#haurchefant is really easy to draw

[evoravighr]

The life of an Au'ra main is a hard one

[shadowed-vigil]

day 14: telling

adjective: having a striking or revealing effect; significant.

characters: warrior of light, grinnaux de dzemael, paulecrain de fanouilley word count: 754

takes place during endwalker, sometime after the level 83 quests. arcelia wishes things were different.

Despite everything, they were alive. 

And, despite everything, they loathed her. 

It hasn’t been an easy trip to Coerthas. It’s still a reprieve in some ways, if she digs down deep enough and deludes herself into believing it. She’s rarely granted the luxury of traveling in the traditional sense, at least once she’d attuned to a region’s aetherytes. Teleportation never exhausted her in the way it did the others, and it was certainly faster. Not that time isn’t of the essence now, with the Final Days drawing closer with each day, each hour, the general sense of unease hanging thick and heavy in the air — made all the worse by the two elezen keeping her company. 

Not that they would be in her company, if they could help it. A necessary evil, a critical component. 

In truth, she doesn’t expect much to come of her bid to Aymeric, but she tells herself that she owes it to them to at least try. She just thought if she could grant them passage home, it would be some semblance of amends. Some show of good faith. That maybe, possibly, they might be able to — 

Well, no. She isn’t really sure what she expected. She supposes she should be grateful to know that they were alive at all; that they’d been afforded the opportunity to be cured of their tempering in the end. Just like she’d always lamented. 

Her fingers tangle in the sheets, her grip so tight her knuckles ache. 

It’s just — 

They’re a room away. 

After everything — the years of grief and guilt; constantly wondering, lamenting, if things could be different; if only she was someone else, maybe in a different life, a different reflection — 

(The near-confirmation she’d gotten back on the First. The quiet sort of devastation, standing in a ballroom amidst the ghosts.)

And now, after everything, they’re only a room away.

Arcelia stares up at the ceiling, heart drumming anxiously in her chest. 

It doesn’t matter. They may as well still be stuck in Garlemald for as distant and cold as they are. And it isn’t as if she isn’t without her own conflicted feelings; too much had happened, it had been too long —

Haurchefant was still —

And yet.

She buries her face in her hands as she grits her teeth. It hurts. She missed them so much it felt like drowning. Even now, she misses them — would always miss them, the tide of her grief still threatening to swallow her whole, because it isn’t the same, will never be the same again. 

It is miserable, being haunted by someone who is alive. 

She turns over in her bed and shivers beneath the sheets. It is so goddamn lonely. It shouldn’t matter. She tells herself that one day she will learn to want within her means. 

(Soon, she won’t have to worry about anything, any of this.) 

For now, they’re a room away, and she cannot sleep. 

So badly she wants to slip from her own bed, to sneak through the door and tiptoe quietly down the hall. To have the door open, to be stolen away, tugged over the threshold to a room that doesn’t belong to her, as she’d been so many times in the past. When they would greet her warmly, greedily, take her to bed and —

She shuts her eyes.

(It’s not like it would hurt anything, to imagine it. It isn’t as if they’d ever know.)

Trembling, she lets a hand slip down between her thighs. ———

She doesn’t look them in the eye come morning. 

Instead, she keeps her attentions carefully trained on her own tasks as she prepares for the day ahead — retightening the laces of her boots, fussing with the skirt of her dress, searching her pack for her job stone. She tells herself that it’s to spare herself their ire rather than to conceal any lingering guilt. 

(And if they notice the slight stiffness to her movement, the dark circles under her eyes — well. She couldn’t help that.)

“Stay here,” she finally tells them, already making her way towards the door. “If I’m successful, I’ll come and fetch you.” 

If I’m successful, today may be the last time I see you. 

Arcelia shivers as she steps outside, drawing her coat tight against the Coerthan chill. It isn’t a long trek from Mor Dhona to Ishgard. It’d be easiest to teleport, but, well. She figures she’s made it this far, as she calls for her chocobo. Might as well see it through to the end.

[whitherliliesbloom]

lights, camera, duty commenced!

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #14 - commend ]

[ illya, g’raha & emet ] ★ [ 2,263 words ]  ★ [ actors au ]  passing mention of some friend’s ocs and illyanaud

commend: praise formally or officially

behind the scenes of the critically acclaimed long running tv show, final fantasy fourteen, g’raha tia is (almost) inconsolable after he reads the final act’s script

The not-so everlasting light shining down feels radiant and warm, but not scorching. In the distance, one can hear the push and pull of the tides from the nearby lake, as well as the rustling of the purple hued leaves that hung and swayed ever so gently upon the trees. A light baby blue canvas with dusty cotton candy clouds crowns lakeland, painting the perfect, serene vista for an uneventful day of shooting.

Though, Illya has to remind herself, as she looks up at the peaceful sky, and sighs in contentment that she was in the completely wrong headspace. Even though the sky above was bright and undoubtedly beautiful on this fine afternoon, she knows that all it takes is for a little bit of compuer-generated television effects magic to turn the tranquil landscape into a scene of naught but utter devastation and war.

Think termination. Think termination. You’re in the middle of a large-scale battle between Elidibus and the people of Norvrandt. The tone’s supposed to be somber and tense. You’re the warrior of darkness. You got this!

“Oh.... How could this be...?”

Her train of thought is rudely interrupted by the sorrowful moping of her co-actor, and she has to resist the urge to chide him for dragging his early morning sulking all the way into the afternoon. 

“G’raha, please...” the lalafellin sighs, though cannot help but to let a sliver of sympathy slip into her tone. “The next scene’s starting soon.”

“I know, I know... But...” the man heaves a heavy sigh, hanging his head low and letting his arms drop onto his lap so dramatically she’d almost thought that his flesh really was made of crystal and wasn’t just a product of the hard work of extremely talented make-up artists. “I can’t help it. I can’t believe that my poor crystal exarch is-”

Illya can say she at least empathizes - though perhaps not to the same extent. She’s been casted into roles of characters who would meet an unfortunate demise later, but to be fair, they weren’t often major characters within the narrative of the show or film she was playing a role in. 

The crystal exarch on the other hand, has played a key role as one of the many recurring supporting casts in the show. He’d lingered in the background as early as the first season, and was, to G’raha’s jubilation, finally given a main role in the fourth season they were filming. 

Only to be killed off in the final act - succumbing to the crystallization of his entire body, from head to toe, in the throne room of the crystal tower after the warrior of darkness’ battle with the ascian Elidibus. His death scene was to be an emotionally poignant one... and Illya herself has spent the last few days getting into the headspace of the protagonist - who would understandably be utterly devastated by the loss of a dear friend. 

It didn’t help that the crystal exarch was a considerably popular character within the international community of fans - and his significant increase in screen time was due in part to fan demands... though that perhaps made his long foreshadowed death even more of a cruel irony. 

And there was nobody in the world who was a bigger fan of the crystal exarch than the actor who played him himself. It wasn’t narcissistic either, in their line of work, it’s easy to get attached to the roles they play... even more so when they’ve hovered within the headspace of their character for as long as 6 years - she would know, Liliya Liya is as big a part of her as the crystal exarch is for G’raha now.

Thus, though she felt the urgent need to get G’raha back up on his feet in preparation for the remaining scenes on their schedule to film... she could not bring herself to so callously talk down his very real and personal attachment of a character he was meant to portray well anyways. 

“Oh come now... you should’ve seen this coming.” with a swagger in his step and lazy grin plastered over his expression, Emet Selch strolls over to the pair.... far too comfortable within his own role that he was speaking with Hades’ signature slur in his speech even while out of character. The man has always noted just how similar he was to the god of the underworld, and Illya wouldn’t be surprised if he’d claimed to not even be acting in his scenes at all.

“I...” G’raha pouts, looking up at Emet as his ears flatten atop his head. “I guess I was in denial of it. I thought they would maybe subvert expectations... but-”

“But that wouldn’t be a very compelling story to tell, now would it?” The older man shrugs, and Illya regrets to think that she’s inclined to agree. 

“I guess not..” 

The robed miqo’te man sighs, and she notes with an amused raise of an eyebrow as his tail that had once been tucked tightly to his side was now swiveling from side to side and puffed up in annoyance.

“Still! They could at least let him go out with more of a bang! Maybe... after he has a solo action scene... or give him a kiss scene to make things more dramatic!”

“Is defeating the big bad and saving the heroine not dramatic enough for you, already?” Emet’s voice is in part mocking as it is exasperated, his arms thrown up to his shoulders in a shrug. “Also I hope you didn’t mean a kiss scene with Liliya.”

“W-what-?? I-” Illya’s mouth hangs agape. 

“No! I wasn’t thinking anyone in particular, honest. Besides, she’s already caught in that love triangle subplot with the twins, isn’t she?” 

At the mention of the topic, the lalafellin woman’s smile fades.

“D-don’t remind me of that. I’m really not looking forward to acting those scenes out.” 

She’s already read the script for the fourth season in it’s entirety... and though she has incredible respect for the masterful writing and the wonderful character dynamics that has only gotten better with each passing season... she has never been... entirely comfortable with the romantic aspects of the scenes involving the elven twins. Scenes of the pair vying for her attention, scenes where she held hands and even got unsettingly close to kissing them... 

Though, she will admit... her own uncertainty over her competence in filming those scenes are a result of her own, very personal emotions... something of which Emet Selch seemed to be more than aware of.

“Is it not because you harbor actual feelings for one of them? Would having scenes of you being close to him not be a blessing for you, then?”

The miffed glare Illya’s shoots up at Emet rivals moments of shadow possession Liliya experiences throughout the show, and he can only shrug with a cocky grin as her star-spangled swirl with indignation. Anger aside, heat is spreading across her cheeks in the form of a burning red hue that reaches the tips of her short, pointed ears.

Please stop. 

Her expression spells out. She’s as annoyed as she her frightened about something.

Oh dear. 

“Relax. Workplace romance here is nothing new.” His words only serve to worsen the already infuriated gleam in her blazing, shimmering eyes. “Mint certainly isn’t shy when it comes to showing she’s in a relationship with Estinien. Nor your friend Laurelis for that matter. She’s still keeping in touch with Haurchefant, no?”

Illya doesn’t say anything, but her silence and the paling of her complexion speaks louder than any words she can spill from her lips. 

It’s precisely because he doesn’t know. So please, please shut your mouth.

He still cannot understand why on earth she would stay so adamant about keeping her feelings a secret anyway. For all he knows, the entire cast of actors... and the whole final fantasy crew for that matter, was fully aware of their pining - and Illya’s feelings towards her close co-worker and friend wasn’t unrequited either. 

Just like in the show, the pair are completely oblivious to their attraction to one another... something he’ll just have to fix with his bare hands then... 

But the matter is neither here nor there, and there was something of greater urgency to rectify now. 

Emet Selch turns his gaze back down to G’raha, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet... and sensing his seriousness, Illya too diverts her attention back to the sulking redhead. 

“You know... you’re a very talented actor. It’s so very rare to find someone who can capture the emotions and nuances of a character as well as you do.” Emet is the faster of them to speak, and Illya can barely believe the words she’s hearing leave his lips. 

Compliments and praise, genuine ones at that, coming from one of the cast’s eldest, most experienced actor who is not only known to be critical when it comes to the art of acting - but is a certified acting coach himself? The monumental honor is not lost to G’raha, as his ears perk up and he whips his head up with widened ruby eyes to look at Emet.

“Death is difficult to portray - dare I say, almost impossible. After all, how can we, who have never experienced death... truly capture the sorrow and despair in it?”

Emet Selch pauses, drawing in a breath before he lifts his hand up to gesture at the pair before him.

“Which is why this is your biggest opportunity to showcase your talents, to move the audience with not just the story, but your very acting! The only thing we can do, as men and women of this field, is to act as vehicles and carry the emotions of the story into the hearts of the fans.”

The man finally sighs, shoulders falling and arms flopping lazily to his side, the sentimentality of the words he just spoke tasting bitter on his tongue.

“Besides, even in death there is a beauty. The crystal exarch lived his life fulfilled and having realized his wish at the end. I expect you to remember that when you eventually see him off.”

There’s a silence that hangs and festers in the air for a moment, before the fur on G’raha’s tail stands and his chest puffs up in a show of renewed determination.

“Y-you’re right, Emet! The crystal exarch dedicated his life to finding a way to save others... There is no better way to end his legacy than to see the world he’s protected for so long finally saved!” 

Standing onto his feet, the miqo’te clenches his hands into fists and nods before casting a glance down at Illya.

“Illya! I will act my heart out to the best I can! I’ll act so hard that I’ll make you cry on set for sure!”

The corners of her lip tugs upwards into a wide smile, glowing as the afternoon sun basks down and reflects upon her snowy white hair and the blossoms of her amethyst eyes. Even with the black of the garments she wore and the eastern patterned ribbon that held the braid around her head in place, she was luminous and blinding in her radiant presence... not unlike the heroine of their story.

