#haurchefant's affection would be overwhelming

[drachenblood]

@petrokhelidon continued from here.

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐀𝐳𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 with remembering the names of those around him. Common or highborn alike, soldiers or priests, they’d all mattered so very little to him. For his crusade was one that could be fought alone, his would be the hand that would slay Nidhogg and thus would he have his vengeance. That in felling his greatest foe would it also end a centuries long war was but a consequence of his true desire.

How he’s changed now, that he no longer has to try and remember people. That the lives that cross his path are as important as those who’ve stood by his side. He remembers well this Arenvald, for however little he’s spoken to the youth. How could he not when Alphinaud’s talked his ear off, boasting of his adventures with him  at length. How Fordola speaks of him now, the nigh fond derision that he hears in her voice, it reminds him of the way he speaks of Aymeric and Haurchefant both. The exasperation coupled with affection.

Unseen, he raises an eyebrow. Best not to mention it lest he wants his head lopped from his shoulders. For all he knows he might be reading too much into this and thinking too closely of his own companions. Time away has made him grown overfond and sentimental. Enough so that stray mentions of the two have increased in frequency going by the way the scions have teased him about it.

“Blame the company I keep these days.” He shrugs, though for how he may jest, his expression grows serious. “Yet if not for the actions of Alphinaud and the Warrior of Light, of their faith in me, might I still have been the thrall of a vengeful wyrm. That they had faith in me is why I fight. For them and for their dream. Those like Arenvald and Alphinaud are better than us in a way, they’ve no need for such reasons to drive their cause. They fight as they’re good people and mayhap something of Arevald’s faith in you is why you try so hard now.”

Elsewise why would she struggle as she does, when she speaks of the empire as she does now. “The same Empire that abandoned you and would execute you for a traitor for your failures, no doubt.” ‘Tis not the first he’s heard others praise what many would espouse of evil and oppressive. Even having become a turncoat did Gaius still harbor an overwhelming love for his nation. “What then? If I were to somehow break that collar of yours, would you go back to that Empire of yours? Is that where you loyalty stands now?”

[minarcana]

@ritterblood asked:

“Mayhap 'tis folly to speak so plain, but that makes it no less true. I would do anything for you.” also for urianger ask meme

Urianger's cheeks flush under Haurchefant's earnest profession. "Haurchefant, truly…." Please, this is far too much for him. He is not even an adventurer with feats to his name or a moral noble who it would make somewhat more sense for a knight to say this so earnestly to, he is just a wandering scholar that somehow ended up sneaking into Haurchefant's expectations. Somehow. A part of him does keep waiting for Haurchefant to realize that Urianger is not… whatever Haurchefant sees in him, because he isn't sure how much is there.

Getting treated like this is near about as overwhelming as one of Haurchefant's effusively enthusiastic displays of physical affection, endearing and difficult to handle all at once. He frowns a little, though more to combat the embarrassment prickling at his cheeks. "Is it that thou wish'st to dote upon me, or that thou confuseth me for one of much greater import?" Cover up a little for the fact that he does like being treated like this, even if it does give him a vague feeling of mistaken identity. Better to defend himself against that pre-emptively.

He takes one of Haurchefant's hands in his almost hesitantly, a bit unsure if he is supposed or allowed to be doing that. “Either one, I thank thee… and would do the same for thee, at any suggestion.”

[headcanons-n-shit]

hi there! sorry if this has been done before but i was wondering if you would be interested in doing HCs for the non-Scions if they got yoinked to the First for ShB? what would they do while waiting for WoL to join them?

bonus for Haurchefant because i'm a coward and the Vault doesn't happen

ooooohhhh angst angst angst time?

Also Haurchefant lives in my heart.

Estinien

The worst part is that he has practice in this kind of thing. Holding his soul together in his body, that is. The sheer force of his will against something greater, stronger, trying to tear him apart.

Though unlike with Nidhogg, this time... he fails. He lasts only as long as to get you into Aymeric’s arms before the Call takes him screaming and clawing the whole way. 

Like Alisaie, he spends his time selling himself as a Sin Eater hunter. He has a bit of an advantage over her, being both older and more experienced and having lived a life hunting things both flying and significantly larger than him. It’s harder on the First, though, without the draconic bond that has so long defined him. He is nothing but adaptable, however. He learns to go without.

He knows the moment you arrive on the First-- Midgardsormr is still with you, and, father of dragons that the tiny dragon is, Estinien can feel the trickle of a bond return to him. He can feel you, scared and stunned and shaking as you find your feet, and no matter where he is he closes his eyes, takes a deep, steadying breath, and turns his feet towards the Crystarium.

Aymeric

You’ve told him about the Echo before, of course. Spilled to him how to torments you with the memories bound to people, to places, by emotions so strong they always threaten to overwhelm you. But this... this is...

Aymeric and Thancred slump over from the table, and your heart stops in your chest.

He stays close to the Crystarium. Aymeric is a fighter, and a good one, but he is in no way on the level of a Scion. His strengths lie more in battle planning, in designing defenses and positioning squadrons to the greatest affect. And it isn’t as though he has nothing to offer the Crystarium guard, for he brings with him knowledge Ishgard has gathered from centuries of fighting dragons. Specially designed ballista and bola meant to tear a winged creature from the sky, lances and greatswords meant to keep them at a distance and maim them in such a way that they can no longer take flight: Aymeric is no engineer, but he knows enough that the Crystarium engineers can patch the holes in his knowledge.

He is there with Lyna when you approach the Crystarium gates, and Lyna hardly has time to keep an eye on you when the poor Lord Commander’s Lieutenant’s legs go out from under him in relief.

Haurchefant

Though it chafes him, when war comes his place is in Ishgard, defending the homefront while you all go to battle. He knows it’s important, he knows that peace in Ishgard is... tentative, at best, and it’s important to show a united front. But the night of the first battle he climbs onto the battlements of camp dragonhead and watches the horizon in the direction of Gyr Abania and he prays for you.

You receive word from Edmont not much later-- Haurchefant collapsed up there. At first they blame his old injuries, and then the cold, and when he still doesn’t wake they realize he’s been Called. Just like the Scions.

It’s Alisaie who finds him first. “The Lion of the Wastes”, they’re already calling him. A big, cheerful elf roaming around, saving kittens from trees and caravans from sin eaters. He doesn’t stay at the Inn at Journey’s Head like she does, but his touch is felt there nonetheless-- it’s more settled, the beds are better, they are not so much pinching pennies as when you would otherwise find them. 

He is more than ready to leave with you, though, especially after what happens with Tesleen. His sense of honor and justice hasn’t waned-- if anything it’s been fed further by the new sense of adventure that’s grown in his chest. He gets why you enjoy this now. Even if he isn’t changing the world, he’s changed these few lives, tangibly made them better.

(”So,” he says cheerfully as you all turn your feet towards the Crystarium. “Say we make it back to the Source. Would the Scions of the Seventh Dawn be looking to expand their number by one more?”)

Sidurgu

You only meant to visit him, shortly after Urianger and Y’shtola collapsed. For comfort. For his blunt, no-bullshit advice. Instead you find him in the Haillenarte home-- Sidurgu collapsed in Cloud Nine, and Rielle had run and grabbed the first friend of yours she could find, and Francel had just happened to be coming home from the Brume. 

It turns out being a Dark Knight in a world of Light is. Something of a mixed blessing. He garners a bit of reputation himself. People call him the Shadow Knight in hushed tones and reverent whispers. if you’re inflicted, if you need help, find the Shadow Knight. His darkness can stall the progression of Light-- stall it, not stop it completely, but it does give you a little more time. He’s even trained up a half dozen little Dark Knights, young, thin saplings of things, full of anger and love and darkness, ready to go toe to toe with ever sin eater they come across. Within reason sometimes. 

But they have to constantly stay on the move, because the sin eaters are drawn to the dark aether, and at some point staying in a settlement draws more danger than they can provide safety. The Abyss can stall the progression of Light, but it can’t stop it-- the six travelling with him aren’t the only six he’s training, they’re just the six that are still alive. 

When you find him, he and his knightlings are more than happy to throw their lot in with the Crystarium, especially once the Lightwarden in that area is dead and there isn’t the constant risk of bringing doom down upon the settlement. And. He’s happy to see you again. He’s glad you are well. Which he expressed. Out loud. Three years is a hell of a long time for the heart to grow, and grow fonder.

[theworldwalkerswols]

The Exarch’s Call Headcanons

So the explanation of the “call” accidentally yoinking the Scions is that Exarch essentially cast his proverbial net too wide, affecting the people whose fates were intertwined with the WoL’s, right? 

Well, if Kyler’s married to Aymeric, Estinien, and Haurchefant I’d say their fates are pretty godsdamned intertwined.

Initial thought: what’s worse, pulling them into the First along with the Scions when they are so incredibly needed on the Source? Pulling just one of them? Or having them experience the Call... and having none of them go?

At first I thought it would be best to have one of them - Haurchefant - go bc it would be fun to have one of them get to experience the First, but so much of Shadowbringers thematically is about isolation, being a world apart. 

So now I’ve landed on this:

It’s MSQ compliant up until Y’shtola and Urianger collapse. After that, Kyler contacts his husbands on linkpearl and asks that they all use their wedding bands - an immensely rare occurrence - because they need to Talk. He tells them about what’s going on, about the voice and the pain, how it’s different than the Echo, how his companions’ souls are missing and their bodies lying dormant. And while they’re talking about it, the call strikes him again.

At first the other three are powerless, watching, and then it strikes Haure. Estinien and Aymeric hardly have time to react before it strikes Aymeric. Then Estinien. Kyler manages to fight through the overwhelming experience to roar out, “No! Stay with me, you have to stay!”

And.....it passes.

All four of them are there. Kyler is terrified.

Estinien still rescues Kyler from Zenos (well, his body). He’s used to having his mind invaded, has practiced for years how to build up his walls and function in spite of interference. The other two less so. Lucia saves Aym and Haure’s lives when it strikes on the battlefield.

