#muse ;; AYMERIC ( ANSWERED ASK )

[tenebriism]

He walks into Aymeric's office without so much as a knock upon the door, halting in the middle of the room with hands clasped behind him. He dipped his head in a motion reminiscent of a partial bow.

"Aymeric, I wish to apologize. I am dearly sorry."

He does not expand on it. He simply rests a hand over his heart, dips his head again and turns on his heel. As quickly as he appeared, he has once more disappeared.

Always, is he pleased to see Rothalion. Not merely because he has done a great deal and more for Ishgard, and CONTINUES to, but because Aymeric genuinely finds the virtuous elezen to be good company in the rare moments they are able to share in a setting less business oriented.

Though, as is routine when Aymeric receives visitors, he had not expected nor been alerted of Rothalion's presence. Suffice to say, he is SHOCKED when the other man appears before him with nary a warning, yet before Aymeric can even question his purpose for returning to Ishgard, or even offer him refreshments, Rothalion is... APOLOGIZING???... and departing once more.

" Ah--- R-Rothalion!? " By the time Aymeric can even hasten from his seat and pursue his dearest companion, Rothalion is gone, and the Lord Commander is left utterly and understandably confounded by the entire ordeal.

@draikoeques ;;

[avirael]

FFxivWrite 2024

Day 18 - Hackneyed

With a curious expression A’viloh looked up to the giant statue of some saint in the middle of the plaza. It was beautifully crafted from a block of white stone and depitected a knight wearing cloak and armour. His face was hidden by a helmet.

“Don’t you think they all look the same somehow?”

“A bit. I assume this whole heroically fighting against the dragons story can get a little overused and repetitive in 1000 years…”, Rael offered and turned their attention to the statue in front of them too.

The Miqo’te furrowed his brows.

“But don’t you think each of them must have been a lot more individual than that with their own dreams and hopes? It doesn’t seem fair that they all look the same, their faces hidden by a mask…”

Somehow the idea of having all their stories reduced to almost identical, grey, expressionless faces of stone was a sad one. But Rael assumed that this was what time did to memories sometimes, once no one was left to remember their faces or how things had actuall happened.

“Maybe if our plan works, they one day built one of these for you or me too. The ears should be recognisable at least…”, Rael joked in an attempt to brighten the mood. “Saint A’viloh - he bravely fought against the dragon brood on the Steps of Faith and brought peace to Ishgard…”

But imagining that seemed to make A’viloh even more thoughtful. “I’m not sure I want to fight against the dragons. Vishap was already terrifying, can you imagine how horrible the great wyrms must be? Besides, don’t all saints die some horrible and painful death?”

“True…”, Rael mused. “But even though Iceheart may have a point, I don’t think this conflict can just be ended as easily as everybody seems to hope right now…”

“But aren’t they all tired of fighting by now? Isn’t all this talk of holy wars and heresy getting old?”, A’viloh asked and looked distressed, like he himself was already tired of it.

The Viera sighed and remembered their kins hatred for the Garleans. The conflict for Golmore was by far not that old yet as this war but had already produced so much bloodshed too.

“It’s not that easy, A’vi. A thousand years are a long time. One cruelty avenged by another and another and another. The Ishgardians? They were born and raised in this war, it’s everything they know. And the dragons? You heard Midgardsormr. They live long enough to remember all of this bloody war… It doesn’t matter anymore who was right in the first place. Neither of them are just going to give up and admit they were wrong. Both sides feel justified in their hate and this will make it difficult to find a peaceful solution…”

For a moment A’viloh was quiet, silently contemplating what Rael had said.

“But what can we do about this at all?”

“I don’t know. But you heard what Thordan said. And if the Ascians are involved behind the scenes, we can’t just ignore this. I have no perfect answer for solving this conflict but neither does Iceheart or Aymeric or anybody else… But we have to try anyway. Maybe together we can find a solution…”

[coldshrugs]

triple play

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau setting: modern au word count: 2.2k [divider credit]

February 7th - Estinien

The first baseball game of the season is fast approaching, and the Knights buzz with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

The locker room is louder than usual, but Estinien doesn't mind. He likes this part. It's the same every year: the giddy tension, the unconditional camaraderie before the finger-pointing starts, the desire to do well and, maybe, catch an eye or two in the process...

Only a week away now.

What he doesn't like is the feeling of Aymeric's glare boring into the back of his head.

"What?" he asks, trying his best to sound even, unbothered, as he puts away his gear.

Aymeric makes an evasive little sound. "Just thinking. Musing, if you will."

He punctuates this with the sharp sound of his locker closing.

Estinien sighs. This is bait. Somehow, this is bait, and he will take it and most likely regret it. He shuts his own locker with a metallic clang and drops to the bench between them.

"Fine. What's on your mind?"

Aymeric tosses a towel around his shoulders, beaming triumphantly and pausing for what Estinien can only guess is dramatic effect. "Did you ask her?"

If Aymeric's stare needled his skin, that is nothing compared to the itch caused by the sideways glances thrown at him now.

This is the same year after year, too—the whispered locker room gossip, all of them eager for some minor detail about so-and-so's tits or who the hookup of the month is. He's never been one to share that much; besides, there's nothing to tell.

Still… another kind of anticipation swells in his chest, similar to the usual pre-game nervousness, but one he doesn't share with the others. He wishes the 'her' in Ayms' question wasn't so readily implied. Anyone else would've needed a name, but after knowing her only a few months, Io is an assumption.

Most of the others are minding their business again, so he answers:

"Yeah." He keeps his voice low. "I asked her. She's coming." Then he adds, "She's bringing someone."

Aymeric leans against the row of lockers. "And? You brought me to her concert. Don't worry too much about it."

But he's not worried. There's nothing to worry about, is there? It's pretty cut and dry. "I keep telling you... me and Io, we're friends. That's all she wa—"

"Io?"

The voice comes from a few people away. Maybe he wasn't as quiet as he thought.

Haurchefant leans past a set of shoulders before pushing over to them. "You know Io? Laithe?"

"Might just be a common name," Ayms shrugs, but anyone can see he's already enjoying whatever this is.

Estinien shoots him a dark look—great, thanks, this is exactly a conversation I wanted to have—then nods to Haurchefant.

"Not super well or anything."

"Oh, come on." Aymeric laughs. "Hasn't known her long, but definitely knows her well."

Estinien wipes a hand over his face. "Don't say it like that. She's a friend from—" Hm, he doesn't want to put her life story out there to some guy on his baseball team. "—we're in a club, I guess, outside of school."