“Of course! And I’m sure the rest of the crystal exarch fan club will too when they watch that episode.” 

“Illya, G’raha!” A pink haired lalafellin calls out to them from a distance away, her olive green eyes wide and excited as she waves her hands high above her head. A raven haired man stands just behind her, his dark blue eyes narrowed as he reviews the script in his hands intently. “We’re starting soon! Get over here!”

“Coming! Just give us a second!” G’raha waves back with a grin before turning back to look at Emet Selch with an apologetic, yet grateful bow, his relaxed tail swaying gently from side to side behind his back. 

“Thank you, Emet. I won’t soon forget your encouragements. I’ll do my best and make sure to not let everyone down.”

“Yes, yes. Spare me the nauseating mush. I was just making sure you didn’t drag your co-actor down with your sulking.” 

The elder man now glances at the starry eyed girl with amusement flashing through his expression, and Illya can already feel her earlier lighthearted elation fade as quickly as it came. 

“By the way... I’m sure if you asked Yoshida properly.. he’d be willing to consider writing in a kiss scene with Liliya and-”

“If I were the warrior of darkness, I’d take my crescent moon cane and stab you with the end of it......”

------

Meanwhile, a little distance away from the trio, Kaye lets out a low hum as he reads and re-reads the words upon the small stacks of paper he held, expression doubtful and confused.

“You sure this is the script to Endwalker?”

“Yeah, I am! Alphinaud gave this copy and said that he got from miss Ishikawa directly! Apparently he’s playing another major role in the next season, which is why he got the script early as a heads up.”

“But... it says here that the crystal exarch gets reincarnated? Assuming that’s not gonna be changed... that means G’raha’s gonna be...”

Kaye’s head lifts and turns, eyes wide and brows furrowing in bemusement only to see an impish smile glimmer upon Lily’s face.

“Should we tell him?”

“Hm...? Nah... He’s gonna film the exarch’s death scene soon, right? I’m sure he’ll appreciate the little surprise later, anyways.”

[shera-dnd]

Love for a Dark Heart

Adding now to the list of things I can’t fucking believe I got paid to write: My FFXIV character falling in love with herself.

Honestly I could have kept writing this for another 5k words more, but I set the rules so I’m gonna stick to them

As usual you can follow this link right here to read it on AO3 if you’d prefer that. If you’d like to have a fic written by me you should feel free to donate to my ko-fi (rules for donations over here) and let’s get going with the fic

You are a rational woman.

You try to deal with the facts and not let emotion rule over your decisions. That doesn’t mean you’re cold hearted or any such thing, but when it comes to wielding aether you really cannot let your emotions get in the way, lest your magic escape your control entirely.

It’s why you joined the Arcanists Guild so long ago, their approach to spell craft was exactly what you needed, and after many long months of training you had even mastered the lost art of summoning. It had been your calculated and well crafted spells that had felled the Primals and even bested Gaius and his Ultima Weapon.

But what did that amount to?

You’ve been betrayed, the Sultana is dead, your friends are lost, and the nations you fought to defend probably have a price on your head by now. All your possessions now fit neatly into the tiny backpack you brought along in your journey to Ishgard, and the only people left to console you are Alphinaud and Tataru, but in all honesty you’re usually the one consoling them now.

But Ishgard still welcomes you and still needs you. House Fortemps has embraced you and the least you can do is fight to protect them as well. Just keep fighting and saving people until everything gets solved, it definitely worked just fine the first time you tried that, so why not try it again?

You don’t want to be bitter, you don’t want to be angry, you genuinely feel sorry whenever you snap at Alphinaud or Haurchefant, you know they’re having a hard time too. Still it is so hard not to just let that frustration fester in your heart.

One day you’re walking the streets of Ishgard, trying to work the anger out of your system, when you hear a man muttering something. It was a story about a man who fought like a beast, who wielded the Darkness like other men would wield a blade. Something about this story sparks your curiosity and next thing you know you’re pressing the man for details.

It seemed your mystery man had died in battle with the holy knights of Ishgard and his corpse had been dumped in the Brume. It was unfortunate, but mayhaps you could still find his corpse, maybe even his soulstone.

You weren’t thinking of wielding the darkness, were you? No, it was simply academic curiosity. You just couldn’t leave such a thing unstudied, right? Of course. Now to make your way to the Brume.

No pulse, no breathing, skin as cold as the snow around you, that man was a corpse. At least he was a corpse with a soulstone, maybe you could study that. You just have to take it and-

A voice calls for you in the dark.

You wake up confused, but still intact. Better yet, the man you thought dead was now alive and well in front of you. His name is Fray and he was a Dark Knight. Apparently so were you now.

Perhaps embracing the dark should have been difficult, it should have been the kind of decision you pondered over and considered all the pros and cons. It wasn’t supposed to be something you did on a whim, but in reality it was the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

You were stronger now. How else could you wield a weapon so massive? How else could those knights strike you with their blades and barely make you flinch? How else could you take all that anger, and frustration that you had repressed for so long, and give it such a beautiful shape as it cut down those hallowed bastards? 

It felt good.

It felt too good.

Perhaps the life of a Dark Knight was exactly what you needed.

In the weeks that passed no one questioned why you disappeared every night or where you went. You had gone through a lot, and they just wanted to give you space to heal. Besides, who would question what the Warrior of Light did with her spare time? It almost made you feel bad for what you were doing.

Almost.

It was hard feeling bad now that you have started studying the Darkness. No, studying would imply a lot more research and controlled tests. What you were doing was more like exercising it, working out a muscle you didn’t know you had until now. If that meant killing your fair share of monsters then so be it.

Especially when working that metaphorical muscle also seemed to improve your physical ones. Even your eye sight seemed to have improved somehow. With time your tunic had been replaced by plate armor, your glasses by a full helmet, your book of spells by the biggest sword you could carry.

There were still hiccups when adapting to this new life as a Dark Knight. No matter how many times you attuned yourself to the Darkness you could only ever hear whispers of that voice in the dark that had once called your name. It worried you, and frustrated Fray to no end.

Frustration seemed to be Fray’s default state. Always furious at the people around you who insist on asking you to fix all their problems, ready to throw threats and insults any time someone so much as  thought of interrupting you. You try to be nice, you try to de-escalate, to help those people anyway, but you know deep down that you agree with her.

Her? Wasn’t Fray a man?

Doesn’t matter, Fray can use whatever pronouns she wants. You just can’t remember her ever telling you she changed those. 

Wait did she just mention fighting Leviathan? Had she been there with you on that ship? Surely you’d remember that.

Why hadn’t she mentioned that before?

Maybe if you still saw the world through your old scholarly lens, maybe if you still distanced yourself, studied the situation, maybe then you would have realized what was happening. You really can’t help but feel a little stupid when the truth finally reveals itself.

When Fray takes off her helmet it is your face that you see, your eyes that stare into yours, your voice that challenges you. She was your Darkness, your repressed rage against those who used you again, and again to suit their needs; your frustrations with this world that would exhaust you to the bone before finding any solution that didn’t involve you, your need for someone to just step up and care for you even once.

If only she hadn’t hurt those people, if only her first answer wasn’t to just draw her sword on those she saw as a threat to you, maybe then you’d let her go.

Your swords clash and ultimately she’s the one to fall. Your Darkness, your heart, your…

...Esteem, lies defeated before you and you don’t know how to feel. She was a monster formed from the deepest abyss, yet when you hear her declare that she will always be there for you, if only you were to call her, you can’t help but feel hope.

It was only after you exposed yourself to just about every guard, and soldier at Dragon Head that you decided that it’s about time you came clean to your friends.

Alphinaud and Haurchefant didn’t understand why you had made the decisions you had, but they couldn’t think of anyone better to wield such a power. Tataru trusted you with her life and just a bit of Darkness wouldn’t get in the way of that. Estinien claimed that he understood, that he too struggled against the evil that granted him his powers. In the end it all felt too easy, too unearned.

Still, there was a nation to save and a war to stop. Your little existential crisis would have to wait. You could almost hear Esteem screaming at you for ever forming that thought. 

Soon it wouldn’t be just almost.

Weeks passed as you traversed Dravania, searching for a way to stop this war. For a moment you had hoped that by exposing the lies of Ishgardian nobility you would finally put an end to this, but of course that just led the holy men of Halone to do what they thought was right, which just happened to be capturing and torturing an innocent man.

You went in to try to save a man, to make those self appointed saints pay. You didn’t go there to lose a friend, yet that’s what you did.

You kept your composure long enough to reach your private chambers in the Fortemps manor, but as soon as the door closed behind you, you collapsed. You could have saved him, you could have prevented this, you could have jumped out of the way, or pushed him away, or just done anything.

But you didn’t, and now he paid the price for it.

What a pathetic excuse for a Warrior of Light you are.

“You’re no such thing!” A familiar voice calls. You don’t know when or how you summoned her back, but there she was.

Esteem lifted you from the ground and laid you in your bed. You noticed now that instead of the black armor she had favored in your fight, now she wore one of your old robes and your old glasses. It was almost funny thinking of a being of pure aether deigning to wear glasses for some reason.

With a gentleness you didn’t know either of you had, she caressed and soothed you as she repeated those same words over and over again, “it wasn’t your fault.”

It felt pathetic to only have a shadow of yourself to care for you, but for now it didn’t matter. All you could do in that moment was cling, cling to the kind words and the soft touch of the only person who cared enough to offer, and try as hard as you can to believe in what she’s saying.

“Rest now, you fool,” she asked, her voice just as gentle as before.

“Please stay,” you pleaded, unsure if she would disappear the moment you closed your eyes.

It was a selfish thing to ask, to force her to stay in the material world simply for your own comfort, but Esteem wanted nothing more than for you to be selfish, so there was never any doubt that she would oblige.

The next morning she was still there, asleep somehow, still holding you in her arms. It shamed you to admit that this was the closest you’ve ever been to another person. No one had held you this close, no one had ever let you fall asleep in their arms - or fallen asleep in yours for what that matters - had she been more than just a piece of your own heart, perhaps you would have found reason for embarrassment.

There was certainly some strangeness to it, of course. Waking up in your own arms and seeing your own face in the morning was as surreal an experience as you could imagine right now. Though it did allow you some interesting introspection. You shifted in bed a little, trying to get a good look at your own face, wondering if you had ever looked this peaceful before.

“If you even consider rising from this bed I promise you the Archbishop will be the least of your worries,” she grumbles without even opening her eyes.

“I did not know you could sleep,” you comment.

“Neither did I,” she replies. She pushes herself into a sitting position, having completely given up on the idea of returning to your shared slumber, “if I must be honest, I don’t even know how I was granted physical form once more.”

“Yet your first response to sudden corporealization was not to question it, but to attend to the sobbing mess on the floor,” you are by no means attempting to mock her, it simply sounds odd to you.

“What am I to say?” She jested, “I’m quite fond of that sobbing mess.”

At that you averted your gaze. It felt embarrassing somehow, to have someone declare their fondness so bluntly, even if that someone wasn’t an actual person.

“Have we truly grown so alienated from affection?” She sighs, her voice a mix of worry and disappointment.

You motion to protest, but a knock on the door interrupts you both. With a gesture, she requests you stay in bed while she handles this. That may be the worst idea you have ever heard, but you’re far too tired to protest.

“I’m glad to see you’re awake and well,” Alphinaud greets her cheerfully, “If you’re disposed, I’d like to ask-”

“I’m not,” She interrupts, “now, you may be on your way.”

The poor boy is too stunned to reply, and does nothing to stop her from slamming the door on his face. A smug smirk forms on her face as she strides back to you.

“Must you be so rude to all my friends?” You say as you glare at her.

“Must you put the needs of every last soul above your own well being?” She shot back, matching your stare.

You’re the one to break the stare first, “I’ll try not to.”

She nods and gives you a satisfied smile as she sits next to you, “now do try to rest. Wouldn’t want me to be rude to poor Alphinaud for naught.”

In the weeks that followed she had been ever by your side. Like your old summons she could effortlessly appear and disappear from thin air, combined with her nature as a being of pure aether it made you suspect you had somehow called upon an egi of Esteem’s former self. This was promptly disproven by the fact that her response to any direct commands was a simple and direct, “sod off!”

By all accounts she should simply be darkness aspected aether, given shape and purpose by your needs and desires, as unreal as Ysayle’s false Shiva. Yet here she was, talking when she wanted to, sleeping when she wanted to, eating when she wanted to--seven hells she even has different tastes than you. There was no other way around it, Esteem had become her own person somehow.

Part of you worried that you had somehow created a Primal of your own heart. That had now been buried under the far more substantial worry that you have been utterly mistreating an actual person with thoughts and feelings, who had done nothing but help you and care for you for weeks. This in turn had been buried under the mess of feelings that struck your heart at the fact that this woman had held you in your sleep for weeks now. Mayhaps you should just focus on hitting things with big swords for now.

On that angle things have been a lot simpler. Your preparations for the journey to Azys Lla were now almost concluded, and as you waited for Master Cid to finish his work you took your time to aid a fellow Dark Knight by the name of Sidurgu.

