#{ WoL: What do you mean there's MORE SOUP!?! }

[voidsentprinces]

[ferrocyan]

okay so. tart and estinien. at first their relationship was very normal, in hvw she agreed w estinien's pov on the dragonsong war but decided to put alphinaud at first priority, so they still got along well even w different goals. then in stb when tart's mental state spiraled after zenos' death, it was estinien (and aymeric) that snapped her out of it by rescuing her from elidizenos. so all in all they were friends even if they didn't interact much, and tart was very grateful to estinien for saving her.

now. keep in mind that i watched edw before the end of shb. so i saw that early edw there are things that make the wol as a role less exclusive, right. id heard of the tempering cure, then vrtra gave his scales to protect people from tempering entirely. so the way the wol's role has been defined as the only one who can withstand tempering, that's gone now. okay. so then i got to finish shb, then 5.4 onwards, when estinien started to join the scions. despite them only sharing a couple scenes i think estinien and krile have chemistry, alphinaud clearly adores estinien too, and g'raha idolizes him. right then an evil thought formed in my mind.

i wonder how tart would react to this? tart who defines herself by being the wol and is desperate to belong. who is seeing someone join her group and being welcomed by everyone. someone who is nearly her equal at her most valuable skill. and tart's advantages over him are slowly being eroded, while her detriments are only increasing. oh, tart fucking hates estinien.

it starts as petty jealousy over her favorite people liking estinien so much. then she becomes passive-aggressive at him. estinien thinks it's kinda funny, the hostility just bounces off him. but by the time they reach thavnair, tart snaps at him for the hairtie incident and estinien's like :/ wow ok and avoids interacting w tart more than necessary. he stays away until fandaniel's funny prank.

we all know in from the cold. best part of edw. the aftermath is lacking, though--right now tart has had all her wol privileges stripped from her, while her being targeted specifically by zenos is becoming a huge liability. just look at the mess fandaniel created... tart panics and runs away from camp broken glass.

the scions are alarmed bc what do you mean the wol is missing AGAIN, estinien volunteers to look for tart while everyone else prepares to storm the tower of babil. he finds her easily w the dragoon jumps, and

by the way, you know what stuck out to me when i played this section of edw? before setting out on the previous mission lucia told the wol that hot soup will be waiting for them when they get back. then we got the scene where jullus eats soup and cries about it, then like a glimpse of the wol before they got kidnapped by fandaniel. we never got to eat the soup guys. we never got the soup!!!

so tart never got the soup. she's starving and cold and in pain and has just had the worst dysphoria experience of all time earlier that day and now here stands the motherfucker, the guy poised to take her place as savior of the star effortlessly, confronting her when she's alone and weak. ohhhh it's so obvious what he's doing here. estinien is going to kill her. well not if he dies first

for years since learning the discipline of the warrior tart never let the inner beast take control until right then. she goes berserk and attacks estinien. who is just like, standing there, and suddenly the wol goes stark raving mad and tries to kill him. fortunately for tart he isn't insane, and it's easy to kick the ass of a tank who is at 25% hp and not using any mits or self-heals. so tart gets beaten handily

estinien lets her lay still in the snow for a bit, then sighs. "aibou, sound off if you aren't dead"

and the sound he hears is wailing sobs. bc its over. if the scions didn't intend to get rid of tart before, they surely do now that she's attacked one of their own. estinien picks her up to bring back to camp and tart struggles and begs to be left alone, until he shuts her up by grabbing her tail. tart gets quiet and lets him carry her like a sack of flour after that.

estinien deflects the scions' questions and dumps tart in a room to eat and get checked out by a chirurgeon. he stays to watch that she doesn't run off again. before he leaves, though, tart calls out to him, "i'm sorry."

"i tried to kill you, you tried to kill me. we're even."

"i'm sorry. i've been such a jerk."

"yeah, i really thought we were friends."

"i'm so sorry."

"hmph. get some sleep while you can. we're leaving soon."

and so things end in a.. clean slate. ish. tart treats him better from then on and estinien decides he does like friendship after all. their relationship recovers enough that by the end of edw estinien is the one tart asks to please carry her like a princess off the ragnarok bc she doesn't feel like walking* and he does carry her nicely this time www

and then in 6.1 they're back to teasing each other again! with friendly hostility this time! tart makes fun of estinien for getting ripped off again, then when finding out it's on purpose she's like "what you think that's cool or something? you think that makes you sooo cool? cause it doesn't and you're lame as hell estinien" (says this while doing the /wow emote bc she does find him so cool for this) and then estinien rolls his eyes bc "i told you to bring one guy and you brought four"

"that's 'cause i'm more popular than you! AHAHAHAHA"

"that's not even funny that's just true"

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA"

they're best friends. they're my favorite. i love when i can make tart blow up at someone and make up w them bc without fail that becomes her strongest relationship. tart and estinien are truly aibous now i'm so proud of them

[amoebaforce]

Mayhaps you could do something with the scions' reactions to finding out the WoL is an ex-imperial soldier?