"Oh," Haurche glances between Estinien and Aymeric, and his tension fades when the latter doesn't react. "Sweet. We, uh, dated for a few months a while back, but I haven't heard from her in over a year. After the—" his voice breaks, and Estinien figures he doesn't want to drag her painful history up either. "Well, anyway... How is she?"

For the briefest moment, their eyes lock, and they have something else in common. Something outside of this team. The warmth he felt at the thought of sharing something more about himself with her, that almost pleasant anxiety, it starts to blister, flashing white-hot across his neck and climbing to his face.

His eyes narrow. He doesn't want to say anything.

Io trusts easily, even when she's hurting (especially when she's hurting). If she wanted Haurchefant to know how she was doing, she'd have talked to him by now. There must be a reason she hasn't.

His chest tingles again, fluttering with something tiny and warm—he is the person she talks to, confides in. Sure, they both have Haven, but outside of that... Well, maybe Aymeric isn't wrong for assuming.

Estinien stands from the bench and peels off his soiled shirt. Before he heads to the showers, he gives Haurchefant the only answer he thinks is warranted. "Doing better."

February 10th - Haurchefant

He met Io at a Spring Break party in freshman year, where he spent far too much of the night watching her quietly hold up the corners of some upperclassman's rented condo. He felt like he knew everything there was to know about her right away, a symptom of that bright melancholy distinctly found in art school girls, like she was only waiting on fate to catch up to her. Maybe the reality of her was less interesting than his half-baked conclusion, but god, her smile.

He was so nervous to talk to her.

They hit it off, in a careful way. Started dating, started kissing, fooled around a bit. But it was so... polite. Almost obligatory. Maybe they wouldn't have lasted anyway, but then, whether she wanted it or not, fate caught up to her. Her whole family was lost in the crash, and she ghosted him.

A slow fade.

Haurchefant has never had trouble with moving on. He finds the bright side and forgets the rest. No, this is unlike him, still thinking about something long in the past, even with such a hazy ending.

But Varlineau?

Seriously?

Haurchefant always found him tactless and a bit fumbling. And he had no right to pull his smug avoidance thing right after downplaying whatever point Aymeric was trying to make. A "club?"

Estinien Varlineau is not in a fucking club, extracurricular or not.

Whatever.

Haurchefant pulls out his phone and stares at the long-dead conversation thread between him and Io. He was the last to text, of course. Some cliche "I realize this is over, but I wish you the best" thing. He meant it. He still means it.

And that's why his unsure fingers dart across the keyboard now, typing and deleting the words until he has something fairly neutral.

He's surprised when she replies almost immediately.

HG: hey io. haven't heard from u in literally a year. i've been worried. u okay? IL: haurche, wow. it's actually really good to hear from you. IL: i'm not exactly okay, but i'm trying. getting help. HG: glad to hear it. i'm so sorry for ur loss. i don't think i can say it enough. IL: i think i've heard it enough for a lifetime, but thank you ♥ IL: and i'm really sorry for the way things went down. that was unfair. i think i knew that at the time, even in the depths of the pit. we were only together for a few months. it felt like putting too much on your plate HG: so u took away the plate. IL: so i took away the plate. like i said, unfair to you IL: i understand if there are hard feelings, but it means a lot that you're checking in. HG: no hard feelings, no grudges. i wish u would've let me be there for u, but i guess we won't know just how much my plate can handle. HG: unless... u want to grab coffee sometime? IL: lol, i'm deeply flattered you still consider me a viable dating option after witnessing me in a nearly catatonic state. IL: but i think i might be seeing someone? maybe? hard to say tbh. i've got valentine's plans tho, so we'll see. HG: yeah? we've got the same plans. i play baseball too, remember? HG: listen... just don't make too many assumptions with him. given the context, this sounds shitty, but he doesn't seem super into it IL: okay... thanks for your insight. and for the perspective on who you're actually worried about here. later.

His leg shakes hard enough to quake his bed. Fuck. That wasn't how he wanted this to go.

February 14th - Estinien

From his place in the outfield, Estinien can't make out the faces in the stands. It's something he always tries to avoid anyway. Easier to imagine the crowd as one rippling, noisy entity instead of hundreds of people there to watch them perform. Even better if he pretends they're not there at all.

But today he can't keep his eyes from darting around the stadium in his downtime, hoping to catch a flash of deep blue. It's a distracting task, one that oppresses the next crack of the bat and when he sees the ball going long it's almost too late.

Oh, shit.

Shit, fuck, shit.

He tears after it. Faster. Faster than that, until he's feet away from the wall.

One more look up. He dives with an outstretched glove…

He crashes into the padded wall and doesn’t give himself time to react to the sharp little aches burning through his muscles. The weight in his gloved hand is all he considers—it’s an out. He slings the ball to Haurchefant at third and they take a second.

Now there’s time to feel it. His lungs are on fire. There’s a dull throb in his shoulder that will show as a bruise tomorrow. This game is the same as any other, he reminds himself while he catches his breath, hands on his hips. Doesn’t matter who’s watching.

The next batter is their third out and they’re off to a decent start. They run in, and there she is, grinning brightly as she waves to him.

Io sits next to Thancred, hands cupped around his mouth so his cheers carry farther, and something like relief swells in Estinien’s chest (not that he has any reason to be relieved). Estinien’s met him once, decent guy. One of her close friends.

He smiles back, throws his hand up as he heads into the dugout.

The rest of the game feels too long, but his focus returns. They win by two runs and it feels good to start the season on a high.

Afterwards, Io waits on the other side of the chainlink fence. She’s wearing a red flannel over a black dress and boots up to her knees, her hair falls messily out of its bun. He walks to meet her, lungs burning like he’s running again.

“Hey,” she says with a smile, elbows against the fence as she leans into it. “You were awesome out there.”

Estinien shakes his head. “We did alright.”

“You don’t like compliments.” Not a question. Io pauses, eyes darting around the stadium for a moment before falling back to him. A strand of windblown hair catches between her lips (he doesn’t look at her lips), and she pulls it away. “Thanks for inviting me. This was fun.”

“Yeah, I liked seeing you here. Thanks for coming.” He shifts his weight, leans against the fence next to her. “Where’s Thancred?”

“No idea. Probably saw someone cute with no Valentine’s date and decided to shoot his shot.”

Oh, god. Today is…

Estinien reigns in his expression before glancing over to Io. She doesn’t seem any different than the other times they’ve hung out. Her smile is as soft and warm as ever. As usual, her presence is comfortingly familiar, and just looking at her causes the sudden spike in his anxiety to ebb away.

Then her eyes flit down. 

He doesn’t think about why.

He can’t assume anything. That’s not fair.

He opens his mouth to ask if she wants to get out of here, grab some food, let him show her around his campus—anything—but someone walks by. Too close. Close enough to be on purpose.

