#corentiaux

[hawwwlucha]

Okay yes there's modded stuff here but this was too good of an art party to not join with the gacha theme!

With a bonus un-modded look so that people can see what I was going for

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

Prompt #2: Bark

Haurchefant toed the body of a slain imperial solider, a scowl crossing his features. The Fury had seemed to favor Camp Dragonhead. Some hours before he'd received word of imperial troops having made it into Coerthas under cover of a blizzard. When it came to Garlean encroachment upon his home, the Silver Fuller only had one rule.

Annihilation.

Even more so now, considering that Fortemps' holding was the home of the Fury's chosen vessels--Augustine and Mathye Bishop. The silver-haired elezen exhaled, breath puffing out in white clouds. Behind him he could hear the bark of orders being given, Corentiaux was directing the clean-up effort. The clear weather wouldn't last long, another storm was predicted to move in.

"This is the third anti-magic squad in as many months." He commented. "I feel I need to ask, has the Fury directed you to pass judgement upon the nonbelievers and I wasn't invited?"

"If there was an offensive against the Empire, you would be the first one we'd invite." Snow crunching under his boots, the blue-armored form of Augustine Bishop came up alongside the master of Camp Dragonhead. No longer semi-Primed, he was back to his normal self.

"As for this, you've heard the news from outside. The Black Wolf is on the march." Augustine squatted next to the dead man, patting him down and inspecting his pockets.

"With how he took over Ala Mhigo, it makes sense that he'd look at us. You know how the Vault reacted to my brother's Priming. And Ser Wrymblood's own. We're all just only barely getting along and even then."

"Scouts." Haurchefant mused.

"We're probably not the only ones dealing with this. Ser Borel's contacts have told him that Ifrit, Titan, and Garuda are active. Plus there was word of a unknown Eikon showing up in Limsa." Augustine considered the small pile of items he'd put together. Scraps of paper, a tomestone, a carved figurine of a man in red wood, and a locket. The tomestone was set to the side, along with the papers. The figurine and the locket went back in the dead man's pockets.

"May you enjoy peace on the other side." He murmured, bowing his head. Haurchefant echoed the prayer, watching as Augustine stood up.

"So the Black Wolf is testing for weaknesses then?" He asked. "That makes for ill hearing." Augustine didn't respond immediately, his gaze flicking towards the Nail.

"If I were you, I'd see about getting some men together to investigate Castrum Aquilonis." He said. "Like you said, the third incursion as in many months? They can't be coming from outside."

[constellariums]

FFXIVWrite Day #5: Stamp & Wolchefant Week Day #5: Time Apart

Rating: T

Pairing: Warrior of Light/Haurchefant Greystone

Description: The Warrior of Light, on a journey to broker peace between man and dragon, receives a letter from her lover back in Camp Dragonhead that reminds her of what she is fighting for.

Read on AO3!

My dearest friend, the letter began in Haurchefant's clear, elegant hand, how fare you on your latest adventure? Have you managed to find a way into enemy lands, as you'd confided in me before your departure? It has been quite some time since my last foray into the wilds of the Dravanian Forelands, well before the Calamity I would say; are they still as verdant and lush with untamed beauty as I remember? Once, as a youth, my father allowed me to accompany some of our house's men on an expedition to capture wild chocobos for use in our stables; if you have made it thus far I trust you have already encountered some of your own, and have been well-warned to steer clear of those bearing crimson feathers. 'Tis truly a shame they cannot be tamed -- such splendidly powerful, awe-inspiring creatures they are!

Business at Camp Dragonhead proceeds as usual; well, no, in truth there has been much more keeping me busy these past weeks than has ever been typical. The stacks of paperwork in my inbox grow ever higher and higher, no matter what I do, much to Corentiaux's chagrin -- I must admit that he might be under the impression that I am penning a lengthy missive to a lord of House Dzemael at the moment. I do hate to disappoint him, but I dislike being parted from your side even more. So I pray the Fury forgives my deception, and allows me this indulgence of writing to you instead, before I must return to my work.

I miss you, my friend. Oh, this is the second page now, surely no one who might intercept this letter would read past the first page, or even the first mention of my petty grousing about something as mundane as paperwork.

I miss you, my love; oh that I were there with you, in the midst of your most dangerous adventure, as your sword and your shield, your most devoted and ardent ally. Your lover, to offer this humble body to warm yours on the coldest of nights; these palms to wipe the sweat from your brow, these hands to work the knots from your aching muscles and soothe your exhaustion on your surely arduous journey. I miss you.