Maybe after they had fallen into a form of depressed state after killing (I forgot his name but big fucking shield dude from ARR).

ahh yes, our old friend Rhitahtyn! or as my fiancé and I call him, Ritalin.

this was a very good ask, anon! due to the time period requested, i decided to include Yda and Papalymo for your reading pleasure. enjoy! :D

characters featured: Thancred Waters, Y'shtola Rhul, Urianger Augerelt, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Yda Hext, Papalymo Totolymo tags: angst, canon war and violence, poor mental health, PTSD symptoms, ARR spoilers, gn!WoL

Thancred

He’s noticed the WoL withdrawing since Cape Westwind fell. Noticed how their eyes glaze when anyone brings up the Legion. It was a bigger, deeper sadness than Thancred had ever seen in their face. Closer to guilt, really. But why? 

The answer evades Thancred, until he catches the WoL crying in the back room of a tavern. Only then does he finally hear the truth. Thancred wishes he could say he’s surprised, but unfortunately, he isn’t. He’s suspected that the WoL was ex-Imperial for a few months now. 

The signs are all there — their unerring discipline, how fast they eat, even the way they make their bed. It’s all military. The kind of training that breaks you down and rebuilds you in a different shape. The kind that leaves a mark.

He keeps their secret if they want him to, of course. Thancred isn’t known for his loose lips. What he offers the WoL is discretion; a quiet place to cry, an open ear to talk to, a silent understanding when all is too loud. 

“You did the right thing,” he tells them one night, after a bout of panic drove them screaming from their bed. “I know it doesn’t feel like it. You feel selfish for leaving, selfish for living. But if the option is being selfish or being dead… well, then, I’m glad you chose the former.” 

Y’shtola

When the Warrior of Light comes to her quarters in the dead of night, with eyes full of tears and a heart full of secrets, Y’shtola can do nothing but let them in. They talk for hours, until the sun’s rays began to peek from under the horizon. 

Y’shtola is more horrified than shocked. She’d gathered through weeks of close contact that the WoL had a history with the Empire, but knowing it was that of a defected soldier casts all her experiences with them in a new light.

The news also demystifies the Warrior for Y’shtola, if only a little. Suddenly, their uncanny efficiency and knack for tactics make perfect sense… and so does the Warrior’s ferocity against the Empire. It isn’t just politics — it’s personal.

From that night on, Y’shtola brews the WoL a special herbal tea, one meant to induce a dreamless sleep. It works most of the time. When it doesn’t, Y’shtola wakes to a timid knock on the door, so faint she almost misses it. 

Without fail, Y’shtola ties her dressing gown, welcomes them inside. She might joke about the lateness of the hour, but in truth, she’d never think of turning them away. Not after all they lost to be here. 

Urianger

Urianger first learns of the Warrior’s past by accident. They were alone in the Sands together, combing through some scrolls about primals, when Urianger’s curious nature got the better of him. He asked one too many questions about their health, a conversation spiraled out of control, and suddenly the WoL was confessing to the crime of defecting from the Imperial Legion.

He feels incredibly guilty about this, seeing how much the admission upsets the Warrior, and swears he won’t tell another soul. He knows just how terrifying it is to be on the Empire’s hitlist, having been branded a heretic himself in the past. 

Urianger then spends several weeks trying to make up for the incident by any means he deems necessary. Mostly by expediting every research request the WoL gives him — but every few nights, an “anonymous” gift appears on the WoL’s door. 

Sometimes it’s food. Bowls of soup manifesting in their room, sweets delivered to inn rooms via courier. Other times, it’s a piece of equipment they’ve been meaning to purchase, or a vial of medicine. Always something useful; always lacking attribution.But the WoL doesn’t need something as base as a note to know their benefactor’s identity. 

The truth is written in the gifts’ timing. They only appear after the WoL spends a long day dealing with the Empire: spying behind enemy lines, putting down war machina, setting traps for Imperial scouts. All the tasks that reawaken bloody memories in the Warrior’s head. It’s the kind of quiet acknowledgement that could only come from one who knows.

Alphinaud

It had never occurred to Alphinaud that the WoL had been a soldier before. Not until Cape Westwind. He wasn’t there — he didn’t see the fracture happen. But when the Warrior returned, it was clear that something on that battlefield broke them.

Their face goes stony, eyes emptied as if glimpsing the future through an orb. The lines around their mouth become permanent. That’s when Alphinaud gets to thinking. Maybe it isn’t the future they see before them. Maybe it’s the past.

After a few weeks of watching the Warrior endure this silent torment, Alphinaud can’t stand it any longer. One night, he corners them after dinner and asks a very simple, very pointed question. “Were you an Imperial soldier?”

The Warrior flinches as if slapped. They can’t lie to the boy, though, especially not while he gives them that earnest look of his. The WoL nods cautiously, and over the next few days, they slowly begin to divulge their story. Why they joined, the things they saw, how they managed to get away. Alphinaud absorbs the information slowly, taking his time to mull over what they say, before concluding that it changes very little about his relationship to the Warrior. 

If anything, he feels even more respect toward them now that he knows. After all, they risked everything to leave the Empire. Once they got away, all logic dictates that they’d spend the rest of their life hiding from it. Instead, they’d put their life on the line again and again in the interest of destroying the selfsame power that indentured them. 