That man quite proudly embodied the mass of hate and anger you expected from a Dark Knight, a trait that seemed to invoke Esteem’s disdain and earn him quite a share of her unkindly remarks. Neither his emotional state nor her opinion of him were ever aided by the fact that you surpassed him with ease.

You may have stumbled onto this power like a blind fool, but it had somehow suited you with a natural ease that eluded your companion. It was in the pursuit of more power - under the guise of aiding a young girl that Sidurgu had taken under his wing - that you found yourself once more doing menial tasks for moogles. At least today you’d have the catharsis of beating them within an ilm of their lives for it.

What you did not expect was for them to burst into song and dance afterwards.

“‘Tis love! ‘Tis love!” They profess with their tiny voices, “all-powerful, shining love!”

Suffice to say that the both of you were completely befuddled by the performance - Esteem loudly laughing in the corner she carved for herself in your mind - had Rielle, your shared charge, not appeared in that moment you were sure you’d both sit like that for an hour.

It was only as you made your way back to Ishgard that Sidurgu took you aside to talk about what had unfolded. He mocked the idea that love could be the true power of Darkness, but you could see that sharp edge on his voice begin to dull ever so slightly.

A year ago you would have been just as dismissive of such an idea, to properly channel aether you require coldly calculated theorems, not something as nebulous as love. 

Yet here you are. You’ve wielded anger and frustration like weapons for months now, why can’t you wear love like an armor?

You loved your friends and that gave you strength.

You loved Eorzea and that gave you strength.

You loved yourself and that…

...Well, did you really love yourself that much? Not as much as you should if Esteem were to be believed, but she does. She loves you, and that gives you strength.

It’s with this context that you begin to notice the little things she does, even when she’s not around. The gentle touches, the kind words, the worry in her eyes after a rough fight. It had been her love that helped you strike down with your blade, it had been her love that held you up when an enemy would fell you. It made you oh so keenly aware of her heartbeat - surprisingly human and comforting - next to yours as she held you both together.

Had you loved her too this whole time?

Perhaps you should have questioned this before the worries of facing Garleans, Ascians, and the Archbishop, loomed this close in the horizon. Perhaps you should have questioned that Esteem’s love didn’t come just from some magically ordained purpose. Perhaps you should have questioned what it meant about you that you so willingly accepted and reciprocated that love.

By the time you arrive at the Fortemps manor that night, you have already made your decision and you find her in your room, reading a spicy romance novel from Emmanellain’s secret stash. Steeling yourself in a way you hadn’t done since facing Ultima, you approach her and bring your lips to hers. It was a fleeting touch, but it had the whole of you buzzing with nervous energy.

With the most detestably smug smile, she brings you close again so she may kiss you back and, as if she hadn’t just shaken your very soul with that act, returned to her reading.

You stare at her, utterly confounded by her lack of any real reaction. It takes her a moment to realize you are still staring and the words that escaped her mouth would infuriate and haunt you for the rest of your existence.

“Was I wrong to assume we’d been lovers for at least a month now?”

Perhaps you really should have just stuck to hitting people with big swords.

[autumnslance]

What I’ve actually been working on for a bit over a week, now that the Zenos brainworm has been evicted. Back to Stormblood 4.0 and two besties having a post-sparring chat about current crushes and past regrets. Below the cut for those who prefer Tumblr to Ao3:

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

Lyse and Aeryn fell on their backs onto the palm of Rhalgr, laughing as their early morning sparring session ended in a draw.

“Maybe we got a little carried away...But you have to admit that was fun,” Lyse said, lolling her head in Aeryn’s direction. “You’re getting better at hand to hand.”

“C’oretta’s been putting me through my paces. Got to keep up with her energy,” Aeryn replied, staring at the now-blue sky, the sun high enough over the mountains to have burned away the last of the early morning colors.

“I should practice with her more then,” Lyse said. “When we’re done with...all this.” She vaguely waved her arm, before letting it flop back to her chest. She kept watching Aeryn. “So what are you going to do once we’ve saved Krile and freed Ala Mhigo?”

“Nap,” Aeryn said immediately, setting off another round of giggles from them both.

“Oh-kay, that’s fair. But after that? Or maybe before?”

“If you’re going fishing you’re going to need actual bait, Lyse.” Aeryn turned her head enough to grin at her friend.

Lyse grinned back and rolled to her side, propping up on her left elbow. “I’m just asking, if there’s anything--or anyone--you’ve been thinking about.”

Aeryn frowned for a moment, looking to the sky again. “...Not particularly.”

Lyse wrinkled her nose. “You’re a terrible liar. C’mon, Aeryn, you can say it.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, her hands briefly gesturing from the wrist only before dropping back to their resting spots on her stomach.

“Right, because you didn’t spend half our time in the Far East writing letters to and talking and thinking about certain charming rogues.”

Aeryn didn’t reply, her brows drawing down as she frowned more.

“Aer-yn.”

“What do you want, Lyse?” Aeryn sighed, turning now to mirror Lyse, propped on her right elbow.

“For you to admit whatever’s going on in your head concerning—”

“Oh don’t—”

“Thancred,” Lyse finished. At Aeryn’s wince and blush, she grinned again. “Aha-ha! I’m right, I knew it.”

“We’re friends—”

“So are you and a lot of other people, none of whom make you look like that.”

“...Like what?”

“You’re not just blushy, you’re...I dunno, like someone’s knocked the wind out of you, but in a good way. Your eyes practically glitter when you’re looking at him. Which is a lot when he’s around, by the way.”

“You’re exaggerating. Also we’ve seen Thancred for a whole, what, half a bell since we returned?”

“I know what I saw. What I’ve been seeing, every time you got a letter. Or wrote one, for that matter; you even write to him differently than you do to Rashae or anyone else.”

Aeryn rolled her eyes, but the blush had deepened and crept up her ears and down her neck. “You know I don’t--It’s not that easy--I…” she frowned again, trying to organize her thoughts, but from the thoughtful little crease between her eyes, Lyse knew Aeryn was now truly considering it.

“And you believe you messed up with Haurchefant,” Lyse said quietly. Aeryn didn’t respond. “That’s why you don’t realize what’s been happening.”

“And what, pray tell, has been happening?”

“You acting like a besotted schoolgirl, that’s what.”

“I am not.”

“Oh yes you are. And it’s adorable.”

“Take that back.”

“I shan’t,” Lyse replied in sing-song. Her smile quickly faded and it was her turn to sigh. “I didn’t want you getting involved with him when you first joined the Scions, you know,” she mused. “One, I knew you weren’t interested, and two—well, I’d known Thancred too long.” They both snorted and giggled again.

“But,” Lyse finally continued once they’d calmed. “You two have always had a rapport. You got to be pretty good friends, and I don’t know, it seems like with everything since finding me and Papalymo again, and then after Minfilia left...It’s become something else and it’s...nice.”

Aeryn didn’t answer right away, staring at some spot on the stone palm between them, and for a moment Lyse began to think she had definitely overstepped when Aeryn finally replied, very quietly, “It feels nice.” She frowned and looked at Lyse again, her grey eyes dark. “Things have changed but I don’t know that it’s,” she stopped and thought for a moment. “I don’t want to...ruin anything.”

“I have a hard time believing you could ruin anything, even if you tried.”

“You’d be surprised,” Aeryn said, rolling onto her back again. “I tried relationships when I was a girl in Thavnair. Twice. Neither worked out because...well…”

“You don’t like sex.”

Aeryn winced at Lyse’s bluntness. “It’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just...not something I look for. It’s fun in the moment, but not a priority. And for a lot of people…”

“It’s important,” Lyse said. “So you think any relationship is doomed because you don’t have the same wants as other people?”

Aeryn nodded.

“Hrm. Well, I’m no expert, but seems to me that’s one of those things you’d just have to talk about. That whole being adults...thing.” Lyse waved a hand again, gratified by Aeryn’s small smile in response. “Which you likely just weren’t experienced enough for all those years ago, right?” She paused, frowning. “Orrr, is this also about Haurchefant?”

Aeryn covered her face in her hands and made a frustrated noise. “Gods, if I could purge those rumors and stories and the damned songs about that…” She sighed again and let her hands drop to her chest. “It...was sort of like those earlier attempts. He was kind, and I knew how much he cared for me, and I guess I...tried to reciprocate. Confusing his feelings for mine, maybe? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

“You mean because of the Echo?” Each Walker’s Echo was a little bit different, and Aeryn’s made her especially empathic at times, Lyse knew.

Aeryn nodded. “Probably didn’t help that everything after Ul’dah was just...I was lonely, and scared, and I thought…” She shook her head. “I was stupid, and before I could apologize and fix it...Well.”

“You are far from stupid.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t make stupid mistakes.”

“Well, sure. Still, you couldn’t have messed up that badly.” At Aeryn’s cringe, Lyse raised a brow. “Come on.”

“I did sleep with him—once.”

“Really?” Lyse rolled onto her stomach, chin propped in both her hands.

Aeryn rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t...It was a stressful day.”

“You’ll have to be more specific. Your idea of a stressful day is different from other peoples’.”

“Fair.” She grinned at Lyse. “I had to babysit Emmanellain de Fortemps.”

“All right, that does explain a lot.”

“He got himself kidnapped by the Vundu…”

“Of course he did.”

“I went ahead, while Honoroit ran back to get aid--so, Haurchefant and a couple Haillenarte knights--and that was the day we learned about Bismark, as Cid rescued us with his ever-exceptional piloting before we were eaten.”

“That is a stressful day, even by your standards.”

“We stayed the night at the Rosehouse, there in the Sea of Clouds. Haurchefant came to my room--he claimed he had some nightmare that I had gone to fight the primal and had to see if I was all right; an irrational concern--”

“I don’t know, it’s what you do.”

“Well, yes, but not--anyroad, we spoke, and...held one another; not uncommon. But I felt as though something in me just...broke, and I wanted...I don’t know. Comfort? Closeness? ...I fear I may have simply used him…”

“I doubt that,” Lyse said gently. “You cared for him, right?”

Aeryn nodded.

“Well there you go. You had a vulnerable moment like any of us mere mortals,” she ignored Aeryn’s latest eyeroll. “It happened. And given what I’ve heard of Haurchefant, it couldn’t have been that terrible.”

“It wasn’t! But...As soon as he left—had to ‘protect my reputation’ or whatever—I realized...I didn’t,” Aeryn huffed as she paused in thought again. “I loved him, but not...like that. I couldn’t give him what he wanted.”

“And what’d he say to that?”

“That’s the thing; we never got to talking about it. I...avoided him for a bit after that, just to get my own head straight, think about what I wanted to say and why...and then we went on our mission to Dravania, and then it was just one thing after another and…” Her voice cracked. She took a breath and shook her head. “I regret not taking the opportunity to be honest with him.”

“Makes sense. And I can see why you’re hesitating to open up like that again. You’re afraid what you’re feeling is a reflection of Thancred’s feelings.”

Aeryn made a face. “I wouldn’t go so far as to presume what he feels—“

“I would,” Lyse stated. She smirked at Aeryn, then shrugged. “Before I would have said this is one of his fleeting infatuations. Buuut I’ve been watching since we rejoined you all in Mor Dhona, and he’s been...different.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well if I didn’t know better, lots of what I hear about how he behaved, up ‘til about Papalymo and I got back to the Toll, sounds like he was flat jealous.”

“Of what?”

Lyse scoffed. “Of other people being interested in you, of course. Not that you notice that ever. There’ve been talks he and I have had, where I look back and realize there were multiple meanings going on and I hate that he can’t just talk plainly like a normal person, but anyway the biggest one was when we did see him briefly in Castrum Oriens before he went off to find Krile.”

“He seemed normal to me,” Aeryn said, though she was pointedly not looking at Lyse.

Lyse recalled how Thancred had turned and smiled, his shoulders lifting as if a weight had been removed from them; not unusual in anyone, really, when the Warrior of Light walked by, but something about Thancred had lit up from within, and his uncovered eye had practically devoured Aeryn head to toe before simply settling on her, like someone basking in a sunbeam in the bath. In all the time Lyse had known him, he had never looked at anyone like that. And Lyse had known Thancred through some of his earliest attempts at relationships, when the experiences and emotions were all new (and Yda had teased him so much back in those days, before Lyse herself really understood what was happening), as well as more recent ones as an adult he had no real serious interest in.

“Well, he wasn’t normal,” Lyse said, uncertain how to explain it all out loud. “Neither were you, for that matter. If you’re acting like a schoolgirl, he’s just as bad.”

“Ugh!” Aeryn sat up, wincing a little, resting her arms on her half-drawn-up knees. “I still say you’re exaggerating.” She looked away. “...And given my Echo, it’s possible just one of us reflecting off the other.”

Progress, of a sort. Lyse sat up too. “I still say I’m not, and I don’t think so. Know how I know?”

“How Lyse?” Aeryn glanced at her friend, brows drawn into a helplessly annoyed expression.

