hair) head. his jaw hovers over her stomach as he wraps his arms around her, one hand holding her hip while the other grips her thigh. the image is very dim, with their point of connection being the brightest part of the shot

sidurgu now holding wren on his lap, one hand splayed over her ass as she nibbles on the thumb of his other hand, looking quite pleased with herself. he’s shirtless, and she’s wearing a dark red tank top with white straps slipping down her shoulders

January 2, 2026 at 5:11 AM

Reposted by fearne

✧ GLASS ✧

@glassguillotine.bsky.social

I used to have this calyx plushie that I used to pour milk on and suck the milk back out of it and it was sopping wet all the time 😭I used to slam it against walls and it would make a loud thud