Read the rest on AO3

[mirateski]

burn - for the single-word fic prompt!

(I don't want to think too hard about how long this has been sat in my inbox. So I won't.)

With the spectre of the Aery looming on the horizon, Ar'telan's misgivings are too loud to ignore.

(m!WoLxHaurchefant)

It was not a proposal he enjoyed.

It wasn’t the first time people had tried to convince him to fight dragons. Even befor ethey had fled Ul’dah, he had kept his silence in Coerthas, but he had be able to deflect before. Aiatar, Isgebind - with both of them he had managed to avoid a fight to the death.

Nidhogg would not be convinced.

It was clear from Hraesvelgr’s words that Nidhogg’s anger was beyond mortal ability to reason with. Perhaps his peers could sway him, but they were equally mired in sadness and grief. He wondered if Tiamat, revered and lost as she was, would be equally weighted down.

Estinien would not understand his concerns. Ysayle might have done, if she had not been shocked into immobility. Alphinaud was young and too detached from the idea of honoured creatures to feel his discomfort. He was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Ishgard was too zealous, in both hate and belief, to feel the plight of a man who had lived with dragons as kin - parent, friend, guide, historian. Dragons not lost to madness, but mourning all the same.

He wondered if there were any left who did not mourn.

—

They had returned to Ishgard proper, sans Ysayle, to find a way through the veil of wind that surrounded the Aery. the Manufactuary had ideas, with the Ironworks, that Ar’telan was not smart enough to understand. It would take a little time, they said, so Ar’telan found himself alone with his thoughts. Such things did not work well for him in Ishgard.

He walked across the Steps of Faith, eyes taking in the damage from the latest attack. He recognised the wounds that Vishap had left in its assault on the walls. Thought about Ysayle, who had justified her goading and supporting under a veil of righteousness. They thought they were different to each other, and yet could not be more similar.

Ratatoskr would have condemned them both.

—

Central Coerthas was cold, as was the norm in the twisted post-Cala mity climate, but for a mercy it was not actually snowing. Ar’telan trudged along the half-buried path towards Camp Dragonhead, still conflicted. To discuss his misgivings was heresy to Ishgard. Though he did not ascribe to Ishgard’s Halone, it still put all who heard him in danger. Made them complicit. Just as the Crystal Braves had done in Ul’dah, he had become a weapon for his enemies to use against those he cared about, this time of his own making. But he could not ignore the wound that festered in his heart.

—

“Ar’telan!” Haurchefant’s greeting was as enthusiastic as always. Though he did not leap from his chair to embrace him - there were too many eyes in the room for that - Ar’telan could read the desire in the smile that spread across his face. Incorrigible as ever.

“Haurchefant. Have you a moment to speak?” he asked, hands quick around the words. The implication was clear - perhaps clear enough that the Echo translated it, unbidden. In private.

“Of course! Corentiaux, please inform me if an emergency arises,” the knight said, all but launching to his feet as he did so. Corentiaux, clearly misinterpreting the nature of Ar’telan’s visit but still willing to cover for his commander, saluted in acknowledgement and tacitly said nothing.

—

A truly private room was difficult to find in Camp Dragonhead, but the room was empty, at least. The benefit to his signing was that it was harder for nefarious types to eavesdrop upon, but Haurchefant’s words would still be heard clearly enough.

“We have spoken to dragons,” Ar’telan began, which made Haurchefant inhale sharply. “In Dravania. The Great Wyrm Hraesevelgr told us of Nidhogg’s rage.”

“It is quite the rage,” Haurchefant agreed, which made Ar’telan grimace, ears pressed back against his head.

“Yes,” he agreed, a single movement which hurt to say. “Even Hraesvelgr feels it is unquenchable. HJe is so angry that he will let Ishgard persist only so he can punish it further.” He shook his head. “If we are to keep Ishgard safe, Nidhogg- Nidhogg must die.”

“It is a truth Ishgard has long known, yet found impossible to achieve,” Haurchefant said, his voice quiet. Ar’telan had spoken to him of Meracydia before. On his meeting with Midgardsormr. Of all those in Ishggard, only Haurchefant truly understood what it meant for him to say what he did. “And you are uniquely placed to do it, now. Did Hraesvelgr offer aught?” Ar’telan cringed at the question.

