#Haurchinund

[rhymingteelookatme]

Prompt #4: Nothing More

Words: 468 | day 4: Clinch

-

“Please just kiss me already,” Thosinund blurts.

Haurchefant blinks. The light of understanding dawns in his eyes. “So that's why there isn't a sign of even the smallest ogre anywhere about.”

“Couldn't take chances.” She's beginning to feel a bit silly, and so warm that the chill Coerthan winds seem like the breezes of Costa del Sol, but she presses on. “And I know they can't see us here even from the topmost tower of Dragonhead. Not so much as a glimpse. So- well...”

Her breath catches in her throat. Haurchefant steps in and he's looking at her, with delight- approval- anticipation... “Of course, my dear,” he says. “I thought you'd never ask.”

Faster than thought his arms are around her, wrapping her tight as his lips meet hers, and Thosi feels herself growing yet warmer by the second. She sinks into the embrace, gathering him to her, relishing even the chill of his mail through her shirt. And to think she'd worried that it might be too little protection in the snow. Pa's right—a Sea Wolf doesn't get cold! She laughs against Haurchefant's lips; he hums a query, but she only tugs him closer.

Gods, she's missed him. Since that delirious night of the blizzard she's thought of almost nothing but him: of ways and times and plans for seeing him like this again. Feeling him like this, again. Now her arms are locked around him and she's breathing him in—the brush of his hair, the scent of his skin, the sweet taste of his mouth. There can't be a heaven better than this, this moment right here. She'll fight every one of the Twelve about it. (With the possible exception of Menphina. And the Keeper. Okay, two exceptions.)

They pause then, to breathe, and Althyk help her Haurchefant is snuggling his head on her shoulder. Thosi thinks her heart may stop.

“Is this okay?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “That I already cleared the place out before I brought you here?”

Haurchefant chuckles, not moving from his newfound pillow. “I expected naught less. Truthfully, when you invited me out to make sure the Weeping Saint remained undisturbed, I was shocked to think that you might have left even one ogre behind—a hero does nothing by halves, least of all a fighter like you.”

“And you're not- disappointed...?”

He pulls back from her then, looking her square in the eye. “Disappointed? Whatever do you mean?”

Thosinund swallows. “Just that, er. There wasn't any fighting.”

Haurchefant holds her gaze for a second longer, then leans up and kisses her soundly. When their lips part once more, Thosi's head feels so light she fears it may fly away. “...I take it that's a no.” She pauses. “Tell me again?”

He beams. “I should like nothing more.”

[rhymingteelookatme]

i'm bluescreening omg ramora thank :D

Are there any ship blogs you like/would recommend? I need more to follow.

Idk that I follow that many

@windup-dragoon Kiri x Hien

@meepsthemiqo Meeps & her harem

@maiden-born-in-snow Shuri x Estinien + Ardbert (If I remember correctly?)

@aethernoise Alyx x Aymeric

@rhymingteelookatme Thosi x Haurchefant, Thosi x Hien

@ffxivmingxiajiang Ming x Foulques

I know there's more, but I can't remember their Tumblr handles. Sorry, my memory is bad. Feel free to add to this and I will reblog ❤️

[rhymingteelookatme]

#60 I said “I HAVE AN IDEA!” :D

And I have did it! :D 

Words: 1252 | dialogue prompt list here

-

“Please, love,” Haurchefant says, voicepractically dripping with honey and butter. “I’ll do anything.” 

Thosinund makes a noise that is part laugh, partgroan. On the one hand, she cannot quite believe what he’s asking. On the otherhand, this is Haurchefant- dear, darling, completely madHaurchefant, who (somehow) is maddest of all about her. She slides down in thearmchair, shaking her head.

“Anything,” Haurchefant repeats,purring for emphasis. 

“I don’t doubt you would,” she replies, “butmy answer is still no.”

Haurchefant sighs, flopping down on the bed(which creaks at the impact), and she will not look but sheknows anyway that he’s putting the back of his hand to his foreheadoh-so-dolefully. “Alas… that I shall never know this most perfect of joys…Other men may seat their sweethearts gaily on their knees-”

“Without fear of crushing their kneecaps,” Thosicuts in, for the tenth time that evening. “Because their sweethearts aresignificantly smaller than they are.”

“And I am denied this one earthly pleasure merelybecause mine is a goddess?” 

Now she really can’t look at him. “Yes, youare,” she says, trying to sound stern as heat rushes to her cheeks, makingembers of her ears. “Don’t you go thinking you’ll fluster me out of this.”

There is a brief pause, filled with severalrustles and thumps as Haurchefant rolls this way and that across the bed. Justas Thosi is opening her mouth to advise him that this too will have no effect,it stops.

Then: a tiny gasp, and Haurchefant says somethingvery quietly.

“Hm?” She turns her head just slightly.

“I… v’n idea.”

“What?” A little further turn.

“I said,” Haurchefant announces, his words risingto a triumphant near-yell, “I have an Idea!” 

She jumps, fingers spasming into a brief grip onthe arms of the chair, and looks to him at last. There he stands, all loosewhite shirt and woolen leggings and bare feet on the rug, his face alight withthat familiar glow. “And what is this idea you’re shouting about?” 

His mouth curls into a grin. “Tell me, love.Of all the exercises in this camp’s daily training- at which am I theuncontested champion?” A half second later- “Correct: the squat. And uponwhich joint does a successful squat depend? Why, the knees. Now, I ask you,what better proof is there of the strength of said parts-?”

