#as it was (somewhat) + shelter is aymeric

[shivasdarknight]

well this is gonna make me bawl like a little bitch

[joiedecombat]

3, 31, 42, 80 for the OTP Q's. (whichever otp you like)

Surprise! It's Raine and Aymeric again. What can I say, they're the ones on my mind the most lately.

3: Who kissed who first?

SO BASICALLY, what happened was this.

Aymeric brought Raine back to Ishgard after she collapsed at Ghimlyt and spent a while pretending he wasn't losing his damn mind until she came around. He filled her in on what had happened while she was unconscious, then excused himself to get back to the front...

...only to turn right back around, because Scions have been dropping left and right, and he almost lost her that time and for a little while thought he had, and after all that he can't in good conscience leave without telling her, if somewhat awkwardly, how he feels.

The thing is, once he gets started he can't seem to stop. He's perilously close to babbling, not letting Raine get a word in edgewise, until finally the only thing for her to do is kiss him to shut him up long enough that she can tell him she feels the same way.

31: Who is the big spoon and why?

Aymeric is almost always the big spoon, because Ishgard is too damn cold for Raine and the most effective way to keep warm at night is to have Aymeric curled around her. The height difference is much less inconvenient when they're not standing, and it makes him happy to tuck her against his heart and feel like he can be the one to shelter her for once - against the cold, if nothing else.

42: Thoughts on each other’s family?

Well, Raine killed Aymeric's father, for starters.

Neither of them really lose a lot of sleep about that. Aymeric's only real regret is that he had to let Raine do it for him instead of being there to deliver the killing blow himself, but there wasn't much choice in the matter.

Raine is more sorry that she never got a chance to meet his adoptive parents, the Viscount and Viscountess de Borel; they seem to have been good people and they clearly raised him right. She's nudged him to tell her about them from time to time, and she thinks she'd have liked them. She hopes they'd have approved of her.

As for the D'arcy side, well... Raine's father wasn't thrilled to learn that his daughter got herself adopted by a noble house on another continent, and he was prepared to meet all of Ishgard with a firm dislike. Aymeric was no exception; he got a very cool reception from D'arcy at first.

However, Aymeric is a diplomat and generally has a lot to recommend him, even to a dyed-in-the-wool snob like D'arcy. He won over her family before long. At this point he has a standing invitation to visit them in Radz-at-Han, where he and D'arcy have bonded a bit over a mutual low tolerance for spicy food and Raine's mother heckling them both about it.

80: What do they love about each other the most?

For Raine, it's Aymeric's innate nobility - with his background, he had every reason to become cold and jaded, but instead he fully recognizes the things that are wrong with his home and he's committed to making it better for the people who've been most neglected. At the same time, his idealism has been tempered with no small amount of ruthless pragmatism - this is a man who knows how to play the political game, and who won't flinch from getting his hands dirty. Raine has come to appreciate the fine line he often walks, and how carefully he has to discipline himself.

For Aymeric, it's Raine's unfailing generosity. If it weren't for her willingness to involve herself wherever she sees a need, things would have gone very badly for Ishgard; time and again, when people ask for help or even if they just seem to need it, Raine will always pitch in. He adores her for it even as it terrifies him to watch her constantly giving her time and effort and even risking her life. In all honesty, he wishes she'd think of herself a little more, but he loves her for it all the same.

[milesducemdominus]

OPEN STARTER.

He’d been expecting it all day - skywatchers promising a change in the somewhat brighter weather they had been having. A storm of great magnitude had been gradually brewing on the horizon for the majority of the day and only now, as it headed towards late afternoon, did it blow over the city itself - gradually forcing all beneath it into absolute darkness.

The first clap of thunder sounded somewhat far off and yet still did the commander startle within his seat, having been intently focused upon his paperwork - a task he had sank himself into in order to forget about the storm - using the nervous energy he felt for something useful. Yet the very moment the first rumble sounded, loudly, his attention disappeared and he could only stare - wide eyed - towards the windows with child-like fear. 