“Varlineau,” Haurchefant grunts as he passes, and Estinien ignores a flare of annoyance in favor of a nod. Then Haurchefant's gaze slides to Io and darkens. “Io.”

“Hi Haurche,” she sighs, watching him go. The mood shifts, like all the warmth has been sucked out of the air around them, but he can't figure out why. If personal interactions were as easy to call as baseball, he’d guess she just lost this one.

When Haurchefant is gone, she stands from the fence. “I think I need to get back across town. Just remembered I’ve got a quiz due by midnight.”

“Oh,” he whispers. “Yeah, sure. Don’t drop the GPA on my account. I’ll see you later this week?”

“For sure. And this weekend, too, if you want to catch that movie I told you about.”

“You said I’d hate it,” he laughs. 

Io shrugs, walking backwards. “And don’t you want to prove me wrong?”

He shakes his head again. “No, I know you’re right. But whatever, we can watch it.”

“Nice. I’ll text you.” She beams, and that tightens his chest too. “It’s… not a date, right?”

Estinien watches her go, and maybe the little rush he felt before Haurchefant passed by was a fluke. The adrenaline after his win tangling with the weird sense of contentment that comes from simply being around Io. Those things must conflict somehow.

“Right,” he says to himself, resting his head against the cold metal fence (and there’s no reason to be disappointed).

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

on our fates alight--fraught recovery

"You said that your brother was afflicted as such for some time?" Urianger asked. Mathye nodded.

"He was exhausted. Had mood swings. His appetite would yo-yo. I thought he was having a hard time adjusting to the Eikon. But the night he told me that it wasn't him--or rather, that all of it was Halone--that's what made me suspect something was wrong. And when I dared to look at Her aether--or what I could detect of it, it was out of balance."

"Out of balance?" Urianger repeated. "Out of balance how?" He watched as the black haired hyur paused, thinking.

"...As if she was recovering from an injury. Or something toxic had been removed, and now she was regaining her equilibrium." Mathye answered. "Then there was another option that I wasn't too sure of, but after I Primed--I began to suspect that it was the real reason for what I sensed."

"Which was?"

"She was imprisoned." Mathye answered. "Imprisoned and harmed. When she first Primed with Augustine she was missing memories. When I Primed she'd regained some, but not a lot. But she remembered enough to tell me that she was free to bind herself to those who truly embraced her aspects, and not to 'decrepit old men'."

"She was recovering from trauma." Urianger breathed.

"It was one one of the reasons why we left the city." The priest finished. "Augustine was doing better--but when we both retreated into Coerthas proper--that's when Halone started to recover in leaps and bounds. She grew stronger--and then that's when we discovered something else. We could semi-Prime and Prime if we were fighting to defend ourselves and others, but one day, when we went on an offensive against the dragons..." Mathye shook his head. Urianger's eyes widened.

"She would not let you Prime?!"

"No." Mathye answered. "When we asked Halone why, she said that while she couldn't remember everything--she just knew that Ishgard somehow was in the wrong for the Dragonsong War. And that she would not allow her power to be wielded in attacks against dragonkind." That had been a shock in and of itself to both him and Augustine, Mathye remembered.

I will not put you, my sons, in danger--but nor can I allow your hands to become even more bloodstained as they are.

"We more or less dropped everything and returned to the city to speak with Aymeric." Urianger nodded, listening intently. "However that was the day when Wyrmblood Primed. Barely had enough wits to fly back as the dragon--crashed before the city gates in Central Coerthas before transforming back. The chaos that broke out afterward..."

"I can imagine." Urianger mused. "That was the cause for Ser Borel to cry for a ceasefire, then?"

"Not just between us and the Dravanians, but to get the damn city to calm down." Mathye answered. "Shiva's people rose up--and nobody knew that the heretics had that many in their number. There was at least two days of fighting in the city before the Archbishop relented and called for a temporary hold to the fighting. Ever since then the Vault's been dancing rings around the hard questions. And when Tioman and Darkscale resumed their onslaught against the region, they dug themselves in and won't entertain anything until 'Nidhogg's brood has been defeated'."

"Which has led to the current state of affairs." Urianger finished, understanding. "You, your brother, and the sers Borel and Greystone have become the unofficial champions for peace and a future outside of the eternal war. Your opposition, the Church and Ishgardian society itself. Nothing will be settled unless something or someone gives way." Mathye nodded.

"We need help." He said. His voice was quiet but his tone was deadly serious. "There is only so much Augustine and I can do, and we're also trying to protect ourselves and Halone."

[starrysnowdrop]

Someone my muse is indebted to

Someone my muse trusts completely

Someone my muse holds in disdain

🙈🙈

Someone my muse is indebted to

Out of everyone Hali has ever met, probably the one who she is the most indebted to would be Haurchefant. He is the one who took in her fellow Scions, WoLs, and herself after the bloody banquet, and he was there when they needed help the most. He was also the first one who took notice of her growing feelings for Aymeric, and he was her biggest supporter and encouraged her to tell Aymeric how she felt. If he would have lived, Haurchefant would never have let Hali and Aymeric to hide their feelings for each other for all of those years. Hali loved him like the brother she never had, and she in turn feels indebted to the Fortemps family for all he had done for her.

Someone my muse trusts completely

This should be a surprise to absolutely no one, but Hali trusts Aymeric completely. She has never questioned Aymeric’s honor or his loyalty, and it’s one of many reasons why she fell in love with him as hard and as fast as she did. Now that they are together, she never questions his love for her either. There is no one that she trusts more than him.

Someone my muse holds in disdain

Answered HERE

Thank you for the asks @traveler-of-light!! 🥰💖

[keicordelle]

Fluffvember Day 26 : Valentione's - Aymeric

If having the day off hadn't been telling enough, the red hearts decorating every available surface would have revealed to even the most oblivious of passersby that there was a holiday at hand. You could hardly take two steps in the Pillars without being reminded of it - and given the proximity of House Valentione to the Borel Manor, two steps was perhaps a generous estimate.

"I suppose I had best pay my regards to Lady Valentione," I mused aloud. Though the whole of Ishgard celebrated Saint Valentione today, none were more enthusiastic than his descendent Lisette, who seemed to have taken it as her mission to ensure every last soul in Eorzea found their perfect match - a feat as bold as it was impossible. At least her zany festivities always provided some amusement, and I wasn't due back to the Temple Knight barracks until tomorrow evening. Plenty of time to make an appearance at whatever event she'd prepared this year.