“Oh yes, when they’re moving the weight they moveevery day-”

“I thought you might say that,” hecounters. “So my proposal is this: defeat me at my own game.”

She stares at him. “…A squat contest?”

“Precisely!” He beams like a one-man band. “Ifyou win, it simply proves you are a goddess, and not to be trifled with. If Iwin, well- you shall see how comfortable a lap can be, at long last. In eithercase, I promise you I shall be satisfied on the subject once for all. What doyou say?”  

Oh gods, how is she meant to refuse such an eagerface? With such an absurd idea?

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms. “But wemust have a judge.”

“Of course we shall have one! Only name them, mydear, and I shall name the day.” Haurchefant hops happily from one foot to theother, clapping his hands thrice in his glee. “Ah, you’ll see, you’ll see…!”

Thosi snorts, quite unable to hold back her owngrin. Name the day indeed.  

-

The Intercessory floor is weirdly empty with themeeting table leaned up against the wall. The judge insisted on a clear space,however, and promptly moved the furniture himself to facilitate it. Thosinundand Haurchefant stand a few fulms apart, feet planted, warmed-up and waiting.

“You’re going to regret this,” she mutters tohim.

“I assure you I shall not,” he says, out of theside of his grin.

“Now then. All parties ready?” GodbertManderville inquires, as though he does this every day.

“Ready,” Thosi answers.

“Ready,” declares Haurchefant, with relish.

“Time is set. On my count- three… two… one… go,”and Godbert clicks his stopwatch.

Round one: twenty squats, five minutes, pace setto the sound of the watch’s ticking hands. Both parties advance. Rounds two andthree- respectively ten and fifteen minutes, each increase bringing itscorresponding score of squats- are the same. Thosi’s thighs burn, while herears are fair set to turn her hair to ash, but she refuses to yield.

By the end of round four, Thosinund is down toher camise and fully sweating. Haurchefant, his own torso bared in the interestof “costume parity” (his phrase), is otherwise utterly unfazed by the exercise.He is, however, concerned for her.

“We needn’t go on with it, you know,” he offers.

Thosi knocks back her water with a vengeance. “Ohwe’re going on with it.”

“Last round,” Godbert announces, “and may Icongratulate both contestants for making it thus far. Thosinund, ready?”

She nods, keeping her breath on an even keel,hoping to encourage her quivering legs by her lungs’ example.

“Lord Haurchefant, ready?”

“Aye,” he says, all controlled eagerness.

“Three… two… one… go,” and the watchclicks once more.

Thosi breathes herself down, and up. Down, andup. Focuses on the far wall. Down, and up, on and on, and for almost a fullminute she thinks she might just win this thing.

Ten squats later, her bottom meets solidly withthe floor, and the stopwatch clicks off.

“Victory to Lord Haurchefant!” Godbert is absolutelydelighted. “Oh, well done that man. What say you to a bonus round, sir?”

“A tempting offer,” Haurchefant replies, “althoughwe may have to defer it to a later date; I am sure you have further matters towhich you must attend. In assuring me of your qualifications as judge for ourlittle competition, Mistress Haldkhanwyn gave me to understand that you are knownas the Sovereign of Squat.”

“Among other monikers,” Godbert chortles. Theconversation continues, but Thosinund listens no further; she retrieves hershirt and retreats quietly to the corner, alone with her thoughts.

-

Haurchefant does not immediately claim his prize,that night or the next. But Thosinund has resigned herself. If the man wants tolose the use of one leg, or both, she’ll not deny him any longer.

“All right, champion,” she says to him, the thirdnight after his victory. “Let’s have it.”

He blinks. “Have what– oh! Oh yes! Certainly!” Scramblingto the sturdiest chair in the room—the fireside armchair—he plants himselffirmly therein and dusts off his lap (with only a little exaggeration). “Voila,my dear. Your throne awaits.”

She can’t help laughing a little at his choice ofwords. Still, there’s a slight chill in her hands that has nothing to do withthe air in the room. She takes a few steps toward him. Stops. Starts again. Heliterally asked for this, she reminds herself. All but spelled it outwith torches in the snow. Before she can second-guess herself any further,she closes the remaining gap, turns and lowers herself swiftly yet carefully toa seat on his wool-clad thighs.

One second. Two seconds. Four, six, eight… but nota hint of a tremble does Thosinund feel from below. No sound of cracking boneor creaking wood comes to her ear. Still she does not dare to believe. Shekeeps counting. Thirty… thirty-four…

Haurchefant, when she looks, is giving her thesoftest of smiles. “You see, love? No trouble at all.”

[rhymingteelookatme]

Sensory prompt! A person’s weight as they lie on top of you.

Accidentally hit enter too fast. But now I actually have an answer! :D Thanks for the ask, friend!

Words: 247 | sensory prompt list: here

–

“Forgive me,” Haurchefant murmurs drowsily. “I seem to be…falling asleep.”

Thosinund squints down at the top of his head, watching herbreath ruffle his pale-blue hair. “Don’t see what’s so bad about that,” shereplies.

He laughs, the brief warmth of the exhalation making her skinprickle delightfully. “A knight ought not—” he yawns— “treat his lover as apillow. Let alone his lady.”