“The way you were in the East when he was nowhere around,” Lyse reminded her. “Writing him letters, and excited to get his personal reply along with the reports. You wouldn’t even realize you were mentioning him, or telling stories, and the way you sounded and looked when doing so. And I know you were thinking about him other times, too.” She smirked as Aeryn went crimson again.

“...Fine. Maybe. It’s still...weird and makes no sense and doesn’t mean anything.”

“Means a whole lot, actually. You did say earlier that it felt nice.”

“Yes but...He’s a friend, and a colleague, and he...well…” Aeryn made a helpless gesture.

“Oh no; use your words!”

Aeryn let out an exasperated noise. “I don’t want to make the same mistake again,” she blurted finally.

“So, don’t,” Lyse shrugged, chin on her hand, elbow propped on a knee. “You know what went wrong with Haurchefant, and those others when you were younger. Thancred’s a smart man, and more considerate than he lets on. You can figure it out.”

“I don’t know that I should. It may not be a good idea, given...everything.”

“‘Everything’ like what, exactly?”

“Like, that we live and work together as Scions. That we’re in the middle of a war--which, by the way, we really ought to be meeting the others--and just…everything.”

“You mean being the Warrior of Light.”

Aeryn sighed. “Gotta admit, there’s a lot of...a lot, with it. Most of it I don’t even want.”

“Or it’s all the more reason, given who else outside the Scions really knows what you do?” Lyse shrugged as she got to her feet and stretched. “Food for thought, at least.” She reached down to offer Aeryn a hand up. “I think it’s a good idea, for the record,” she said as she hauled Aeryn to her feet and into a hug. “But that may be because I want to see my friends happy.”

Aeryn returned the embrace. “Thanks, Lyse. Let’s get cleaned up and meet the others.”

She was deflecting again, but that was all right; she was at least thinking about it now. Lyse nodded in agreement. “Thanks for the practice; I know I feel better.”

They negotiated the massive stone wrist and forearm to reach the entryway back into the old temple, then down the long, twisting stairs to the base. On emerging from the old door at the literal foot of the statue, they were met by Resistance runners delivering updates on matters in the Lochs, and a request from General Aldynn to return as soon as possible now that Alisaie and the other injured were safely in the Reach.

Lyse sighed as the runners left to make their next deliveries. “Guess cleanup can wait. If we teleport to Ala Ghiri we can meet Pipin and the others there and head to Praetoria together.”

“Good thing it has to wait, since Naago’s already there,” Aeryn said, a sly smirk on her face as Lyse stumbled.

“Wha—? I don’t know what you--Since when did she okay you calling her that?”

“I’m just pointing out that you call her that. Often. And I’m thinking maybe she can help you clean up since you’re so familiar.”

“Aeryn!” Lyse gawped.

“What?” She asked, all fake sweet innocence, hands clasped behind her back as she rocked on her toes.

Lyse peered. “Maybe you do notice more than you let on,” she muttered. Then shook her head. “I’m the Commander of the Resistance now, which means Na-M’Naago is my subordinate--don’t you dare!” she threatened, wagging a finger as Aeryn bit her lip, though that did nothing to suppress her giggles. “And it...it wouldn’t be proper or professional or...or something…” Rhalgr’s sake, now Lyse was the one feeling hot and blushing; her skin must have nearly matched her dress.

Aeryn patted Lyse’s shoulder as she buried her face in her hands. “I think no one’s going to care.”

“You know what? I take it all back; you’ve obviously spent too much time with Thancred already. Any more and it’s irresponsible levels of corruption.”

Aeryn laughed. “Don’t poke if you can’t handle getting poked back, Lyse!” She wrapped her arm around Lyse’s back and gave her a quick hug. “Though I do think you two are cute and I definitely know what I’ve seen is not me projecting,” she stage-whispered, grinning.

Lyse side-eyed her, trying very hard to be grumpy. “You’re lucky you’re my best friend and I love you or I’d kick your arse so hard right now.”

“Like you didn’t half a bell ago?”

“That was a draw! I could have had you!”

“Probably!” Aeryn sang, adjusting so they were walking arm in arm as they crossed the Reach toward the aetheryte.

Lyse grumbled, but couldn’t help smiling, too. This had been a nice reprieve from everything else going on before the final push to Ala Mhigo, and hopefully saving Krile along the way.

Alphinaud joined them at the aetheryte, grinning in that cheeky way he had when he had gotten the last word in on his and Alisaie’s latest verbal spar. Just to playfully annoy him, Lyse lightly punched him in the arm while Aeryn ruffled his hair before she initiated the teleport to Ala Ghiri for all three of them, to get back to the business of the war.

Despite that, Lyse knew that at some point in all this mess she was going to have to catch and play Little Sister to their resident sneak and probably just straight up bully him into admitting what he was thinking and spur him to do something about it. These two idiots would be happy one way or another, dammit, if Lyse had her way.

And if nothing else it might distract them from Lyse’s own love life issues. One could always hope, anyroad.

[vengeancethynameis]

Why are you barring my way Ser? this is how you get me to walk away and never come back but im sure you’d not object. you’ve been giving me the side eye every chance you get. what exactly is your deal?

“I said what is your business here heretic?” he kept wagging that accusing finger at me with a glare. like you dont already know, im supposed to be helping you against dragons. that’s what the little brat wants us to do. return the favor for your city’s hospitality. 

“Well now im turning around and leaving. i played along with this charity that little brat was dishing out and now im sick of it. best keep that toy of yours in check. you’re messing with things you dont fully understand.” i turned and started to carefully walk across the icy ground when i heard him yell for me to stop. “Why should I? if im really as heretical as you claim isnt this what you want? me leaving? never darkening your gates again?” have i done any business to be seen as a heretic in their eyes? not as far as im concerned but he probably thinks i have by carrying this weapon. a weak stake to claim but the name Nidhogg carries much weight within those walls. 

“You deaf? i said stop damn you!” he landed in front of me, quite an impressive jump i’ll give him that. “ what’s your business with Nidhogg? i hear you speak of him in almost familiar terms. i need to know your intentions.” crossing my arms i gave him a glare back not sure where he comes up with this stuff. sure i’ve mentioned him and how i feel kindred in vengeance to him but im not gonna go join up with him. that’d take me giving two shits about Ishgard and it’s affairs or even about dragons. which i dont about either. “Your silence does more to answer then your words. as do your eyes. so tell me about this affinity.” he had his lance in hand and i doubt not his prowess or speed in cutting me down. 

“There’s no point convincing a man deaf to alternatives when he’s already made up his mind. so go ahead. Kill me. Do your nation proud by stopping heretics. if you’re so convinced my blood on your hands wont haunt you you’d have done it by now.” i hear someone calling my name in the distance, behind me further into the city but getting closer with each call. “They’ll surely take your word over mine. so what are you waiting for? i did in fact say i feel a small sort of affinity for the beast, but only in that we’re both motivated by our need for vengeance. although mine is not all consuming to where i’m robbed of reason like his......or yours. save your energy for the real villains here. like the one running your city.” the person calling me ran up on us and immediately tried to get Estinien to go back inside the city, he’d deal with me. much coercing later he finally grumbled something then sulked back through the Gates leaving us alone. “Are you the one whos come to decide my fate? you seem to have forgotten your sword for that.” he looked at me with such sadness in his eyes then shook his head. 

“Why would i do that? you and yours have done such good for our House.” i dont like his gaze, with pity in his eyes. im leaving. i brushed past him and once again tried to leave this place when he ran up behind me, grabbing my arm to pull me back. just that action, grabbing me, get me so on edge. too many bad memories and experience of being grabbed swirled in my head as i jerked my arm from his grasp. and then on autopilot i shoved the barrel of my shotgun in his face. it’s such a natural reaction now, to point a weapon at someone to make myself feel safer. i see the Gate guards draw their swords and run towards us but Haurchefant put his arm out telling them to stop. maybe on the count of the shotgun visibly shaking in my hand, or the fear in my expression i’ve been tryna get better at masking. 

“Easy Njld, i’m sorry for grabbing you. it was a reflex. I came out to see why you hadn’t returned with the others. let’s just talk ok? As you pointed out im without a weapon, i just came to talk.” he turned his head and tried to shoo the guards back to their positions but with my gun still leveled at his head they werent going anywhere. this standoff went on for like an hour with Haurchefant talking to me while staring down my barrel. when the adrenaline faded with no further threatening action from anyone, i lowered the gun and he asked me why Estinien had held me up. so i told him a few nidhogg comments and he called me a heretic. 

“He was just tryna protect your city from threats i get that. i told him to kill me if he was so convinced but he wouldn’t. then you came.” he nods then took a seat on the snow and continued talking.  eventually i sat as well, the snow crunching under my weight. i could feel it’s chill seep through my thin fabrics. i think this is the longest conversation ive had with someone who isnt G’raha or Urianger. so long in fact i was wholly unaware we talked through the afternoon and straight into the next morning. Haurchefant never grew tired of listening to me talk, or talking himself. the guards have stopped eying me up which takes care of the lingering unease. it’s times like this i remember how accustomed i am to tropical weather and not tundras. “We can finish this lovely conversation another time, i do believe any longer out here and you’ll fall ill. let’s get you inside and to the inn.” he stood and offered me a hand so i took it.  

like he said he took me to the Forgotten Knight and saw me to a room before bidding me farewell. What a gentleman.

[nadana-vhet]

Prompt 30: Splinter

Takes place in the limbo between ARR patch content and Heavensward.

Rating: General Audiences Relationships: N’adana & Haurchefant, N’adana & N’manni 

The cold air of Corethas stung N’adana’s cheeks, but she brushed it aside as the blood began to quicken in her veins. She struck the training dummy in front of her with force, blocking the wooden extensions with her shield as the force of her hit made the rotating dummy spin towards her.

Truthfully, she was getting a bit bored with the thing. Her sword made contact with the wooden armature just-so that it broke and splintered into pieces, causing a loud crack before it broke off and tumbled into the snow that gathered on the ground.

  ------------------

“Woah, woah! Slow down there, champ – your opponent is going to get in a right blow on you if you don’t guard your front!” N’manni chuckled, grabbing the blunted, wooden blade of N’adana’s sword to stop her from swinging it again. He let it go as soon as she had stopped, and she let the practice sword fall to her side.

The eight-year-old pouted, using her free hand to brush the red hair that stuck to her forehead. “But if I don’t hit them very fast, then how am I supposed to win?”

“With this,” N’manni bopped his sister’s forehead with a gloved hand, “search for weak points, but make sure they can’t find your’s. It’s a balance – a push and pull. Like… when you dance with someone.” He seemed pleased with this analogy, though N’adana was having a hard time wrapping her head around it.

“I don’t think I’m smart enough to fight with my head,” N’adana kicked the dirt beneath her, drawing a line with the tip of her worn, wooden sword, “I can just get really good at hitting things instead!” She picked up the sword again and wacked it against a nearby post, so hard that the wood of her sword splintered and pushed into the palm of her hand.

“Ouch!” N’adana started to tear up, dropping the sword on the ground and putting the dirty palm of her hand in her mouth to suck on.

N’manni quickly rushed over to kneel in front of her, pulling her hand out of her mouth and inspecting the splinter that had lodged into her skin. “We’ll get you home and get you all cleaned up, hm?” He picked up N’adana effortlessly, using his other hand to pick up her sword before adjusting his grip and starting their short walk home. “See what happens when you swing before you think?”

N’adana wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, “I can get hurted.”

“That’s right, you can get hurted. And I won’t let you get hurted, is that right, Adana?”

The little miqo’te nodded quietly, holding her splintered hand to her chest as her brother carried her home.

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

“Breaking my training dummies this morn’, I see.” Haurchefant’s cheery voice spoke up from behind her, and despite his lighthearted tone, N’adana’s ears flattened against her head as she turned to face him.

“Sorry,” she muttered, snapping back into reality as she tried to catch her breath, “perhaps they should give you some sturdier training dummies if I’m going to be here for awhile.”

“Here, let me help you,” Haurchefant chuckled, stepping passed her to clean up the splintered pieces of wood that fell to the ground, “that is quite a fine suggestion, N’adana. I shall put it on the list!”

N’adana flushed, “I didn’t mean to put another weight on your shoulders! You’re already doing so much for us-“

Haurchefant shook his head with another joyous, delighted chuckle, “Nonsense, my friend! ‘Tis a splendid idea regardless, so there is no need to fret over it one-“ Haurchefant threw the splintered wood on a nearby pile of firewood, “-moment.”

N’adana chased after him as she tried to assist in cleaning up her mess, but the elezen was having none of it.

“If you are so adamant to make it up to me, my little friend,” he grinned, unsheathing the sword from his belt, “perhaps you will humor me with a spar? Since it seems my training dummies were not suitable enough for you.”

“I suppose I could do as such, Mister Greystone. Go easy on me though, would you?” N’adana mirrored his humored smile, spinning the sword in her hand before positioning herself on the opposite side of the small courtyard of Camp Dragonhead.