A small crowd had gathered outside the Valentione estate, nobles and commoners alike awaiting their chance to take part in this year's event, which seemed to be themed around fortune telling. Lisette and several of her maidservants sat behind small tables littered with cards and crystals and, of course, the ubiquitous paper hearts and flowers.

"Lord Aymeric!" she called when she spotted me, jumping up from her seat to greet me. "Just the man I was hoping to see today. Come, sit, and let us see what destiny has in store for you! I'm sure everyone is dying to know who is going to catch the eye of the only son of House Borel!"

"I don't think-" She snatched my hand before I could finish protesting, pulling me over to her main table and forcing me down into the waiting chair. "I am no one special," I argued, casting a glance over my shoulder to the twittering girls watching us with a tad too much interest.

"You can tell yourself that all you want, but fate says differently. Shall we see what sort of romance awaits you in the future?" She didn't wait for an answer before scooping up her cards, shuffling them deftly.

"I really don't think-" Again she refused to let me finish, thrusting the deck before me.

"Now hold the image of your ideal match in your mind - or maybe a special someone who already holds your affections?" She arched an inquisitive brow, and I felt heat rush to fill my face - certainly not because I was thinking about anyone in particular, only because the entire situation was unexpected and a touch ridiculous. And if perhaps there was a flash of white hair and steely eyes through my thoughts, it was only because a nearby knight distracted me for a moment, and not because of any secret longing.

"Hmmm, I see," she mused, leaning over the cards and pressing a thoughtful finger to her chin.

"You do?" I asked, eyes flicking nervously between the unfamiliar cards and her fascinated expression. She couldn't possibly actually see anything in those cards, could she? As far as I was aware, she was not an astrologian, to portend the future from esoteric signs.

"Indeed, your future in love is quite clear! A great romance awaits you, and though not without its hardships, your love shall endure through all life's trials."

The group of noble girls crowded in around us, all pretense of politeness vanishing as one called out, "What kind of girl will he fall for?"

"Yeah! Tell us!" the others chorused, and I worked to keep the grimace off my face.

I must have succeeded, because Lisette's gleeful expression didn't change as she glanced up from the cards, a conspiratorial grin spreading her lips. "Oh alright. Let's see... It's someone who will lend you their strength and support you when you need it. I see the color white, and a sense of turmoil... Oh, what's this? Hmm..." She looked up, a curious glint in her eyes that I wasn't sure I liked. She couldn't really have divined anything from those cards, could she? "I think you'll find love is right beneath your nose."

The girls gasped merrily, exploding into a storm of chatter as they tried to determine which of them Lisette had secretly been looking at when she made such an obvious declaration - never mind that her eyes had not strayed from me for so much as an instant. Satisfied, the girls dispersed, off to spread the rumors as to whom I was foretold to marry, forgetting for the moment that it was unlikely any of their parents would approve of a match with someone of a sullied bloodline like mine - and that such a pairing would still require my interest.

"My thanks for the reading," I said to Lisette, careful to ensure my tone was utterly sincere even if I was fairly certain her display had just made my life harder for no good reason.

I made to stand, but she grabbed my wrist before I could, drawing my attention back to her purple gaze. "Love will find you, Lord Aymeric, when you least expect it. Let it in when it does. The cards promise you'll be happy."

She released me then, allowing me to make my farewells and take my leave, her words swirling through my mind all the way to the market. If ever I had worried that she really could predict the future, her last words had quelled it. I knew my future. I would marry and raise an heir to my House, just as had always been expected of me. Love and happiness had no part in it.

And if perhaps my thoughts had strayed back to eyes the color of storms beneath bangs of snow while she spoke, well, that was for me and Halone alone to know.

[Masterlist] | [Ao3]

[serandipity]

Aymeric and Sen - ◑ — [sender] gifts [receiver] a pair of matching pajamas || @agloryofuniicorns

Christmas was a bit of an odd time for the De Borel family. It was hard to say they didn't celebrate it, but it came with an increased need for Aymeric to be at fancy parties intermingling with the Ishgardian upper class. Fallon had to attend as well, so she had to be left with a backup babysitter who she didn't like as much. It was a bit lonely all things considered. Sen wished she could be allowed to go to the parties her dad went to, but Grandfather Thordan had expressly forbidden it. It was for her own good he insisted.

Just like hiding her horns and tail and scales was for her own good.

Aymeric did his best to play father and Lord Speaker, but often times one role came at expense of the other and in those moments, Mina's absence was felt more strongly than usual.

However, what Sen wasn't lacking for was presents. The Christmas tree was practically filled to the brim with presents for her with a few for Aymeric and Fallon spread around the tree. For most of the season, Sen would spend time tapping at and gently feeling the presents trying to guess what they would be. It was a small distraction from an otherwise lonely season for her despite Aymeric and Fallon's best efforts.

Sen was sitting near the tree one evening when he came home. She could see the flecks of snow melting onto his winter coat, and even the little girl could tell he looked... tired, as if every ounce of energy had been sucked dry. However, the moment he knew his daughter was within ear shot, he attempted to perk up just a little.

And that's what he did this time too.

"Looking at the presents again? Remember, Santa still hasn't come yet," He mused softly as he approached her and moved to sit next to her.

"Mm... What could Santa even bring me though? There's a lot of presence under here for me..." Sen muttered, placing the box she'd been softly shaking back under the tree.

"Well, what would you like?" Aymeric asked softly although, judging by his expression he knew what Sen's answer would be.

Her mother.

And even Sen knew that was not something Santa could bring.

She inhaled, crossing her arms and thinking. If her mother was off the table then...

"I want Santa to make it snow so much that you can stay home on Christmas and not have to go to work."

There's a pause. She can tell she's caught her father off guard by the comment before his surprise softens into a smile before he picks his daughter up and places her in his lap.

"Well, I'm sure Santa can make that happen." He said softly. Sen hadn't known that her father was doing his best to make sure he could be with her on Christmas and that was the reason he'd been spending all his free time working it seemed like, "In the mean time, why don't you pick a present to unwrap a little early?" He offered.

She wasn't going to say no, obviously. She was a child and children always loved unwrapping gifts.

Sen settled on a bag with minimal clean up, and what was present in it was not a toy, it wasn't a game or fancy new gadget (all of which were probably under the tree anyway), but clothes. Pajamas, in fact.

And it wasn't just pajamas for her, but for her father as well. Aymeric seemed a little concerned when she opened it that she would be displeased with it, but...

She actually really liked it! If her father had Christmas off they could wear their new pajamas together! It was something only she and her dad could share and that meant more to her than any toy or electronic she would have gotten.

Perhaps she was a bit more like her mother than Sen knew.