His heart felt as if it lept into the confines of his throat, threatening to constrict air - the bubbling of panic felt deep within his chest gradually beginning to rise. It was quite the secret, that the Lord Commander was utterly petrified of thunderstorms; a select few friends knowledgeable of the fact; and thus he had no choice but to hide himself away when they hit so to continue to keep his reputation as it was. Imagine that information getting out - he’d be a laughing stock. 

Thus, he was swift to excuse himself from the Congregation - Lucia under the rather happy presumption that the male had finally chosen to go and get some rest. His booted feet were quick against the ground, seeking the path to his home so to find comforts there - though mid-way did another loud clap of thunder hit, this one rumbling on for long and sounding far closer, rain beginning to patter the cobbles. 

Aymeric rose his hands upward to protect his ears, eyes squeezed tightly shut as fear completely gripped him, freezing him entirely solid to the spot. In the very least most had already left their surroundings to seek shelter for the downpour and further thunder (and lightning, no doubt-) was pending imminently.

But he couldn’t move.  

[alionne]

1 | Foster

MSQ spoilers up until the 65 dungeon. 1027 words.

(I did get a blowtorch for my birthday last week, so the combination of looking for foods to set on fire and this prompt may actually make me make bananas foster)

It is rare that Alionne finds herself with nothing to do. There is usually someone doing something that she can try her hand at, but it’s a particularly chilly night in Ishgard, and the streets of the Pillars are near-empty, as if everyone has decided that tonight would be a good night to indulge in rest.

And… she should probably be resting, too. Tomorrow, she and Estinien are to properly test Biggs and Wedge’s new manacutters, and set forth to do battle with Nidhogg himself. But testing brand-new airships alone might keep her from sleeping early, and the thought of battling dragons tomorrow has Alionne’s blood singing in anticipation.

Still, there’s nothing to be done out here, so she returns to Fortemps Manor. Perhaps the head chef will relent and let her in the kitchens, for once. What Alionne lacks in culinary talent, she’s sure she can make up for in enthusiasm and knife skills.

Fortunately (for the Fortemps staff, at least, who have insisted, repeatedly that a guest cannot be allowed to help, it would be terribly rude of them) Count Edmont catches her on the way.

“Alionne,” he calls from his study, and Alionne enters, just catching her gracious host tucking away a large journal.

Edmont gestures to a seat across the desk, which she takes, feeling slightly like a child in a teacher’s office. “Biscuit?” he offers, which doesn’t alleviate the feeling in the slightest. “Alphinaud mentioned your plans to assault Nidhogg. I can tell you are a woman of action, and I thought I might divert you, this evening, with some company.”

Hm. Okay. Entertaining their host feels like a duty Alphinaud might assign her, which helps her restlessness somewhat. “I could do with some diversion,” Alionne admits. “I have never been one for sitting idly.”

“You remind me of Haurchefant, when he was younger,” says the Count, with a slightly bitter smile. “Always running about, though I hear he has learned the value of words by now.”

Alionne returns the smile, hoping it doesn’t look as awkward as she feels. The relationship between Edmont and Haurchefant is… complex, she’s figured out that much.

Luckily, Edmont is happy to continue talking. “It’s the cold. Ishgardians were ever fond of the written word— journals make up a third of the works in the Saint Endalim Scholasticate— and now, with our freezing clime, the nights offer little else but an excuse to withdraw to pen and page.”

“Is that what you were doing when I came in?” Alionne asks.

“Indeed,” agrees Edmont. “Have you any interest in journaling?”

Alionne can’t help but wrinkle her nose at the thought, and Edmont laughs. “A few more nights like this, and perhaps you’ll give it a try. We’ll make you a child of Ishgard, one day.”