“Sorrow and silence,” he replied. “He will not stop us should we try. That is all.” He sighed. “But he is not Tempered. He is all but lost in rage, but there is no primal source. He is of the First Brood. Bahamut is dead. Tiamat is lost. Ratatoskr- Ratatoskr is dust. How can I continue man’s folly and feel justified? How is it right?”

For a moment, Haurchefant was silent. Sombre thought ill-suited the knight, but Ar’telan knew the look. He had worn it when Francel had been accused of heresy.

“Ishgard is not Meracydia,” he said, voice quiet. “If Nidhogg were like those you knew, it would be easy to call it wrong. If he and his horde did not slaughter without thought, the question would be easier. But if he is not Tempered, why does he feel such rage?” Ar’telan swallowed his nerves.

“King Thordan and his knights slaughtered Ratatoskr, and ate her Eyes.”

Haurchefant sat in stunned silence for several long moments. When he regained his wits, his voice was barely audible.

“Unprovoked?”

“Avalon and the dragons lived together before it. Yes. The Echo showed me what they did.”

“And Nidhogg’s ire has lasted a millennia in retaliation,” Haurchefant said, shaking his head in disbelief. “What selfish motives of our ancestors. What bitter damnation to run in our blood.”

“But none of those who live now should bear the weight of that.”

Haurchefant sighed. “No. But equally, what Ishgard began should not fall to you to finish,” he said. “The Azure Dragoon is with you, is he not?” Ar’telan nodded.

“He swore to me he would not attack unprovoked, but… I do not trust him. His rage runs as deep as Nidhogg’s does. He suffered the same loss. The well of anger is bitter and deep.”

“And what did Midgardsormr say?” Haurchefant asked. Dangerous words to speak aloud, and they both knew it. Ar’telan’s ears twitched nervously.

“That Nidhogg was lost. His rage has consumed him for too long. But I can’t- I won’t give up on that hope. I can’t. If he is not Tempered, what traps him is his own mind, his draconic nature. Time feels fleeting, and in the Song, Ratatoskr’s death is yet a raw and open wound. If it could but heal…”

“If his own sire cannot heal that wound, what chance does a mere mortal have?” Haurchefant said. “I know it hurts. That the complexity cuts like a knife, and even with Midgardsormr himself backing your actions, your people - your own heart - may never forgive you.” Of course he would know how it felt. Years under the weight of it, but he had never found an answer either. He had given everything to Ishgard, and still…

“Even if it saves Ishgard, I do not think I can do it,” Ar’telan said, fingers shaking as he formed the words. “Even if I’m the only one that ever could, I… I can’t. I can’t.”

Without a word, Haurchefant closed the scant distance between them and pulled him into a hug. Ar’telan closed his eyes, fingernails catching on the rings of Haurchefant’s armour. It wasn’t an escape. It was never an escape.

“I am sorry, my love,” Haurchefant said, voice barely more than a whisper. “Know that I will not blame you, no matter what action you take. Just… be sure to come home. Do not petition the wall so intently that he consumes you. Please.” Ar’telan’s fingers tightened, just for a moment, and he pulled away.

“I will try,” he said, the movements uncertain. “I… I’m sorry. If it had been anyone else…”

“Then you would not be staring down Nidhogg’s fortress to begin with,” Haurchefant cut across. “Follow your heart. It has led you well enough so far, I would say.” Ar’telan managed a tremulous smile.

“I don’t know if I would agree with that,” he said, “but I will try.” He shook his head, trying to collect his wits. “Thank you. For listening. I know it is not precisely safe for you to hear such heresy.”

“With the news you bear, I wonder that the notion of heresy will last overlong,” Haurchefant said, a bitter undertone to his voice. “I will keep my silence until you return, with whatever fate you bring of the wyrm. But it will not go down easy. This history, or Nidhogg himself.” Ar’telan sighed.

“I know,” he said, and wished that he didn’t.

[vassalor]

FFXIV Underrated Husbandos :3

I want a little “shine” for this husbandos too :3

K'rhid Tia

Sevrin 

M'zhet Tia

Jacke Swallow

Corentiaux

Pipin Tarupin

Stephanivien

[pommancy]

Cute side npc from FF14 , Yozan and Corentiaux

[the-lion-of-house-fortemps]

Practice

"Why must it be me? Can you not practice on Corentiaux?" Ger questions, her pace swift as she goes about finishing up the last few tasks she had for the day.