It’s true—he is quite sprawled atop her. His head rests onher chest; his arms nestle on either side of her; his hands come up from underneathto curl around her shoulders. One leg is hooked over her thigh, while the other(and its attendant hip) takes its repose between her legs. He is, in short, thevery model of a man well and blissfully spent. Or possibly the model of a humaneiderdown.

Thosinund sees no problem with this. His long, lean, well-trainedweight is a marvelous thing—one she thinks she might could get accustomed to,even. “Maybe a knight ought not,” she tells him. “But this lady will beperfectly at ease. Besides, I can shift you off if I need to.”

Haurchefant nods, faintly, and mumbles something like “verywell.” Seconds later she feels his breath go slower, deeper, and knows he’s downfor the count.

She pulls up the bedclothes, in case he gets cold. Reachesfor the lantern, blows it out, puts it back. Then she wraps her man in her armsand settles down to dream.

[rhymingteelookatme]

Prompt #9: Without Saying

Words: 1009 | day 9: Hesitate

—

“The people need Ser Aymeric—more than ever—and we may be his only hope! There is no greater calling for a knight than to save the life of his fellow man. I swear to you, on the sigil of our house, that I shall do this and make you proud.”

So says Haurchefant with eyes ablaze, his shoulders back, his body drawn up to his full height. Though his father protests, none of the group assembled in the manor were ever in doubt: from the moment Lucia declared her intention to rescue Ser Aymeric from his self-appointed mission, followed by Estinien’s declaration of support, it was inevitable that Haurchefant should leap to offer his aid.

And it is at that very instant that Thosinund feels the last of her uncertainty fall away.

The realization hits her like a thunderbolt: she loves him deeply, truly, sincerely. From the crown of her head to the soles of her shoes. It rocks her where she stands, an earthquake from the inside out, and she nearly blurts out the words right then and there.

But she catches herself. No, no, she cannot pull him aside now. There are plans to be made, allies to be gathered, and time is of the essence if they are to ensure that Ser Aymeric lives to regret his adventure. Later—when they have won or lost the day—she can confess the newfound truth of her heart.

—

It is rather odd, she supposes, when one thinks about it. They’ve been calling each other “love” for so long. She has almost forgotten the first time he ever said it- was it their first night together? Their fourth? She does remember him clapping a hand over his mouth after the fact, face and ears tinting red, so sure he had overstepped his bounds. She remembers how earnestly she insisted that it was fine, that she did not mind in the least, and how she pleaded with him not to be embarrassed. But he was not convinced until their next meeting, when she greeted him with a murmured “hello, love,” and watched his eyes light up like gods-honest fireworks.

Still she has tried to keep her head- she has ever been warned of the dangers of losing it. She has seen too many starry-eyed youths fall over head and ears in love with the first person to speak to them sweetly, the first person to take them to bed, only to be left lonely and cold the next day. The longer she knows him, the more certain she becomes that Haurchefant has a heart truer than anyone on this star... but still she is cautious. She will take her time, will wait to say those three fateful words until she can speak them clear-eyed and sincere. Whatever else happens, Haurchefant deserves that.

—

The Heavens’ Ward wastes no time on subterfuge. With barely a whiff of the Scions’ stirrings, they send Ser Charibert to nip the entire rescue in the bud. He makes his entrance to the Forgotten Knight by blasting the Mongrel’s lookout down the stairs, knowing full well there is no possible answer but to give him the fight he is asking for.

Hilda shoots like a woman possessed; Alphinaud casts with cool assurance. Thosinund is full of fire of her own, bashing and slashing with shield and sword, but Charibert has a great deal of company who bring formidable battle magicks to bear. The skirmish is clearly intended to stall them as long as possible. It might have better succeeded if not for Haurchefant, charging to the Scions’ aid once again with cries of “Stop this, all of you! It is madness!” 

And with his help, the tide finally turns: Charibert at last ceases his toying and makes his exit. Thosi’s heart swells yet more, soars still higher. This is the man she has chosen. This is the man she loves. Let all of Ishgard sputter and squawk; she has made up her mind. The instant they can be truly alone, without life and death hanging over their heads, she will pull him to her and tell him so—and woe betide who- or whatever stands in their way.

Now they stand in the smoking Brume as Lucia lays out their plan in urgent tones. Hilda and her “pups” will spread word of another heretic attack, drawing the High Houses’ attention outside the city. Thosi and her fellow adventurers will burst into the Vault, there to fight their way to the highest levels and bring the Heavens’ Ward hurrying to the archbishop’s defense. Meanwhile, Lucia, Alphinaud, Estinien and Haurchefant will descend to the Vault’s prison corridors and free Ser Aymeric from his cell. Simple, swift, and hopefully effective.

“With allies such as these, we cannot fail!” Haurchefant declares, daring a glance directly into Thosinund’s eyes, and his face is positively aglow.

They all move off in their separate directions, and Thosi leads her group with assurance like never before. To the Pillars! To the Vault! To a bloodbath, aye, but a victorious one. And then, when the time comes, to her Haurchefant’s arms.

—

There is no time, in the end.

She should have thought. She should have guessed. Of course Haurchefant—her fearless, noble, “romantic reckless fool” of an Haurchefant—would leap at the chance to chase down the Archbishop on the airship landing. When he looks at her with the question clear in his eye, she nods without a second thought. With him? Yes. To the ends of the earth.