And then, as in MSQ, Kyler goes to the base of the Crystal Tower for the “device” left there. The Call is finally successful. And he leaves his husbands behind on the Source, safe from the Exarch’s interference, but also cut off.

When he finally arrives and can speak to the Exarch, his dialogue choice is, 

“Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused?”

[lovehotelreservation]

Lineage

Summary: Business or pleasure. 

Respite was hard to attain for the Warrior of Light and the Speaker of the House of Lords. Even now, with you and Aymeric oceans away for a belated honeymoon in Costa del Sol, the two of you weren’t exactly free from your duties.

The task?

To sire an heir to the Borel name.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Plus Size F!Reader/Aymeric

YEEHAW

WHEN I TELL U THE WAY I YELLED WHEN I GOT THIS COMM PROMPT ON MY KO-FI FHAKLFHAKLF 🥺💙💙💙💙💙🥺 THANK YOU TO THE DEAREST COMMISSIONER FOR THIS CHANCE TO WRITE ABOUT MY FAVORITE BISHOUNEN ELF MANS!!!

I HOPE U ALL ENJOY!!!

----------

Night had fallen but the air was still so warm, so humid.

The sound of gently rolling sapphire waves washing up onto pristine white sand, the exotic scent of surrounding tropical fauna mingling with the smoky burn of a BBQ bonfire malms away down the coastline, the gorgeously ethereal shine of moonlight above in the onyx sky.

From where you stood upon the polished wooden floor of your private bungalow suite with your window open, you were in the ideal position to take in all the sights, scents, and sensations that elated each of your senses.

Truly, it was a beautiful night to be in Costa del Sol.

Though, one whiff of the salt-tinged ocean air instantly took you back to the snow swept lands of Ishgard.

The city you had since called to be your home.

Something made official when you were finally wed to the one and only Aymeric de Borel.

He was why the two of you were in Costa del Sol in the first place.

Aside from finally having the proper honeymoon that the two of you did not get to enjoy after your wedding--given that the escalated rebellions in Ala Mhigo and Doma called for your immediate presence--there was one specific reason why you were here to admire this gorgeous Costa del Sol night.

Wearing nothing but an exquisite royal blue lace chemise.

It wasn’t too long ago that you had just finished up assisting Stephanivien with teaching a lecture to a new class of fresh-faced machinists at the Skysteel Manufactory when none other than a beaming Haurchefant came sprinting towards you the moment you emerged through the door.

“Many tidings to you, my splendid friend! I wish you great blessings upon the Borel heir to be!”

The first sentence you were prepared for, the second you were not.

“Borel heir...to be?” You repeated as your mind processed just what Haurchefant chirped to you.

Though, before you could ask for what he meant, the towering knight was suddenly made to bow by none other than one irritated Estinien.

“Oi, we were supposed to head out to Aurum Vale already,” he grumbled, just before looking towards you with a look of resigned exasperation. “As for you, it’s better if you hear what lover boy has planned for you himself.”

Without sparing another word to even begin to clarify, Estinien proceeded to drag Haurchefant--who happily offered you his goodbyes with a supportive thumbs up--away while muttering something about sprout greenling paladins who bit off more they could chew.

Your subsequent return to the Borel Manor where your husband was there to tenderly greet you with a loving embrace and tender kisses resulted in his affectionate expression becoming intensely flustered when you brought up Haurchefant’s sudden declaration.

The parchment letter marked with the seal of one of Costa del Sol’s most luxurious resorts that was tucked in his pocket was thankfully still kept as a surprise at the very least.

Thus, with the reveal that soon followed, you and Aymeric took off from Ishgard’s eternal winter to bask in the endless summer of Costa del Sol.

And why you were gazing out towards the evening tropical scenery with a fluttering heart.

After all, tonight was meant to not only celebrate the union between you and your husband, but to begin the journey of bearing an heir to the Borel name.

Though Ishgard was in the midst of a historical change within its society to break from tradition and move towards a more open-minded one, there was still an expectation for the House of Lords’s speaker to sire a child, the pressure of which had been pushing increasingly upon Aymeric’s shoulders during your absence.

While starting a family was a conversation that the two of you had spoken about in earnest throughout your relationship prior to this night, to do so now with the layer of political presumption from Ishgard’s governing body was enough to twist your nerves into knots.

A feeling that dissipated the moment you felt a pair of arms wrap tenderly around your waist.

Body heat exemplified by a recent hot shower emanated behind you, the sensation deepened by a chiseled bare chest pressing right against your back, pushing the warmth even further into your skin through the flimsy fabric of your chemise, of which contrasted with the thicker material of a bath towel that hung securely on sturdy hips.

And even here, in a tropical paradise that was oceans away from the inescapable snow that enveloped all of Ishgard, a delightful shiver still trailed along your body from the words that was murmured hotly into your ear,

“I must send my regards to the hotel staff for their hospitality. I did not expect to receive such a divinely wrapped present after my bath.”

Your head turned back, your eyes soon captivated by sapphire irises that gazed earnestly into yours with affection.

Almost overwhelmingly so.

You were used to seeing love akin to absolute reverence in Aymeric’s eyes whenever your gaze would meet his.

But unlike the light that glinted in his blue eyes from when he helped out off the boat that carried you to Costa del Sol, here on this night, there was a darkened, longing desire reflected in his gaze.

Though you had faced many a foe whose schemes spelled ruin across every inch of the realm, it was now that you suddenly found yourself shrinking back with shyness. Giggling amidst your overwhelmed nerves, you teased in response, “Must you charm me more, Ser Aymeric? Was our wedding not enough?”

“You know I will never have enough of you, darling.”

You froze.

Aymeric’s voice was already so dulcetly rich and deep, but the tone of his words smoldered with conviction.

His embrace around your ample waist tightened, a sigh of utter satisfaction escaping him as he beheld your full physique, his face finding its way to the crook of your neck for loving nuzzles. “Gods, when was the last time I’ve gotten to hold you like this? Every inch of you is divine--how I never wish to let go of you.”

Each word spoken was laced with need, all while his hands began to trail over your body in soft caresses, even while his fingers ached to tear off the lace that kept him away from your bare skin.

He drew away from your neck, calling out your name huskily as his eyes found yours once more. “Will you pardon this enamored fool for his selfishness during this holiday, my beloved?” His face closed the distance between yours and his as he continued, “I am going to savor this respite like nothing else--the beautiful time spent with turning you into the mother of my children.”

“Aymeric,” you moaned, feeling your knees weaken as you leaned further against him. What more could you even say at this point when he had you reduced to such a state by the conviction in his words alone?

While he looked all too pleased from having you already melting in his arms, his expression turned serious as he remarked, “Before we begin, I want to make this clear and certain—by no means are we doing this for the sake of Ishgard.”

His hands rested protectively upon your soft belly, his heart already thrumming with excitement to witness your stomach grow rounder and full with his child upon the months to follow. “As you know, starting a family with you has been something I’ve craved the moment you captured my heart.”

Aymeric brought his lips to yours for a kiss most tender. “We’re doing this out of our own shared volition--the House of Lords finally granting me respite so I can claim you over and over was just a blessing from Halone herself.”

Already overwhelmed and dazed by your husband’s intense and loving resolve, all you could let out was a breathless yet eager, “Yes...our shared will.”

A smile quirked onto his lips. “And so we shall share our love with no restraint.”

And then Aymeric’s lips smothered yours for a kiss that was most far from chaste.

Away from the window, towards the bed.

From bathing moonlight to flickering candles.

The kiss shared with your husband was broken for a moment, just so he could gently have you lay upon the bed.

But the moment Aymeric assumed his place on top of you, he became a man possessed.

A man possessed by his love for you, by his desire to claim your body with his seed.

He meant his words from earlier, his hands tearing into the lace of your chemise like gift wrap.

The composed and regal speaker of the House of Lords was nowhere to be found by the way Aymeric hungrily sought out your lips, his hands fondling your supple breasts, his mouth watering at the thought of soon getting to suckle on your nipples and lavish your core with the needy flicks of his tongue while your thick thighs squeezed around his head.

The fumbling yet earnest virgin during the first time you were intimate together was but a precious memory at this point.

Instead, here was a man who knew exactly what to do to elicit the sweet moans of his name off of your lips.

To make you mewl with each teasing pinch and indulgent kiss to your nipples.

To cause your back to arch in sheer pleasure with the obscenely noisy manner he stroked your sopping core with his tongue, all while his hands happily fondled your plump thighs as they remained pressed against either side of his head.

But that knowledge was how he kept you ever on the edge, making sure you remained a step away from your orgasm.

Never to be outright malicious--such would be an outright sin to commit against you as your husband!

Rather, to ready your body for the long and indulgent night to come.

He did not even spare a moment for you to savor his cock with your mouth, keeping you right on your back.

Long had he waited for this moment, and he was going to save every dribble of his cum inside of you instead.

Your lips parted for breathless pants, your cheeks kissed with red heat, your thighs quivering with anticipation once your husband was finally sheathing the full heavy length of his cock into your core.

The delighted hiss of your name from Aymeric’s lips would be forever imprinted in your memory, as would the tremendous pressure he soon exerted as he soon worked the tempo of his thrusts into something swift in its neediness and fierce in its fervor.

One hand locked onto your hip as he plunged his cock into you, the other reached for your breast to squeeze before he planted his lips onto your nipple once more, his mind already anticipating when he would be able to gulp down mouthfuls of sweet milk once you were showing with his child.

Such an experience had him pushing into your core with even greater intensity, of which dragged out yet another lovely squeal from your lips.

He could not resist from grinning, even with his mouth full of your breast.

Onwards he continued, the viciousness of his thrusts sounding out by the indecent slaps of his balls against your ass each time his cock plunged inside of you.

So free, so unrestrained.

Aymeric felt alive, he felt deeply in love.