Ramora hurries after her, having to actually jog a little to match with her, and then walks backwards in front of the knigt. Ger watches her with faint amusement as the duskwight continues to try to convince her. "Because," Ramora draws out the word, twirling to follow after the smaller woman as she sets down the stack of paper in her arms and moves about the room speaking briefly with other knights.

"Corentiaux is too easy! No offense, Corentiaux." Ramora says, flashing the baby faced knight a bright smile.

"None taken," the knight says with a bob of his head. He had been no challenge for the duskwight, after all.

"Hmm. Did you try Francel?" Ger offers distractedly, leafing through reports on her Lord Haurchefant's desk.

Ramora sits on the desk and on one stack of papers that Ger had yet to look over. "I.. tried," the duskwight hedges, looking a tad guilty. "My last visit. Francel still won't look me in the eye and I think he's avoiding me."

Ger reaches for the papers pinned beneath her duskwight friend's behind, attempting to tug them out from underneath without wrinkles or tearing. Ramora watches her struggle for a moment in amusement, then lifts her hip to allow the papers to slip free. 

Ger clears her throat, straightening the papers with a few taps on her Lord's desk.

Ramora flashes her a toothy grin.

"...And Lord Haurchefant?"

Ramora laughs, leaning back on her hands. "A valiant effort, truly! But I am afraid your Lord Haurchefant is just simply too honest and open about his desires and general horniness." It was why they got along so well.

There's a choked off sound of laughter and Ramora glances over at Corentiaux, who was covering up his laughter by coughing into his closed fist, and offers him a cheeky wink.

Ger frowns disapprovingly. It was true, but she should not say it.

Corentiaux clears his throat, shrugging sheepishly as Ger shakes her stack of papers at him. "Well, she does have a point."

Ranora jerks a thumb in his direction. "See? C'mon, Ger! Please." She clasps her hands together and affects a pleading expression. "Please, please, please?"

Ger sighs deeply, rolling her eyes so slight it was barely noticeable unless you were gazing hopefully into her face.

"Why me?"

Ramora beams, looping her arms around the knight and then curling her legs around her as well in a clingy hug as she croons into the flustered knight's rounded ear, "Because you're my favorite! And I know you will be an actual challenge!"

Ger squirms out of her hold, bopping Ramora on the head with her stack of papers, who tucks her tongue between her teeth and looks entirely unrepentant.

"Fine. You've convinced me."

"Yay!" Ramora bounces up, cheering, and darts in to press a lipstick staining kiss to the midlander's cheek. Ger squints at her, already regretting this decision.

....

Ger scrubs at the lipstick mark on her face with a handkerchief to no avail as her duskwight friend sits across from her in a comfortable chair in Ger's quarters.

"How does this work exactly?" Ger asks, balling up the handkerchief and setting it aside. Her cheek is bright pink surrounding the red mark of Ramora's lipstick.

Ramora is only too smug and does not tell her she needs to use soap to get it off. "You're going to try to resist me."

"Easy enough." Ger remarks blandly.

Ramora clutches a hand to her breast at the jab, gasping. "Rude. I could so seduce you!"

"You could try." Ger offers her a slight smile and sits down, far more comfortable to do this in her own room and away from prying eyes.

Ramora sniffs in faux offense, but gets back to the subject at hand. "The point is for me to really have to work for it. I need to practice using it. It can't be too easy. So, you don't want to tell me. Anything. As far as you're concerned, I'm the enemy interrogating you and you're giving me nothing."

Ger nods. "All right."

Ramora flashes her a fanged grin, "Yes! Ok, don't freak out." And closes her eyes.

Ger quirks a brow and then leans abruptly backwards when Ramora opens her eyes again. They were startlingly red.

It starts out easy enough. The questions Ramora ask simple enough for Ger to refuse to answer. But then Ramora cocks her head, impressed and says, "Atta' girl. Shall we go harder then?"

Ger feels a hair raising prickle, a dark presence hovering around her friend that almost has the knight instinctively reaching for her sword. It certainly has the midlander leaning away.

"Come now, darling," Ramora purrs and her voice is rich and smooth. Ohh. This... this was a thrall, wasn't it?

Still, Ger resists and keeps her back straight and pressed to the back of her chair even though she wants to lean forward.

"Won't you tell me things, hmm?" Ramora continues, leaning forward with arms crossed under her breasts to bring attention to her ample cleavage. "Tell me.. what you want. Tell me.. what you need. Tell me your deepest, darkest desires."

