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sophiecognito.bsky.social
sophie
@sophiecognito.bsky.social
250 followers 290 following 5.5K posts
collector of blonde merchants | 31 | she/her | ENG/ESP | personal and multi fandom acct, but mostly xiv lbr

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiecognito

banner by @/breathsumi
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Reposted by sophie
howdomaddie.bsky.social
ty for the tag ;u;

deliberately chose non-xiv things; these passages i'm particularly proud of/enjoy rereading in a smattering of my fics!

let's see. tagging @sophiecognito.bsky.social @kestrelknight.bsky.social @catcard.bsky.social but only if you want to share! also if anyone else wants to :)
So he reaches the railing at the end of the pier and screams. He screams, loud and long and soul-deep. His voice is carried away on the wind, lost forever to the choppy surf that splashes against the pier and the waves in the distance. Water sprays up from where it crashes against the pier, dousing Flynn even further in salt water. The bandages crossing his chest stick to his skin unpleasantly, but he just keeps screaming, only pausing to take in breath before starting again. It’s been years since Flynn broke like this. He doesn’t really remember the last time he did, in all honesty. It’s probably not been since his mother died, when he curled in on himself and wept, clinging to the friend that held him through it. The place inside his heart where he had shoved every emotion he couldn’t let himself feel in these past few months breaks open, and he screams out his rage, his despair. When the salty spray irritates his dry throat to the point where he coughs raggedly, Flynn huffs and tries to fix how his mind is spinning, almost dizzy to the point of collapse. His breathing is shallow, his chest tight, and still somehow he cannot help but feel the need to give in to the things he is feeling. There’s remnants of a broken crate at his feet. Without thinking, Flynn takes a wooden board in hand and whips his arm back, throwing it as hard as he can into the waves. He doesn’t hear the splash as it hits the water over the roaring wind buffeting his frame. He feels possessed by the need to throw things, bending down to pick up pieces of the crate to hurl into the ocean. With each piece he sends flying through the wind, another scream is ripped from his throat. He thinks he’s crying, and probably has been since he got to the end of the pier. But with the wind and the rain he can hardly tell. "What happened after you sent the first calling card?" Yusuke tilts his head. "Morgana was a bit...vague about it when we discussed this card." "I guess he was.” Ryuji sits up a little. “What d'ya wanna know...? Anything specific?" The artist's expression goes stormy again, and it's a bit before Ryuji gets an answer. Yusuke must be thinking over what he wants to say. Eventually, he manages, "I suppose...how did the Palace ruler respond? What was it like, facing him?" Ryuji hadn't thought about it much, to be honest. He abandons his work to lean back on his hand and think it over. "I was happy to have a chance to wail on him without anything happenin' to me; I've hated him for ages, and it was nice to get it out. Beatin' the shit outta someone that’s been so shitty to you with a crowbar is fun when you're angry, yaknow?" Yusuke only makes a quiet noise of acknowledgement. Ryuji doesn’t say anything for a second, before continuing in a more serious tone than he’s used to. "I think it meant more to Ann, to be honest; all the shit that she had on him was still kind of happening, so I think she got more out of it than I did." Ryuji shrugs, before settling his hand on his bad knee. "But it felt good. Felt nice, finally gettin' back at him for everything. ...Felt better when he admitted to it all." "I see." Yusuke says, kind of quietly. He hesitates, before adding, "I hope I feel the same." "Dude, you'll be free of him." Ryuji leans forward onto the table, nudging him under the table with his foot. "I promise it'll be better." Yusuke turns and meets his eye directly, gray eyes as intense as always. He studies Ryuji's face intently, before nodding as if he'd decided something. "You're a good person, Ryuji." The blonde sputters, jerking