And then the flash—the cry—the crack…

There is no time, in the end. And she has no voice. It will haunt her for years to come: the fact that in the last moments of her Haurchefant’s life she can only kneel with tears in her eyes, with his hand between hers, and her throat sealed shut by a knot of tears and words unshed.

There is no time, and she has no voice, and her first love goes to his grave all unknowing that he is, in truth, her love.

[rhymingteelookatme]

Finding old photographs you'd forgotten about for the prompts, if you're still taking those!

[PhEw I finally did it. From the prompt list here.]

–

“Where did you get this.”

It isn’t a question. Aside from the answer being obvious,Thosinund is too stunned to make the end of her sentence so much as glance upward.She stares into her own eyes, rendered as pinpricks of turquoise in her tinypainted face.

“But these are not right,” Haurchefant says inpuzzlement, looking over a selection of truly terribly rendered ‘Warriors ofLight.’

“I know,” she responds, grinning. “Aren’t they brilliant?Nobody would ever recognize me based off one of these.”

His frown deepens. “True. And yet…”

She nudges him with her shoulder. “And yet?”

“I fear I cannot like them, even as a source ofamusement. None of them show how beautiful you are.”

“Fair point,” she concedes, after she hasfinished kissing him for saying so. “But that just means you’re the lucky stiffwho gets the exclusive.”

“…offense, Mistress Haldkhanwyn,” Honoroit issaying, hesitantly. “Master Emmanellain thought it best we return it to you,but if he was wrong to think so, I am sure we could find a place to keep itsafe from prying eyes.” He pauses. “Mistress Haldkhanwyn?”

Thosi can barely hear him. She has eyes fornaught but the miniature, this palm-sized masterwork made what seems a lifetimeago. The girl rendered in those myriad little paintstrokes, who is she? Look ather sitting there, lost in a dream. Filled with love from the roots of her hairto the tips of her fingers. Thinking she had all the time in the world.

‘My dear, dearest Cozi-

What a marvelous surprise you have sent me thistime! I confess I am neglecting a stack or seven of other papers to tell you thisright away; I could hardly do otherwise. I am delighted, my darling, to see youso perfectly before me—if, Fury forbid, my memory ever starts to desert me, onelook at this and I shall summon back every instant. I cannot thank you enough.

If this missive seems untimely rushed, it is onlybecause I need you to read it as soon as mortally possible. And, better, toreply in person! Then I shall give you

               athousand embraces—ten thousand kisses—from

                               yourH’

The words bubble up in her mind as though she hadread them yesterday. Thosinund shakes herself out of her daze. Honoroit hastrailed into silence, looking as though he has almost decided to retreat fromthe room.

“Don’t put it away,” she says, tearing her eyesfrom the painting’s at last. “I’ll keep it after all. Thank you, Honoroit.”

He bows, with evident relief. “As you say,Mistress Haldkhanwyn.”

As Honoroit exits, Thosi crosses to her pack. Fishingout her handkerchief from one of the side pockets, she folds it round theminiature til it’s nothing but a vague oblong within the fabric, then slips itinto an inside pocket near the top. It will be protected, even if she doesn’tlook at it again.

The girl on the canvas does not protest thistreatment. Does not argue as she is packed away. And why should she? After all…she no longer exists.

[rhymingteelookatme]

pupil

No time like the present for Thosinund to start learning the Ways of Makeout. Immediate sequel to ‘With A Smile.’ 

Words: 1301 Genre: steamy steamy business

There is a significant possibility, Haurchefant thinks, that he may be dreaming right now. That he has fallen asleep before the intercessory fire, and that Thosinund- warm, lovely, splendid Thosinund- will turn out to be a blanket and pillow at any moment. 

But if this is a dream, he will happily sleep through all the rest of this storm. His lips are tingling from their kisses, and her arms are wrapped around his back, and he is positively giddy. “My dear,” he tells her, “you are a natural.”

Thosinund’s eyes sparkle with her smile. “That’s as may be, but a little study never hurt anyone. What’s the next lesson, then?” 

Her neck looks most inviting, framed within her collar. He pulls one flap aside. “Oh... here, I should think. Shall we proceed?”

When she nods, he moves in and demonstrates his meaning- from the simple placement of lips, to the flicker of tongue, to the gentle pressure of teeth. (She is delicious, but Haurchefant takes care not to leave marks all the same.) Each new variation meets with increasingly lovely reception; he never knew she could make such tiny sounds before. Well, comparatively tiny. Even her whispers have husk and heft. 

He works round her throat, front to side to as near the back as he can get without leaving his seat in her lap, then draws away again. It is her turn now. He tips his head back invitingly. 

Instead of going for his neck, though, Thosinund frowns faintly. “Ah... Haurchefant, your mail is not exactly...” 

He blinks. He should have thought of that. “You’re quite right, I do apologize. One moment.” Slipping off her lap, he sits back on his heels and wriggles free of the offending garment, depositing it in a heap under the desk. That done, he eagerly resumes his place. “There, now we can carry on.”

Still she does not take her turn, does not move so much as an ilm toward his neck. She simply gazes at him. Her face is alight with many things- wonder, awe, affection. The longer she looks, the more heat floods to Haurchefant’s cheeks. He is just about to ask her if she is all right, when she speaks.

“You’re beautiful,” she breathes, and only then does she dip her head to put his teachings into practice.