Ger glances briefly down, eyebrows furrowing, and then meets the duskwight's compelling red eyed stare with narrow eyes. Her tongue feels strange in her mouth and she has to swallow several times, but she fights through the urge to tell Ramora anything. Especially any of that.

"Damn, you're good," Ramora sighs, twirling her hair. "And here I was hoping I'd finally have a chance at seducing you. I'd make it worth your while." Ramora flutters her eyelashes, running her tongue along her red painted lips. "By the end, you'll be so relaxed you would never know there was such a large stick up your-"

Ger gives a rough ahem. Unimpressed.

Ramora pouts. "Too easy for you? Damn. I suppose I'll just have to... try something else." The duskwight closes her eyes, breathing deep, and when she opens them again the whites of her eyes have turned black. That dark feeling intensifying so strong that Ger feels it crawl across her skin and inspire a rush of shivery bumps.

Ger's reaction is so instinctual that she does not realize she'd drawn a blade until she sees the dagger.

Ramora pushes the pointed bit away from her with her pointer finger, ruby lips twisting as she snarks, "Sorry, darling, I'm not into that sort of penetration. Unless you intend to reimburse me for the act of cutting the clothes off my body, knife play is off the table."

Ger drops the dagger with a clatter onto the table between them, her heart beating fast. "What do you intend to do?'".

Ramora rolls her neck, humming low. "If I tell you it won't be a surprise."

Ger's eyes flicker to her dagger. Ramora notices and reaches out to steal the dagger from her sight. No stabbing today, thank you.

"I do not like surprises," the midlander says, lips thinning.

Ramora smiles wickedly. "You'll like this one." If it worked, that is. "Ok, close your eyes?"

Ger squints as her, suspicious. "Why?"

Ramora groans. "Close them! You're helping me, remember?"

Ger grunts, regretting the decision, and closes her eyes. It is quiet for several moments. And then Ramora says, "You can look now."

Ger opens her eyes, and instantly flinches. She looks around, confused; because the duskwight had disappeared and in her place sat her lord Haurchefant, chin resting on his steepled fingers as he grinned impishly.

Ger blinks slow.

"...What are you up to?" She asks him.

Haurchefant blinks, sitting back, and his lips turn down into a pout. "It didn't work?" He asks.

Ger furrows her brow. "...What didn't?"

Haurchefant blows out a breath, slumping forward in a very unlordly fashion. "The glamour! I'm supposed to look and sound like your heart's desire! Damn, I knew Daemryss was a bloody liar!"

Ger stares hard. This.. was Ramora? Ramora glamoured to look like Ger's... Like Haurchefant. His face, his voice, his body. Ohh. Nno. Ramora could not know of this.

So Ger says nothing, reaching out to pat her - Haurchefant's! - hand.

Ramora sighs, and in Haurchefant's voice, tells her, "Thank you for humoring me." She shakes her head then, eyes falling closed. And in the fraction of a second it takes Ger to blink does the glamour fall away, and the duskwight is herself again.

The midlander allows herself to relax.

"Oh well," Ramora sighs, pushing back her chair and standing up to stretch. "I suppose there had to be someone out there resistant to my many charms. I'm not too upset that it's you." Ramora says, walking around the table to lean down and sling an arm around the midlander. "Want to go get a drink?"

Ger squints at her. "It's the middle of the day."

"So?"

[ladyramora]

Excuse me lady! But I so do enjoy your Haurchefant. Could you write a sweet fluff piece of Haurchefant day dreaming about the WoL's next visit to Camp Dragonhead? Weirdness and all? Thank you!

- - -

- -

-

Germanotta sidles up to Corentiaux’s side, tugging Yaelle along with her for a knight-ly congregation. She looks up to Corentiaux and Yaelle both, her lips pulling down in a pensive frown. “…How long has our lord been in this state?”

“A bell, at least,” Yaelle says mildly, her expression hardly shifting from its usual serious mein. 

Corentiaux makes a thoughtful sound, looking down at the hyur with a shake of his head. “Nay, longer. He has been… rather distracted as of late.”

Yaelle makes a breathy sound through her nose, almost a snort if she were not so dignified. “An understatement, to be certain.”

Germnotta crosses her arms. “…The Warrior of Light has sent word that they would pass through our Camp soon enough on one of their missions. I have little doubt that is to be the reason for this.” 