Yda

The WoL and Yda are doing reconnaissance on Imperial movements in the Twelveswood when all hells break loose. They’re getting ready to leave when a scouting party bursts out of the trees behind them, trapping them on a cliff near Sylph territory.

Things are dicey for the briefest moment, but between the two of them, the soldiers go down with relative ease. And yet, when Yda’s fist finds the last Imperial’s jaw and sends them tumbling, she turns to find the Warrior of Light frozen in place. Their eyes are fixed on the bare face of a fallen scout, wide and brimming with a kind of fear Yda has never seen on their face. They’ve been jumpy lately, quieter than usual, but this sort of terror is decidedly unprecedented.

“Hey,” she says gently, recognizing the jagged heave of their chest. “What’s got you so upset? Did you know that guy?” Yda’s jaw drops when they nod. The story comes out in broken snippets as she leads the WoL to safety, and every detail makes Yda feel sicker.

Immediately, conflict rings through her head. She hates the Empire, hates what it did to her family, hates everyone associated with it. She wants more than anything to watch it all burn. But in that moment, no matter how hard she might try to, might want to, Yda can’t bring herself to hate the Warrior. Especially not while they’re still wiping their eyes.

She doesn’t know what that says about her. Doesn’t want to think about it. She presses her mouth flat, face sullen below her mask. “We all have a past,” Yda says. “I guess it’s the future that matters.”

Papalymo

From the moment they met, Papalymo knew the Warrior was hiding something. There was just a certain look in their eye — a veil of mystery that hardly ever slipped an inch. It wasn’t the facade of a charlatan. Nothing so malicious; more like the carefully curated mask of one who may fall apart at any minute.

He said nothing of it, merely watched carefully, until after Operation Archon. That’s when the mask began to slip. The WoL’s under-eyes were suddenly streaked with purple, their mind far away. Papalymo made it his business to know why, but he could do nothing so tactless as ask them outright.

Instead, the thaumaturge consorts with the rest of the Scions, compiling data and comparing information, until he is able to reasonably hypothesize that the WoL’s past included some kind of military service. 

The rest of the pieces click into place when he overhears the Warrior talking in their sleep. Papalymo is roused from his bedroll by the sound of their mumbling, louder than the rustling of the Twelveswood overhead. “No, Legatus,” they whimper. “Don’t wanna… can’t make me.”

Papalymo’s heart sinks. So this was it — their deep, dark secret. He ruminates until dawn, wondering about every little detail of the story. Were they conscripted? Did they enlist? Where were they from, really? What sort of tragedies compelled them to disobey, to flee? He will never ask. He isn’t sure he wants to know.

[dravania]

The Comprehensive List of Questions That No One Asks

feat. Arshadaya Idaeus

favorite vegetable: he'd say he's a decent fan of onions. yes, of course, the layers, but just a good solid veggie.

how many blankets on bed: probably just one or two, but they're really nice and cozy, high quality materials.

do they know how to set a table: he knows several highly specific ways from a variety of cultures throughout history.

if they had to dye their hair another color, what would it be: maybe a pale creamy blond - almost white but not quite.

generally, how much would they tip at a restaurant: generally, more than the meal itself. coin doesn't mean a lot to him but he understands it means quite a lot to mortals, and he has plenty.

what gas station food do they buy for themselves: hot dogs, bugles, kit kats, and mountain dew.

what gas station food do they buy for someone else: jerky, donuts, hot or iced coffee or cocoa.

least favorite smell: things along the lines of "new car smell" or "tires", chemical smells like bleach

is there something distinct about their teeth: f a n g s - that in and of itself isn't too distinct, but being a shapeshifter, sometimes while he's talking (see: particularly in situtions where someone might have invoked his ire) you might see them all begin to sharpen, and there might seem to be more than their ought to be, in fact his mouth seems bigger, and his bones are cracking, changing, and- (the rest has been redacted)

what pyramid scheme are they most likely to fall for: he has probably played a role in engineering a number of such schemes

favorite soup: oh yay i misread this as soap at first and was like aww but what if soup and it WAS- anyway. he likes a lot of soups, he is such an autumn guy and what is autumn without soup, right? but one specifically? it is absolutely autumn squash soup from panera bread with the little pumpkin seeds in it.

least favorite instrument: tuba.

they buy 5 things at the grocery store, what are they: eggs, squash, brown sugar, pineapple, jimmy deans pancakes and sausage on a stick

what temperatures do they keep their thermostat at: 65 in the summer, 75 in the winter (fahrenheit)

in what order do they get dressed: underwear, shirt, [does anything that needs to be done with hair], socks, pants, any outer layers like vest, jacket, etc., any necessary belts or accessories, boots, gloves if required.

favorite tree: bristlecone pine

are they good at wrapping presents: you see, yes, but often he just has fun with it instead and thinks messily wrapped gifts have more 'charm' and are 'unique'.

do they have any food allergies, or the cilantro gene: he was slightly allergic to a pineapple-like fruit back in the farflung past, but it specifically is gone now. cilantro definitely tastes like soap though.