His lips left your nipple with a pop as he lifted his head, driven by the desire to catch sight of the look on your face as he felt his orgasm approach, all while your slick core milked his cock even more with your own imminent release.

The helpless pleads for more of his touch, the obscenely yearning look of desire on your face.

Halone be merciful on whatever was left of his self-restraint.

Your name was uttered out at a gutteral low from the depths of his throat.

His eyes caught yours yet again, holding onto your gaze as his thrusts quickened in his frantic need for release.

“My beloved, you already enamor me so with those elegant curves of yours--”

You felt the drag of his hand along your body, cupping your breasts, caressing your sides, trailing longingly over your belly.

“--but then, when I think of you strolling through Ishgard, shining with a maternal glow as you carry around our child…!”

A visible shudder seized hold of his body, his teeth clenching with pleasure as he readied himself for what was soon to come, a reaction mirrored by you as you prepared for your own orgasm.

“By the Fury, I will not let you out of this bed until your womb is absolutely flooded with my seed!”

With a snarl, Aymeric captured your lips in a scorching kiss as he pounded into your core harder, hot sticky spurts of his seed soon being pumped into you with each thrust that continued on and on afterwards.

Your arms hugged around his neck, pulling him close as the two of you relished in your orgasms, the two of you smiling into your kiss.

Tonight would be the first of many spent away from Ishgard, but oh how the two of you hoped to return to your home together with a newfound soul in your belly.

[enavance]

cherry,  regarding  conjury,   especially  with  influence  from  haurchefant’s  death.

with cherry having the background that she does,  in having experienced the loss that she has,  it comes as no surprise that she finds the smallest inkling of interest in learning conjury when she makes her home in gridania.

it isn’t a pursuit she took all too seriously at the time,  however,  despite her interest in it,  but her interest does stem from her desire to be able to help others around her,  to hopefully prevent the tragedies that she experienced in her life from happening to anyone else.  she knows the pain of loss that comes with losing family or any loved ones,  and she wishes that she had the knowledge or strength to do anything otherwise to prevent the tragedy that afflicted her.

but,  alas,  cherry has known nothing but hunting all of her life,  living in a small and peaceful village,  not too far from the other members of her clan.  there was little need for warriors,  but sparring amongst one another was not unheard of.  few warriors,  perhaps,  but no one had the makings of a soldier or anyone equipped for war.

they had no need beyond medicine men who treated ailments with honey and salves,  perhaps only the most basic of conjury magicks to treat any wounds that came from any accidents with weaponry or a run in with large beasts.  it was never a pursuit cherry cared for until she lost her home and everything and everyone that she loved.

she picks up conjury to begin learning the basics,  and while she could have the potential for greater learning,  she is impatient and disheartened by her early failures.

she gives up on this for some time,  until a fateful event come time for the dragonsong war.

cherry does her utmost best to keep everyone around her at arms length in fear of growing close to anyone.  she cannot bear the thought of losing anyone else in her life,  and it’s easier for her to deal with her feelings if she simply does not care about anyone else,  and if people aren’t allowed to care for her in return.  she doesn’t want anyone else to feel the pain of loving her only to lose her,  and as tumultuous as her life has become,  it only strengthened her resolve in wanting to keep her distance from others.

however,  meeting haurchefant changed everything for her.  she was surprised by his warmth,  by his kindness,  the brightness in his eyes and the passion fueling everything that he does.  she was completely moved by him.  even amongst the scions,  cherry hasn’t met anyone like him who was as kind as he was,  or anyone who believed in her as much as he did.  he had his charms and a sense of humor and she didn’t even realize how important he’d become to her as a friend.  she found it easy to talk to him,  and she found herself opening up about things without meaning to at all.  haurchefant simply had a way of making her open up and lowering her guard without her realizing it.

this is what friendship is meant to be.  relaxed,  easy going,  and filled with laughter and a shoulder to lean on.  that’s always what he offered her,  and he slipped beneath her skin and into her heart before she even knew it.  still,  cherry is oblivious until the fateful day at the vault as to just how much he meant to her when she was struck with the agonizing,  gut  -  wrenching,  and heart  -  shattering pain of losing him.  she hadn’t felt grief like this in years.  she was not ready.  losing him was unexpected,  something she never could have prepared herself for.

i’d talk about the specifics on how this really affects cherry,  but that’s a headcanon for another day.

after these events,  cherry feels overwhelmed with guilt,  the guilt for the fact that he sacrificed his life so that she would live on,  and the guilt for the fact that she was unable to do anything but stand and watch and hold him as he lay dying in her arms.  it’s a guilt she feels to this day,  that if she took conjury more seriously,  if she had any capability at all to heal him right then and there,  that she could have done something more for him,  that perhaps he would have been able to make a swift recovery and that he would still be standing at the helm of ishgard beside aymeric as a beacon of hope for them all.

after this,  she does try to take conjury a lot more seriously.  she realizes now how much the people in her life mean to her and that she cannot take any of their existences for granted.  while she never goes on to become a white mage,  cherry studies dutifully to learn healing spells that are strong enough to tend to graver wounds at a base level,  at least until a real healer or chirurgeon is able to tend to the wounded.  she cannot handle it.  she cannot handle losing anyone else who means that much to her.  she will not be able to cope with losing any other friends.  if she can,  in any way at all,  help them,  she will do everything within her power to do so.

cherry has a proficient enough skill in conjury to tend to severe wounds,  and sometimes fatal wounds and healing enough to keep people in the clear for recovery.  there isn’t much else that she can do with her current skill level,  but it is enough until someone else who does have the expertise can help.  she will not repeat her mistakes ever again.  she’s lost enough people that she loves,  and she will not stand to lose anyone again.

[ladyramora]

I've woken up in the middle of the night with this question in my head and I need answers only you can provide: Do you think the elezen husbands and / or ascians know how thirsty people are for them and how do you think they react if they find out about it?

If the Ascians knew, you know they’d be using that to their advantage. There would be tension. Who is the most popular? How can we use this against them?

Emet is smug. Obviously, he is the most popular. Ohohoho~

Elidibus might be intrigued? Something something, balance, something.

Lahabrea I think would hate it. “Pathetic.” 

Nabriales... might find it amusing? He would show up to brag/mock about it.

Igeyorhm... unsure. Maybe flattered? Maybe indifferent?   

If elf husbands knew... Haurchefant would probably be overwhelmed with so much love. And trying desperately to return every last bit. Challenge accepted.

Aymeric would try to play it cool, but he has no chill when it comes to WoL? Like even Thancred was like “yo, he’s not very good at disguising his feelings about you.” So I think Aymeric would be very flustered. 

Estinien would def be that one post: “How big that dick tho?” 

“Small. Leave me alone.” 

Poor Urianger I think would be very flustered to know the levels of thirst people have for him. That sweet, sexy nerd. Be cool, Urianger. (He can be cool for like, 5 mins)

Foulques. People love him? Of course, he’s amazing. Now leave that guild of cravens behind and be his pupil! (People really love him...?) I do think he’d lowkey be jittery/embarrassed about it. I don’t think he’s had a lot of love and affection in his life.

[inviouswriting]

The first “I love you”

My own idea for this. The guys reacting to being told “I love you.”

Hien - 

The confession itself is when you’re walking around the Doman Enclave, one of the more quiet spots. When the words leave you, Hien stops in his tracks and looks at you wondering if he heard right. 

“You love me?” His question, and seeing your face dusted pink enough to confirm it. He feels his heart full, and a soft smile graces his face. 

“I am glad. And I love you.” Hien takes your hand and tugs you closer to him. Glad for a moment of privacy he presses his forehead to yours, the  a chaste kiss.

Haurchefant - 

He is all smiles, in fact he is smiling more. A quiet night near the fire in the intercessory. You seated next to him on the floor, an arm from him around your shoulder. It felt right, it felt calm and perfect to confess. Haurchefant presses his chin to the top of your head resting it there while tugging you into his arms.

“I love you too.” You know he loves you, he tells you often, it was you who wanted to tell him finally. Returning all his feelings he had shown you, his patience while you figure out if it was fleeting or full. Full it is.  

Thancred - 

“I love you!” Is what came out, hurried and flustered after Thancred was pressing for why you’re face was red on your date with him. When the words leave you, you bury your face in your hands. Thancred has a shocked look on his face at first, but smiles to himself seeing how flustered you are. He takes your hands and tugs them off your face so you can see his face.

“About time you confessed.” He knew, but it still surprised him hearing you say it to him. He ghosts a kiss on your cheek but you turn your head and give him a full kiss instead. Playing one of his tricks on him, he does it to you so much. Thancred smiles into the kiss. 

“Careful now, wouldn’t want you to start something you can’t finish.” He quirks an eyebrow at you. You playfully shove him.

“I love you too, my dear.”

Urianger - 

His smile is wistful and respectful. The way you said it was a whisper, in the corner of Rising stones around everyone. Quiet enough to where no one the wiser would pick up how close you are seated to him. Urianger removes the eyewear enough for you to see his eyes. His face in full. His response is leaning in closer to your face and gracing you with a swift kiss on your cheek. 

He tugs you closer, an arm over your shoulder now, and whispers endearing things into your ear. Some make you blush with how affectionate they are. You share your own thoughts and affections. His confession at the end of his words when he sees how you have fallen asleep in his arms.

Estinien - 

You said it when it is just you and him. It is one of the few times you see a dusting of pink touch his cheeks, faint but there. He turns his head away, but you can see his smile grace his lips. He tries to hide it. His arms are folded, and he looks anywhere but your face for fear if he sees your smile he couldn’t stop himself from doing it too. You follow his head turn moving to the side to see his face. 

“I know what you are doing.” He turns his head the other way and you follow, the flush on his face is growing. He’s flustered!

“Do you?” You question. Growing a bit ambitious you kiss the side of his face. His attention snaps to your face. You see it. The blush that stains his face. 

“You. Are lucky I love you too.” You smile at him, then turn to walk away only to have him tug you back and him give you a kiss on your forehead. Your turn to blush flustered.