[snotsloth]

14 Embraces from behind where the other person nuzzles their nose into your neck

I had fun with this prompt! Thank you for the excuse to write Orion/Aymeric fluff. Kinda want to make this a longer piece, but for now it's just the two of them mostly talking the night before the battle of Ala Mhigo.

...

Orion slid his fingers under the rims of his round spectacles to rub the haze from his fatigued eyes. Leaning against a table covered in various potions, poultices, and balms, he tried to bring the labels into focus. Did that one say Hi-Ether or Hi-Elixir? He picked up the flask, bringing it almost to the tip of his nose. Ether. Hi-Ether. He set it back down and made a note on the checklist laid on the table before him.

He was just about to reach for another flask when two long arms clad in black leather and ornate gold bracers wrapped around his narrow waist. He felt soft lips press against the back of his neck, right on the seam between obsidian scales and red skin. Tense shoulders immediately sagged and Orion leaned back into Aymeric's embrace. Aymeric hummed, squeezing Orion tighter and burying his nose in short umber hair, thick as velvet.

"How did I know I would find you here?" Aymeric muttered against the back of Orion's head.

Orion closed his eyes, blocking out as much of the bustling camp as he could, and focused on the grounding touch of the lover he had missed for months. Azema, allow me this indulgence, he thought to himself.

The two pressed against one another in silence, letting everything else slip into a muffled hum of camp life.

"Kendra?" Orion finally asked, wondering after their other mutual lover.

Orion could feel Aymeric's smile pressed to the skin just behind his horn when he answered, "Last I saw, she was fast asleep in a pile of miqo'te under one of the M Tribe's big communal sleeping pavilions. I think she was droo9ling on M'naago's shoulder.

Orion chuffed a soft laugh. At least one of them was getting proper rest before the trials of the morrow.

"So..." Aymeric pressed his hands against Orion's hips to turn him away from the inventory table and towards himself. "I thought it only appropriate to let her continue to rest and come after you myself."

Orion looked down at Aymeric's upturned face. Long, black lashes drooped over bright blue eyes. His flawless porcelain skin glowed in the indirect light of camp torches. Unable to resist, Orion reached up to caress the soft skin of Aymeric's cheek with his thumb. Aymeric leaned into the touch and Orion cupped the side of his face with a broad palm.

"So, can I tempt you back to my very plush Commander's tent, or will I have to send an entire platoon after you to force you to rest?"

"Hmmm..." Orion mused. He fiddled with a silky black curl that had fallen over Aymeric's brow. "These supplies really do need to be cataloged and distributed to the field teams before we deploy in the morning, and- "

"And I'm sure there is a very eager young non-combatant somewhere in this camp who can get that taken care of while those who will be on the front line, yourself included, get a full night's rest." With a gentle but firm grip, Aymeric began to pull Orion away from the lines of bottles.

"But Aymeric, I can't-" Orion stammered.

"You can't effectively fulfill your role tomorrow if you don't get a full night's rest tonight. You know one of the greatest healers of our generation once told me, 'You can't keep your people alive if you're dead on the floor. A healer's first job is to stay alive and their second job is to take care of their own body."

Orion groaned and leaned back into Aymeric's space to steal a kiss. "How dare you use my own words against me? You absolute politician."

"I would have less cause to do so if you took your own advice more often," Aymeric retorted, smirking triumphantly.

"Fine," Orion groused, kissing Aymeric again. "Fine." One more kiss. "Sargent!"

Orion waved over a young hyur in a Storm medic's uniform. Turning to face him, Orion handed over his notepad and pen. "I am under orders from the Lord Speaker to relinquish my current task and get some rest before we deploy. Would you see to it that someone finishes this inventory check and distributes these supplies to all the field medic team's deploying tomorrow?"

"Yes sir," the young man saluted enthusiastically, a little star struck by the seven foot Warrior of Light and the Lord Speaker of the Ishgardian Senate. "Rest well, sir."

"Thank you, Sargent. Dismissed," Orion turned to leave, catching Aymeric's arm in his own. "Is it just me, or do they look younger every year?" he muttered under his breath.

"Just wait until you visit Ishgard next and meet Lucia's latest class of cadets. I swear half of them haven't hit their final growth spurt. They all look like newborn chocobo chicks, all knobby knees and oversized feet."

Aymeric led Orion through the dusty lanes of the Alliance camp. With the sun having set less than an hour ago, things were still lively. Soldiers gathered at bonfires, eating rations. Nightt patrols rolled out towards the edges of camp. An entire legion of support staff swarmed the supply trains, ensuring all was made ready for the morning. The soft chanting of hymns rose from the Ishgardian tents. Orion breathed deep of the quickly cooling night air.

"Thank you, Aymeric, for looking out for me," Orion said after a moment of companionable silence between them. "I still get caught up in my own head on nights like this. I don't know if I will ever grow accustomed to military life. I just find my mind swirling with a maelstrom of what-ifs, and probabilities, and contingencies, and expected casualty numbers."

Aymeric squeezed Orion's arm, comfortingly.

"I think every military leader indulges in some amount of anxiety on the eve of battle, or at least every good one that I have known. It should never be easy, knowing that on the morrow you will send thousands of good people to their deaths. That should weigh on a commander's conscience, no matter the righteousness of the their cause. But one way to ensure you get as many of them out alive as you can is to make sure that you are rested, clear-headed and ready for battle yourself.

Orion nodded silently, eyes cast down to his boots as they continued to make their way down a track packed smooth by thousands of feed and cartwheels over the course of recent days.

"Orion, darling," Aymeric stopped and turned to look him in the eye. Orion also turned and looked up, face still tense with anxiety. "We are as prepared as we can be. Tomorrow you will have the might of five nations and the Ala Mhigan resistance at your back. Everyone who is here believes our common cause is just and worth sacrificing for. The weight of the star is not pressing against your shoulder's alone. We will free Ala Mhigo, all of us together. This is not your fight alone."

"You're right," Orion said, nodding. "Of course you're right. Thank you, love, for getting me out of my own myopic spirals, and for coming to fetch me."

"I just wish I could be there to do so more often," Aymeric said, pulling Orion close and wrapping his arms around his torso, holding him tight. "Now, enough musings. Let's get what rest we can. Will you stay with me tonight? I, for one, will sleep better with you beside me."

"The only thing better would be if we could get Kendra to join us. But I don't dare risk the wrath of twenty sleepy miqo'te women." "Agreed," Aymeric laughed. "We don't dare."

[unbloomingmoonflower]

idle musings.

Ariadne did not fear dragons. In fact, the Horde was at the very bottom of things that the halfling would be afraid of.

Yet Aymeric and Estinien, her longtime friends and comrades, have even questioned the extent of her fear. Inquired and pondered as to how she could be face-to-face with massive fangs and claws of the wyrms and not once experience the trembling of fear.