“Ishgard has been a home unlike any I’ve known,” Alionne admits. “Mostly because of you and yours.” The Waking Sands had been nice, but Alionne had been eager to prove herself, and as promising as the Rising Stones had been, they’d barely gotten set up before… everything. Haurchefant, and Aymeric, and all of Fortemps had been welcoming, first and foremost. Sure, she and Alphinaud had sought to make themselves as useful as possible, but it had never been an expectation. It was greatly comforting, and goodness knows the remaining Scions (for now, Alionne reminded herself sternly) had especially needed some comfort. After… everything.

“Full glad am I to hear that we have welcomed you,” says Edmont, “but fair unhappy, as well, to hear that you did not find such welcome as a child.”

And… oh. Thinking of home, and Alionne hadn’t thought of her family at all.

“My childhood was not an unhappy one,” she says, stumbling over herself to not give Edmont the wrong impression. Two parents who loved her well enough, nothing like… well, Haurchefant’s childhood must have been. “But my family is… particular. I don’t think any of them understood why I wanted to leave them, or even venture into the world at all.”

“One not need understand their children to support them,” says Edmont, rueful. “Halone knows, whenever I think I understand mine, I seem to be off the mark.”

Whatever expression Alionne is making causes him to look apologetic. “I didn’t mean to suggest your parents are… better than your experience of them. Indeed, I wish they’d been more supportive. I wish I’d been more supportive of my children, growing up,” he confides, and Alionne decides that it is the perfect time for a strategic biscuit, because she has no idea what to say.

“It’s taken me years to learn… well, it was never about understanding. I now strive to provide my family with a place where, regardless of understanding, they can find food, and shelter, and guidance, be it on how best to serve Ishgard, or how to distract themselves for a night,” he says, gesturing to Alionne. “A home, where they will be welcomed. If they forgive you, and accept it,” he says, a distant look in his eyes, and Alionne doesn’t need to ask which child he’s thinking of.

“And if you are lucky,” he continues, “your children will repay you in kind. They may not understand you, but they will emulate the best parts of you, mixed with the best parts of themselves.”

Alionne thinks of the last Fortemps who offered her food and shelter and guidance, and thinks that Haurchefant may be more like his father than either realizes, which is why she’s so surprised when Edmont continues, “Take you, for instance.”

It takes a moment for Alionne’s brain to restart, and based on Edmont’s slight smile, he knows it. “Me?”

“You came to Ishgard without an understanding of our customs, or our history. You know the origins of our war, now, but you do not understand it the way someone who grew up with it would. And yet, you are storming Nidhogg’s keep tomorrow, in support of our cause.”

“I… well, I— that is—“

“A warm meal, a space to rest, some conversation— you will always find them, here,” Edmont promises. A home, he doesn’t say, but Alionne hears it nonetheless.

[aethernoise]

( privileged reprisal )

Aymeric writes a letter in which Alyx gets what she deserves.

cw: NSFW. 1175 words. I’ll see you in hell.

-

When Alyx finally returned to her room at the Mizzenmast Inn, there was a stack of mail waiting for her. Dazed by hunger and fatigue, she almost didn’t notice the one piece of legitimate mail among the junk. Once she recognized the seal and immaculate penmanship she felt her stomach do a backflip.

Aymeric had wasted no time. She felt a bizarre combination of embarrassment and pride to remember the absolutely filthy things had written him, but was all together glad for it inspiring such a swift reply. She opened the letter carefully, heart racing, realizing she was likely in for a resounding counter-attack.

“My beloved,” his perfect, looping script began, launching into a characteristically wordy preamble:

“You have my thanks for the depth and care with which you relayed such sensitive information in your last missive. It always gladdens my heart to receive your words, regardless of their content--though I daresay, when presented with news of such delicate and scintillating nature, I find myself at a bit of a loss.”

She let out a smug exhale of a laugh and reached somewhat absently for the bowl of fresh grapes on the table--this would be good for now, until she had the attention span for a real meal. 

“Rest assured, however,” Aymeric wrote, “that I will do my utmost to be worthy of your efforts, and endeavor to return the favor herein--you may have forced my hand, but I take great pleasure in reprisal.”