back a little. "Dude, where the hell did that come from?" Yusuke doesn't answer, just smiles a bit more broadly as he turns back to the computer. It’s close to 11 when they finally decide it’s time to get home, all still chatting animatedly as they stand and head outside. In spite of everything, Apollo finds he does actually like Klavier. He’s funny, unafraid of making jokes at his own expense, and if Trucy has vouched for him, then maybe he really isn’t all that bad. Apollo knows he’ll never be able to forgive him for Delphi, but against all odds, he can see himself being friends with Klavier. As their group separates for the night, Klavier stops him. “Justice, listen--” Klavier shifts nervously on his feet. “I--I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but I had a lot of fun tonight, and I know Ema did too. If...if you wouldn’t mind, perhaps we can join you all again next time?” Next time. Apollo’s foggy mind is having a hard time processing it. “Uh--” “You don’t have to say yes right now, but--but I was honest when I said I want to make things up to you.” Klavier rubs the back of his neck. “I want to be your friend.” Apollo’s mouth falls open, and he’s not able to respond for a long moment. “Okay.” He finally says. “I think I want to be your friend, too.” Klavier’s face lights up almost the same way it did when he’d won karaoke, and Apollo feels something stirring in his chest at the sight. “I--I’m really happy to hear that. Listen--you have my phone number. Give me a call if you ever want to get lunch, or even if all you want me to do is keep winning karaoke for you.” “Okay. I can do that.” Apollo bites his lip, trying to hide his smile. He hears Clay calling for him over by his friend’s old SUV, and knows he needs to go. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” Klavier says, turning to where Ema is waiting for him at his car. “And I hope you get some good rest.” “Okay.” Apollo waves just a little. “Drive safe.” He watches Klavier’s retreating form, half in disbelief. If you’d told him a year ago that he would befriend the man who would put his store out of business he never would have believed it. Squall was all long limbs and one word responses in those days, hormones making him annoyed with the world and the way his words tended to jumble up in his mouth. So he scowled down at his work, scowled as he trained, and said little. A castle guard didn't need to speak, anyway; so long as he could follow orders, he could get away with being quiet. That attitude didn't win him any friends, really, but Squall was okay with that. That was why he was understandably bewildered when Cloud, another cadet roughly his age with hair as golden as the sun, started to hang around when he could. The blonde seemed to be somewhat popular among their class of cadets, though their commanding officers often commented that Cloud's attitude left a lot to be desired. He was a decent fighter and hungered to be the best, so Squall chalked it up to Cloud wanting to fight someone who might be of the same fighting caliber. He never asked for a reason--he didn't exactly care, too good by then at keeping to himself and avoiding making connections with others. Squall resigned himself to the fact that Cloud would more often than not follow at his heels during the course of the day and went about his business. This meant that Cloud often joined him when Squall settled onto the castle lawn in the late afternoon to sort and clean his equipment. Quickly, Squall learned to tune out most of Cloud's ramblings--it started off as bragging about himself, his strengths, his friends and family. As the days went on, the one-sided conversations drifted to admiration of their superiors, and sometimes even complete silence. More than once on the quieter days, Squall caught Cloud staring at him. The blonde would turn pink and hurriedly look away, grumbling something that Squall never caught. Squall would go back to cleaning his gunblade, knowing that he would forget these interactions before long.
November 19, 2025 at 2:50 PM
sophiecognito.bsky.social
Wow man that’s okay
I could’ve save myself 90 seconds on not having to look at that trailer
November 19, 2025 at 2:03 PM
Reposted by sophie
inmyleylines.bsky.social
ty for the tag, Liddy 🥺