The collarbone area does not go quite as well; Thosinund cannot help giggling at the merest touch of his lips there. However, once she’s over the tickle, her expression changes- her eyes a little narrowed, her mouth tilted to one side.

“You can’t really reach much else,” she muses. “Not as things are, anyway.”

“True,” he agrees. “But we need not go any further just now, if you do not wish it.”

She lets that hang there for a few seconds. One hand withdraws from his back to toy with the laces that run from her collar to her waist, to run lightly over the pleats at the bottom of her shirt. Then he tears his eyes away from the hypnotic progress of her fingers to look her in the face once more, and her gaze is frankly scorching. 

“I—that is, it seems… rather an acceleration of the curriculum?” 

Thosinund pulls him a little closer, the better to stare him down. “Oh,” she purrs, “I think I can handle it.”

She didn’t mean it like that! Haurchefant silently scolds his trousers, which are markedly tighter all of a sudden. “By all means, then,” he replies aloud, a touch breathless. “Er…”

She takes his hand, kisses the knuckles, then guides it under that same pleated hem. Turns out the laces tie on the inside. They each find an end and, together, undo the knot. At which point (perhaps inspired by his example) Thosinund pulls back long enough to divest herself of the garment altogether, so that they now sit in equal states of undress. She seems to have forgotten to be the least bit abashed by this.

And oh, the sight goes through and through him. The span of her shoulders, the range of her arms. The map of scars crisscrossing her skin, dark lines and splotches bespeaking dangers overcome and battles survived... It is Haurchefant’s turn to stare dumbstruck.

“What is it?” she asks, and the note of unease in her voice brings him out of his trance. 

Fool! he berates himself. Making a lover feel self-conscious! For shame.  “Forgive me,” he says aloud. “I thought for a moment I had ascended to the seventh heaven.” 

“Oh,” she says, in a rush of relief, and he gathers her close once more- to crown each shoulder with a kiss, to run his hands tremulously over her biceps. She shivers, gasping as he traces her scars with his fingers and lips, and his whole body rejoices to hear it; he is careful, however, to avoid even the edge of her camise. Mustn’t rush these things. No matter how quick a study she is, he still mustn’t rush—  

—except that of a sudden, she’s taken his wrist in one trembling hand, and placed his palm directly over her breast before he can so much as draw breath to ask if she is sure.

Gift upon gift, o generous Fury!—Haurchefant will not squander this one either. He molds his hand to the firm swell, sweeping his thumb appreciatively over its slope; he caresses, slowly, then faster as he feels a telltale nub rising to his ministrations. She releases his wrist in order to fumble with a bit of metal between the breast he’s enjoying and its opposite number- ah, it’s a clasp, now undone, and he slips eagerly in beneath the loosened fabric. She jumps when his thumb finds her nipple, with a moan in the back of her throat that makes his head spin.

“I’m all right,” she pants, “I’m all right, don’t stop—hnng,” for he’s taken her at her word and rubbed his thumb in a quick circle round her pebbled areola.

He devotes himself to this lesson for some time, deliberate, diligent. He makes careful note of everything: her hitched breaths, her low encouraging hums, her high impatient complaints if he hesitates for even a fraction of a second. The full-body inhale that results when, still toying gently with the first breast, he pushes the camise out of the way and closes his lips over the opposite beautifully stiff peak.

“Haah,” her voice comes out in a hiss, followed by “yes,” and Haurchefant snakes his other arm round her waist to pull her closer as he sets to with his tongue- fluttering it over her skin, swirling it round within the ‘o’ of his mouth. His pants are tighter than ever but he ignores them; it’s about Thosinund right now, about her breath going shallow, about her heart beating so hard he can feel it rocking her from stem to stern. He alternates between using his fingers and his mouth, the one always replacing the other as he endeavors to give each side equal parts of his fullest attention. If he does this right—

—and suddenly Thosinund is arching in his arms, shuddering as he holds her fast, gasping: “Haurchefant, Haurchefant, I—oh—!!”

Did she just…? Haurchefant hardly dares to finish the thought. It might jinx the whole thing. He waits for her to come down again, quieting in the firelight, drifting back to earth.

When she seems to have steadied herself, he speaks. “Well, my dear—how was that?”

Thosinund looks at him, her eyes brighter than he’s ever seen them. Nearly glowing, in fact. “It… it was…” She pauses. Frowns. Then- “Splendid,” she breathes, grinning, and pulls him into a kiss that underscores her words. A kiss, in fact, that begs for more.

Far be it from him to deny such a willing pupil.

[rhymingteelookatme]

Pillow Talk

Words: 581 Genre: Fluff Pairing: HaurchefantxThosinund

In which even the most madcap flirts keep some things to themselves.

The first time Thosi hears it, she’s on the very edge of sleep.

Deep in her doze, she is still aware of a few things: the glow of the lantern on the nightstand, shining even through her closed eyelids; the soft sound of Haurchefant’s breathing. The shift of his weight at her back as he reaches up and over to bring the lantern close enough to blow it out, then put it back down. This done, he rolls back into his place and settles down again, draping his arm over her hip. Just as Thosi is drifting off properly she hears him whisper- “Ah, my Cozinund.”

She doesn’t quite recall this the next day, or the day after. But one evening she arrives to Dragonhead to find her dear asleep at his desk- his very nearly clear desk, which in itself is something like a miracle. It is as if he intended to do moons’ worth of work in a single day of concentrated effort. Such diligence has surely earned a proper rest, which is doubtless why no one has disturbed their slumbering commander... but then again, he can’t spend all night like this. He’ll feel it in the morning.