Oh I bet, she thought with a smirk. 

“As I am certain you are aware.”

Reminding herself to chew more carefully, Alyx popped another grape into her mouth. 

“We have a great many things in common, my love. Like you, I am so very eager to please--though ‘eager’ hardly seems the right word. Perhaps: ravenous, or insatiable?” 

They certainly had that in common, and not just in this moment.

“You awaken a hunger in me I can scarcely comprehend. I can never get enough of you, even when you work your magic to exhaust me--not the sound of your voice, the shelter of your embrace, the silky heat of your cunt.”

The following grape completely missed her mouth and rolled onto the floor.

“Fucking hells!” she breathed. The sudden but elegant vulgarity of the statement shocked her like levin.

“I crave you like something decadent and sinful, and yet what sin is there in craving something utterly divine?”

He would use that damned word--it had almost become a joke between them, the way he could so easily fluster her by calling her--or part of her-- “divine.” It was a tactic she had never built up a defense for, but wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to.

““Blasphemy,” I hear you tease,”--he knew her well-- “my god-slayer, my Warrior of Light, always so tempting and damning with those beautiful lips of yours.”

Her hand lingered by her mouth. She thought about him touching her: the soft but calloused pad of his thumb tracing the shape of her lips, pressing so very gently, parting them for a kiss--

““So be it,” would be my reply.”

--or to slip inside. 

She shifted, crossing her legs tightly to quiet the burn between them. She was keenly aware of how the evening sun through the wall of windows had made the room unbearably hot; she sought the simple reprieve of unbuttoning her collar and sighed in partial relief. 

“Oh, my love,” he began again, and she could no longer help but conjure his voice in her mind, “I would make an altar of this desk or any surface and worship you on my knees.”

Gods, her clothes were stifling. She wanted him to undress her, piece by piece, leaving no ilm of skin untouched. He would take his sweet time about it, she knew, his touch greedy and yet so poised. He would drag his lips over her shoulders and collar bones while cupping and gently kneading her breasts, undoubtedly making sure to suck and tongue her nipples until she squirmed and whimpered from the sensitivity. He would kiss down along the length of the scar that crossed her stomach, thumbs burning brands against her hip bones, hot breath splashing over the edge of her smalls before pulling them down and away.

He would tease her, though, this she knew well--cover her thighs in bruising, reverent kisses, leaving marks only the two of them would ever see.

“I would sing your praises between your thighs until you plead my silence.”

Alyx clenched every muscle in her lower body involuntarily, toes curling in her boots. She had long forgotten her actual hunger, overtaken by the maddening, throbbing heat pooled deep in her center. She took a breath and closed her eyes just a few seconds so that she might further indulge her already riotous imagination: raking her fingers through that thick, silky black hair, rolling her hips ever so slightly to follow his tongue and his lips--

He was just so damned good.

“I would devour and exalt you,”--

He would, he would, she knew it.

-- “fuck you with my tongue and my fingers”--

She choked back a whine. 

 -- “until you are shaking and begging me to fill you with my cock.”

“Gods--damn it!” she whined in earnest. 

“Which I would, of course-- as much as I enjoy making you wait, I would never refuse you.” 

He never did. He was so good to her. Such a generous lover even at his most selfish. And how she loved to see him selfish--she loved him hard and fast and slow and soft and every which way he wanted. He could play her like an instrument, and every song was her favorite. 

“How could I? I am only mortal, after all. Mortal, body and soul, helpless and utterly yours.” 

Mine, mine, mine, thought the hungriest part of her, senses crushed by the heavenly memory of him inside her. 

“Yours, as you are mine.”

Dragging heavily in and out-- pounding into that perfect spot that made her limbs turn to molten liquid. Fingers clasped together, his velvety voice in her ear.

 “And worry not: I shall keep telling you so, for as long as I have the strength to speak.”

Repeating her name like a prayer and a curse, telling her he loved her, he loved her.

“Come home to me, my dearest. Until then, I can be patient.”