tagging it forward, so to speak—share a few snippets and tag some fellow writers!
@ffxiv-dangerbun.bsky.social
@indhii.bsky.social
@stitchcasual.bsky.social
@u-andcloud.bsky.social
Koana’s answering scoff had a bit of a hitch in it. “I didn’t take you to be such a romantic.” “That is not usually a word people would use to describe me, no.” B’alith’s ears flicked in embarrassment at the acknowledgement of Koana’s observation, and the truth in his words. “I am as unaccustomed to speaking from the heart like this as you are, but I meant every word I said.” He grinned, unable to resist the opportunity to poke fun at them both just a little. “Hackneyed as they may be.” Koana snorted and gave him an affectionate shove. “They sounded just fine to me.” B’alith smiled again, relief that he seemed to have navigated an unfamiliar emotional landscape without causing too much damage sweeping over him. “How does dinner sound, then? Tacos with Lamaty’i and Intana perhaps, if they’re not too busy saying their own goodbyes?” “I think I’d rather have you all to myself for a little while longer, if that's alright." “That’s more than alright.” B'alith acknowledged him with one of the slow, lazy blinks that Eorzean Miqo'te used to communicate trust and affection—a gesture that would be lost on his Turali lover, he knew, but one that felt important nonetheless. “Don’t tell your sister, but I prefer Aunt Tii’s tacos over Br’uk Evu’s, and I don’t think I could bear to break her heart like that and then leave you to deal with the fallout.” He lost himself in the shape of a familiar body moving against his, all lean muscle and slender curves; the aggressive, untamed hunger that hummed under the surface of such careful, practiced touches. Zhai’a could be an infuriatingly meticulous lover when the mood struck him, taking his own satisfaction from drawing the threads of B’alith’s pleasure so taut that he was trembling and half-mad with need before release was finally granted to him—but much like the green growing things he’d sworn oaths of service too, so too was his husband as relentless as he was patient. “If— gods, you feel good— if we keep going like this we’re going to need to draw a second bath,” B’alith gasped, trying to claw back some semblance of control even as he clutched more tightly at his lover’s back. “If we get out now we’ll both just need to rinse off again later anyway.” Zhai’a bucked against him again with a slow roll of his hips, coaxing another needy whine from B’alith’s throat in response. “And put fresh linens on your bed.” “I don’t want fresh linens. I want the ones that already smell like you.” “I really don’t think you should be standing there.” B’alith’s tail lashed in annoyance. He gritted his teeth and whipped off another fireball. “I said, it’s fine. Will you be quiet and let me–” There was the sudden awful feeling like someone had just inserted a fishhook behind his breastbone and yanked. Hard. He felt himself be pulled from the spot he’d been rooted to a moment before the icicle he’d been hiding behind shattered, sending razor-sharp fragments of ice directly into the path of where he’d been standing. Several of them whistled past close enough that he could feel the disturbance in the air against his cheek, an icy caress that would have shattered his focus as effectively as the abrupt and unwanted rescue from the Scion conjurer against whose chest he was currently pressed. “And I said,” the conjurer—Theo something, was that his name?—hissed in his ear, “I don’t think you should be standing there.” he put his hand on B’alith’s shoulder and shoved, sending him skidding on the icy floor. “Next time consider listening to me, and you’ll not have to restart whatever it is you thaumaturges have to start in order to make fire happen.”
November 18, 2025 at 12:57 AM
Reposted by sophie
pentacuiar.bsky.social
go my ignana oneshot (in the daylight, ignasse/WOL, E, 1.8k words)