So Thosi shakes his shoulder, wakes him just enough so he’ll know who it is trying to pull him to his feet. “Come on,” she murmurs. “Come on, love, let’s get you to bed.” 

It is not easy getting her semi-conscious dear to walk. Still, she waits to carry him til they are out of sight of the others, for dignity’s sake. 

As she’s tugging off his sollerets, having laid him out on the bed, Haurchefant stirs and mumbles. Something that sounds like, “How forward, my dear!”

Thosi smiles to herself and keeps going. Gauntlets, main mail, undershirt all come off; nightshirt goes on. 

He mumbles again. “Eager, aren’t you...But...I decline- my Cozinund... never f’rgive me.” 

“...Your who?” Thosi says, after a moment. 

Haurchefant only snuggles down into the pillow. “Mm... Cozinund.”

A very flustered Thosi retreats from the room.

She takes several minutes longer to get to sleep that night, wondering when he ever thought of that. Wondering why she’s only learning of it now. Usually he likes to make her laugh with such things. Has she finally found the one thing even her mad Haurchefant considers too personal to reveal?

Another morning. So early that the light is barely blue, rather like his hair. Thosi has learned to keep these knightly hours; she slides her feet out of bed as her love is already dressing.

“Time and tide, rushing on without us.” He sighs. “I cannot help wishing they would linger.” So you could stay, his fond glance adds.

“I know,” she yawns. She pads over to kiss his temple, then starts hunting about for her leggings. 

“Alas,” he says, through the mail sliding over his head, “the very sun prepares to leave us. She who might make all the camp a balmy summer’s day, simply by remaining within it...”

“Ah, so that’s why you want me; my presence has the power to singlehandedly overcome your permanent winter.” 

“She admits it!”

“And to keep you all from frostbite...”

“Yes! Oh, say you will, dearest.”

“That you might remain perpetually—cozy?”

Haurchefant draws a breath to reply, only to go into a sudden coughing fit. When he recovers, his face is decidedly flushed.

“Er... in a manner of speaking,” he says, at last. 

Thosinund grins and leaves it at that. 

[rhymingteelookatme]

Prompt #3: Spring

He lives for these moments.

He kneels before her, his goddess, his queen- clad in an open shirt and not much else. Malms upon malms of her tower over him. Sculpted, corded with muscle from top to toe... the sight alone makes him tremble.

He steadies himself with his hands on her hips. Runs them down the steep length of her thighs, reveling in the texture. Grey as iron, nearly as firm, and yet how warm and yielding to his touch... Steel wrapped in silk! he will tell her, later. For now he cannot manage speech. He presses his lips to the side of her knee and she jumps, just a little. He kisses the other knee too, just to hear the sharp hiss of air through her teeth.

She whispers his name. A plea.

So he begins to move, ilm by ilm, kissing his way up her glorious legs. His hands roam all the while, caressing, stroking. Squeezing occasionally. She has scars even here, slashing dark across her skin. Long ones, short ones, ragged edges framing smoother centers. His fierce goddess. Queen of the battlefield. The Fury herself made flesh.

But he has never heard the Fury speak, let alone whisper. Or gasp, or whimper, or make low needy sounds in her throat. The higher he moves, the warmer she grows; when his hands are on her hips once more, his lips trailing kisses over the tops of her thighs, he swears she is giving off more radiant heat than the fire in the hearth.

She can no longer stand. She seems overwhelmed. She totters backward til she finds the bed and sinks down upon it, shaking. He follows, not bothering to rise from the floor, unable to tear his gaze from her.

“May I?” he breathes.

“Please...”

She does not sound to be in the mood for any further teasing.  

Haurchefant coaxes her forward, seating her at the edge of the mattress. She is already opening to him, canting her hips upward in her need. He has to stop her, but only long enough to pull her smalls down out of the way; then he returns to the sweet spot they had so lately concealed.

She is not just the goddess but the mountain, with a sacred spring held at its secret heart. Only the bravest dare attempt the climb. Only her chosen will make it to the center. Only those the goddess favors are allowed to taste those blessed waters.

And tonight she favors him.

He dips his head, and parts his lips, and drinks his fill.

[rhymingteelookatme]

Prompt #29: dialogue

[Overheard on a small airship, flying between the Sea of Clouds and Ishgard.]

“First of all, love, I am grateful. For your help, and that you’re safe.”

“But of course! I could hardly miss the chance to fight by your side.” 

“Or to be dramatic- did you truly need to wait til the last moment before jumping to join us on the deck?” 

“I was ensuring that our large, feathered friends did not think to do the same, so... yes.” 

“You dreadful man, I thought you would fall! You nearly stopped my heart.” 

“Indeed? You stop mine whenever I lay eyes upon you, love... I was wondering how I should return the favor.” 

[rhymingteelookatme]

Prompt #18: Un/Spoken

In which we follow the road that ends in a certain snowy night.

Words: 693 (believe it or not!)

Haurchefant didn’t know what sort of person he had expected. But whatever sort it was, the woman who strode into Camp Dragonhead that day was something else again. The door rattled, footsteps stopped before him, and he accordingly looked up... and up, and up... into the brightest turquoise eyes he had ever seen. 