“There.”

Aymeric - 

You are laying on top of him with your back resting on his front. His fingers are combing through your hair. Legs dangling off the edge of a couch, something he has grown to love during your times when he invites you to just be with him. His fingers were running through your hair and down along your ears when you said it.

His hand stops, you worry if what you said was too much. You shift to look at him, only to be greeted with warmth from his icy eyes and a wide smile. Aymeric places his hand on your cheek, his thumb caressing it, while his fingers trace along side your face. Seeing his face makes you feel like your chest will burst from how full his love shines through his actions. 

“You love me?” He tugs you up his torso, till your face is closer to his, he shifts enough for you to be comfortable looking at him. You nod yes in response to his question.  The thumb tracing your cheek sweeps across your bottom lip. Something he does when he is about to kiss you. He does, a sweet long kiss. By the time he parts from the kiss, your face had heated up that seeing his smile adds to the hopeless and overwhelming love you have for him.

“I love you my dearest.” He whispers into an ear. 

[ffxiv-ariavitali]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone & Warrior of Light, Haurchefant Greystone/Original Female Character(s), Haurchefant Greystone/Original Character(s) Characters: Aymeric de Borel, Estinien Wyrmblood, Haurchefant Greystone, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Original Final Fantasy XIV Characters, Aria Vitali | Aria Lukos, Stryder Vitali | Stryder Lukos, Lucia goe Junius, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Tataru Taru Additional Tags: Grief/Mourning, Loss of Control, Love, Love Confessions, Unrequited Love, Implied Relationships, Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Injury, Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Abuse Series: Part 15 of Collections of History Unwritten Summary:

Or writing prompt: "Being pulled away from their limp body, kicking and screaming"

If there was one thing that Aymeric and Estinien could agree on, it’s the fact that the overwhelming despair felt by the Warrior of Light cannot be rivaled.

They were surprised Aria was able to hold on until his final breath. For the sake of the man that granted her, Master Alphinaud and Mistress Tataru asylum on their darkest day, she had fought for Ishgard; that was the reasoning that everyone thought was the origin of her goodwill. If it were not for Haurchefant’s insatiable curiosity towards adventurers, particularly that of Aria’s life, they wouldn’t have discovered that both she and Stryder are the grandchildren of House Lukos.

In fact, there were a lot of things that would have gone differently had Haurchefant not befriended the Warrior of Light. Ishgard would not have a stout ally against the heretics, they would have scant methods of combating the primal threats that are emerging - much less know primal activity was rising to begin with - and the shameful thousand year lie perpetuated by the church would continue to plague their homeland. On a more personal level, Aymeric and Estinien would not have befriended a woman as loyal and loving as she. They would not be able to bear witness to her talents in many combative and arcane arts nor would they find someone they enjoy bantering with that wasn’t each other. If it wasn’t for her, Ishgard would have fallen to the Dravanians long ago.

The lord commander and the Azure Dragoon knew that there were sentiments beyond friendship developing between Aria and Haurchefant. Whenever Aria was visiting, her first stop would always, always be Camp Dragonhead regardless of the weather. They even heard that she had participated and helped create a new training regiment to better suit the knights of House Fortemps. Everyone liked Haurchefant. Everyone liked Aria.

Everyone liked the idea of them together.

Aymeric had the pleasure of having a private conversation with Haurchefant amidst his arguments with Count Edmont on whether to shelter the Scions after the banquet of Ul’dah. They shared an evening filled with spirits and ale at the upper floor of the Forgotten Knight with the Fortemps son steadily becoming rowdier as the night hours passed. It was at this time that Haurchefant began spilling his not-so-closely-guarded secrets.

“Fury take me, I think I love her,” Haurchefant stated as he appeared to be having an epiphany. Aymeric chuckled as he poured another glass of mulled wine. “Pray tell who has been in your good graces.” “Who else but the Warrior of Light?” Haurchefant answered, mildly affronted he needed to even confirm what he thought was common knowledge. This made Aymeric laugh louder. “Oh? She is something, I will agree. A formidable ally and a knowledgeable companion.” “She likes butterflies,” Haurchefant stated. Aymeric blinked. “Pardon?” Haurchefant grinned. “Aria loves butterflies, how delicately they fly and dance in the air. She adores sweets with crème brûlée being her favorite dessert. Her favorite books involve romance but put emphasis on the characters’ growth. Oh, and she agrees that hot cocoa cannot go without marshmallows on top!”

Aymeric’s eyes were wide with shock and confusion as he eyed Haurchefant as if he grew a second head. Yet, the maniacal smile that the lord had as he recounted what he had learned of the Warrior softened, just as his eyes did. To the lord commander, he was reminded of that expression in a way that he occasionally felt with Estinien - a look of admiration and fondness. However, in this case, the sentiments were tinged with romantic affection.

“You … seem to know quite a bit of the Warrior, Lord Haurchefant,” Aymeric commended. Haurchefant hummed. “She also told me that the eyes are the gateway to a person’s soul.” “Did she now?” Aymeric raised a brow, his attention captured. Haurchefant nodded. “Aye. So I looked to hers. Ever since then, I have always been meaning to ask her a single question.” “And what might that be?”

Haurchefant took pause to contemplate how to answer. He parted his lips and closed them, seeming unsatisfied with how the question was formed in his head. Aymeric was patient, taking sips from his drink in the meanwhile. After a spell, the knight looked to him in all seriousness.

“’Why...why do you always look so afraid?’”

Aymeric understood now the reason to why he wanted to ask the question.

The lord commander saw the moment that the light in Aria’s eyes had dimmed and tears began running down her cheeks. He watched as a soft healing light glowed from her hands over Haurchefant’s wound. He heard the wails and screams, the begging and the pleas that escaped her lips for him not to leave. He could do nothing as he witnessed Aria shaking the lord’s shoulders as if trying to wake him up.

It was then that Stryder, her older brother, stepped towards his sister and did what no one else could. The man pulled Aria back by both her arms to separate her from Haurchefant’s body. The Warrior’s cries became louder and higher in pitch to which Estinien visibly shook at the sound of it. He had heard her song - one filled with grief and promises of vengeance.

Even as Aria flailed her limbs to escape her brother’s hold, Stryder held his concentration and kept her back with all his might. As the Temple Knights loyal to Aymeric arrived and removed Haurchefant’s body, Aria continued to cry to the heavens in a way that assured all that heard it that her sorrow will be engraved into the Vault’s stones for generations to come.

For a bell she screamed until she could scream no more.

As the company was to depart from the Vault, Stryder had held Aria close as he lifted her in his arms. The woman was passed out cold then, having fallen unconscious from the overwhelming emotional and physical exhaustion that took hold of her. It wasn’t until they were all about to go their separate ways - Aymeric, Lucia and Estinien to the Congregation of Knights Most Holy and Stryder with Aria to the Fortemps manor - that the lord commander had the resolve to call out to the elder Vitali.

“Master Stryder, she is-,” he managed to get out. Stryder stopped but didn’t face the native Ishgardians. “For all my sister is capable of, she is still but a single mortal. Lord Haurchefant understood this...and took care with her.”

Aymeric’s eyes widened ever so slightly at his comment, but was given no quarter as Stryder continued to speak.

“Aria has always been terrified of becoming close to others in the fear that they will be lost to her. Mother, Father … then the insult given by Lucien... The lord was her life raft, the salvation she needed to gain the courage to try again. She loved him, Ser Aymeric, and now she has to, once again, let go.”

Stryder took a few more steps onward before pausing to make one last comment.

“...Next time, consider the consequences of your actions. Lest it falls to the ones supporting you that suffers.”

Lucia was just about ready to jump after the Vitali as he began walking away, but was stopped when Aymeric stretched an arm out to bar her way. Estinien looked towards the lord commander.

“You did what you thought was best for Ishgard,” he tried assuring him.

Aymeric inclined his head, taking in a deep breath before walking towards the Congregation. He knew that he would be branded a heretic. He was aware that it wasn’t going to be easy. The lord commander knew how aware his companions were of the risks to his decisions. He thought he was ready to make the necessary sacrifice needed to bring the truth to light.

But the last thing Aymeric expected was to see the shattering of a heart.

[starswornoaths]

Stay.

Over the years, Serella has found herself with many, many members in her little chosen family. Many of whom have already left, whisked away in slumber. There are only a few left to whom she hasn’t said goodbye. On her last night on this star, that changes.

Or:

Absolutely do not, under any circumstances, read this while listening to “Goodbye may seem Forever” from Fox and the Hound 0/10 sobbed while editing.

Word count: 2,836

Ordinarily, Serella loved riding through the Highlands on Ullr’s back. It was liberating, that feeling of the sharp chill of crisp Coerthan air lashing at her face and the howl of the wind in her ears as they raced through the snowy pathways and foothills around Camp Dragonhead. While certainly not so freeing as flying overhead, there was something special about feeling her bird trot against the resistance of several inches of powdery snow that glittered like stardust as he kicked it up in his wake. On another sort of outing on any other picturesque day she would happily hop off to play in the snow with her beloved bird— for how else would they stay young, otherwise?

Today, however, Serella rode from Mor Dhona straight into Camp Dragonhead with a heavy heart and a hard set mask of stoicism. She dismounted and led him to the stables, though yet lingered at her faithful friend’s side: she was waiting for someone, after all. Ullr doubtless sensed her dread, as he trilled in that questioning way that seemed to ask her, Mama, what’s wrong? Her heart squeezed in her chest, even as she forced herself to smile as she gave his side an affectionate pat.

“It’s alright, boy,” she reassured him, even as she knew it was a lie. “It’s alright, this...this shouldn’t take long.”

One of the passing knights recognized her, and reassured her that Lord Emmanelain would be out shortly. She thanked him and busied herself with slowly removing Ullr’s saddlebags one at a time to add to her own backpack. Even as she was mindful of the straps lest they chaffe him as she worked she felt her eyes sting— a stinging that persisted as Ullr reached over and gently nipped at the saddlebag she was now working to fasten to her own pack.