Corentiaux and Yaelle both give agreeing hums, crossing their arms along with Germanotta as they nod their heads in unison. 

“Of course.”

“A reasonable hypothesis.”

- - - 

Lord Haurchefant’s smile could be described as dreamy. Besotted, smitten, positively love-struck.  His quill hovers over the parchment he had been working on for the last two bells, a blot of ink spreading across his return response to his eldest brother. He would need to start over again. 

Ah, but how to focus on such trivial things when the Warrior of Light was soon to grace him with their presence again? 

Would they come see him? Would they smile? Tell him they had missed him the very same as he had them?

Haurchefant drops his quill to cup his cheeks, sighing wistfully.

He could just imagine them now. Bursting through the doors to make their way to his desk. Their usual stoic, warrior mask softening at the sight of him. Their smile warm enough to melt even the iciest of hearts. 

“Lord Haurchefant,” They would say so softly. “I missed you ever so much.” 

And then they would reach across his desk for him, pulling him in to kiss them deeply, passionately - breathing, “Lord Haurchefant, Lord Haurchefant.” 

Ah, but should they not call him merely Haurchefant as he had asked?

“Lord Haurchefant!” 

Haurchefant startles, snapping out of his daydream as he is shaken forcefully. His head bobbing forwards and backwards. “Lord Haurchefant, snap out of it!” 

Haurchefant shakes his head, palms curling over the smaller hands that grasped his collar. Germanotta stood at his chair, her hands twisted in his collar.

“Ger, what…?”

Germanotta frowns at him, gesturing to his desk with one hand. “You spilled your ink whilst lost in a daydream, my lord.”

Haurchefant tips his head to stare at the slowly spreading pool of ink across his desk. It seems he had tipped over his inkpot in the midst of his daydream. 

“How clumsy of me.” 

Thankfully enough it seemed his knight had the sense to gather up the rest of his finished documents before they were horribly stained. Haurchefant plucks up the ink-stained parchment that was to be the letter to Artoirel. 

“Ah, well…” 

Germanotta bops him on the head with the stack of papers, her lips quirking in the barest of smiles. “I know you are eager to see them, my lord, but pray do not become so lost in your imaginings that you make a larger work load for yourself. You do wish to have time to interact with them, no?”

Haurchefant smiles sheepishly. “Of course, Ger. My thanks for your timely rescue.”

Corentiaux and Yaelle share a look, sighing with a smile as Germanotta looks at their Lord Haurchefant with such clear fondness. Helping him to clean up the mess of spilled ink with nary a complaint. 

The Warrior of Light was due to arrive any moment now.

[goldbasar]

002 | Give me a character & I will tell you

CORENTIAUX

How I feel about this character: I feel sorry for him because I’m always under the impression that, as great as a knight as he may be, Haurchefant can be quite erratic in his actions and ideas (francel’s rescue campaign: RIDING INTO BATTLE AGAINST AN INQUISITOR HIMSELF, as son of house fortemps. being weird towards random adventurers. being all over the place in HW. I mean like. I did not pay attention to him TOO much during my first playthrough but I can imagine it’s a wild ride for someone in his position

All the people I ship romantically with this character:  none

My non-romantic OTP for this character: I can only go by your fanfic, @horfing so you know the answer <3 ; q;  both francel and emmanellain would be interesting characters for interaction, and honoroit, in his position and relation to lord emmanellain bc imagine him seeing resemblances in his loyal but snarky attitude

My unpopular opinion about this character: none

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: more focus ON HIM + THE OTHER KNIGHTS IN HW, generally Camp Dragonhead/central coerthas. Haurchefant was made to feel like he was really important in the MSQ in HW, but we didn’t actually see him THAT often, let alone HIS relationships with HIS people and comrades. ;o; it’s sad. I would’ve loved to see it.

my OTP: I don’t have one

a headcanon fact: I pretty much adapted your fic’s canon for him tbh....;;;

[harrycollins]

The idea of writing your silly ideas as little fics cured me here is a tiny piece from my ‘Alphinaud sends a Wind-up Calian to Haurchefant as a gift and make him unable to focus on his daily work’ fic.

[amarioko]

Half a dozen knights

Corentiaux watches his lord pace. Strains his ears to hear the disgruntled noises he makes every time he glances at the door. Lord Haurchefant is wound tight like a spring, back tense as he wears a path in the floor with his unrelenting pacing.