Those eyes were what registered first, if one was inclined to understatement. More accurately, they were what first struck him to the heart. Honest eyes, and solemn. He had the sense that she was taking his measure without saying a word. 

What he wanted to say: who are you? 

What he said: “Ah, the unmistakable swagger of a well-traveled adventurer...” 

Her name was Thosinund. She came bearing news of his best friend’s peril, and in search of a lost airship. Well might she look solemn, with such missions as these. 

Yet she was not inflexible- when he asked if she might duel some of the trainee knights, she could have refused. But she simply nodded, then proceeded to knock them all on their collective arses with speed and style... enough to dazzle them out of any possible upset. Or mayhap it was only Haurchefant who felt dazzled? 

What he wanted to say: Halone help me, you are incredible. 

What he said: “Splendid performance, Thosinund!”

The whole camp was abuzz over her. Buzzed louder by the day, in fact. She found what was lost. She fetched what was sought. She had keen eyes, closed lips, and a kind heart: all three of which she used to free Francel from the charge of heresy, just as he had hoped she might.

It was, perhaps, only natural that Haurchefant should feel his heart bending toward Thosinund as a flower toward the sun. 

But he was not a fool. He knew she could not stay. Those who chose the adventuring life were not wont to linger anywhere for long, and woe betide any who would try to make them. 

What he wanted to say: Please, stay a while longer. I do not know when I shall see you again. 

What he said: “I wish you well in your journeys, Thosinund. May Halone guide you.”

It was not only the Fury who guided her, clearly. All of the Twelve must have taken interest. She toppled castrums, felled primals, and became a legend almost overnight. But whenever Haurchefant heard of Thosinund Haldkhanwyn, he saw that solemn-eyed stranger enter the hall... saw her smile of farewell as she left to pursue her airship. 

He could hardly do less than order supplies for her Scions’ frontier effort in Mor Dhona. And though he was vexed by the heretics’ thwarting the shipment, it meant one good thing... he got to see her.

He was rather less pleased when she calmly set about penetrating Iceheart’s lair, alone. Could she not have waited? Could she not have sought the help he so longed to give? 

But of course she could not. 

What he wanted to say: Sweet mercy, don’t do that to me again. I could not bear it if you were injured when I might have prevented it.

What he said: “But you are here now, and that is what truly matters.” 

Was it fate or chance that brought the snowstorm down? Who could say... who indeed could care. All Haurchefant could think was that, if it had to happen today, at least it meant he could shelter Thosinund for the duration. 

So they sat by the fire in the intercessory, playing games. Taking turns telling each other of their pasts, of their present. The firelight glowed on her hair, and her voice sounded warmer still, and Haurchefant could have sat with her til the end of time in this way. Simply enjoying her presence. 

Was it fate or chance that she should never have been kissed? That she should invite him to give her her very first?

All Haurchefant knew was that, if the Fury had marked him for this singular honor, he could not do aught but accept it with grace. 

What he wanted to say: I have longed for this moment. 

What he said: exactly that. 

[rhymingteelookatme]

Prompt #20: Selfish

Haurchefant has often wished that his love could stay with him- that it was this camp to which she returned after her days of derring-do. That it was not merely her portrait but the woman herself to whom he woke up each morning, beside whom he fell asleep each night.

A foolish, selfish dream which has now come partially true… in a way he would never have wished, not in a thousand years.

She has been smeared, slandered. Framed for murder and forced to flee for her very life, while all but two of her friends have been lost--perhaps forever--in the flight. Though she does her best not to show it, Haurchefant can see she is suffering: it shows in the stiffness of her shoulders, in the forced bravado of her stride. 

This is the price of being a leader. Of being a hero. Even in the direst circumstances, you must stand tall. 

It is perhaps for this reason that she makes her daily rounds, leaving the fortress at least once per day and refusing to come back empty-handed. If there is a stick of firewood or a cut of game to be had within twenty malms, she will have it. Cold be damned. Wind be damned. Does she think to earn not only her keep, but Tataru’s and Alphinaud’s as well? She is certainly doing the work of three people. 

Even now, she tries to give what she can. To take her own pain and turn it to some measure of joy. ‘Twould be hardhearted indeed to forbid this.  

And when at night she slips into his room, when she holds him close as though he is the last safe thing in the world... he will be damned if he will deny her that comfort, either. There are far worse ways of dealing with grief.

It is a bittersweet day when word comes at long last from Ishgard. The latest Dravanian threat has been beaten back, for the time being... and more importantly, Haurchefant’s petition to his father has been answered. House Fortemps will take on three new wards. 

The greater part of him is ecstatic that Thosinund will finally get to see the city he has longed to show her, that she and her Scions will be ensconced in his own family home. That they will be this much farther from the reach of those schemers in Ul’dah. These are good things, and both accomplished at one stroke to boot. 

Only that night, in the silence of his room, does he let the lesser part of him come to the fore. The part that shivers under the covers, missing how much better it was with her there. 

Foolish of him, and selfish, to be so dissatisfied. Has he not achieved a long cherished dream and kept her safe besides? What more could he wish than that?

(This is what more: the weight of her beside him. The scent of her skin. Her steady breathing in the dark.)

Well, he is only mortal, after all. 

[rhymingteelookatme]

Prompt #14: The Thought

In which mementos well serve even the staunchest heart.