Another softly questioning wark came, as if asking, Mama, what are you doing?

The cold must be drying her eyes, Serella thought, and blinked back her tears as she lifted the second of the saddlebags and strapped it to her own pack as well; they weren’t that much heavier, she had emptied them before they left. 

“Hey there, old girl,” she heard a familiar, boyish voice call to her, “good to see you again.”

She straightened, intent on answering Emmanellain in that calm, collected voice she had been practicing for what felt like a lifetime when a happy bark sounded in the camp’s stone walls. She whipped her head around to see her brave little brother standing just outside of the stable looking at her like he was scared to his wits end, her mother beside him with eyes already haunted for her childrens’ absence, and her sweet, excitable canine bounding over like a bolt of lightning.

That she had not been expecting— and the surprise disarmed her of her staunch stoicism.

“Ma— Vardr—?!” She didn’t even care her voice broke or that her eyes swam with tears as she knelt to catch her sprinting companion.

He nearly barreled her over in his enthusiasm but she managed to keep knelt, even as she was bombarded with licks and tail wags and his happy whines. She attempted to soothe him around her own tears: she hadn’t realized just how much she had missed her pets, and felt Rhalgr’s absence more keenly than she had in recent weeks. She hoped her fuzzy cat was napping by her fireplace malms away in Foundation, keeping nice and warm.

“What are you doing here, boy?” She asked as he calmed down enough to sit in front of her and let his thump excitedly. 

“Brought him from your house— on orders from a bluebird chirping in my ear.” Myrina said from somewhere above her: she must have stepped inside the stable at some point. She couldn’t bring herself to stand just yet when Vardr was so starved for her affection— and she for his, really. “And lest you worry, I’ll be glad to take him home once we’re done here— needed an excuse to stretch my legs, anyroad.”

Though she was wholly and utterly delighted at being able to see Vardr again, her mother’s words gave her pause: a bluebird— Aymeric? He had been one of a few to know that she was travelling to Camp Dragonhead for personal reasons; she’d had to report it to all of the Alliance leaders lest they need her counsel, and never mind the way her stomach churned at the discovery of that particular requirement for the job and the revelation that this was just how Minfilia had lived; she hadn’t the wherewithal to unpack the emotions she felt with that. Much as she adored the other leaders of the Alliance, she doubted very much any of them save for him could contact her mother— or would even know to— in advance. We’re supposed to be neutral, the sweet fool, she thought with infinite fondness even as her heart twisted in her chest.

In the wake of everything that she was going to have to do and everything that was in front of her, Serella had somehow skipped past feeling overwhelmed by her emotions and had numbed herself enough to stand without fear of crying all over again.

“Pray tell your bluebird that I’m so grateful for this—” she thanked Myrina before turning to her brother, “— and thank you as well, of course,” she amended, trying to smile even as it felt like her skin was being pulled too tight from the already fleeting cheer. Like snow in springtime it rapidly evaporated, and she asked in a quieter voice, “how fare you? Are you sure this isn’t too much trouble?”

“Oh come now, old girl, give me some credit!” Emmanelain dismissed, holding a finger up. “I might not be quite so adept as Haurchefant had been in chocobo husbandry, but I know how to care for a full grown bird— who do you think Artoirel foisted all his stable boy duties on when we were children?”

The thought of Artoirel being the one to shove off work in their youth had Serella snorting in laughter; little wonder Emmanelain had been so quick to shirk off his own duties when they had first met.

“I was more worried about overwhelming you— you have so many other duties now.” Serella explained, even as she had continued to pet Ullr and Vardr in turns. 

“If Camp Dragonhead can’t provide for a spare chocobo, then I am already not doing my job.” Emmanellain replied with pursed lips. “And if anything changes to where we cannot, he will be taken care of at the Holy Stables.” He clapped a hand over his heart. “I swear I’ll see to it myself.”

“I never had a doubt in my mind,” Serella reassured him, though with a wince she hesitantly asked the two of them, “...might I finish stabling him? Say my goodbyes?”

“I would have insisted you do regardless,” her younger brother reassured her.

“It’s only right,” Myrina said, a hand coming up to pat at Ullr’s beak. “Poor dear already suspects, most like.” 

With a jerk of his head toward the path leading out of Camp Dragonhead, Emmanellain said, “go on, we can wait outside. Need us to take Vardr?”

“Nah, he can stay— he’ll howl otherwise.” Moving back inside Ullr’s pen, she patted her thigh. “Come on, boy.” 

Pleased as a goobue in mud, Vardr happily flopped down beside her as Emmanellain and Myrina quietly excused himself. Ullr preened his chest tuft nervously as she worked to remove his saddle and bridle. With her chocobo fully freed of his riding gear and her dog faithfully leaning against her leg she took her time carefully brushing out Ullr’s feathers; she had noticed that he had begun to look a bit lathered as they came into the Highlands. 

It was soothing, the back and forth repetition of feeling the brush drift through his feathers. She had always taken great pride in taking care of him herself; even the thought of this being goodbye, even for just a short while, made her insides knot themselves with guilt. Ullr fussed and whined, and he must have realized something was different about this time, she realized with the way he kept turning to look at her, kept trying to nip her hands to stop her from brushing him. To calm him, she began to quietly hum as she often did when brushing him. Though Ullr quieted, he seemed to eye her dubiously as she went about tending to him.

“I won’t be around for a while, boys,” she spoke quietly when her song ended and the brushing stopped. “I have to find all your aunts and uncles— I’ve told you about what happened, haven’t I?”

Vardr made a low, questioning noise and she felt him press his forehead to her thigh to tip his head back and look up at her. She did not meet his stare— she had fallen into a sort of melancholic trance, tending to Ullr as she was.

“They’re all sleeping, and I have to...to wake them up again. So you’ll have to take care for me, alright?” She made to sweep the feathers that had shed naturally off when impulse demanded she take a few of them and carefully tuck them away in her breastplate; Ullr was the only one she could conceivably take a part of with her, she reasoned. “Be on your best behavior, the both of you.” Ullr turned his head and gently bumped his beak against her cheek. She stroked the downy soft feathers between his eyes. “Don’t give Emmanellain a hard time; he’s doing his best. You know the stable hands: they’re good about keeping your hay fresh and your stall clean, so no pecking them if they forget your salt block once or twice, alright?” 

Vardr let out a startled snort when she moved to stand in front of Ullr, the poor dog being jarred from leaning against her leg as she shifted. She leaned down to give him an apologetic pat when he came to sit beside her again. She returned her attention to her horsebird when she heard a stable hand discreetly clear his throat. 

“Time for me to go now.” She pressed her forehead gently against Ullr’s and gave his head one last scritch. “I love you, Ullr. Be a good boy for me, alright?”

When Serella turned Ullr grabbed the hood of her cloak with his beak. When she turned to free herself, a heat already behind her eyes as she took her hood back, Ullr let out a mournful wark, pleading, Mama, stay?

“Now, now,” her chastisements were warbled through her unshed tears, even as she took a step backward out of his reach. “What did I just say? Be good for me, Ullr. I’ll be back.”

She patted her thigh again, and tried to ignore the way Ullr wailed at being held in his pen. The stable hand tried to calm him, but even as she stepped out into the snow, she could hear him butting his side against the door in protest. She quietly apologized to him: she had always been bad at hiding her upset from him.

Vardr fell into step beside Serella as she walked toward the path leading back through to Mor Dhona, where Emmanellain and Myrina waited for her at the edge of the camp. She felt her already lead filled stomach sink to the floor the closer she neared; three more goodbyes, and that would be all that held her to this star. As she came to a stop in front of them, she tried to claw at what remains of her stoicism she could find within her.

“Well, this is it.” Emmanellain said with a heavy sigh. “Suppose you’re heading straight out, then?”

“To linger would just make it more painful.” Serella reasoned. “They...they need me. And I’m faring little better without them.”

Myrina nodded in understanding. “You’re certain you have all you might need on the road?” She asked with a frown.

“It isn’t far,” she replied distantly, though after a pause, she amended, “...to the tower. I...I can’t take much with me past that, or so I’m told.”

The youngest Fortemps nodded grimly. “And...you’re alright with that?”

“No. But I haven’t a choice.” Serella shrugged. Turning to her mother and giving her the biggest hug she could manage, she whispered, “thank you for bringing Vardr with you for me to say goodbye, Ma— it means more than I can say.”

“Seemed only right.” Myrina sniffed. “Wish your brother was here.”

“He...he didn’t want to say goodbye in person.”

“I know. I got his letter. It’s...enough.” The way Myrina squeezed her daughter until her shoulders popped gave away the lie. “I can’t fathom the pain you two suffered in mourning your father and I. Don’t...don’t put me through that.” 

“We’ll be back as soon as we can, Ma.” Serella hoped that what strength she had was enough to hold her mother together for even a few seconds longer. 

“You’d damn well better be.” Myrina reached up on her tip toes and kissed her cheek. “I love you, little Ella.” 

“I love you, too, Ma.” With a sniffle and a kiss to her forehead, Serella let go. When her mother stepped back, her brother hesitantly came forward.

“Serella.” Emmanellain said in a serious tone, all pretense of his own boyhood gone. She looked at him, then— really looked at him, and saw that he was trying just as hard as she was to hold himself together. “This isn’t...do not call it ‘goodbye,’ alright?” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “You adventurer types like those, but I deny your goodbye!” Tears welled in his eyes— and hers. “You will come home, you hear me? I accept naught less!”

“...I promise.” She said, and all pretense of Ishgardian mannerisms went out the window when he launched himself at her for a hug. She squeezed him tight enough that she felt his ribs creak. He only clung to her tighter. “We’ll come back, just you see.”

“You had better!” He sniffled into her collar. “Ullr will never forgive you otherwise— nor will I!”