how do they kiss: definitely varies from lover-to-lover, one situation to the next, or even moment-to-moment. generally almost surprisingly delicate though, but very much with intent. he's a charmer, but actual intimacy is so very far on the backburner. with someone he feels more comfortable with, however, he can be quite... voracious. Some might say "too much tongue" but that's because sometimes his tongue is very long and more like a tentacle - and speaking of tentacles... (that gets off topic though)

how do they handle an awkward moment in front of others: laughter, usually. he's very inclined to laugh just about any and everything off. if things are a bit more serious, however, he'll sometimes just make himself more quietly scarce and fade to the background.

what is a gross habit they have but no one knows about: you know the ongoing joke about how the wol just. puts things in their mouth? arsh. especially if it's something he's never seen or encountered before. in the mouth you go. or at least a tentative lick.

would they be able to parallel park: ...after a fashion. no, the first time might not go so well, but after that, no problems.

what is a niche youtube genre they would enjoy: oh geez, he would be into mukbang ajweoigjwae

if they are going to make fun of someone, what would it be for: ignorance. the belligerant, willful kind.

favorite swear word: "swiving"

least favorite book they have ever read: "Birth of Wood", an old, fantastical take on the creation of the world (specifically, the Black Shroud) in the style of what ultimately boils down to bad mythological smut. The word 'Freudian' comes to mind, but in a context that one can barely makes heads or tails of as to whether the author meant to be truly theoretical or purely fictitious.

an aspect they do not like about their partner(s) but love them anyway for: so this answer might feel a little "corny/over-the-top". arsh loves quite a lot, but in the sense of loving a partner, it's a little trickier. he is very old, and sees and understands very much, so there isn't generally a lot in a person he'd end up attracted to that he wouldn't like per se, these things all make up who they are. that said, feelings of self-loathing or self-doubt he wishes did not trouble them so much. that or, "holding on too tightly to the past" (within his idea of reason).

favorite article of jewelry to wear: a ring with a red glistening shard of dalamud, feathers in his hair

least favorite texture or fabric: for texture, anything chalky or chalkboard-like. fabric, probably polyester

if you could describe them using only kinds of fast food, what would they be: sausage egg and cheese mcgriddle. autumn squash soup. spicy double steak grilled cheese burrito.  he's a warm comforting meal, but sometimes he's that awful thing that's gonna fuck you up a little.

[ffxiv-ariavitali]

For taking care of their Gender Neutral S/O WOL who fell sick from a cold/fatigue/etc, can I have Zenos, Emet-Selch, Nhaza'a and Exarch?

ooo, i can do that! [Shadowbringers spoilers] since Emet and Exarch are requested!

❅ ❅ ❅

[Nhaza’a]

With the way that Nhaza’a looks at you, he is pointedly disappointed that you had fallen for something as measly as a ‘cold’. For someone of your strength and caliber to be brought low by a fever is unacceptable, just unacceptable. How is he supposed to feel the fever pitch of battle when you can’t even get up from bed?

Fortunately for you, Nhaza’a knows how to care for a patient and will put off any jobs to ensure that you’re alright. His cooking is tasteful with a passing comment that only the best may be allowed to be eaten, and he will sit by your side reading a book and at the ready to change your ice pack or give you water where needed.

When you look towards the Miqo’te any word of complaint of his closeness dies in your throat. The way he looks so serious is out of character and is a good representation of how much you mean to him. While he usually argues it’s so that he can spar against you quicker, the glint that sparkles within his eye doesn’t escape yours, especially when he presses a kiss to your forehead whenever you pretend to be asleep.

[Zenos]

Zenos isn’t one to care for you directly, but he will be the one that sits off to the side in your bedchambers as you are being cared for.

Even when his piercing eyes are pointed towards the chirurgeon, you can feel the pressure all the same. Along with the thin line of his lips forming nothing close to a smile at all, you couldn’t help but sympathize with all of the servants that were ordered to ensure you are brought to full health. In fact, you were so sympathetic that even when they did something wrong, such as put too much salt in your porridge, you soldiered on in the fear that the Garlean prince would execute them on the spot at the slightest hint of discomfort. 

When you think about asking Zenos if he was alright with staying close to you despite you being sick, you had to stop yourself and think for a brief moment. Someone as strong as him getting sick? With his monstrous strength and vitality, who had defied the mortal plane and had ascendant through unspeakable means? No, there’s no way. There’s no way...

[Emet-Selch]

Your eyes meet with a pair of amber grumpiness as you and Emet-Selch stare down at each other in a heated deadlock. Even when you’re sick, you refused to give in to the Ascian’s judgmental looks as your skin was tinged in pink, as the wet cloth that you had on your head was undoubtedly heating up faster due to your intense concentration on this silly endeavor.

The Emet-Selch only sighed, making a passing comment about how you were supposed to be stronger, wiser and much more careful than this, than what you were that had led you to the pitiful state that you’re in now. You could only bite back in response with a ‘Sorry I don’t flaunt immortality like some people here’ in a childish bout, quite irritated that he doesn’t relent even when you’re unwell. 

With a sigh and a snap of his fingers, the man has prepared everything it is that you need to survive this troublesome time: soft pillows, warm blankets, ice packs and your favorite snacks. Off to the side, you see an array of potions arranged in a rather organized manner and when you glance towards the Ascian in silent question, he only scowls at you.

“Your medicine. Worry not, for I will remind you when to take them.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his the notion.