“Other people tend to be the most frightening,” she had answered them once, over a shared pint of Ishgardian ale at the tavern once they had returned safely from their aptly named suicide mission. “Have you seen how easily those with power or wealth treat their lessers?” Ah, how she hated that word.

When Aymeric and Estinien did not answer her with words, their silence all but confirmed that they have, indeed, noticed such things. It only served to have Ariadne continue. “See how easy some noble families cast out their own children to save face with proper society? And yet, their little secrets being exposed is all it will take to undo them and their frivolous reputation.”

“It appears you have a rather personal experience with such, haven’t you?” Estinien had asked, none too gently. It wasn’t like the man, training to succeed the Azure Dragoon at the time, to ever ask with a soft voice. 

“Absolutely,” answered Ariadne with just as much bluntness one would expect of a woman with no patience for guile. “My father’s own family cast him out because he dared to fall in love with a “common woman” like my mother, may she rest in peace. He dared to take responsibility for the child he sired out of wedlock and we were tossed to the cold. Yet there are those in Ishgard who look down on illegitimate children as if we were the plague, regardless of how our circumstances are.”

Draining the dregs of her ale, Ariadne’s full lips had curled into a wry smile. “Yes, gentlemen. Other people frighten me far more than any dragon and its brood. I much rather stake my life every waking moment fighting them than to deal with the honeyed words of those who will sooner tear down their lessers.”

“Perhaps that can change,” Aymeric had declared, with a burning passion in his sapphire eyes. “Perhaps we can take Ishgard into a new tomorrow. Where no such lines of nobility and the impoverished exist.”

Lofty ideal, Ariadne remembered thinking, drinking down a tankard of ale even now. It had been years since then, years since she had began serving as a Temple Knight. She rose through the ranks just as well as her comrades, her brothers, serving under Aymeric as he took the position of Lord Commander when all odds were against him due to the very stigma Ariadne had seen all of her life. Seeing his passions take him so far made the halfling proud of her friend, willing to put her life in his hands. 

Estinien’s own ideals were steeped in revenge and blood, wanting nothing more than for Nidhogg to suffer. He rose to succeed Alberic, becoming the Azure Dragoon and channeling his inner dragon. Though she wondered if Estinien loathed the term. She never asked, with him never being the loquacious type. It took several pints just to get him to unveil that Nidhogg had destroyed his home, killed his family, and that he swore revenge. 

Ariadne was quite willing to die for them and had come close during the finale of Dragonsong War. She remembered it well. How could she forget? She was not present when Nidhogg had taken possession of Estinien, using his body as though it were a simple mammet. She did, however, bear witness to it during the peace conference with Vidofnir; at how Estinien’s body took aim to the wyrm and Aymeric making the choice to loose and arrow at their dearest friend.

When the crescendo of the war was upon them, Ariadne had stood with the famed Warrior of Light and their fellow Scions, ready to fight for her nation and her dearly beloved comrades. Nidhogg had dealt her a devastating wound through her abdomen that it was nothing short of miraculous that Ariadne had even survived. 

It was certainly something Estinien had carried guilt over; he had apologized to Ariadne in that brusque way of his while renouncing his title as the Azure Dragoon. Aymeric had chided Ariadne for moving so soon to see the inert, recovering Estinien. “You’ll reopen your wound.”

“My wound will heal. The Fury knows I have more scars than I know what to do with.”

Her words must have worried them, even though it was unspoken. Aymeric and Estinien knew Ariadne best, knew what she was like. She wondered why Aymeric seemed so keen to have her as some sort of acting liason as Lucia did. Even Lucia noticed such. “Lord Aymeric cares for you deeply, as though were the younger sister he’s never had,” she had noted once to Ariadne in private conversation. “He simply doesn’t want to see you buried so young. I am sure Estinien feels the same.”

Exhaling a sigh, Ariadne pushed rogue strands of her short hair from her face, the loose fringes framing over her left eye. Tankard empty, she reached into her coffer to drop some gil onto the counter with a respectful nod toward the tavernkeep. She was never a woman to wear out her welcome. 

The snow barely crunched beneath her sabatons as she left the Forgotten Knight. The chill bit at her exposed skin, yet so accustomed to her home climate was she that it hardly counted as a bother. Crimson eyes took in the softly falling snow, at the remains of Ishgard being rebuilt brick by brick by Her people. 

Ariadne did not fear dragons. She did fear other people, at how readily they turn their fangs on one another. 

Yet she also feared that such a peaceful calm after a storm was not meant to last. 

Keeping her troubled thoughts locked within the confines of her heart, Ariadne simply made her way home to where her father awaited. 

[milesducemdominus]

@kitty-highball asked: “I don’t understand what you’re getting out of being so polite to me.” Ferrien muses, jaded as ever “it’s not like doing so is going to improve your standing with anyone important or anything like that.”

"Naught." Aymeric answered truthfully, turning a page of a report over in front of his person; "--You are correct, I'll gain absolutely naught for being a decent elezen." He pauses, glancing upward; "-Not everything needs to bring one any gain."

[jefarawol]

“Jefara?”

“What is it?” She called back to the door.

“You have some visitors.” Urianger's muffled voice replied.

“I'll be right out.” She pulled on her favourite cardigan and pulled open the door.

Along in the main receiving room she could see her comrades surrounding two tall figures; her father and to her surprise, Aymeric.

“Lord Speaker? To what do we owe the honour?” She switched to her formal speech, suppressing the joy she had on seeing him.

“I wished to return the favor of you escorting me to Gridania.” he smiled warmly back, he took her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss to her fingers. “The Father to the Warrior of Light deserves no less.”

“Thank you Ser Aymeric.” She turned to her father. “Apa welcome to our base.”

“Thank you lanyà,” he embraced her tightly. “Ser Aymeric mentioned you had come across the location of our homeland?”

“Oh yes!” Tataru piped up, “Master Gosetsu left this for you!”

The receptionist bustled towards them with a rolled parchment, Jefara took the item from her carefully. “He said he marked its location on the map for you!”

“Thank you Tataru,” She trembled slightly, “Shall we take a look?”

“How about we take it through and look over it with dinner?” Alphinaud suggested. “Ser Aymeric, since you made such effort to come all this way for Master Barham, why don't you stay for dinner? That is if you are not in a hurry to return to your duties?”

“Actually I have business in Dragonhead with Lord Emmanellain in the morning so my journey back is shorter, I would be happy to stay a little longer in good company.”

“Well that's settled, however I have one request, Ser.” Thancred held his arm out to stop the Lord Speaker as he began to follow the crowd.