 Corentiaux looks away for but a moment, that very moment Lord Haurchefant moves. Striding towards the door with singular intent. "I'll not stand idly by!"

 "You cannot go, Lord Haurchefant!" Corentiaux calls after him, waving to the knights posted around the room to slow him down. At first they try to block his path but Haurchefant side steps and turns around them. 

 Corentiaux catches up quickly, grabbing his lord by the arm. Haurchefant shakes him off. "I have made up my mind. I'll not be deterred, Corentiaux!" Haurchefant declares, reprimand in his tone as he evades every attempt to detain him.   

 "As a single unit!" Corentiaux barks in command, filled with little joy but the sense of relief as half a dozen knights pile unto their leader. Grabbing hold of him wherever they could reach. Arms, legs, you name it. Two even sprawling on the floor to grab his ankles. Corentiaux himself grasping Haurchefant about the waist as his lord flails with indignation. 

 "You cannot stop me, Corentiaux!" Haurchefant growls, thrashing so wildly that he manages to dislodge several knights for a scant few moments. It's enough for him to move a few more paces to the door. 

 The knights he'd discarded pile back on, feet planted on the stone floor in an attempt to slow him. He pushes forward even still, grunting with strain as he drags the weight of several armored knights along with him. 'How is he this strong?!' Corentiaux gapes, feet dragging as Haurchefant pulls him along with several other knights. 'Sweet Halone, it must be love!' 

 "They...! Need.. me, Corentiaux! I... must.. Help them!" Haurchefant huffs out.

 "There's..! Nn..othing you can do, my lord!" Corentiaux tries to reason with him through gritted teeth. Haurchefant labors on as if he hadn't spoken, grunting with the effort it took to drag their combined weight.

 "That doesn't matter! I cannot sit here while they risk their life! I must go to them!" Suddenly there's the chirp of a linkpearl. The linkpearl given to them by Lord Alphinaud to keep them apprised of the situation. 

Haurchefant halts abruptly; the knights holding onto him groaning with pain as they sprawl with a clatter onto the floor without the force of him dragging them along in an incredible feat of strength. Haurchefant jumps over the pile of grumbling knights - to his desk in a flash! - to press the pearl to his ear with a fretful expression. 

"There is news?!" He asks without preamble, desperation in his eyes. The knights watch his expression become pinched as someone - likely Alphinaud - replies. "Yes, yes...! Greetings to you as well Alphinaud! Pray tell me our friend is well?!" 

 Another pause. Relief washes over Haurchefant's face. He breathes a shaky sigh, dragging a hand over his face as he drops heavily into his chair. "I see. Good, good. ..Yes, I shall speak with you anon." 

 There's another chirp as the linkpearl communication ends. Haurchefant rakes his hands through his hair, breathing heavily. He looks up to find his knights watching him, still sprawled in a heap of limbs on the floor. Corentiaux stands beside the pile, only minimally ruffled despite his earlier strain.

 "Is aught amiss?" Corentiaux prompts. 

 Haurchefant smiles. "Our guest shall arrive shortly." There's a murmuring of good-natured commentary from the knights on the floor. 

 Haurchefant laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. "As you were?"

 Corentiaux cocks a brow, smiling with fond exasperation as he bows respectfully. "Yes, my lord."

[hawwwlucha]

Maybe I should post these here as well.

[totallycorrectffxivquotes]

Haurchefant: Okay so one of you is wearing the same perfume as WoL and I just want to ask you to change it or it’s going to start getting real weird around here Yaelle: Like... sexy weird? Corentiaux: He means he’s going to start crying. He hasn’t seen WoL in weeks.

[conjuringcoeurls]

When Pigs Fly

Last part of a free afternoon between Lauviron (Ron) and Helie! This time they get down to business, finally. Ron is @mostdangerouspotato, thank you for being patient :D

NSFW, involving ftm/m sex plus mentions of genitalia by their anatomical names. Soft future spouses getting it on.

<< part 1                        < part 2

Swallowing down as much as he could after that tease and the subtle warning to not overdo it, Helie decided to have mercy on his finacé and get going for real. The first bob down was always the hardest and he tried his best relaxing his throat to accommodate the cock, proud of himself when he did manage. After the first few swallows, it was definitely easier, smoother and he got settled into a gentle rhythm, not daring to make Ron come just yet. The fingers in his hair tightened and he heard the soft moan, smiling as much as he could with his mouth full at the success. Making Ron moan, making him say something during sex or making him voice any sound at all was a glorious victory and he enjoyed every second of it.