[Crystal Exarch]

If you thought Alphinaud was wont to fret over your well being, you certainly have been proven wrong. Of course, while it’s understandable that the Exarch would worry about your well being, considering you are indeed his inspiration, his level of worry is beyond normal and you’re the one that ends up worrying whether or not he’ll be alright!

You already know that the man is capable of making wonderful food, a stark contrast to how he used to be back when you both were still exploring the Crystal Tower. His soup hits home and is warm to the heart, chasing away any chills that you may be feeling from your sickness. Not only such, but the medicine that Chessamile had fashioned for you worked wonders albeit their bitter taste—something that earns you sympathy from a man who has, undoubtedly, been in a similar position as you.

While you know that he can’t get sick due to his connection with the Tower, you can’t help but worry over whether or not you’re interrupting his work. When you ask him of it as he reads from a tome, he could only chuckle with embarrassment at the question.

“If I were to be frank, I was chased out by the others. I was more concerned for you than I was paying attention and made quite a few mistakes along the way, it would seem.”

You laugh in turn. That was so like him.

[ladyramora]

Can I request for a scene on how the elezen husbands would take care of their sick fem!WoL? Thank you! ^^

Alphinaud

Alphinaud will not stop hovering. It’s adorable, really, but you can hardly eat the soup he had brought with him standing over you and wringing his hands.

“Alphinaud, please. Sit down.”

Alphinaud sits. For a moment it is bliss, and you turn your attention to the surprisingly tasty soup he had brought for you.

Your attention is caught again by the shrieking scrape of Alphinaud’s chair as he jerks it forward wilst still sitting in it to be nearer to you.

You stare at him. Simply watching and wincing at every screech of the chair as he shuffles it forward with his weight.

Alphinaud stops then, clearing his throat with a soft cough into his white gloved hand. Close enough now to touch you should he wish it.

“Ah. How is the soup? I made some minor adjustments to the recipe under F'lhammin’s guidance. I hope… it is to your liking?” Ah, back to the hand wringing.

You smile at him. Tired, sick, yet still charmed by him as any other day. Truly, would Alphinaud ever cease fretting for you? What a sweetheart.

You set your soup on your bedside table.

Alphinaud looks troubled. “You do not?”

You do not stop to clutch a hand to your chest and inwardly coo at him, instead you bend forward and grab his hands.

Alphinaud lets you, making no complaints as you pull him from his chair up onto your bed.

He curls into you without thought, blue eyes watchful and lips likely parted with many things to say in true Alphinaud fashion.

You set your soup into his hands, declaring, “It is delicious, of course. You never do anything by halves.”

Alphinaud ducks his head, a pleased smile always wont to come to those pink lips at a hint of praise from you.

“But..?” Alphinaud questions, raising up the bowl with confusion in his eyes.

You shake your head. “I do like it, very much. I would like it moreso should my sweetheart feed it to me. The very soup he made with his own capable hands. If such would not be bothersome.. ?”

You are given the gift of watching Alphinaud’s cheeks flush with color. His smile widening with pride.

“But of course! ‘Tis no bother!” He says, lashes lowering and nose tipping up in that smug expression you had come to favor so much. “I would do this for you, and much more!”

That said he plucks the spoon from the bowl and scoops up a careful measure of soup, then blowing on it before extending the utensil out to you with a soft, “Aahh…” Parting his mouth in an attemp to encourage you to open yours.

You grin, leaning in and closing your lips around the spoon. “Mmm!” You say, fluttering your lashes like it was the most delicious soup you had ever tasted.

And for Alphinaud’s pleased expression? It was.

- - -

Aymeric

You cannot brush off your illness any longer. In the midst of talks with Aymeric, your dizziness finally overwhelms you.

You have a moment to see the shock on Aymeric’s face before you fall.

You blink your eyes open a moment later to find that Aymeric had caught you. Swooped in like a chivalrous knight and lifted you into his arms.

Aymeric stares into your face with concern. “Are you well, my dearest? You near fainted into mine arms!”

Like a swooning maiden.

You feel a mild sense of embarrassment at that. “Forgive me, my lord. I may have been pushing myself overmuch as of late.”

Aymeric shifts his hold on you, blue eyes soft as he lowers his head to rest his forehead against yours. He feels deliciously cool against your feverish skin. “You’re burning up!” He says, mildly reproachful.

You avert your eyes and feel ten kinds of foolish for not allowing yourself time to rest.

“Come,” Aymeric sighs, hoisting you up higher in his arms and carrying you as he begins to walk. “I have a place you may use to rest.”

You cannot find it in you to protest. Merely burying your face in the soft blue cloth of Aymeric’s armour and breathing deep of his comforting scent.

Aymeric sets lowers you carefully to rest upon a comfortable bed that was dressed in his favored shade of blue. Plump, silken pillows does he fluff with a serious expression writ across his face before tucking them behind your back and under your head.

There is a knock at the door and Aymeric moves to answer it. The familiar face of his manservant enters your vision then, carrying a tray filled with various items. Bowls, cups, and crisply folded cloths. Aymeric accepts it with a grateful smile.

“My thanks,” Aymeric says. “Pray take the rest of the day to take your ease. I will be fine here.”