“Go easy on you? A bold request indeed, one that I must extend to you in turn.” Haurchefant strapped his shield to his arm.

The two shared a banter that attracted the guards that had been patrolling the camp that morning, eager to see their Lord and the Warrior of Light duke it out on what was otherwise an uneventful day thus far. The two traded tips and stances as they dodged each other’s’ swings and hits, stopping occasionally to show each other a move or correct their opponent’s form.

“You go too fast, Haurchefant. I get so many hits on you because you don’t take the time to think and block.” N’adana suggested as her blunted sword contacted his shoulder. She had been hesitant to offer him advice before, but after one insistent spar almost an entire moon ago, she came to see that the man took her advice in earnest, despite her age.

“I shall take the advice to heart, N’adana. However, may I also suggest that you allow yourself a more open stance?” His sword clattered against her shield, a valiant bulwark against his excited advances.

N’adana grinned, “As a wise warrior once told me – it’s a push and pull, Haurchefant. I adjust myself as per my opponent’s steps.”

N’adana and Haurchefant practiced their swordsmanship for at least a bell and a half until Yaelle came to fetch the man that had been avoiding his duties all morning. She marched him back inside as Haurchefant eagerly quipped about how if he was to run Camp Dragonhead, he must get in some more proper training!

You have a stack of paperwork on your desk, ser.

N’adana snickered quietly to herself as she watched the poor man be hauled off like a child who had wandered away at the park, sheathing her sword into the scabbard at her hip. She wandered off after the eager guards had dispersed, letting her thoughts wander to an unobtainable reality where she could have introduced Manni to her dear new friends.

He would have loved Haurchefant, she thought to herself with a smile.

[twelveswood]

Title: Cat Got Your Tongue? Pairing: N’orelle/Estinien Word Count: 2238 [Again, a heads up, this is NSFW y’all. ♥]

A meeting had been called at the Fortemps Manor to discuss what Hraesvelgar had made known to them in regards to how the Dragonsong War truly began. The celebrations of Nidhogg’s slaying had steadily died down and now there was a tension hanging over all of Ishgard, at least for those in the know. Though they traveled separately, N’orelle and Estinien were the first to arrive, welcomed warmly by Haurchefant and ushered inside. It had been about a week since the pair had fallen into bed together, and they had certainly not broached the topic thereafter. But glancing over him, she could not help recall it - initially, it had been a boon, as if yes they had gotten it out of their system but as more time passed the more she felt a burning need to feel him again, to taste him, to feel him throb-- “N’orelle!” Haurchefant’s voice broke the stupor she had fallen into, “I do hope the colder climes of Ishgard are treating you well. We really must get you some more cold appropriate clothing,” he said, giving her a thoughtful once over. “Though, I certainly wouldn’t mind if you chose to warm yourself at my hearth, which you are always welcome to.” He certainly had a way of turning things just slightly suggestive, didn’t he? 

She laughed softly and nodded her head, “Yes, the offer is very kind. I’m doing well enough for now, though - while I hail from the greener part of the Shroud, my family and I visited Coerthas quite regularly.” “A pity we did not meet sooner, then!” “Indeed.” Estinien was pointedly paying absolutely no mind to their conversation, arms crossed over his chest, a vague air of annoyance surrounding him. He knew Haurchefant meant no harm, but did he always have to be like that? Of course… who was he to deny N’orelle pleasant company, he supposed… His gaze shifted over to her, taking her in at length, paying special mind to the easy smile she wore. It suited her. And then he thought of all the times she’d smiled at him like that… and all the other expressions he’d seen her make. Gods now was not the time to be picturing the way her expression contorted as he entered her, the way her lips parted, her brows knit. Without realizing he was now simply staring at her completely zoned out. “Cat got your tongue, Estinien?” He snapped out of it immediately, piercing gaze shifting to Haurchefant with his standard look of irritation. “What?” “I was just remarking, N’orelle would look all the lovelier in House Fortemps colors, don’t you think?” Estinien could not help but feel like Haucherfant was somehow… teasing him with this question and he pursed his lips, dodging his gaze sidewards. “I really could not care less.” But his eyes could not remain off N’orelle for very long, and he chanced to meet her curious glance, holding each others vision for a short but meaningful moment. ’Why did my pulse just skyrocket?’ they both asked themselves mentally. “Well you’re as fun as usual, Estinien,” Haurchefant chuckled, but overall seemed like he was satisfied by that answer. Estinien tore his lingering gaze away from N’orelle and cleared his throat turning on his heel, “Excuse me a moment.” N’orelle raised a brow at him, watching him leave the room, before she looked back at Haurchefant. Color her curious. “You know, actually, I think I might use the restroom before everyone else gets here.” she said with as inconspicuous of a smile as she could muster. “Oh of course, go ahead and head out that door he just left through then, there’s one just down the hall. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find.” “Right, thank you,” she dipped her head in a thankful bow before she excused herself and made for the exit Estinien had just taken. No sooner had she walked through the threshold of the doorway was she accosted by Estinien who hadn’t made it more than a few feet beyond the door. She was only slightly startled, and easily let him pull her along, into the first open room - which happened to be the bathroom, ironically. As soon as the door clicked behind her he was pinning her against it, mouth descending upon hers. A muffled gasp escaped her, though she was not that surprised. She could tell by the way he looked at her what was on his mind, and she was of a similar train of thought. Once was clearly not enough for either of them. If anything it made the pair of them more needy. His hand fumbled with the lock for a brief second before his hands were on her, pulling at laces, haphazardly tugging her pants down her hips. She wiggled as best as she could to be of help shimmying out of them while she busied herself with the same task, only on him. They had to be efficient, lest the others wonder where they’d gone off to. They didn’t even bother ridding him of his pants, just pushed them far enough down that they were out of the way, coupled with his undergarments. One hand found it’s way to his jaw, the other all too eager to wrap around his half-hard cock. A groan caught in his throat, lost against her lips. She broke away, chest all but heaving, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. She urged him back a step before dropping down to her knees. “N’orelle-” he began but was immediately cut off as he sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of her lips wrapping around the head of his cock. “We don’t really have time for all this-” his tone gruff and hurried, though he did not put up much of a fight. His hands quickly found their way to her head, pressing his fingers into her scalp with one while the other absentmindedly fondled one of her ears. “Lemmeh haf muh fuhn-” her voice was absolutely muffled by his dick in her mouth which would have been truly amusing if he wasn’t so distracted by the feel of her tongue rolling over him. His knees nearly buckled as she slowly took in his length, and did a damn fine job for someone not overly experienced in such acts. Drawing back just as slowly, his hips jerked as she paid special mind to the tip, sucking hard, swirling her tongue over him. “N’orelle,” he grunted again, a little more commanding. He was enjoying this, but he had full plans to fuck her, and they could do all of this when they had more time. She pointed her gaze up at him, something akin to a playful glare, before she drew back. “Just prepping~” her voice was sing-song as she stood herself up, licking her lips. Estinien once again demonstrated his upper body strength as he took hold of her at the hips and lifted her off the ground with obvious ease, shifting one arm under her to hold her up, pressing her against the door. Perhaps not the wisest choice for venue, but absolutely none of this was a wise choice to begin with. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tight there, but letting her legs hang loosely for the time being. He took himself in hand, guiding himself into her without any further dallying. She yelped a little and he quickly moved to cover her mouth with his now free hand. “As much as I enjoy the sounds you make, you’ll have to be quiet this time.” She nodded a little, though truth be told she wasn’t sure she could make such a promise. His hand dropped back down to her hip, fingers grasping firmly to help keep her steady as he began at a much less forgiving pace than the first time they had done this. She squeaked, biting her lip, trying desperately to stifle herself. She wrapped one leg around him, helping to urge him deeper with every thrust. Her head tilted back against the door, brows furrowed, eyes shut tight, trying frantically to swallow the moans and sighs threatening to escape her. Estinien took her bared throat as an opening, burying his face against her neck, kissing the hot, tender skin haphazardly. It took almost too much effort to keep her from hitting against the door as he sank himself into her with vigor. “Estinien--” she gasped, a whimpering sound trailing after his name, “You’re not… making this easy on me…” Her hands tangled in his hair in desperation, tugging more than she had honestly meant to. He didn’t seem to mind, a growl of a moan catching in his throat. “Then I’ll just… have to make it up to you… won’t I?” There was an obvious struggle in his voice as well to keep from groaning against her skin. “Mmmnn…. Hells, Estinien,” she whined quietly, tilting her chin back down and drawing her hands along his jaw, bringing his mouth to hers, her only hope at muffling the sounds escaping her as she grew closer and closer to the precipice. He obliged her hungrily, the kiss haphazard and messy. He had never felt the need to curse his stamina before but they really needed to hurry up before everyone else arrived and wondered where they were. Her hands had wound their way back into his hair, fingernails scraping against his scalp sending a shiver down his spine. N’orelle on the other hand was barely clinging on, wanting to savor it just a little bit longer. The tension was almost painful, at least in her legs, from their position, and soon enough she could bear it no longer. She drew back with a gasp, quick to bury her face into his shoulder where she could muffle the cries that escaped her as her body shuddered in ecstacy. Thankfully it didn’t take much more than that for Estinien to follow her, his legs all but shaking, holding not only himself but her up. He swallowed the moan that threatened to escape him, slowing until he halted entirely, hands trembling where they held onto her as he came down off his climax. Drawing out of her slowly, he let his hold on her loosen until she slipped down onto her feet, where she promptly just about fell over had he not caught her by the waist. “.. m-my legs are asleep,” she commented sheepishly, still obviously breathless. He simply made a straight face and shook his head a little. She could tell he was trying not to laugh. “Well get ‘em moving and get dressed, you head out first.” “Mmmph, okay okay.” she pouted a little, rubbing at her thighs, trying to shake the sleep from her legs. He straightened himself back up quickly enough, stepping back and watching, a bit mesmerized, as she pulled up her panties followed by her pants, and managing to only wobble a little bit as she did so. He damn well didn’t know what he was getting himself into... but by the Fury was he enjoying it. His gaze followed her as she moved past him, deeper into the bathroom, looking into a large, beautifully decorated mirror, fixing her hair a bit. At which point she glanced over her shoulder at him and gestured vaguely at her hair, “You uh, might want to do the same. I got a little carried away…” Estinien pursed his lips before moving over behind her and straightening out his own hair as best as he could without disturbing anything else in the bathroom. “Better,” she nodded with a slight chuckle. “Alright, see you out there.” She moved to walk away but paused, took the couple of steps back to him and pulled him down to kiss him one more time. One brow shot up, but he was happy to oblige her. She released him, making her way to the door and out into the Manor proper. Once she got to where the meeting was being held, it seemed everyone else had finally arrived. All attention turned to her as she entered and she smiled sheepishly. “Got a little lost on my way to the bathroom… sorry. Oh and I saw Estinien skulking about as he’s wont to do… he should be here shortly I think.” They all seemed appeased by this information, but the bright beaming smile on Haucherfant’s face made her almost… uneasy. Like he knew a little too much. Not that it really mattered to her, she didn’t care if everyone knew she was banging the Azure Dragoon, but he was much more of a keep it to yourself kind of person… so she was fine with not shouting it from the rooftops. She took a seat near Dreyll who smiled at her, not a bit of suspicion on her face. Sweet… sweet girl. N’orelle smiled back, though her attention shifted as Estinien joined them a moment later. Everyone else took note but were quick to move on without any fuss. Though Haucherfant still wore that knowing grin, even as the rest of the room shifted into more dour expressions, fitting the matter at hand.

[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?"

[andurinn]

SHIPPING INFO !! ANSWER THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR MUSE SO PEOPLE KNOW HOW SHIPPING WORKS ON YOUR BLOG.

WHAT IS YOUR OTP FOR YOUR CHARACTER?: 

My friend’s WoL and Haruchefant. Fuso is a darling and I would die for her. I also ship Aymeric/Haurchefant and, uh. I guess WoLs and Haurchefant in general, depending on the WoLs personality. They have to be compatible! Like I’m sure there’s one or two WoL out there he wouldn’t get along with-- 

WHAT ARE YOU WILLING TO WRITE WHEN IT COMES TO SHIPPING?: 

Almost anything? I draw the line at abuse and the likes for Haurchefant though. He deserves a happy life and I’m here to give it to him. And there’s some obvious no-go stuff, so. 

HOW LARGE DOES THE AGE GAP HAVE TO BE TO MAKE IT UNCOMFORTABLE?: 

Legal age is an obvious thing. I think no more or less than 8 years is good? Haurchefant is around 28 or so in my headcanons, thus it’s easy to kinda go from there. 

ARE YOU SELECTIVE WHEN SHIPPING?:

Yes. I always have been. 

HOW FAR DO STEAMY MOMENTS HAVE TO GO BEFORE THEY ARE CONSIDERED NS/FW?: 

You’d know when I approached you about it. I’m not comfortable with writing it outside of one person, so I’d want to do a fade to black should things come to that. 