“I know, brother mine,” she yessed him through her own tears— she had not realized she had so many of them to shed today. “I know. I love the lot of you too damned much to stay gone, you know that.”

“You had better.” He mumbled, going slack as if in defeat.

He was the first to let go and step away, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Taking the opportunity for what it was, she knelt down one last time to speak with Vardr.

“You watch over the others for me, yeah?” She asked him, and when he whined, she placed her hand atop his head. “I love you, Vardr.”

It didn’t surprise her when he started to trot along after her when she stood and turned to leave. She had anticipated it, and turned to look down at him over her shoulder. She held out her closed fist— a command she had taught him early.

“Stay.” She ordered him.

Vardr whined, pawing at the snow in front of him. Myrina knelt down and took hold of his collar, nodding at her sternly to go. 

Serella left, and did not look back again. She pretended that Vardr’s mournful howling was just the wind of the encroaching snow storm. Eventually, that was all she heard besides.

By the time she had made her way into Mor Dhona, past the settlement, and into the crystal forest surrounding Syrcus Tower, she had managed to take an old hairpin she had found in Eureka and refashion it with Ullr’s feathers. She had pinned it in her hair out of want for having something there— the dramatic in her demanded she leave her Orthodox hairpin with Aymeric in the infirmary before they parted— again— and she had not realized how familiar its slight weight was on her head until she went without. 

It felt oddly final, when she walked past the first gate to the tower. There was still yet the disabled wards to walk passed, but something about the heavy thud of the doors closing behind her felt...permanent in a way she did not want to dwell on. 

I’ll come back. And I’ll bring everyone with me. She promised herself, and that alone made her legs push her onward. She had someone she needed to meet up ahead, anyroad. No sense in keeping him waiting.

Uthengentle did not comment on the new hairpin when he eyed it upon her arrival to the doors of Syrcus Tower. Instead, he offered her a tired smile and put away his whittling. Not even left home, and it was clear the shadows had already caught up to haunt both their eyes.

“Well, Ellie,” he said in a weary voice, “ready to save the world again?”

“As ever.” She replied, just as exhausted, and felt like she left everything that was home the second they stepped through the doors. 

[jenovahh]

KYKM - 7 Months, 27 Days

Blue eyes snap open at the first whimper you release, flicking to your sleeping form nearby.

He had only closed his eyes so that he may lightly rest, as was the norm whenever he and the Warrior of Light camped out in the wilds. They had found a humble little cave in the Fringes to sleep in for the night, a small fire pit already left behind from previous adventurers. 

As your breathing had evened out, he was left to his thoughts, listening to the roaring waterfall not too far away outside. The night had gone on in a peaceful calm, until you began fidgeting in your sleep. Usually you slept soundly when you allowed yourself to fully surrender to your exhaustion, but something was troubling your dreams.

Standing, he moves to where you’re huddled in your blanket, a cold sweat upon you brow. He’s unsure what to do; of whether to wake you up or to wait it out. What thoughts were plaguing you, that you slept so fitfully? You had seem tired as of late, weighed down by a burden you had not shared with him. It was not his desire to know every single thing about your life, but clearly there was something important you had deigned insignificant enough to not share.

He thought maybe to let it run it’s course, to merely be by your side should you wake, but your expression grew pained and fearful. Curiosity weighed against better judgement. Concern took priority over respect.

With barely a conscious thought he could feel the Resonant activate, eyes glowing a stark red in the darkness of the cave. “What ails you, Warrior...” he murmurs below his breath, shutting his eyes as his mind fades to nothing as he enters your dreams.

Opening them again, he finds himself in what must be Coerthas, though he thankfully cannot feel the cold. It is eerily quiet, even the wind does not seem to howl through the trees, the snow does not crunch beneath his boots. But there are voices, quiet as he walks underneath the bridge to a nearby building, where the door is ajar.

“Moved on have you?” the voice is unfamiliar, masculine, gentle. 

“I...I haven’t moved onto anything Haurchefant.” He recognizes your voice instantly, feet carrying him a little quicker as he gently pushes the door open a little further. You’re seated at a large table, an Elezen man with ice blue hair sitting by your side, his hand clasping yours. His eyes are filled with adoration, love, a tenderness he had never seen in his life.

“But you have, my sweet. There is someone else in your heart, is there not?” the man asks, leaning incredibly close. 

Your eyes dart everywhere except the man before you, uncertainty plain on your face. “I...” you murmur, trying to pull away from his nearness.

“You have moved on my dear. You have forgotten about me...” he laments, expression turning solemn.

“That’s not true!” you nearly shout, tears brimming in your eyes. “I could never forget about you Haurchefant! I just thought,”

“Thought that you deserved to be happy?” he spat, teeth gleaming in the firelight. “Thought that you could move on, and find love again? You are a harbinger of chaos Warrior of Light. The Ascians work so hard to stop you, yet they do not see what a parasite you are to those you care for.” he seethes, leaning into your space once more.

“Everyone you have ever cared for, felt understood you has perished. The Scions are falling to a mysterious malady, where it is likely only you will remain. The prince you came to admire despite being a coldblooded killer, took his own life.” His face cannot be the face of a man anymore, twisting into that of a demon as his words increase in cruelty. “You had allowed Estinien to become overtaken by Nidhogg, nearly killing him. Who will be next, hero? Will Ser Aymeric die before he can see Ishgard into a new age? Will Lord Hien perish before Doma returns to its feet?”

“Please stop...” you sob, frozen in place as Haurchefant stands from his chair to circle you like a vulture on a fresh kill. 

“Peculiar choice of words, hero. I would not think them dissimilar from the words uttered as your friends slowly died around you. What wretched fate will befall the few you have left?” he hissed, the hostility in his voice chilling the room.

“How soon will it be, before your new friend meets his end?” he questions, rapping his fingers on the back of your chair. “After all, he seems to be everything you need. Everything I couldn’t be. He understands you! He’s an excellent combat partner, able to keep up with you! The Warrior of Light, Eikon Slayer, Liberator of Doma. He has let you get closer than anyone ever has before, the fool.” he spits, continuing his pacing.

“Ah, but who is the bigger fool? Him, for following you for a simple goal...or you? For caring for him?”

At that statement you lash out, easily stopped as you’re too overwhelmed by your emotions. Tears stream down your face like a river, arm shaking as you struggle to overwhelm the tall man before you. His expression is one of mock pity, voice deceptively gentle as he grins. “Would it not be better for you to simply send him on his way? To spare yourself the hurt of having to watch him die before you, as I did? Of watching as yet another person abandons you...” 

Your legs give out beneath you, crumpling to the floor in your grief. Sobs wrack your body, hands clasped over your face as you weep. “Come now, Warrior of Light.” Haurchefant coos, kneeling next to you, wrapping an arm around your delicate frame. Tilting your face to look at him, he looks genuinely concerned. “Take my advice. Let him go. You were meant to be alone.” A knife appears at your back in his free hand, poised to strike. “Do not cry. After all...a smile better suits a hero.” 

Before the knife can strike, Zenos knocks it away, through being a bystander in your nightmare. He had not interfered, unsure how his presence would affect your dream. But he couldn’t continue standing there, watching as your mind, watching you, torture yourself.

“S-Soryu...?” you breathe, eyes wide and afraid. The dreamscape warbles and fluctuates, threatening to fall apart as he had feared. Bricks fall around them, the fire in the hearth blazing out of control.

“Hear me Warrior.” he growls, bringing you into his arms. “I am not going anywhere.” he says with such finality even though the dream is breaking to pieces. “I am here now. And I will be here when you wake.” Catching your face in his hands, he stares long and hard. “I am not. Going. Anywhere.” he repeats, holding you tightly. Your mouth opens to speak, but the dream ends before the words can leave your mouth.

His mind is muddled as he slowly regains his thoughts, the Resonant giving a light hum. With great care he opens his eyes, finding himself flat on the ground by your side. Turning his head, there are silent tears flowing down your cheeks, but your expression is not nearly as pained as it was.

Reaching out, he repeats the motion from your dreams, wiping the tracks of your tears. "Your tears are too precious.” he whispers, caressing your face. “You are too precious.” With great care he brings you against him, holding you tight. “You too, are lonely. For when you become the strongest, no one ever tells you how lonely it is.” Shutting his eyes, he allows himself to sleep, listening to the beat of your heart.

When dawn breaks, he is the first to open his eyes, seeing as he didn’t really need rest in the first place. You are still curled against him, though now you have all but crawled on top of him. Your arm is slung across his chest, legs intertwined with his own. Though you too are an early riser, your dreams seemed to have exhausted you into sleeping a bit longer.

Brushing a hair from your face, he stares quietly, feeling a strong sense of contentment. There is no reason to interrupt the rest you so obviously need, forgoing sleep to meet the needs of the Scions, the nations and all who dwell in it. He could see how most would think it admirable, but most don’t see the pain like he does. In these moments, he wishes he could spirit you away, to see you as carefree as he had come to know you these past few months. Your joy and your laughter...he would protect it.

After all, he always took care of things that belonged to him.

Shifting so that the blanket covers both you, he doubts he’ll need to explain himself should you still find yourself in his arms. If he finds the notion pleasurable, there’s no reason you shouldn’t either. Closing his eyes, he listens to the beat of your heart once more, falling asleep, and falling past the point of no return.

[drachenblood]

@referentblood​ said: blows kisses @  @schildblood said: blows kiss at

     THREE DAYS RETURNED HOME and already the thought of venturing into the greater world slips into the darker corners of his mind. It whispers to him in a voice with a DREAD WYRM’S timbre, treacherous and full of spite. More glaring than that, Estinien knows that it’s pettiness above all that stirs his rancor.

    Yet could he be blamed for his IRE when ambushed, caught with his back against a solid wall with no exit to be found. Even a lack wit should know never to corner a beast no matter how tame it may seem. A growl sits low in his throat though there it remains, silenced by that ever insufferable smirk that Haurcherfant wears and the more subdued and arguably lethal one upon Aymeric’s visage. Pettiness be damned, but he REFUSES to give them any such satisfaction.