“Oh?”

“Leave your title and your political status at the door.” The hyur grinned. “Tonight you dine with friends.”

“I think that is more than amenable.”

Dinner was a humble affair compared to anything they had previously had in Ishgard, Aymeric found he enjoyed the ease of conversation and camaraderie of it all. Jefara and Barham poured over the map, both with an excited energy at the concept of returning to their homeland, he smiled when she looked up at him.

“So if Gosetsu claims your homeland was near Doma, that would make you both Othardian.” Y'shtola mused.

“Othard is to the east is it not?” Alphinaud asked.

“Far to the east.” Y'shtola nodded.

“It will be quite a journey, I do not even know when we would have time to make such a trip.” Jefara looked at her father sadly. “Not with my new responsibilities here.”

“Your work here is important, lanyá, I do not expect you to drop everything for me.”

“How long is the journey?” Aymeric asked, leaning over to look at the map himself, his fingers brushing briefly against the Warrior’s, she responded by pressing her leg against his.

“Several weeks by ship.” G'in chimed in. “It's roughly one to Thavnair if I recall my own journey. Othard is further still.”

“With the looming Gyr Abanian expedition too, it's not likely you will be able to head that way for some time.”

She sighed.

“Well at least we know where to go, when the time comes.” She smiled at Barham.

“How long has it been?” Aymeric asked softly.

“Nineteen summers, almost.” Barham answered. “What I would give to see a szívem again. Not only that to see how my fiú has grown.”

“It will be good to see them both again.”

“Does that mean you’ll leave us for good?” Alisaie huffed slightly. “If you go back home?”

“Alisaie!” Alphinaud chided her.

“What, you're all thinking it! I’m saying it.” she crossed her arms.

“As much as I long to see my home and my family, I do not think I could live like that any more.” She smiled at Alisaie, “The world is so much bigger and wonderful than I could ever imagine. I’ve met so many people here, ones I do not wish to give up anytime soon."

She looked at them all, each one smiled brightly at her, the only one who looked at her quizzically was Thancred. She was about to wonder what would cause a reaction when other voices cut in distracting her from the thought.

“Aww us?” Y’shtola mocked with a laugh.

“She clearly means the Fortemps, they practically adopted her in Ishgard!” Tataru chuckled.

“And what about you Aymeric,” G’in cocked his ears. “How long have the two of you been an item?”

Silence descended on the room, all eyes turning toward Jefara and Aymeric.

“I beg your pardon?” The elezen looked at him, plain faced as possible.

[tenebriism]

rumor has it ser aymeric gets easily distracted by pretty bunnyboy wols uvu

Rumor Has It... - [ ACCEPTING ] ;;

The SWIFTNESS at which he sputters and chokes on his beverage may have been humorous, were the guards posted around him not just as swift to jump in out of FEAR he had been poisoned.

" Lord Commander!? " " What ails you!? " " My lord?! "

He can barely raise a hand to dismiss them amidst his paltry attempt to catch his breath, thankful he has an excuse to keep his HEAD bowed, lest they be made privy to the heat settling 'pon his cheeks. " If you will... excuse me... " He needs but a moment to gather his thoughts ( and composure ), then he may resume the workload that still awaits him.

@hallowdawn ;; BECAUSE I KNOW THIS WAS YOU. X'D

[thesilverfullcr]

1, 3, 5!

Munday Styles and Preferences | @aurouze

What types of threads are your most favourite?

Long form, plotted out threads with a partner that really clicks with you. Stuff where people pick up on what you say to them OOC and use it in your threads.

What kinds of threads do you think you are best at writing?

I don't know that any of my writing is particularly spectacular, but I feel like I'm pretty decent all around? I can say that certain things are easier on certain characters - for instance, all these kissy asks I've gotten have been easy to answer on Haurchefant, but I find it more difficult to get shippy on Aymeric. Not really sure why. Maybe just because he expresses it so differently?

What is your least favourite thing about your muse? What makes them difficult to write, or interact with?

Well, the big thing is that he died. That makes him hard to interact with sometimes.

One thing I do struggle with him is that I do not want him to be like his Japanese counterpart, who is the 'friendly pervert' archetype. I can't stand that for him, so I avoid it. That does give me pause when I try to ship with him, though. Every time he flirts, I'm like, am I doing the thing? Am I making him a pervert? I don't want to make him a pervert, guys.

[xaracosmia]

ꕥ — WELCOME TO NEFE COSMIA, ROVER. 🌓

ꕥ  — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: skadi age: 28 pronouns: any pronouns ooc contact: @illromances (tumblr) other characters in xc: hythlodaeus, kallisto soledad, aymeric de borel

ꕥ  — IC INFORMATION;

name: Rover age: Unknown—physically appears to be in his mid-twenties. pronouns: He / Him series: Wuthering Waves canon point: Up to date app triggers: Memory loss

personality: Rover is a mystery to most people who saw him from afar. Those who had the chance to encounter him would remark that he held a poise and calmness to him, one who held a focused gazed; an introspective individual. It leaves a certain impression on people as it overlaps with his observant nature as well as his critical mind—he was never one to act without further thought and understanding of the whole situation.  

He held this same focus when discussion involved serious matters at hand. And, of course, when the subject of profit came up.

He was never shy with asking for pay. While Rover had the capacity to act unselfishly, incentives always pique his interest more, made him all too enthusiastic to take on a task. Be it wealth or favor, if it helps him, he has no complaints. If there was no benefit to what he did, well, it's all charity work for him or an opportunity to kill time.

Consistency in success for every task he accepted is what had him sought out by others, and he owed this to his skills and his wits. Perhaps it's due to this that he carries a confidence in him when it came to work, nearly touching onto arrogance at times upon closer inspection.

There were moments of rudeness to him to whenever he opens his mouth—cheeky and brazen when he's too familiar with them. Again, not always. It always occurs when you least expect it. A behavior sourced from his unpredictable nature. It has people wondering what goes on his in this man's mind; a question that will remain unanswered.

something your muse struggles with: As of now, his biggest problem is his amnesiac state and the struggle of trying to unravel his past.

your muse’s greatest strength: Quite flexible and adapts easily to any situation at hand.

history / background: His story begins with an unknown figure's actions. A touch that left a mark, the fading image of an unfamiliar place and the woman granting him a parting smile of hope. He wakes once in the waters that overlooked Jinzhou from above, and next in the Gorges of Spirits where two kindly souls—Yangyang and Chixia—came to his aid. It was there his story first unfolds; he was a man with no name and no memories to remember of who he was.

The city could have answer to this, they said, a start for him as he tries to find clues to his identity and past. For now, he is Rover and he accepts their invitation.