The manservant bows to him and you with a smile, “Yes, my lord.” Then takes his leave, closing the door behind him with nary a sound.

Aymeric is quick to set the tray aside, flicking open one of the cloths to refold again and dip in one of the bowls.

Aymeric leans down, lips brushing over your forehead in the barest of a kiss.

The cloth is cold as he lays it over your head. “All right?” He asks you.

You nod your head, but feel terribly guilty. “You cannot stay here to take care of me, what about your duties?”

Aymeric shakes his head. “Never you mind that. It has been taken care of. I would see you properly nourished and well rested. I have had tea and soup brought, which would you prefer first?”

You sigh, smiling at him and giving in. “Does the tea come with birch syrup?”

Aymeric favors you with his devastating smile. “You know me too well. Of course. Tea, then?”

- - -

Estinien

“Estinien, I need to get up!” You wiggle, halfhearted, from your spot pinned underneath him.

Estinien nuzzles his face in your neck, grumbling lowly. “No. Sick people need rest. I would see to it that you stay in bed.”

You huff, refusing to give up so easily. Trying your best to slide out from under him. “Heroes don’t get days off! Eorzea is in peril every day!”

Estinien wraps himself around you, his voice like a growl. “I care not, you do now. And will from now on. Eorzea be damned for a few bloody days!”

You grunt in shock. “Days?! Estiniieeen!”

Estinien radiates smugness. You can feel his smile as he kisses at your throat. “Days. Mine sweetheart requires rest.”

You push at him with the strength of a day old kitten, exhausted just from your struggle. Very much ill.

“Estinien,” You say weakly. “At least keep your distance? You could get sick…”

Estinien holds you tighter in refusal. Nuzzling at you like an oversized cat. “No. I’ll not leave you.”

You slump back, overly tired and finally admitting defeat. “Fine. You win. Cuddle me until you’re ill, you stubborn man!”

Estinien chuckles. “As it should be!” And lifts his head to kiss your lips.

You frown at him. “Are you trying to get sick?”

Estinien hums, blue grey eyes smoldering at you. “Naught will keep me from kissing you. From loving you. Threat of illness or no.”

You bite your lip, feeling weak and rather emotional. “The things you say…”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry!

Estinien smiles, soft and sweet and laughs as you bury your hands in his hair to drag his lips to yours.

“I love you.”

- - -

Foulques

“Foulques! Put me down!” You shout, hanging over his shoulder as you kick and struggle with only mild effectiveness.

“No!” Foulques spits back, slapping you sharply on the backside. “You’ll not stop me! I know what you look like in full health and that mess of a battle back there was far from it!” He gives a sarcastic laugh, “Azure Dragoon, hah! I’ve seen better footwork from those fools in the Lancer’s guild!”

You bristle at that. Unsure whether to be offended on the behalf of your fellow Lancers or on your training of Azure Dragoon. Both. Both was good!

Smack!

Foulques freezes with such abruptness that it jerks you against his back. His voice growling out of him like an irritated, hissing couerl, “How dare you. You’ll pay for that.”

You smack his backside again. Testing your luck, surely - but far too irritated with his treatment of you thus far to be more than mildly concerned about it.

Foulques smacks you just the same in return, squeezing your cheek firmly. “You’re lucky you’re ill, or else I’d have a mind for a different kind of retribution!”

Foulques is clearly irked that he cannot do the things he wants.

You huff, “As if I’d let you after what you said! How dare you insult me! To think I was meaning to show you a few moves!”

You give a startled sound as Foulques hauls you from his shoulder, sliding you down his body and looking into your eyes with irritation all but forgotten in his eagerness. “You mean it?!” He asks with such a large, uncharacteristic smile that you are left speechless. How could you deny him with such a face? What a turnabout.

Your flushed cheeks feel even hotter as you avert your eyes. “Of course I mean it. You really want to?”

Foulques smile softens and you give a flustered huff as he yanks you close and squeezes his arms around you in a firm hug.

You sigh, melting into him with a leftover grumble. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have this power over you. To rile you up and then soothe you so effortlessly with just the hint of his stupidly charming smile.

Foulques hums contentedly. “Then I would make sure you are better. You cannot show me properly if you cannot even mind your footwork.”

You frown. “Is that all I am to you? A means to sharpen your skills?”

Foulques laughs. “Of course not! Do not be ridiculous. Are you not aware of your worth? You truly are a fool then.”

You grunt, struggling in his arms in offense. If he was going to be rude…!

Foulques does not let you go. Holding you close as he leans in, his voice a low murmur as he sighs, “You mean the world to me, do you not understand?”

You pause, tilting your head to look at him. “You mean it?” Searching those pretty violet eyes for sweet sounding lies.

His face is serious. No trace of teasing, of mean intent. “Of course.” He steps back, opening his arms for you, “Come. You require rest.”

You cross your arms. “I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

Foulques frowns. “I wish to carry you.”

You blink, toeing the ground and rubbing at a bruise on your side. “Oh..? Well, all right then.”

Foulques seems pleased as he scoops you up again. Cradling you in his arms in a proper bridal carry this time.

You smile up at his face. “When are you going to make your move and finally kiss me?”

Foulques stumbles. Coughs. Completely avoids your laughing eyes. “When will I..? When you’re better!”