WHO ARE OTHER THE CHARACTERS YOU SHIP YOUR CHARACTER WITH?:

@breselin​​‘s Sephiroth as the WoL is Haurchefant’s biggest male crush LOL. So him. Absolutely him. Without a doubt. Not really much else because I’ve not developed any ships past those with Fuso, Aymeric, and Seph. 8I 

DOES ONE HAVE TO ASK TO SHIP WITH YOU?:

Yeah. I’d rather not be thrown into it blind haha.

HOW OFTEN DO YOU LIKE TO SHIP?:

Here and there? It’s not the most important part of rping-- Friendships are wonderful and shouldn’t be ignored. 

ARE YOU SHIP OBSESSED OR SHIP MORE-OR-LESS?: 

I am when it comes to shipping with @breselin :> Other than that, no. 

ARE YOU MULTISHIP?: 

Highly selective, but kinda??? Activity here is low, which is something people need to keep in mind if they want one. 

WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE SHIP IN YOUR CURRENT FANDOM?:

UH. I HAVE A LOT. SO PARDON THE LIST. Estinien/Aymeric, Cecil/Sephiroth, Fusoyo/Estinien, Sephiroth [ WoL]/Estinien, Sephiroth/The Emperor [ thanks Ramona 8I ], Haurchefant/Fusoyo, Haurchefant/Aymeric, Estinien/WoL, Haurchefant/WoL, Haurchefant/Sephiroth [ WoL ], Ysayle/Estinien, Kain/Cecil and. Yeah. THERE’S MORE, BUT I’LL STOP HERE. 

FINALLY, HOW DOES ONE SHIP WITH YOU?: 

Just ask after some ic interaction if you think it might work. Or just ask anyway. WHO KNOWS. 

TAGGED BY: Stole it from Estinien’s dash.

TAGGING: @breselin / @doustadig - @lightsprotect - @arcabuncle / @cielcrd - @daintycure - @gaiavowed​ - @flamereign​ - @sehyas​ - @musesbyarya​ - @alphadrg​ - @meteorlicht​

[wanderers-ward-blog]

The music that filters into the room is light and cheery, yet a calm sort of cheer. It's a welcoming tune that many a soldier and citizen find they are drawn to, and the Druthers is full tonight in particular. It had been hard to get a private room, but leave it up to good ol' Alphinaud to set things up.

Nyxia drains another cup, lays her head on the table, cheek pressed into the cool wood. Her tail gives the occasional twitch, and her ears flatten against her hair, a golden light from the candle cast against white strands.

"Tell me...Tell me Alphinaud, just why do I get into these predicaments?" She mumbles, red eyes not even on the young man she speaks to, but on the glass in his hand that he is generously refilling for her. "I think I'm a good person, you know?"

"Given your track record, I would have to agree." He tells her, sets the glass down. The red liquid inside is a near match to her eyes, and he tries not to make one too many comparisons. "You're one of a kind, a true hero of heroes, and I have the honor to call you friend. Would that I could help you see what a wonderful person you are."

She pouts, ears perking up a moment before flattening again. "Do you think she'll stay mad at me? Surely she can't stay too cross at me right, Applenuts?"

He at least manages not to sigh at the slip of a nickname she has given him. Ever prone to funny names. He knows of quite a few others she has assigned to people, things, even primals. "Tree-Dad" hardly seemed like an appropriate name for one of the Warring Triad, the great demon Sephirot himself, but she would not drop it. 'Brostinien' was one she had happily exclaimed after her time overseas, in the foreign land ruled by a King he himself was curious about.

"Perhaps you should give her some space." He dislikes that she is so focused on someone else anyway when he is right here. He is even envious of the time Nyxia spends with his sister. She is his Warrior of Light, after all. He found her first, and that should count for something, right?

"If I ignore her for too long though, it'll make things worse. Really, why did I ever take on that stupid request? Tataru told me it would be easy, that evil scheming lalafell..."

"No wonder you've been so down lately. Disappointing people must be terrible for the Warrior of Light." He finds he is relieved that it is simply a whim of Tatarus that she is going on with, and not something like courtship of an unknown person.

There is silence, and Nyxia traces the edge of her glass, thinking it seems. "No, that isn't why." she finally answers. She clears her throat and flattens out on the table further, tail swishing. "I've been doing some thinking, you know?"

"If you would allow me a peek at those thoughts?" Alphinaud remains his usual calm self, but he can not help the curiosity that wells up in him. He has seen his Warrior of Light make many a face. Her signature grin with her eyes aglow, adventurous mischief in their depths. Much like ruby, sometimes dark like the wine he drinks now, and sometimes something brighter, more sinister looking. He attributes that to the way Mi'qote eyes catch the light, giving off an eerie sort of shine in the darker environments.

They are lovely, dangerous, and unique to her. Alphinaud had always been drawn to her eyes. Even now, with a depth to them he has not seen before.

"Perhaps tonight, you can afford to lay down your burdens and speak your mind. You so very rarely do."

The woman before him is as mysterious as she is familiar. They were brought together by a common cause, or perhaps fate? Alphinaud so dislikes the word, implying they have no control over the events in their lives, but he finds he does not mind it when it comes to their meeting.

"If I were to more often, I fear I would do more harm than good." Nyxia jokes, sits back and takes a drink from her cup. "But if you really wish to know...I would show you something."

"Show me something? Were we not just agreeing to talk?"

Nyxia smiles, a bit strained, and he watches as she reaches to her hip, draws out a knife. He does his best to hide his concern. He knows Nyxia would not hurt him, which is not his fear now. No, he worries more for the way she looks at it, the way she unsheathes it and holds it up over-

"Wait, what are-!"

There is a thunk and she gives a low groan, muffled by her teeth biting into her lip. Alphinaud stares, nearly knocks over his chair as he forces himself from the table and reaches for his bag.

"What is the meaning of this?! Why would you-"

"Quiet." Her tone is soft, her word spoken firmly as she removes the blade from her hand. Blood has spilled onto the table now, thick and red, and there is a gap in pale flesh. A gap that seals itself within moments, the drained blood disappearing slowly. In a moment more, a breath longer, it is as though it never happened if one did not look at the table, for which she quickly brings out a cloth to soak up the mess.

"You see? All better, and only a memory to serve as the only proof." Nyxia tells him. There is a sort of... strangeness to the smile she now gives him, small as it is. "If someone were to stab me elsewhere, the result would be the same. It would hurt, and I would be a bit cross, but I would recover without the use of restorative magics. Ah, but of course they help. I'm grateful for all the times you have healed me."

"It had allowed me to continue protecting you after all. While I come back from the gravest of injuries, you would not. Healing my wounds in battle is much faster than having to wait for it to close on it's own."

Alphinaud has become silent now, staring at her from across the table. She sees he has not yet sat down again... "So you're saying...that you can not die..." he finally says after a few tense, long moments, and she nods.

"Taja and I have confirmed it. Through a number of tests, we've been able to conclude that we are not able to die. The only thing that seems to spell the end of us is the destruction of our crystals of Light. Just as it was for Ysayle."

She can see the pain it brings him to remind him of her. It pains her still too, deep in her core. Dearest Ysayle, with whom she had spent much time with, but not enough. It's never enough...not for her, or for Haurchefant or Papalymo or for anyone else she had lost in these few years.

"I'm sure you're probably not all too happy about it. I wasn't either. We've... become kind of like them, huh? The acsians."

"You're nothing like-" Alphinaud is quick to disagree, but Nyxia continues.

"Unable to die, even after being ripped to pieces, even after being crushed, even after being destroyed. That is, unless one were to destroy the crystals we bear. So similar, and yet we are not as limitless as they. At least when their crystals are destroyed, they may yet remain, though in the void." She pauses and looks to the table. "Keep in mind that I've yet to test that... and I frankly don't wish to."

"So you have tested everything else?!" Alphinaud sounds angered, and with good reason. It isn't everyday someone you are close to admits to trying to die multiple times, different ways.

"Not entirely on purpose." She smiles wryly, looks up to meet those bright blue eyes. "Do you know how many times I've died in battle? How many times I have fallen to a primal? And yet I got back up. I got back up and fought better the next time. The echo offers me little protection against fang and claw and boulders."

The anger in his eyes fades, replaced by grief, guilt, and yet frustration remains.

"I...didn't know that you had... Of course I knew you were putting yourself in danger, but I always thought you were just that powerful, that skilled." he mumbles, and she frowns, ears tucking back.

"Don't sell me too short here." Nyxia tells him, a little offended. "Doubt not my skill, or my knowledge of battle. Do the dance enough and the steps come without thought, but only if you've the fortitude to get up and keep trying. I have gotten up numerous times, and have been victorious. Each defeat has made me stronger, but it comes at the price of my mortality."

"Even without the Echo, I believe I would be just as hard to kill." she continues, then tips back her cup again. "It's just that now, when I die, I get back up."

Alphinaud falls into silence across from her and she pours more into her cup. It's nearly unbearable, and just as she begins to speak up, try to do away with all the tenseness in the room, he does it for her.

"Is it alright that I may be selfishly glad?" he asks, voice so soft that she must strain her ears forward to hear him. "I do not mean to take advantage of your immortality, but it makes me feel better, and perhaps a bit like a child, to know that you will continue coming back to me."

"Alphinaud..." She fixes him with a pitying look, reaches across the table to rest her hand, the one that she had stabbed just minutes ago, on top of his. "That just means you'll never have a moment of peace, you know that right? I'll always be right there to tease you and call you Applenuts and make fun of you for not being able to swim-"

"I have been improving!" He interrupts, red all the way to the tips of his ears. "I've been practicing to cover for my faults!"

"Yes. You have."

Her smile is warm, so full of pride, and it makes him stop and stare, his heart clenches. Oh Twelve. Has he ever seen her make such a loving expression?

"You have grown so much. You have overcome so much. Even without my help, I have no doubt you would have grown into the fine young man I see before me today."

Alphinaud locks his gaze with hers, and then smiles, averts his eyes to their hands. "Don't be foolish. If you weren't there to whip me into shape and force me to keep walking, I would have given into despair long ago and stagnated."

Nyxia gives a giggle, lets her hand slip away and to her cup. She lifts it in his direction, winks. "Should you ever feel as such again, know that I will be happy to repeat the action too."

Alphinaud laughs quietly as she drinks. "Forever, I hope."

The word holds more meaning than he intends, and he knows this as he tips back his own cup. Forever would be too much for him to ask, he knows, but wouldn't that be something?

[stcrmscngs]

@aprisatm​​ said:  Show me the parts of you that nobody else ever wanted to sleep with. Show me it all with the lights on. - Offers Haurchefant for Vel

literary sexts // not accepting

     Vel’s ears twitch forward at the prominent notes of sincerity in the Knight’s voice, his brows drawing together in a furrow at either side of the long scar that splits the middle of his face. Crowded close to another person like these, caught in a heated moment of lips and hands, it’s remarkably easy to simply say things. Velkyn is no stranger to it, and yet, when Haurchefant says that, there’s not a bit of indication that this is the case. 

Looking up slowly, vivid pink meets blue with a hint of trepidation they had never warn before-- at least, not in this man’s presence. The Elezen is being genuine with him, so he deserves genuine in return, even if that comes with a hint of uncertainty. 

Pressing his smaller body closer to Haurchefant’s, Velkyn smooths the palm of a hand up over the other man’s chest and shoulder, rising up to stand on his toes and stopping only once his fingers glide their way into silver hair. 

     “If that’s really what you want, we’ll be here for a while...” It’s an offer, but also a warning, meant in more senses than just the literal one that frames the current situation. If I let you in, I’ll want you to stay. Turn away while you still can.

     “I’m more mess than I am hero, y’know...”