archiveofourown.org/works/74407541

#pentaclesfic #lances^3 #ignana
title: In The Daylight author name: pentacles summary: This isn't the first time that Ignasse has come to her here in Fortemps Manor (in fact, he's become incredibly well acquainted with the act of vaulting in through her very conveniently left-open window), but it is the first time he hasn't left by the cover of dark.
November 18, 2025 at 7:23 PM
Reposted by sophie
u-andcloud.bsky.social
we'll go with these...(ty for tag 🥺)

tagging @quotesandmiracles.bsky.social @howdomaddie.bsky.social @ronsenburg.bsky.social for a few favorite snippets of whatever you want to share <3
“If I recall one of my earliest lessons…” Sylvien is certain that be the wood echoes in every apprentice carpenter’s memory. “Hush. If you were incapable of understanding exaggeration then you would have run out of here screaming on your very first day, and you would not have been the first.” Beatin’s finger trails from Sylvien’s chin and along his jaw, in a motion not unlike that which he uses to check the quality of a seam. “But behold, you remain, and with all your limbs intact.” It is a simple touch, but Sylvien feels as though he hums beneath it, a bow overstrung with moons of wishful anticipation. But for such a weapon to snap at the crucial moment would betray a flaw in construction; so he waits and bears the strain, as though to prove himself lumber well-chosen. “Indeed. And you have yet to convince me that you actually dislike events of this sort as much as your protests might suggest. For my part, they have become considerably more enjoyable in recent memory.” “Oh? And what has changed so drastically?” Lysander asks, glancing at him through his lashes. “I wonder,” Aymeric murmurs, before pulling him close enough to surreptitiously brush his lips against Lysander’s temple. And with him, Lysander finds he is soon focusing less on his feet, and less on the other dancers, and even when their conversation fades to silence, there is…something enjoyable, he can admit, to swaying in his arms like this, allowing the swells of the music to stir the intended emotions. Aymeric kisses him again once he relaxes; a stretch of propriety, in a strict sense, but a conciliatory indulgence, and one that will shock no one in present company. He grows comfortable enough that it is a surprise when Aymeric slows to a stop, and when there is a light touch at his shoulder, he momentarily feels quite sincerely betrayed to think that Aymeric would, after their conversation, pass him off to another partner—but he turns to see Hien, who, with a very slight bow, meets his eyes and asks, “Might I have the next dance?” “I thought you would never ask,” Lysander accuses. Hien tilts his head with a widening smile and holds out his hand, which Lysander readily accepts even while Aymeric’s grasp lingers at his waist. It is barely a heartbeat that he is caught between them, but he relishes in it regardless, a glimpse of truth behind their halfhearted charade. “I thought we were being subtle,” he says as Hien’s hand settles upon his back—quite naturally, though of course by now he has had plenty of practice. “Indeed. And is staring daggers at me across the room meant to classify as subtlety? Any observer will either suspect the truth…or worry that you intend to have me assassinated.” At a glance, the city is like a craggy mountain. Even if the illusion falls apart on closer inspection, Lysander has decided he likes it better for the resemblance. Stabbing towards the sky as though trying to imitate the peaks that circle it, Ishgard stands as a brazen taunt to its winged enemy, but from a distance, Lysander always thought it looked a little fragile, too, perched perilously amidst the rolling clouds. Now that he walks its streets, he cannot decide which impression deserves more credence. He witnessed the naked fear in the eyes of the Temple Knights when Vishap came within a hair’s breadth of incinerating the final ward on the Steps of Faith. He has seen that for each healthy knight patrolling Foundation, there is another injured and freezing in the Brume, and for every well-fed noble, a gaggle of hungry children. If the city is a mountain, it may be a hollow one, poised to crumble in on itself should the right disturbance shake its roots. Lysander is currently short on optimism; gazing up at the soaring masonry upon his first steps through the Gates of Judgement, he had done his best to etch the image in his mind, should he be watching those spires collapse ere long.
November 19, 2025 at 2:59 AM
Reposted by sophie
carmenfflv.bsky.social
Golbez ✨🌕 #ffiv
November 19, 2025 at 11:41 AM
sophiecognito.bsky.social
Good morning
November 19, 2025 at 12:34 PM
Reposted by sophie
juliethedoodler.bsky.social
on their way!
November 19, 2025 at 12:18 AM
sophiecognito.bsky.social
Writing longfic got hands
November 19, 2025 at 12:21 PM
Reposted by sophie
nocheamarga.bsky.social
exciting things are happening in where winds meet
November 19, 2025 at 6:35 AM
Reposted by sophie
mawiwuwi.bsky.social
i made corbeau's horse steal his glasses bc wym my switch broke right as i was about to fight him