    This has all the makings of a plan worthy of Haurchefant, the grand and boisterous gestures from a man lacking any amount of shame. Trapping him as thus so that he could be victim to their affections. It speaks of how things have changed. How confident these two must have grown. How Estinien himself has changed.

    It was not so long ago that they’d never have dared to be so bold.

    ❝ Stop this at once. ❞  He is all but scowling, a look still far more comfortable than the smiles he’s been favoring of late. For three blissful days he’d been overwhelmed with joy, with familiarity of homecoming and to the comfort of the men he’d left behind still willing to accept him into their lives. He’d been gone for so long. Surely they must have FORGOTTEN him, moved on as was their right. Estinien would call any man who would wait for so long a fool even if he himself would refuse to admit that he would do the same, that he would wait through whatever calamity and whatever tragedy might befall the world so long as he could be reunited once more with these two bright souls.

    The familiar ache TWISTS his heart even under the ridiculous gestures from both men. His scowl melts slowly but inevitably as ice beneath the warmth of the sun. Twin suns, he might contrive to think for how beautiful and radiant these men could be. He reaches with one hand to grasp Haurchefant’s before the man could dote upon him once more, tugging him close. Aymeric follows suit, already within the crook of his other arm, comfortable and far too at ease that Estinien finds himself resting his head against his shoulder, the scowl only flickering briefly to life when Haurchefant starts placing kisses upon his hand.

    Yes, irritable and nigh insufferable that these two men could well be, they are the lodestones that keep him anchored here. His reason for staying, the reason why his path no matter where it takes him into the world leads him back to here. Back to them.

[ffxivimagines]

i love the writing you have up here! can i rq a mini fic about haurchefant learning the warrior of light is transmasc?

Coerthas is not a forgiving place. The Warrior of Light would best do to remember that. 

The Church of Halonic Inquisition is not a kind one, nor are the biting winds and near-eternal blizzards of the highlands. It’s no wonder the Warrior bundles so, fleece smallclothes covered by thick woolen slops and layers of boiled leather armor hidden under rich furs, and Haurchefant is of no mind to dissuade him. The bitter cold is a struggle to bear through even for those who fare it on a daily basis, much less an adventurer whose experience with ice and snow has been sparse up to this point. 

When Haurchefant bears him into his personal quarters, it’s with ice crusting his lashes same as it does the clasps of his gear. He’s barely thinking when he unbuckles the stubborn bits of metal and unlaces what seems like a near improbable number of ill-fitting bliauds, focus on his stuttered breathing and too-cool skin. 

By the time he’s gotten him down to his inners, hands full of warmed fleece to wrap the Warrior in, he manages to pay mind to the very obvious difference in the curvature of their chest. While he’d never once doubt that which the Warrior claims to be (lack of experience with foreign Scions notwithstanding), he’s fairly sure there’s either something terribly wrong with him or that he bears breasts. 

Truly, he only fears the former. He knows that it is in no way within his bounds to demand an answer of the man, both in regards to his state of medical affairs and that of his gender, so he sets about tucking the blankets around the Warrior like some sort of overly-plush cocoon instead. Haurchefant is no idiot. He knows how the Holy See regards those whose gender does not align with the body granted unto them by Halone─which is to say: not at all kindly─and has no wish to see his friend and comrade-in-arms hauled away for heresy so soon after he’s finished defeating Iceheart. Or ever. Having them safe from the zealots of Ishgard sounds good, too. 

He swaps out the blankets over time, calling upon chirurgeons to have heated clothes brought along with some cocoa and possibly even a potion or two. He shoves the thought of the Warrior keeping such a thing secret from him to the back of his mind with full confidence in the fact that it was (and always will be) well within their right to tell whoever they choose to and to keep it secret from whoever they choose as well. He sits by their bedside as they recover, playing the part of worried lover admirably even to the last when the Warrior asks, “You saw, I take it?”

Haurchefant is not one to lie and he’s not of mind to make it a habit, either. “Pray forgive me, my friend. You have my word I did nothing past what was necessary to see to your recovery.”

“You’re... calmer about this than I thought you’d be,” the Warrior says, still a veritable blanket burrito. “Last I heard, Ishgardians were not a very welcoming sort to those of my particular set of circumstances.”

“Ah,” Haurchefant replies, “but of course. The Inquisition is not keen on it, true, but this is not between you and the church. I ask you this as a friend and as a confidante, would you prefer we forget I ever laid eyes on you with such intimacy or shall we allow this mishap to become another secret that we share?”

The Warrior pauses, mouth opening, closing. He manages half an overwhelmed nod before asking, “And you’re sure I am still of the stock you’d be friends with? If I could be set free to give you the affection you so sorely deserve, that would be lovely.”

“For as long as you’d have me, yes.”

[elfyourmother]

on a totally different shipping hell subject, I’m like 99.99999% sure the incident at the Vault was what made the Ishgardian catpile begin to coalesce in earnest. by then all three of the lads were well aware that they were in love with Gisele (and Haurchefant and Estinien had already become romantically involved with her by then), but the points joining up with Haurche...that started at the Vault

it may be somewhat of a cliche but that notion of not realizing how you feel about someone until you nearly lose them is so painfully true and I really do think it would take something that extreme for the lads, even for Aymeric. imo Estinien hesitates and closes himself off because he’s afraid of losing ppl but Aymeric’s hesitation is all about Propriety and image consciousness. it’s not to say he’s ashamed to show how he feels but he has a hyperawareness of politics and is forced by dint of his position and his status (“I didn’t come from ‘good stock’”) to carefully consider the implications of virtually everything he does, because he’s well aware that the eyes of Ishgard are upon his every move. not the least of which because numerous people are just waiting for the moment he fucks up somehow so that they can beat him with the mistake and point to it as proof that he didn’t earn the title of Lord Commander of the Temple Knights but rather got it through nepotism because he’s the Archbishop’s bastard (that he has his detractors in the order itself is abundantly clear to me. look how many refuses to side w Lucia and stand down during the rescue mission). Aymeric does nothing lightly or without such thought—even his decision to confront Thordan, which looked so dumb and naive on the surface that he even got called on it in universe, was a calculated gambit to force Thordan’s hand. dude has quickly become my go to example of a good aligned Slytherin, if you’ll forgive the Pottering.

so wrt Gisele, he erred on the side of, “this may be little more than infatuation, and indulging it would be impolitic”. w Haurche? virtually the same thing. Haurche is also a giant flirt, and Aymeric kept things cordial, but maintained a certain, appropriate emotional distance for both their sakes. there were sparks early on there between them, but they both held back a little (Haurche always takes his cues from whomever he’s interested in)

then Haurche nearly gets himself killed, to the point Whitecape said nothing more could be done for him and they were preparing last rites.

and ngl I’m actually hard pressed to say which of Estinien or Aymeric was actually blindsided harder by the realization that “by the Fury, I might well lose Haurchefant” and having to come to grips with what that meant and why. Estinien for the obvious reasons (being in denial to hide from the vulnerability he actually feels deep down and is terrified by), but Aymeric...he deliberately put up that emotional boundary because he believed it was best. and because of that he didn’t permit himself to even consider that his admiration of and affection toward and views of Haurchefant ran far deeper than, “an erstwhile, reliable man with whom I have much in common and consider a friend”. that he thought absolutely nothing of his own wounds, physical and otherwise, was the biggest sign there could possibly be

and as per usual Gisele was the deciding factor, bringing them together over this, making them realize just how they felt. not even intentionally either. but just in how she related to each of them, and how she leaned upon them both—she nearly fell apart, and Estinien and Aymeric both gave her the strength to keep fighting. in particular this is where Gisele and Aymeric get closer, too, though at this point neither of them will allow themselves to acknowledge their deepening bond bc reasons (in Gisele’s case, overwhelming guilt).

I know I wrote a little prompt fill offhandedly but I really want to write in for real. I’m just not sure I can do the emotional gravity of it justice (hello perfectionism my old friend)

[forgiven-whimsy]

Speak, o mun, and tell me about Shiloh and Aymeric! (And Hien too, if you've a mind- I'm a sucker for dang near all shippy stuff ^_^)

Bless you!!!! Thank you for the ask!! 

This got long....so it’s under a cut. 

Shiloh and Aymeric started with both of them being incredibly intimidated by the other, they pined from afar for waaay too long. Shiloh was intimidated by Aymeric’s poise and intelligence, how he managed to remain calm and level headed. Lord Commander is an impressive title, and while Aymeric is a bit older then Shiloh, he’s still so young, and from working with him it’s plain to Shiloh that his position was earned. Not to mention how beautiful he is, the first time he spoke Shiloh’s mind stuttered. So handsome, accomplished, calm, kind, brave, Shiloh was flat out overwhelmed and convinced herself he was either already taken, or that he was out of her league. So she was content to simply be friends. For Aymeric’s part, he had been following Shiloh’s exploits, and while he knew the Warrior of light was a woman, he had expected someone much like Estinien,with a sword or an axe, someone physically intimidating, So when he met her, and she was a 5′2 soft spoken, Au Ra with a staff, who insisted she was a healer above all else, he was thrown off, her power was evident from the first, the way she carried herself, how her smile could be soft but her eyes steel when she put her mind to something. It was when he first saw her do battle, weaving light aether with deadly efficiency, floating above the chaos her eyes glowing with power, not only the vanguard but the support as well, that he became smitten. Hydalyns chosen, beautiful and deadly, and yet a bastion of succor, she must be taken, and if she wasn’t she was out of his league. He would be content and count himself lucky for her friendship. 

Shortly after Shiloh and Alphinaud’s arrival in Ishgard a ball was held, nobles and people of rank were invited, and the Fortemps, and their wards, were no exception. It was here that Shiloh discovered that Aymeric, like Haurchefant, was a bastard, and that while women and men enjoyed flirting with them, they weren't considered marriage material. The ridiculous injustice of it upset her, and it was a moment on a balcony with Aymeric during said ball, that they discovered that perhaps they weren't as unattainable as they both thought, they slow danced in the snow...and I think I need to write a proper fic for this moment....