[skysteelsun]

what is stephanivien's relationship like with his family?

send me a topic to write a meta about my muse on

In short, complicated. At length -

The Haillenarte family is large: Stephanivien has five siblings, of which he is the oldest, and both of his parents are still living. Unfortunately, only his relationship with his father, Count Baurendouin de Haillenarte, is explored in canon - the rest is all headcanon and development with fellow RPers.Stephanivien’s relationship with his father is… strained; as the heir to House Haillenarte, there are expectations placed on Stephanivien’s shoulders, and none of those expectations involve whiling away his days at the Skysteel Manufactory. While Baurendouin never outright forbids him from visiting the workshop, he makes his disapproval clear, and always has; Stephanivien does his best to never allow it to trouble him overmuch, believing always that he will someday persuade his father to see the value of his work. He has always assumed his father is ashamed of him: he isn’t the knight his sister or middle brother are, and isn’t invested enough in the politics and gossip of noble life to maneuver successfully through society - indeed, he prefers the company of lowborn engineers and artisans, and has very few friends among the nobility, which frustrates his father to no end. Luckily, this does change in time, as Stephanivien’s machinists begin to make a name for themselves.For himself, Baurendouin is actually quietly proud of his son’s stubborn loyalty to his work - it isn’t what he wants his eldest son to be doing, of course, and he despairs to imagine what the boy’s future (to say nothing of House Haillenarte’s future) is going to hold, but he cannot help but admire Stephanivien’s tenacity.Stephanivien’s mother is the lovely Countess Yvonne de Haillenarte (an OC of mine), once the daughter of a lesser noble house with ties to House Fortemps. In many ways, Stephanivien takes after his mother - he has her merry heart and welcoming personality, and her unshakable tendency to see only the best in everyone she meets. While he often laments that he cannot be the perfect son she would doubtless prefer, Stephanivien is nevertheless close to his mother - in fact, it was her gentle insistence that finally persuaded Baurendouin to allow Stephanivien to spend so much time at the manufactory as a child. Not that Steph himself knows or realizes it, of course; she keeps that her own secret.Second-oldest and Stephanivien’s partner in crime since before either of them can remember, Aurvael ( @diadembound ) is the goad to his mischievous streak. As children, among other pranks, the boys convinced as many people as possible that they were twins: an easy feat, as they were born almost dangerously close together (Yvonne wasn’t aware she could have another child so soon) and very closely resemble one another: there are still some people in Ishgard who believe it. They’re thick as thieves, and beware any time the two are together: if Aurvael has a ludicrous and dangerous idea, odds are, Stephanivien has a machine or a plan - or both - to make it happen. He designs and builds the airships that Aurvael takes on grand adventures to the mysterious and deadly Diadem, and most of Ishgard prays that’s the last of their collaborations.Stephanivien’s relationship with his brother Kistenian (the incomparable @kistenian-haillenarte, whose OC is considered canon for this blog) is occasionally tempestuous, but no less loving for it; Stephanivien is quite certain he has his fashionable younger brother’s disdain, and tries not to impose on him overmuch these days even when he is home from the manufactory. The truth is quite the opposite; by all accounts Kist would love to see more of his scarce oldest brother, but convincing Stephanivien of that would involve him actually being home for once.As he failed to become a knight and indeed despised his knightly training, it should come as no surprise that Stephanivien’s relationship with his late brother Chlodebaimt - a renowned knight in spite of his youth - was also strained. It didn’t help that the serious, tight-laced Chlodebaimt was the frequent victim of Steph and Aurvael’s childhood pranks, and that it was common knowledge (and frequently remarked upon) that Baurendouin’s middle son would make a far better heir to House Haillenarte. While the pranks settled down significantly once Stephanivien found the manufactory and, through it, a better outlet for his creative energy, the divide between them was never fully mended before the fall of the Steel Vigil and Chlodebaimt’s untimely death. ( @chlodebamf writes a Chlodebaimt that survived the Vigil’s destruction, and is taken as canon for this blog.)The other knight in the family, Stephanivien’s sister Laniaitte ( @cloudtoprose ) had the fortune of being born late enough that she endured very little of her eldest brothers’ pranks and mischief (barring Stephanivien dismantling a music box of hers for parts). He sees her only seldom, only when visiting Camp Cloudtop to take a look at the constantly-grounded Protector, or during her own rare trips back to Ishgard - but he isn’t quite certain where he stands with her, as he isn’t often popular with knights, and is forever convinced that his family is ashamed of him and his work. Stephanivien himself is feverishly proud of his baby sister, and will loudly praise her to the heavens should anyone so much as mention her name in his hearing.The youngest of his siblings, Francel ( also found on @chlodebamf ) is the sibling whom Stephanivien understands the least - quiet and melancholy by nature, Francel is almost the complete opposite of his eldest brother, and Stephanivien has never quite been able to grasp how to get close to him. It often pains him to be around Francel for long, as his prospectometer insists his youngest sibling is capable of great things, but for the life of him, he cannot seem to find the way to draw those great things out of him. (There is another Francel at @aroseyetbloomed, though admittedly I’m not sure how active they are anymore. ; u; )Of note is Stephanivien’s long-term lover and childhood best friend Haurchefant (specifically @haurchefantgreystone ), who is as good as family - after saving Francel’s life on more than one occasion, Baurendouin himself considers Haurchefant as good as a son to him, and considers the young knight’s friendship to his family as a boon to House Haillenarte, bastard-born or no. Haurchefant is perhaps the only person allowed to see Stephanivien truly weak and heartbroken, even if only for a short time before he rallies his own spirit. Stephanivien considers Haurchefant his safe place (along with Skysteel itself), and the feeling is mutual. The only problem, really, is that Stephanivien is convinced Haurchefant is ashamed to be with him, and that this is the reason Haurchefant wished to keep their relationship a secret for so long - which couldn’t be further from the truth.And last but not least, Joye ( my own blog at @ninefaces ) - seemingly nothing more than a housemaid in the service of House Haillenarte, Joye is a quiet, anxious young woman who transforms into a gun-toting, hard-swearing harridan upon drawing her flintlock, and Stephanivien adores her. She keeps him in line: acting as a source of focus for his otherwise impulsive nature, Joye makes certain Stephanivien finishes the most important tasks first before indulging in his own pet projects - as well as making sure he eats and sleeps on occasion, and training new machinists in the use of firearms… and still maintaining her job at the Haillenarte manor. Stephanivien absolutely considers her a member of the family, and has long since recognized her as both indispensable and invaluable, and never misses the opportunity to let her shine her brightest.

[adelaisarcturus-blog]

You have really strong points, and I completely agree with the inexcusable murderous tendencies part. That being said, I also recognize that what he went through in Amaurot was also extremely traumatic. On a personal level, I don't think killing him was the correct approach, especially considering his position as an extremely knowledgeable creature who lived through millenia of history. Just like G'raha Tia, their combined knowledge and powers could have been utilized to accomplish great things. Ultimately, for me, those things would be to find a way to remove primal tempering and maybe even restore everyone's souls and even bring back those who died, including the Amaurotines who sacrificed themselves to save the world. He did mention that there was a time when everyone lived for eons, and restoring that to life on Eorzea would be a great achievement. Of course, I'm saying these provided that no lives are lost in the process.

Finally, Emet-Selch did say that if a similar calamity were threatening the world today, half of the population would never volunteer their lives for the other half. We saw that proved correct every time Alphinaud trusted people to do the right thing, only to be disappointed and betrayed. Also, Emet-Selch was "betrayed by those closest to him" as Solus, and as a person who has went through traumatic experiences it is easy to focus on the bad in people and take it as given. On the flipside, we have seen people like Y'shtola, Minfilia, Ysayle, and Haurchefant (to name a few) sacrifice themselves (sometimes repeatedly) for the greater good. The bottom line is that he was a mentally unhealthy individual who went on to have bad experiences that shaped his views of the world, and everyone (even Vauthry, as someone used him to draw a parallel above) deserves to be heard and understood and helped. Yes, Vauthry was awful. But he was raised with a sense of entitlement and a special power from birth, and developed a God complex. Anyone raised like him would have. It's extremely hard to develop a moral compass when there's no one to guide you, as it is not intrinsic. It is also easy to lose your moral compass in times of extreme duress.

i just…cannot relate to the thirst for emet-selch at all. he lies and he schemes and has how much blood on his hands, and no amount of pretty words will make me forget that he considers his dream more important than the dreams of all the lives he’s stolen and wants to continue to steal. a sociopathic lack of a conscience is not sexy to me?? the only reason he has any regard for the wol at all is because you were once like him, if you weren’t he’d treat you like any other flea. he might be good with words but every time he talks i wanna punch him in the face. like im sorry you’re the saddest sad that ever sadded, dude, but my sympathy bar is at a solid 0 after all the shit you’ve pulled. like, my god, he’s responsible for the garlean empire. look at all the horrific thing’s they’ve done to eorzea alone, and that’s just a tiny sliver of the things that can be laid at emet-selch’s feet. and oh boy am i tired of hearing about how ascians were/are so much better than everybody else, i cannot emphasize how much sideeye he earns from me with that rhetoric.

dude deserves to have his head flushed in a toilet for all eternity.

[autumnslance]

Prompt #3: Lost

She had looked everywhere.

Aeryn upended her pack (again, there was nothing in it), feeling through every pouch and crease. She turned out all of her pockets, and all of her pouches. She even checked her scabbard.

She slid to the floor of the Intercessory--the “Falling Snows” as Haurchefant had called it--and covered her mouth with a hand to hide her sobs.

It’s just an old toy, she tried to remind herself. Just a little tin knight; we lost the rest of the set, and the dragon they had fought, long ago...

Her chest squeezed painfully and she hiccuped back a sob, trying not to let anyone hear.

The knights had been Zaine’s favorites when they were children. He had names and personalities for each of them, and sent them on grand adventures through the house and yard, often staging elaborate productions for Aeryn’s amusement--if he was putting on a show for her toddler self, she wasn’t trying to grab at them so much, risking damage to his beloved toys.

Sometimes the knights were friends with the dragon, instead of fighting it, until Papa had explained why that was Bad. Aeryn recalled being sad the dragon and knights couldn’t be friends anymore, after that talk. She had been too young to really understand, though Zaine had looked pensive after.

Most of the toy knights, and their dragon, were lost with the rest of their home when the real dragons attacked. Zaine had found only the one, scorched and slightly melted, before they had to leave. He kept it with him all through the journey from Coerthas, leaving Eorzea.

Aeryn had often seen him holding the old toy, looking smaller and smaller in his hand as time passed, whenever something happened to draw out that same, pensive look on his face. Or when he was sad, or simply missing their father and old life, that he remembered better than she did.

He always had it with him, until the day he left.

She stood at the dock, eyes hot with tears she tried not to let fall. “I want to go with you.”

“Not yet,” he said, his own voice thick. “We made a deal with Mama. Soon enough, you’ll be done with your studies and can join me.”

“I could study in Eorzea,” she countered. “She’s being unreasonable.”

Zaine laughed, but there was no joy in it. “Mayhap, but so are we, according to her.” He held out his hand. In his large palm was the tiny tin knight. “Do me a favor, and keep this for me. Give him back when we meet again.”

“This is stupid,” she muttered, even as she accepted the old toy, clutching him tightly.

“You’re stupid,” Zaine countered automatically, leaning in to give her a hug and kiss her forehead. “You’ll meet me in Eorzea before we know it.”

Life rarely goes as planned. Mother was soon unable to hide how sick she really was, the reason she hadn’t wanted to let either of her children leave and had clung so tightly to Aeryn while Zaine had refused to be manipulated into staying.

After a couple years of beating her head against a wall, Aeryn had to give up her magic studies to care for her mother.

The Calamity happened. Her brother’s letters stopped coming. People stopped speaking about him, or mentioning his name. At first, Aeryn thought they were trying not to upset Mother.

They had forgotten. Aeryn hadn’t even realized she had forgotten his name until after the battle in the Praetorium. Then it all came back in a rush of light.

Along with the knowledge, bone deep, that she was never going to find him. Never going to see him again.

The Crystal did not answer why.

She had carried the little tin knight back to Eorzea with her, usually kept on her person, and what foolishness that now turned out to be. Everything was so jumbled after that godsawful night in Ul’dah. The other Scions. Nanamo. Raubahn. The Rising Stones.

Her last memento of her brother.

You’re acting like a child, she scolded herself, still unable to stop her crying. After all, hadn’t she come home in the end?

Outside, the wintry winds keened in response, while knights watched out for dragons.

-

The Rising Stones were in shambles, but nothing seemed to be too damaged. There was a constant hum of talk, stories swapped as those who had slipped the Braves’ net reunited with those who had been held captive. Alphinaud was sharing stories of their time in Ishgard. There were even jokes and some laughter.

“Aeryn,” Riol’s voice, getting her attention as she straightened one of the knocked over tables.

She paused and smiled at him. Like the others, he was no longer wearing the blue coat of the Crystal Braves, returning to his familiar, comfortable Limsan style.

He smiled back, and hesitated. “So while cleanin’ up, I found somethin’. I think it might be yours? I asked the Doman children, thinkin’ it one of their toys, but Koharu said different…”

He held out his hand, and Aeryn gasped. The little tin knight lay in his palm. There were new scuffs on the battered bit of metal, but there was no mistaking it.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it back. She felt the sting in her eyes and looked away. “I thought it gone forever.”

She felt more than saw his own smile. “I ain’t ‘bout to press, so, you’re welcome,” he said. “If only our other friends were so easy to find as steppin’ on the right spot,” he joked.

Aeryn chuckled. “We’ll find them somehow,” she replied. The tin knight was warm from being held in Riol’s hand. If this little fellow came back to me, the others will too.

Thank you, Zaine.

[ladyramora]

If you're still taking requests can I have a lil fic for estinien like the one you wrote about haurchefant/wol getting drunk together? If you have time, if not, no worries :)

(*Kermit voice* Hi-ho! - Sorry I’m so late, as usual. I have no excuse, really, except lack of writing motivation with how my job has been recently. Ah… I hope this is to your liking. I meant to draw it out more, but I think WoL needs some sleep. (So do I, lol.) Drunken Estinien is smoother than Sober Estinien. XD This version, anyhow. I was writing him like… Hmmm, I hope he seems IC. Estinien is kinda cocky, though, isn’t he? Anyway, please enjoy?)