#art #pokemon #plza
Illustration art of Corbeau and scolipede from Pokemon ZA. Scolipede is wearing Corbeau's glasses, leaving the latter confused.
November 17, 2025 at 2:53 PM
Reposted by sophie
pikat.io
corbeau
November 14, 2025 at 3:49 PM
Reposted by sophie
wwxwashere.bsky.social
“you’re too old for fandom” is ridiculous. i only want to read fanfiction written by people old enough to know what the citrus scale is.
November 18, 2025 at 10:45 PM
Reposted by sophie
nvrogue.bsky.social
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

sweet thoughts of you ♡

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

by @kuroba013.bsky.social
(KuroREC on vgen) !!
thank you so much! 🤍

(do not use - reupload not permitted)

#novacmms #nightreign #wyldoll
A drawing of Revenant from Elden Ring Nightreign hugging a large plush doll of Wylder.
November 18, 2025 at 5:25 PM
sophiecognito.bsky.social
17k but i’m taking it so slow tonight. i don’t have brain
November 19, 2025 at 2:49 AM
Reposted by sophie
suleikhasnyder.bsky.social
When you're writing a love scene and it's flowing really well (in more ways than one) and then you suddenly pause with your fingers poised over the keyboard and ask aloud "Where are his pants?"
November 19, 2025 at 1:54 AM
Reposted by sophie
xivcrystalheaux.bsky.social
just a girl and her (plush) guys 🥺🤍 (@/mochigushi_)

[ #grinnpaulecelia | #artcelia | #arceliatag ]
illustration featuring my miqo'te wol, arcelia, lounging in bed while cradling plush dolls of grinnaux and paulecrain.
November 19, 2025 at 1:24 AM
Reposted by sophie
queenofnohr.bsky.social
Day 15: psyche in her bedchamber

prompt: cat nap
rating: Explicit

there’s a girl in the mirror

#deifanfication | #erisfic | #pokemonfic

link: archiveofourown.org/works/735779...
Chapter 12: psyche in her bedchamber Summary: prompt: cat nap rating: E cw: pseudo-incest, dubcon, implied drugging, Schrödinger's cat if this is somno or a wet dream sleep just to dream
November 19, 2025 at 12:18 AM
Reposted by sophie
datcravat.bsky.social
TEAM DARK
Fanart of Shadow, Rouge and Omega from Sonic the Hedgehog. Shadow is facing sideways looking at the camera, and Rouge is in the air blowing a kiss. Omega is behind them in the shadows with his eyes lit up ominously. "TEAM DARK" is written in the corner. The art is gritty and dark, but also very saturated.
November 18, 2025 at 11:36 PM
Reposted by sophie
wwxwashere.bsky.social
whatever this ship is called
November 18, 2025 at 3:49 PM
Reposted by sophie
lysandre.me
homophobic dog in the sewers #pokemon #legendsza #art
Redraw of Zygarde as the homophobic dog meme, standing in the Lumiose sewers with the caption "i know what you are"
November 18, 2025 at 10:21 PM
Reposted by sophie
vieraways.bsky.social
the sights of mount rokkon

[ #wolhancock ]
February 28, 2025 at 7:17 AM
Reposted by sophie
forgottenpoets.bsky.social
.
From the latest issue of #ForgottenPoets
—Takeko Kujō's tanka, translated by Glenn Hughes & Yozan T. Iwasaki

#poetry #poems #booksky
Spring night. Silence. The rustle of my dress Falling to the floor. Silence.
November 18, 2025 at 6:48 PM
Reposted by sophie
transmisc.bsky.social
wind-up girl
a life-sized ball jointed doll sits on the floor of a dark room, leaned over and resting on an ottoman and chaise lounge. her dress is undone in the back, revealing a large turnkey illuminated by a strip of light, presumably from an opening door.
November 18, 2025 at 6:07 PM
Reposted by sophie
rabbitfolly.bsky.social
Ghostly dance #rabbitfollydraws #art
Digital painting of ghost Pokemon Chandelure, Lampent and Litwick in a stained glass setting.
November 18, 2025 at 5:38 PM