You laugh so hard that you give yourself a coughing fit.

“Don’t cough on me! Who knows what you picked up on your ridiculous outlandish travels?!”

What a rude man. Why did you like him so much? - - -

Haurchefant

“Haurchefant, I really don’t think I need any more blankets…?” You stare at the mound of blankets and furs covering you, curled up as you are in Haurchefant’s bed, in Haurchefant’s personal quarters.

Haurchefant grins, hoisting a pillow up high. “These ones are for me, dear heart! I shall sleep at your side this night. ‘Tis bitterly cold this night and you shall not lack for another source of body heat!”

You smile tiredly. “Are you not afraid you’ll fall ill? What would the camp do without you?”

Haurchefant laughs. “Never fear, my sweet! I’ve more than one knight capable of handling matters in mine absence.” He tosses the pillow beside you, his blanket draping over the bed as he leans down to kiss your forehead.

You laugh as he drags his lips down your face to kiss the tip of your nose, turning your face away and holding him off with your hands against his chest. “You’ll get sick!”

Haurchefant gives a playful whine. “Darling, please? Do not deny me the pleasure of your kisses! Your sweet, luscious lips! Nay, such cruelty does not become you!”

You huff a flustered laugh. What a ridiculous man. “I don’t want you to be sick, you silly man!”

Haurchefant grasps one of your hands, raising it up to his face to kiss over your wrist and up your arm. “I do not care. ‘Tis worth such a risk for the gift of your kisses!”

You snort at that. “No funny business, you frisky lord! Kisses are never just kisses with you!”

Haurchefant pouts. “Just kisses, you have my word! Please? Pretty please?”

He kisses over your shoulder and up your neck, light fleeting things that slightly tickled. Sweet and soft in a way that already made your resolve begin to crumble.

“You cheat,” You sigh. He knew your weakness.

Haurchefant is inordinately pleased, of course. “Full glad am I to be someone who, you - the mightiest Warrior of Warriors! - may allow yourself to be weak to!”

You cup his face between your hands. Caressing those sharp cheekbones with sweeps of your thumbs, watching as Haurchefant leaned into your touch like an eager pet waiting to be patted. You squish his cheeks under your palms, but Haurchefant only grins and insists, “Kisses!”

You laugh and drag his face to yours. You kiss the tip of his birdlike nose, delighting in the pleased flutter of his eyelashes.

You kiss just under his eyes, over the shadows that often lingered there. Haurchefant sighs sweetly.

You kiss each of his cheeks, laughing breathily as Haurchefant makes tiny needy sounds each time you skip over his deliberately puckered lips.

“All right, all right!” You conceed as Haurchefant give a pleading whine. “So demanding!”

Haurchefant hums as you kiss him on the lips. Starting from the corner of his mouth and sweeping across to the other. To the bow of his lips. His pouting lower lip.  

“You tease me!” Haurchefant says, but sounds oddly happy about it. “Even when ill, you are so wicked to me! Devlish!”

You cannot help but laugh. He was so much fun. So very funny.

You kiss him full on the mouth, grinning impishly as Haurchefant wrapped his arms around you greedily. Like a child with their favored stuffed animal.

You rake your fingers through his hair. Thoroughly mussing him as you are wont to enjoy doing.

“Mmm!” Haurchefant groans. Face flushed and teeth glinting with his beaming grin. “Better! I shall kiss you well, my sweet!”

You shake your head. “Kiss me better? Are you certain ‘tis not the medicines, the alchemists, and healers you had sent to speed along mine recovery?”

Haurchefant taps your nose, winking cheekily with his finger in the air. “One could not do overmuch to see their love well! Ah, but the power of love, dear heart! With that we can achieve many things!”

You sigh, tugging at his arms. “Yes, yes. Come to bed, won’t you? You’ve tired me, my lord.”

Haurchefant has that particular twinkle in his eye. His smile taking on a hungry curve.

You toss his pillow in his face. “Not that way! We said only kisses!”

Haurchefant hugs his pillow to his chest with a pout. “Truly, your health could not improve soon enough!”

You snort, turning into your pillow with a smile. “Bed! Sleep!”

Haurchefant shifts around as he finishes getting ready for bed, and it is not long before he slots himself behind you. His arms curving around you under the mountain of blankets he had brought.

You turn in his arms without him asking, burrowing against the warmth of his muscular chest with a sleepy sigh.

Haurchefant sighs your name and kisses the top of your head, “I love you.”

You snuggle closer. “I love you more.”

Haurchefant chuckles.

[hear-feel-think]

FfxivWrite2022 | #13 - Confluence

Rating: T

Thancred x WoL, first kiss, seduction Ao3 mirror (edited version) Sequel

-----------------------------

You settle into a small table with a drink and a hot meal. You've been running around doing errands for people all day, in an attempt to make your name as an adventurer here in Ul'dah. As you tuck in to your supper, you notice movement in the corner of your eye and turn to look. The hyuran man you had met earlier today is approaching your table. Thancred, his name was, if you remember correctly. "Good evening," he says. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," you say with a warm smile.