It was evident, however, that what he sought would come to him, like crumb trails left behind for him to follow. Even when he has yet to step into the city, his mountains of questions only grew and so did his confusion. The visions of Jué and of Jinzhou's present state plagued him even in such a short time; it became obvious his fate was intertwined with this world deeply.

And it proved itself to him as he was declared as an esteemed guest of Jinzhou by the Magistrate herself.

This official status proved itself useful and ever slowly did pieces of his possible identity came to light, correlating him to a notable figure that aided Jinzhou in the past. Along side these were excursions undergone that answered his curiosities of this world. It also gave him an understanding of the dangers that threatened it the more he got involved.

Most would run and yet, he did not. Even as the Magistrate gave him a choice, he stays; sentiments played a part in such decision—a favor he wished to return after Jinzhou's hospitality. But it was overshadowed by the burning need to unravel more of the past, and how else would he do that if he doesn't do his part?

He stays, he fights, and they win against all odds through their own efforts and aid from the unexpected. The city was successfully protected and the uncertainty has passed. A moment of peace has settled, one Rover was keenly aware was just that–—a moment.

His own intuition whispers that there's more to come, that fate has spun a web for him to be entangled in. All he could do was ready himself, and wait for the inevitable to arrive.

powers / abilities:

Spectro Forte. When Rover resonates with attributes of Spectro, it grants him the ability to manipulate light energy. In battle, he passively collects "Diminutive Sound" to enhance his attack. One of the notable skills he has for this attribute is that it allows him to produce an area of stasis around him for a brief period of time.

Havoc Forte. Resonating with the attribute of Havoc gives him control over it, incorporating it in his attacks. The most evident display of this ability is the manifestation of a singular wing formed from accumulated Umbral energy after Devastation is cast. He enters a state called Dark Stage that enhances his attacks.

Tacet Mark Absorption. Tacet marks are symbols that appear somewhere on a Resonator's body when they awaken their abilities. In Rover's case, however, his own mark was odd as it was capable of feats a regular tacet mark doesn't have: it had the ability to absorb echoes directly from his mark. Other oddities to note is it's... sentient nature. Or rather, it seemed to house a sentient creature.

Echo Transformation. Rover has the temporary ability to assume the form of a Tacet Discord and use their abilities, granted their echoes have already been collected and stored in their Data Bank found in their Pangu Terminal.  

inherent abilities:

Resonator. Resonators are those individuals with the ability to resonate with certain objects and have the capacity to manipulate their frequencies. Proof of those who awakened are evident on the Tacet Marks found on their bodies and their enhanced physical capabilities. Upon awakening, they would exhibit a Resonance Ability (Forte) unique to them, as well as Resonance Spectrum Patterns that influences their power and which attributes they are tied to. In Rover's case, he was an outlier amongst the resonators, due to having more that one Resonance Spectrum Pattern.

Swordsmanship. A skilled swordsman. Even with the loss of his memories, his talents for wielding the blade has never dulled, and it's only sharpened as he involved himself in more battles.

items / weapons:

Sword. A regular blade. It was already in his possession the moment he first woke.

Pangu Terminal. A device known for it's gourd shape, the Pangu Terminal is a multi-functional device made by the researchers of Huanglong. It's primary functions are for telecommunication, storing echoes, and capturing frequency for analysis. However, it can also be equipped with certain modules adding to the terminals functions.

Grapple. A grappling hook he utilizes for movement or removing certain physical objects in the way.

Sensor. Aids in finding certain items that hidden or not easily spotted.

Levitator. Assist with carrying heavy objects by levitating them.

Zoom Camera. Functions similarly to a regular camera.

Projector. It displays echoes absorbed. Using it in battle helps avoid/ block certain attacks.

Peculiar Blake Bloom. Given to him by one of the Black Shore's consultants. The Blake Bloom serves as the symbol of the organization. starting ability: Havoc Forte starting item: Pangu Terminal would you like this character to be housed upon arrival?: yes extra:

Probably has superb hearing and an absolute pitch.

This app drove me insane okay and I will be definitely adding and rewriting this in the future.

discord id: nodustollens.

[gegegenotairin]

👿 😇

Mun Vs. Muse

 // For Aymeric

👿 Something you and your muse strongly disagree on? 

I don’t think I would be able to sacrifice a friend or dear one for a nation. I thought it was even too cold of him when Aymeric said to Hraesvelgr he would kill Estinien if it was necessary.

😇 Something you and your muse strongly agree on?

We both believe in equality besides “status or race”. People are people. But I think that should be obvious, like, common sense(?)

[keicordelle]

Wine and Revelations

Fandom: FFXIV Rating: E Pairing: Estimeric Word Count: 8k Tags: Established Relationship, Drunkenness, Light Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Awkwardness, Explicit Sexual Content, Drunk Sex, Porn with Feelings, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, POV First Person, POV Estinien Wyrmblood

Summary: Aymeric was not a man given to indulgences, but even the strongest of ramparts will buckle under too much pressure, and sometimes all it takes is one straw to break the chocobo's back. Estinien hardly expects to return home to find his beloved positively soused, wine splattered pages spread before him and voicing worries he'd thought long since put to rest, but if he can offer any support or reassurance to the drunken mess that is his lover, he'll do all he can. He just might need some liquid courage of his own if he's going to make it through the conversation in one piece.

-

Aymeric was not a man given to indulgences, and even less so to vice. He enjoyed warm baths, soft silk, and like any good Ishgardian, the occasional glass of wine with dinner, but he was not one to drink to excess. Which was why it was particularly disquieting to return home one day and find him so deep into his cups that he couldn't so much as hold a pen.

I pushed open the door to the study, armor already exchanged for the pale blue sweater Aymeric so loved and lance tucked safely away. Aymeric sat at his desk, where I usually found him when he managed to return from the Congregation before nightfall. The papers strewn across the its surface were hardly unusual, but the two bottles of wine that graced it certainly were. I could tell even from a distance that the first was empty and the second well on its way, scattered droplets likes blood across the pages. He was staring into his half-empty glass as though it held the answers to all his problems when I walked in, curls mused as through he'd been running his hands through them. I couldn't tell if the redness in his eyes was from the drink or from emotion.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked suddenly without looking up from his glass.

"Do what, love? Did something happen?" Worry set in to gnaw at my stomach as I stepped closer, brows drawing together in concern. The sweet scent of Zinfandel overwhelmed the usual worn-leather-and-wood scent of the study, growing stronger with every step I took into the room.

He looked at me as I drew even with the desk, his crystalline eyes surprisingly keen despite his inebriated state, piercing through me. "Why'd you leave me?"

-

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