There is some old saying about setting free what one loves, about how a love that is meant to be will always return. Even if that return most often comes in the form of irregular letters, often accompanied by odds and ends (tiny shells, dried flowers, interestingly colored rocks), well- it counts, does it not? Such is the cost of loving one who comes and goes as the winds take her. 

He is not the only one who loves her, of course. In a way, large parts of the world have taken her to their bosom. When heroes rise, multitudes love them sight unseen. It is not, of course, the same. But it counts anyway, for what it is worth.

They make of her what they will, out of what little they know. They tell stories, sing songs- some even hazard depictions of her to accompany the tales. Wildly varying, all inaccurate: rivers of impractically flowing locks, eyes that literally shoot flames. Often the proportions of eyes vs. nose are reversed; that is, the nose significantly smaller than real life and the eyes far larger. She does not take offense at these, often finding amusement in them where he cannot. 

Foolish of him to be bothered by them. Yet he is. Can there not be one decent likeness of his love? 

Today, a new letter on his desk. Full of talk about her day, jokes she heard, things of that sort. And in the envelope behind it- a bit of canvas no bigger than his palm, in its own smaller wrapping. 

There she is, real as life. Her eyes sear him, her smile touches, even in the form of truly tiny brushstrokes. The gleam of light upon her hair, the streaks of darkness below her shoulders...! It is the best kind of sorcery, he is certain.

He tucks the portrait back into its envelope, stands from his desk. He knows exactly where to place it. 

Bells later, he will whisper “Goodnight, love,” as he drifts to sleep. 

[rhymingteelookatme]

Unutterable

In which some things are better done than said, and others are the opposite.

[For prompt no. 23, “‘melt into you’ kiss”. Direct sequel to Much Ado.]

Words: 678 Fandom: FFXIV Pairing: Haurchinund (gorgeous ship name, thanks @stars-bleed-hearts-shine ) Genre: silliness and steam

“I’ll carry you,” were her words, and Thosinund is ever as good as her word. She waits only for Haurchefant’s nod of assent before bending and scooping him into her arms.

“Comfortable?” she asks. She tightens her grip a little, for security, and then a bit more for no reason but to hear his sharp inhale of delight. (She does many things for that reason.)

“Perfect,” he tells her, and off they go.

Haurchefant knows that the sooner they reach their destination, the sooner they can get back to embracing properly. But Thosinund is just intoxicating. She smells of soap, and sweat, and something slightly floral; it goes straight to his head and he clings to her, peppering kisses everywhere he can reach.

“Stop that,” she protests, snickering. “I’ll drop you before we even get there!”

He tries. He really does. For about fifteen seconds. Then he cannot resist nuzzling into her hair, and she comes to an abrupt halt.

“Well if you can’t behave,” she says, “I’ve no other choice.” She slings him over her shoulders, clasping his limbs like a shepherd with a sheep, and sets off once more. “Teach you to mess with my balance.”

“Ah, my dear,” he gaily replies, “the mere sight of you is enough to throw anyone off balance. Especially at this angle.”

She huffs a laugh. “You dreadful man, you. Just wait.”

When she loosens her hold on him in order to open the door, he reaches to turn the handle with her. And to slide the bolt shut, once they are inside. Next instant they’ve crossed the room, and he is landing on the bed with a bounce.

“The fire…?” he asks, spotting its merry blaze in the hearth.

“Had to pass the time somehow,” she tells him, yanking at her boots and cursing under her breath. “Blasted- things-”

“Let me,” and he slips down to help. Once freed of her footwear, she returns the favor; for the rest, it’s back onto the blankets. Literally, back; Thosinund stretches out and pulls Haurchefant atop her. He is only too happy to fall.

There was a time, once, when Coerthas had glorious green summers. Haurchefant still remembers them like a recurring dream, afternoons spent sporting with Francel by the cool river. Dozing on sun-baked rocks til the shifting shade woke them. Feeling, for the moment, naught but carefree and content.

Those days are too long gone. But to lie in Thosinund’s embrace—against the rolling plains of her, against her skin as hot as embers—is to regain a measure of that peace. He nestles his cheek on her shoulder. “Mm...” 

“Hey, now,” she chides. “Don’t go falling asleep on me already.”

“Fear not, love, I shan’t.” He basks a second longer, then raises up to regard her. 

Gods, what a woman. Every line of her visage bespeaks her strength and grace: the sweeping curves of her nose and chin, the fringe falling over her brow. And her mouth- her warm, wide, faintly flushed mouth... which now twists slyly to one side under his gaze.

“See something you like?” 

“Indeed… though ‘tis a grave understatement, to say merely ‘like.’” He traces the arc of her ear. “Say rather that I treasure, cherish, madly adore…”

“Dreadful man,” she laughs. “Overstatement is just as bad.” 

“What overstatement? I hope you know I am sincere.”

“I do know it. Only...” She shakes her head, eyes half closed. “I have heard one too many minstrels’...exaggerations, lately. It feels a little strange to hear their like from you.”

“Then you shall hear no more of them tonight,” he replies. “But what is a poor knight to do, if he cannot sing his lady’s praises? I confess I am at a loss.”  He dips his chin, peering mock-dolefully at her from under his lashes.

“Fear not,” she whispers, grinning. “I have ideas.”

Her nails scratch slowly, deliciously, across his bare hip, sending unutterable pleasure shivering through him. (Truly, no words on earth could adequately convey how good that feels.) She does it again, and he dissolves into her kiss.