This is a Prequel to this OT3 (Aymeric x WoL x Estinien)

....

...

..

The heavy sound of glass scraping across the polished wood of your table has you blinking open your eyes that you hadn’t realized you had closed.

A bottle of familiar booze sits in the middle of your table. You stare at it, eyes drooping blearily, gaze unfocused.

You hadn’t ordered it.

Your eyes focus only as someone sits across from you. That familiar voice addressing you, sarcastic and dry as the Sagolii desert, “Do you ever tire of fighting wars not your own?”

Your lips curve up, eyes dragging over him lazily. “Estinien,” You say on a sleepy sigh. He is a sight for sore eyes. Sore, overtired eyes. You cannot remember when last you had lain down to truly rest.

Estinien is frowning heavily, the light behind him casting an ethereal glow on the fall of his pale, unbound hair. His pale skin a bit more tanned than when you saw him last. Though shadows still lingered under the bright blue of his eyes, he looked far healthier than he had - lying pale and drawn in the infirmary after your battle with Nidhogg. His eyes are sharp, a too bright blue that drag over you with much too knowing a look.

He is…

“Gorgeous,” You say, dazedly and with a heavy tongue.

Estinien’s eyes widen infinitesimally, his head dipping down—his hair, so bright and shiny, slipping over his shoulder and drawing your eyes to the open lacing of his shirt baring his clavicle—and slides an empty glass across the table.

Even with how tired you are, your reflexes do not fail you as your hand snaps out to catch the glass before it can slip over the edge to shatter on the floor.

“Drink with me,” Estinien doesn’t ask in a voice that is rough with what you think to be embarrassment.

You stare down at the glass that you clasped in a loose grip, eyes half lidded.

Estinien pops the cork on the heavy bottle he’d brought, pouring his own glass and then yours. Yours, you notice, he fills just shy of the brim.

“Fury damn them,” Estinien grouses, “You need this more than I do. Look at you,” Estinien slams the bottle down hard enough for liquid to slosh up over the neck, snatching up his own glass to gesture with to your own too full glass. “Been possessed lately? You look about one foot in the grave.”

You grimace, ignoring your glass to touch your face. Fingers tracing under your heavy eyes as you ask, “Do I look so terrible?”

Estinien slams his emptied glass down, leaning in to snarl and pin you in place with furious blue eyes, “No! You look..” He freezes mid sentence, jaw flexing with his grinding teeth. “You look… good.”

Your hand drops to rest near your glass. Good, he said. “Good,” You echo, not questioning him, merely stating that you are glad.

Estinien takes it the other way, you surmise, as his face flushes in the soft lighting. His lips, wet with traces of his hard booze, parting as he tries to elaborate, “Better, I mean. You were so…” Estinien falls quiet. Swallows.

“Sad.”

Sad. Angry. Bitter.

Empty.

You had been many things after the Dragonsong war. You had lost two people who had become dear to you. Your eyes follow Estinien’s fingers as he drags his bare fingers through the water pooling around his chilled glass.

Almost three. Almost. But you had been able to save him. Had been allowed that where you hadn’t been before. Not him, you had thought back then. Had begged - pleaded, even - to the Twelve. To those Gods who had a hand in writing your Fate. Not Estinien too.

Then you had decided you were done asking. No, you decided. You can’t have him. You won’t. I won’t let you take him.

And then you hadn’t.

You smile instead of voicing such things. “I am always better having seen you.”

Estinien clears his throat and pours himself another. “Drink with me.”

You dip your head and lift your glass. Estinien’s favored drink sliding heavy over your tongue. Burning like dragon fire as you swallow it down. Still you tip it back. It would be most impolite to refuse. Besides, you had never been one to turn down Estinien’s offers of companionship.

You finish your glass, warmth settling in your belly. You should have eaten something, you muse, as Estinien pours you another too full glass.

“Good Ser,” You say teasingly. “I dare say, are you intending to get me drunk?”

Estinien snorts into his glass, booze spraying in his humor. He wipes his face and grins at you. “I intend only for you to catch up.”

You blink. Catch up? “Estinien,” You lean in, whispering lowly. “Are you drunk?”

Estinien leans in, breath mingling with yours, “Mayhap a little.”

So more than a little.

You glance at your glass, eye the mostly full contents of the bottle, and make a decision. You grab the bottle and your glass.

Swallowing back your entire glass of booze in one long drink, and then pouring yourself another overly large.

You’re not letting Estinien overdo it on your watch.

“Whoa there!” Estinien gives a huff of a laugh as you tip back your third glass. “Slow down, will you?” He grasps your hand, warm, calloused fingers stroking over your knuckles.

You swallow hard, looking up into his face. The amusement in his eyes. In the curl of his lips.

“Easy does it,” He continues, soothingly. That low, growly quality to his voice somehow even raspier in his partial intoxication.

His eyes are so blue. So vivid. You feel swallowed by them.

Estinien says your name and you blink, shaking your head to dispell the heavy feeling over you. Like being charmed, you think dazedly as you watch Estinien lick a stray drop of booze from his glass.

Seduction. This is a…

“This is a seduction.”

Estinien chokes, looking at you with wide eyes. “What?!” He barks. Trying to play it off, but his eyes look awfully shifty to be playing for innocence.

Ahh. Yes. It all made sense now. His hair seemed shinier than usual. His lips, too. Not to mention how much skin he was showing with the lazy lacings of his dark blue shirt - baring more than the usual of his toned chest. That, then touching you with his hands. And he kept sticking his tongue out and licking things. His lips, his glass. His wrist where he had spilled on his hand and it had dripped over his skin, eyes catching yours as he licked up his inner arm.

“Estinien,” You say, squinting in suspicion. “Are you trying to seduce me right now?” Was this happening or had you finally succumbed to exhaustion?

Estinien struggles to deny it, but the way his cheeks flush and his eyes shift give him away. “What? No! Why would I…? That would be…”

You stare at him and wait.

Estinien’s face falls, and he stops trying to deny it. “If I said yes - that this was a… an attempt to… Ah. …What would your reaction be?”

You tilt your head, turning your glass in your hands. You take a deep breath, pretending to mull it over. You shrug, as though careless. Like everything in you isn’t crying out in relief. You had thought your feelings for Estinien would forever remain unrequited and ever unspoken.

You smile and grasp your glass to clink against his. “All right then, Azure Dragoon. Show me your moves.”

Estinien sits back, looking all sorts of adorably puzzled. Jaw working as he has the nerve to squint at you in suspicion, “…All right.”

As if you would joke about something like this! You nod back at him, quirking a brow in challenge. “All right?”

Estinien knocks back his glass, clears his throat roughly, and says, “Then.. Yes, this is a..” He flushes. “This… is that.”

You slide your glass forward, clinking against his even though it is empty.

Estinien grabs the bottle and pours.

You smile, tracing the rim of your glass.

You are not prepared for Estinien to climb over the table.

“What are you doing?”

Estinien huffs as he settles next to you on your suddenly too small side of the booth. “Seducing you, obviously. Am I meant to do it all the way over there?” Estinien says, sounding rather grumpy for someone trying to seduce you.

He shifts close and you find your back hitting the wall behind you as Estinien cages you in with a hand by your head.

You feel very much drunk suddenly. Your head swimming with the scent of Estinien. That familiar smell with just a hint of something new. Was that cologne? Whatever it was - it smelled particularly pleasing. You cannot help but deepen your breaths to take him in.

Estinien is looking altogether much too smug. “Look at you,” He positively croons. “I haven’t even started yet and you’re…” Estinien leans in, his breath fanning over your lips, “All. Flushed.”

Estinien grunts in surprise as your hand smacks him in the nose, his hands raising up in surrender as you push his face away from yours.

“Not so fast, Ser!” You say breathlessly. Your cheeks feel on fire, but you’ll not be so easily conquered. “I expect a bit more of a proper seduction before you start stealing kisses!”

Estinien barks a startled, if not delighted laugh. His hand cupping over yours to grasp and turn in his hold. His head lowering as he kisses your hand like a proper chivalrous knight.

His eyes gleam playful blue through the soot of his eyelashes, shiny lips curling in a flirtatious grin. “Like this?” He asks in his signature throaty growl as he kisses your hand, over your wrist and up your arm.

You swallow hard. “That’s… rather nice, yes.”

Estinien’s eyes crinkle with his pleased grin, nuzzling his nose and one of those sharp cheekbones against your arm like an affectionate cat.

His thumb drags over the veins on your wrist. “Your heart is pounding,” Estinien sighs. He drags your hand by the wrist to press against his chest between the gaping fabric of his shirt. To feel the racing of his own heart. “Mine too.”

You gulp. Cannot help yourself from spreading your fingers wide and basking in the feel of his skin.

Estinien grins rakishly. “Seduced yet?”

You squeak. “A little?”

Estinien chuckles. “Shall I try harder then?” He leans in, shaking his head just so that his hair falls forward around his face in a waterfall of pale moonlit strands.

The fragrant oil in his hair wafts over you and inspires in you that strange mix of pleasure and hunger at smelling something pleasing. You want a lot of things. To touch his hair. Feel the sure softness of it. To bury your face in it and breathe him in. To rake your hands through his hair and drag his lips to yours.

You only make a strangled whining sound and lean into him, helpless to his magnetic pull.

You let out a startled yelp as Estinien drags you into his lap.

Your hands are frozen against the bared skin of his chest. Eyes wide as you tip your head back to stare into his own.

Estinien expression shifts from purposeful seduction to worried. “Too much?” he asks.

You shake your head mutely.

You are in Estinien’s lap.

You silently thank every god, goddess and deity you know, and all the ones you do not. You have been blessed with glorious fortune this night that you had thought would amount to naught but boredom and eventually succumbing to your exhaustion.

Instead you sat in the Azure Dragoon’s lap as he attempted, and so far quite thoroughly succeeded, to seduce you.

Not just seduce, you muse drunkenly, as Estinien smiles in relief and cups his hands over your cheeks to stroke your skin with calloused thumbs.

“I think I’m drunk,” You say slowly, leaning into him drowsily. Your overtaxed body catching up with you now.

Estinien snorts. “Caught up, have you? Don’t fall asleep on me now.”

You smile goofily, sinking into his delicious body heat with a satisfied hum. “But you’re so warm! Seduce me later.”

Estinien sighs, smiling ruefully. “I suppose it was selfish of me to drink beforehand. To attempt such as you are now. An onze of liquid courage turned to much more than I meant. Feeling your exhaustion now, I suppose? Shall I carry you to bed?”

You let loose a giggly drunken laugh. “Whaaat? We can’t go to bed together! You haven’t even kissed me yet!”

Estinien flushes like he hadn’t just been trying to seduce you. “Together? Ah.. Do you… Would you like me to kiss you?”

You would like him to very much. Yet now your head was dropping. Eyelids fighting to droop closed and remain so. Your cheek falls to rest against his bare skin, nose brushing his shirt. “Kiss me.. Kiss me,” You sigh, nuzzling into his chest.

Estinien does not comment on your sudden change of mind, bless him.

Estinien laughs softly, and you blink up dazedly at him as he curls his fingers under your chin to tilt your head back.

You part your lips, ever so slightly puckered to receive his kiss.

Estinien smiles, lowers his face towards yours, and kisses your forehead instead of your lips.

You make a mild sound of protest. “Tha… doesn’… count!” Your words slur from drink and your mounting exhaustion.

Estinien kisses your forehead again. Then the tip of your nose, laughing as you wrinkle your nose in response.

“I’ll kiss you,” Estinien says gently. Seriously. “When we are both a little more sober. Aye, a little more than rested on your part as well.”

You hear him, but are hardly awake to reply with aught but, “Promise?”

Estinien strokes his hands over your hair and down your back, his voice a throaty hum. “Of course. I promise.”

You close your eyes, feeling safe in his arms, and give in to your exhaustion under the soothing motions of his hands and the soft sound of his breath.

....

Estinien stares down at the sleeping Warrior in his lap with aching fondness, smiling and shaking his head at his own foolishness.

“I question mine own thought processes, truly. What had I intended when you were clearly so exhausted you sat half awake at this table in this questionable bar?”

Estinien sighs. “I have not been known for mine decision making. ‘Tis not mine strong suit.”

Estinien strokes a finger under the shadows lining the Warrior’s eyes. His eyes dropping to their parted lips, slightly curled as if they were smiling in their sleep.

“You continue to be my best decision yet.”

Estinien smiles. “Try again later, shall I?”

The Warrior sighs in their sleep and Estinien nods in affirmation. “Aye. Off to bed with you.”

With some clever maneuvering on his part, he stands from their shadowed booth with the Warrior cradled safely in his arms.

“Right,” he sighs. “Now to find out where you’ve been sleeping. If you have at all.”