I’ll leave their break up for a separate fic as well, but it can be boiled down to unhealthy coping, distance, failure to communicate, incompatible lifestyles, and Shiloh being afraid. Hien came on the heels of Shiloh’s beak up with Aymeric. She had sworn to Alisaie and Lyse both that if they saw her falling for another head of state to please kick her, thank you very much. And then stupid Hien, with his stupid smile, and easy humour, and gentle soul was waiting for her in the stupid Azim Steppe. And he was so different from Aymeric, relaxed and a bit more crass, with a penchant for teasing, and for the first time in a long time she truly felt seen, not as the Warrior of Light, but as Shiloh, a person, and not a symbol. Their chemistry was near instant, their friendship fast forming, and Hien while not forward, made no secret of his attraction or admiration, not shying from flirting with her, puffing with pride every time he managed to make her blush. Shiloh insisted on friendship. That she would be nothing more, surely if they remained friends she wouldn’t ruin it, the way she had with Aymeric. Well, sometimes friends hug for a little too long, and sometimes they kiss when they’ve had a touch too much sake before a big battle, and friends comfort each other in bed after losing loved ones. Sometimes friends have hurried passionate trysts after sparring with each other. And Hien tries...so hard for them to stop being a secret, the worst kept secret in Doma, and wants their relationship to be out in the open, but Shiloh’s old fears, disguised as the Warrior of light must be impartial, and dating the leader of a nation would give the alliance the wrong impression, means that they never formalize their relationship, means that she never tells him how much she loves him. It means that Hien learns not to tell her how much he loves her, because he tried that once and she left without a word, or reply for months on end, and then she came back, waved her absence away as WOL business, no mention of his confession of love, and let’s have a drink friend, a drink that turns into a late night of passion, and guilt the following morning with her in his bed. And he starts seeing his love for her as a curse, or a drug, because he won’t willingly stop, and she keeps coming back. He comes to hate the word friend when it comes to Shiloh, a knife she plunges in his heart every time she calls him dear friend. I’m not sure how the Shadowbringers msq affects Shiloh or her relationship with Hien yet. She’s suffering from some serious mind fuckery (more so then the usual,) and she’s terrified at the implications of Hydalyn being a primal, and what that makes her. I’m sure a theme can be seen, and that is when Shiloh is afraid she withdraws and isolates, she has trouble being honest with herself, and she’ll rationalize pushing people away as protecting them, her lovers are no exception. She needs someone willing to call her on her bullshit, and I don’t know if Hien is up to the task yet. And if she and Hien end, then she’ll likely remain single for a while, and perhaps once she’s figured herself out, and is ready to be honest, and communicate without fear, then she can have a healthy relationship with the Prince of Doma, and if not him, whoever she falls in love with next. 

[lovehotelreservation]

House Whortemps

Summary: Tonight, you would be treated by House Fortemps for a lavish meal. If only you, the Count, and his sons were aware of how quickly the evening would devolve into a sinful, debaucherous ordeal.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Reader/Haurchefant, Reader/Artoirel, Reader/Emmanellain, Reader/Edmont

It was time for dinner in Ishgard as the city-state was bathed in moonlight.

Within House Fortemps there was a feast spread on the dinner table, culinary delicacies and fanciful wonders alike.

Count Edmont would be joined by his three sons, with all four in their best dress.

After all, at this dinner, they would be joined by you, the Warrior of Light, their dearest guest.

You had much to share, having returned from a month-long excursion in lands beyond.

Your tales and excursions through Ala Mhigo and Doma--Count Edmont was most especially fond.

And surely, his sons were intrigued to hear about what you had gotten up to.

But with that alluring dress of yours hugging every curve, the three wondered how they could get a better view.

It certainly did not help that during dinner you were being quite the tease.

Artoirel, Haurchefant, Emmanellain--you had all three wrapped around your finger with ease.

From your extensive history together, it did not take much for you to capture Haurchefant’s gaze.

Especially when you were looking right into his eyes as your tongue licked your lips clean of creamy glaze.

Never to lose out on having your attention to himself, Emmanellain did what he could to have your attention turn towards his direction.

Particularly arching his hips forward while the bottom of your heel traveled ever so lightly over his hardened erection.

Reserved and chaste as he was, Artoirel was certainly no fool.

Seeing his younger brothers behave so perversely during dinner was making him lose his cool.

With harsh glares and even harsher curses under his breath, Artoirel tried to discreetly get his siblings to cease.

Only to refrain when his wine glass accidentally tipped over, a river of burgundy soon spilling onto his lap and seat.

Ever the hero, you quickly rose up to save the day.

With napkin in hand, you sought to pat the liquid away.

However.

Your goodwill and concern was betrayed by the mischievous look on your face.

Slowly and surely, your hand dragged the napkin over his crotch at a deliberate pace.

Artoirel was at a loss for words, his face quickly becoming hot.

All while his brothers looked on enviously, any efforts to catch your attention once more all for naught.

Beneath your touch, the eldest son of House Fortemps felt his cock becoming stiff and erect.

But what soon transpired afterwards was something even you didn’t expect.

“Surely, you will always be a welcomed guest to this family--but I’d rather not see such your naughty wickedness continue to befuddle my kin.”

Having dismissed all servants a moment before, Count Edmont had spoken up, his eyes twinkling, well aware of your sin.

Artoirel, Haurchefant, Emmanellain were wide-eyed and slack jawed, all words at a loss.

The three watched as their father beckoned you over, your dress soon stripped off and thrown away by him in a toss.

With not a thread of clothing on your body, you sat upon Edmont’s lap, your bold brazen actions now subdued.

The Count’s hands proceeded to part your thighs, your body fully exposed and presented as a sight so utterly lewd.

Before the eyes of his sons, Edmont cupped your breasts, his fingers twisting and toying your nipples with a touch well experienced.

His other hand descended between your legs, his palm pressing onto and caressing your core, soon drawing forth moans from your lips that became louder in cadence.

But for as skillfully sinful that his fingers were, Edmont meant for this to be a means to reprimand.

While laying you across his lap and spanking your ass would have been ideal, he chose a different method: more and more he would bring you closer to orgasm, making certain to not allow you to release, if only to drive you mad.

With the Warrior of Light crumbling so easily by the lascivious touch of Edmont, his sons continued to watch on, all overwhelmed by desire.

For all the respect and love he had for his father, Haurchefant was becoming all the more determined and eager to surpass him, the need to join his body with yours while pouring his seed inside your core roaring deep within his chest like fire.

A shocking revelation to witness but one to bear nonetheless, Emmanellain made notes within his mind to follow after Edmont’s masterful techniques, wishing to make you buck helplessly against his hand in an earnest attempt to make you his.

Guilt under the eyes of Halone, the weight of responsibility as the eldest of House Fortemps--Artoirel wasn’t sure how to make sense of this vicious yearning tearing through him, only that he needed to ravish you, his lips meeting yours for a kiss.

It was not much longer until Edmont felt that he had punished you enough, mindless pleasured noises and pleas for mercy escaping weakly from your mouth.

And so he finally offered what you begged, driving his long fingers into your sopping core in a swift rhythm, grinding his palm onto your clit until you were climaxing all over his hand with a breathless cry and shout.

Satisfied and content, Edmont gave you a moment to catch your breath, cradling you in his arms as he helped you up, soon guiding you over to where his sons remained.

Like a lamb led to a den of lions, you would be subjected to the lustful yearning of Artoirel, Haurchefant, and Emmanellain.

Before he passed you along to be used by his sons as they wished, Edmont took a moment to indulge himself with a kiss on your lips that was tender and sweet.

And as the middlest son quickly hoisted you over to where he and his brothers now stood, their father sat down to watch his sons truly feast.

Emmanellain and Artoirel were drawn to your breasts, the mouths of the two latching onto your nipples for them to suckle upon.

Meanwhile it was Haurchefant who took to between your thighs to lap up and savor your taste, his tongue gliding and lapping against your core in strokes most quick and long.

It did not matter which brother indulged and fancied to what.

For each would fuck you thoroughly and make you their slut.

After all, by the touch of Count Edmont alone, the mighty Warrior of Light was already reduced to a shamelessly wanton mess.

But caught in the center of three competing brothers as they vied for your affection, it would be long before you could have a moment to truly rest.

Having finally yielded to depravity he thought himself impervious against, it was Artoirel who had you on all fours as he vigorously drove his cock into you from behind.

If the eldest son was to have this way first then sure--Haurchefant and Emmanellain could wait, all while rubbing their dicks against your face, a claim on your body something both vehemently pined.

As the youngest, Emmanellain was used to being spoiled and having his way.

And while he would do what he could to please you, how could he resist from simply lying back and watching you ride his cock while you bounced away?

Haurchefant would be the one next at last.

He already had in mind to not only flood your core with his seed as he fucked you upon the marble floor, but to do the very same with your ass.

Seeing their brother get to claim both of your holes only served to ensnare Artoirel and Emmanellain with envy.

If Haurchefant was given this chance, then both should be given the same opportunity!

Fair was fair of course, with all three soon having their turn.

They would fuck you over and over until their cocks were the only things you would desperately yearn.

You were right in the middle between Haurchefant and Artoirel, both barrelling their dicks into your core and ass, all while Emmanellain saw to it that your tongue and face was coated with cum.

And onwards Edmont watched, his eyes glinting with amusement until simply observing wasn’t enough, with him soon returning to join in on the fun.

In retrospect, this dinner was simply meant to welcome you back home as their guest.

But surely, as they would encourage the following days after, they hoped that you would see House Fortemps as a permanent home for you to return to and rest.

To all of Eorzea, you were its Warrior of Light.

But to these men of House Fortemps, you were their most cherished treasure and they loved you with all their might.