Thancred slides into the chair across from you and sets his drink down on the table. He makes small talk as you eat the thick, hearty bowl of soup and the warm hunk of bread you had purchased from Momodi. He asks where you're from and what got you into adventuring. He tells you about himself, stories that paint him as a suave hero, always getting out of scrapes with charm and good luck. He had struck you as attractive when you first met, though you were too busy working to make much more than first impressions. Now that you could take a closer look, you find your initial assessment to be quite true, though you try not to let him catch you looking.

"I was impressed with your work out there today," says Thancred, leaning back and resting his ankle on his knee as you scoop the last of the soup from your bowl.

"Thank you," you say with a grateful incline of your head. You eat the spoonful of soup and push the bowl to the side, clearing the space between yourself and the handsome silver-haired man in front of you.

"I think we have a confluence of desires, you and I. Professionally, of course, adventuring and all that," he makes a dismissive wave before leaning in and resting his forearms on the table, "but personally, as well."

You wrap your hands around your tankard, the thick wooden mug cooled slightly by the drink inside, which is slowly reaching the temperature of the warm ambient air. You suspect you know where this conversation is going. In your short acquaintance with Thancred, you have already surmised that he is an incurable flirt. You mirror his lean, further reducing the distance between you and looking deep into his brown eyes. "Whatever could you mean?" you ask, your voice low and conspiratorial.

"My dear adventurer, I think you know exactly what I mean," he says, matching your tone. His eyes flick down, conspicuously looking at your lips, then flicked back up to meet your gaze again. You flash him a knowing smirk. He leans forward again, closing the gap between you, kissing you with the confidence of one who has had many first kisses before.

The kiss is passionate, electric, pure physicality. Your hips press into the table, as though you are being magnetically drawn to his body. After a moment, you break apart, gasping for air and craving more. "I've got a room upstairs," Thancred breathes. It's not a question or an invitation, it doesn't need to be. It's clear to everyone in earshot that you'll be going with him.

⟸ first prompt | ↢ prev prompt | next prompt ↣ | last prompt ⟹ ⟸ first written | ↢ prev written | next written ↣ | last written ⟹ next canonical ↣ | last canonical ⟹

[voidsentprinces]

Exarch: Become...what you must...become the Warrior of Dark.

Alisaie: How the hell is the Warrior of LIGHT suppose to get in touch with his DARK side?

WoL: ...I know a guy...I'll be back.

Alphinaud: What do you MEAN you know a guy?

WoL: Shut up, Alphinaud I said I'll be back.

Exarch: There he goes...

Alisaie: Wonder who he's calling.

WoL: Deep breathes...gotta get in touch with Fray. Dark thoughts. Dark thoughts...Varis naked...Hello?

Fray: Hey, what's up?

WoL: I need your help can come over here?

Fray: I can't, I'm buying glamour.

WoL: Alright, well then hurry up and come over here.

Fray: Well I can't find them.

WoL: What do you MEAN you can't find them?

Fray: I can't find them, there's only soup.

WoL: ...Well then get out of the SOUP MARKET!

Fray: Alright you don't have to shout at me!

WoL: ...

Fray: There's more soup!

WoL: What do you MEAN there's more soup!?

Fray: There's just more soup!

WoL: Go to the next market!

Fray: ...

WoL: ...

Fray: There's still more soup.

WoL: WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW!?

Fray: I'm at Soup.

WoL: What do you mean you're AT SOUP!

Fray: I mean I'm AT SOUP!

WoL: What bazaar are you at!?

Fray, standing next to Runar: I'm at the Soup Bazaar

WoL: WHY ARE YOU BUYING GLAMOUR AT THE SOUP BAZAAR!

Fray: FUCK YOU! *click*

WoL: ...

Alphinaud: Any luck?

WoL: Oh no, we're fucked.

[voidsentprinces]

Crystal Exarch: Please...become...the Warrior of Dark.

WoL: ...can...you hang on a moment I need to make a call.

Crystal Exarch: Take your time.

WoL: *runs outside of range and picks up Tomestone* Hello?

Fray: Hey, what's up?

WoL: I need your help, can you appear?

Fray: I can't I'm buying glamour.

WoL: Well hurry up and get over here.

Fray: I can't find them.

WoL: What do you mean you can't find them?

Fray: I can't find them, there's only soup.

WoL: ...What do you MEAN there's only SOUP!?

Fray: I mean there's ONLY SOUP!

WoL: WELL THEN GET OUT OF THE SOUP AISLE!

Fray: Alright, you don't have to shout at me!

WoL: ...

Fray: THERES STILL SOUP!

WoL: WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE'S MORE SOUP!!

Fray: There's just more soup!

WoL: Go to the next aisle!

Fray: There's still soup!

WoL: WHERE ARE YOU RIGHT NOW!?

Fray: I'm AT SOUP!

WoL: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE AT SOUP!

Fray: I MEAN I'M AT SOUP!

WoL: WHAT STORE ON YOU IN!?!

Fray: I'm at the Soup Store!

WoL: WHY ARE YOU BUYING GLAMOUR AT THE SOUP STORE!?!

Fray: FUCK YOU! *click*

WoL: ....

Crystal Exarch: ...is everything alright?

WoL: So what if we just say I'm the Warrior of Dark and I don't do anything...shadowy?