Suckling at the tip when he noticed his lover getting used to the sensations of a steady movement to change things up a bit, he looked up through his bangs. Watching Ron watch him, seeing the deep red of his face, the flustered look he always wore when Helie did something like this. It made him shudder himself and he suddenly wished to be closer, to kiss those brows and make Ron moan even more, even louder and be there to swallow the sounds with a kiss. His love too seemed to have the same idea and the short tug on his hair, gentle as he always was, made him follow easily, moving up to lean over Ron and finally kiss those lips again. The elation at Ron kissing back, the feeling of hands wandering down his face and reaching lower to touch him in return, thin, talented fingers moving just right made him gasp into the kiss. 

As one digit entered the already wet entrance of his, circling the clit in a way Ron had delightfully discovered early on always made him arch back, he could not keep the precarious leaning position any longer and he once more settled his legs outside of Rons, prompting the free hand to move to his hips and keeping him still through the small twitches his lover coaxed out of him. Moaning into the kiss with delight, he felt already an orgasm incoming, having been primed and ready since he had first swallowed the cock that was just waiting to get some attention now. He tried voicing this to Ron, who seemed undeterred, continuing with his minstraitions with that concentration of his that made Helie crazy when applied in situations like this. The electrifying feeling rushing through him once more made him arch and moan, clenching around the finger inside of him in unmistakable delight. 

Ron knew to leave his clit alone for a while after he came, too sensitive to touch so shortly after all the stimulation so he moved his hand away, which suited him just right as well. Grasping at his lover’s shoulders, grinding down weakly after his peak, he took matters in his own hands as it were and started to guide Ron’s dick into him, gasping at the intrusion quite larger than the single digit before. It was not much a deterrent though and soon he was able to sit down fully, leaving no space between them. 

Ron had at one point broken the kiss but now initiated a new one, both hands resting on Helie’s hips in a way that told him to stay still for a bit, the slow flex of them a comfort as much as their closeness. Helie himself wrapped his arms around his lover’s neck, inviting him in with delight. He too was content to not move, though his leg muscles would definitely be ready once they both decided it was time to move.

The sign came shortly after, Ron’s hands moving up to his chest, breaking the kiss with a somewhat desperate look that made Helie’s heart soften. So he started moving, rising up slowly to descend onto Ron’s cock with the endurance honed by his own training. Holding himself as close as possible, feeling their skin slide against each other, the soft gasps escaping them both, his own a bit louder than Ron’s made him feel like he could not let go at any cost, not now, not ever. 

It was them, the tight embrace, the moans and the flames flickering in the small oven before them. It was them, the quiet afternoons and the quiet companionship, the times spent cooking together. It was them, Ron tending to his work while Helie worked in the garden or simply trained, but always returning to each other at the end of the day. It was them, plain and simple.

With each motion, with each rise and fall, they both came closer to completion, Ron having resumed his earlier rubbing when Helie had moaned in the way that made his lover realize he felt good but could feel even better with help and happily complied. Helie had kissed him as a reward, messy due to him never stopping to move but they both did not care in the slightest. It made things more exciting, seeing Ron come undone piece by piece, finally hearing him gasp out Helie’s name, quiet still but it was enough to tip him over as well, joining his lover in his release. 

The aftermath left them quietly on the couch, still locked in an embrace, neither willing to part. They had calmed down somewhat and Ron had the telltale signs of getting sleepy, as the time had progressed too fast while they had been engrossed with each other. It was one way to spend an afternoon Helie immensely approved of though.  Slowly distangling his limbs from his fiancé’s, he exhaled softly, letting his head fall back down on Ron’s shoulder. He could feel the smile on his own as his lover’s head mirrors his actions, resting on his own, broader shoulder as a small series of kisses tells him to stay for a bit. 

“Are you one day just going to let us rest for an afternoon?” Came a quiet voice, rough from exertion but the amusement audible as well as the pleased tone of a man well-fucked. Helie let out a chuckle, showering Ron’s shoulder with kisses of his own in return.

“When pigs fly.”

[miqotebard]

Yknow how cats sleep a lot. Miqo wol goes to haurchefant and instead of flirting or whatever they just take a nap on his lap.

CAN U IMAGINE IT... they sit with their chest to his and bury their face in his neck... and hes still working away on his papers like nothings wrong...

[the-lion-of-house-fortemps]

Knights Fortemps.