Alyx exhaled.

After the elegant barrage of handwritten lovemaking, it was his penultimate line she felt the deepest. She sat there for an indiscernible amount of time with a racing pulse and a nagging throb between her legs, simply staring at the shapes on the paper until they ceased making sense. 

Finally she smiled and sighed--full of weariness, affection, and a beautiful frustration--and got up to draw a bath.

With every subsequent re-read, it was Aymeric’s final command and supplication that sustained itself as a flame to fill and warm every part of her: “come home to me.” It was a call she would always answer--and this time, she made sure, at her earliest possible convenience.

[orangemarigold]

Home

“Home is where love resides, memories are created, friends always belong, and laughter never ends.”

Yesterday was yet another day of running errands around Ishgard, especially with all the restoration works ongoing for the new residential district in the city. 

It was not a normal day in Ishgard, so to speak, as all the roads and buildings were covered with a seemingly huge amount of snow than usual due to a blizzard. You promised yourself to visit Haurchefant’s grave for the first time in a long while; however, you saw that this plan would be somewhat postponed because of the weather.

Before your day ended, you decided to pay a visit to the de Borel manor and prayed that you would get the chance to see Ser Aymeric to at least pay courtesy to him (and well, to find shelter amid the raging weather). 

You thank the Twelve for bringing Aymeric de Borel in your life. He is a mighty leader of Ishgard whose belief in his people never falters, a good friend to you, and most importantly, a good host for welcoming your surprise visit to his manor by inviting you to dinner and providing a spare room for you to stay in. The night was filled with warm laughter and unending exchange of ridiculous adventures and conversations. Despite this, you couldn’t ignore the slight hint that it felt different that night, like something was bothering Aymeric and he was trying his best to hide it. 

The following morning has been more forgiving, the blizzard finally coming to a halt. You were thankful for the shelter for last night but did not think of bothering Ser Aymeric in his slumber, thinking that this may be only one of those rare days where he gets a complete rest. You bid farewell to his manservant and asked that he pass on your regards to Ser Aymeric for his generosity. 

Today, you decided to fulfill your promise. You looked around the city as you walked towards Providence Point. Your mind instantly wandered to the days when you walked in these places everyday, working to rebuild the Scions and striving to achieve peace for Ishgard. You never really imagined that this city you have grown to call home would now be very different from the first time you were here 

When you arrived at the peak of Providence Point, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You stared at Haurchefant’s gravestone and let your thoughts fill your mind. It still felt hard for you to have lost such a great friend. Visiting this place had always made you emotional and oblivious of your surroundings, so you did not notice the arrival of another person. 

“I knew you would be here.” 

You immediately looked behind you.

“Ser Aymeric!,” you exclaimed, feeling surprised and at the same time confused. 

Aymeric strided to stand closer to you. “I would not deny that I was rather surprised to learn from my manservant that you had already left the manor. I was hoping to bid farewell to you personally given that I rarely get the chance to see you nowadays,” he said. He paused a little before adding, “I also wanted to share a few thoughts of mine to you.”

You slightly tilted your head in confusion but nonetheless urged him to continue. 

“I had debated whether I was ready to say these to you last night, and decided to go with the contrary. But I realized that naught will be expected to happen if I do not gain the courage to do this,” Aymeric started. 

“For quite some time, I have been reflecting on my rather irresponsible actions in the past,” he continued. “In my desire to bring about change in Ishgard and end the lies that our nation has long believed in, I have put the lives of those around me in grave danger. I am utterly ashamed and angry that my inattention and tactlessness led Haurchefant into his untimely demise and you had to bear with the loss of a good friend. I try to make up for these mistakes by continuing to strive for the betterment of our nation, that one day I may repay the sacrifices of our friends and comrades, and of course, to you, who has made all of this possible. I pray that you may one day learn to forgive me, my dear friend.”

He looked down for a brief moment, and looked back into your eyes. “I also pray that I will be able to make up for my shortcomings to you personally, who has suffered difficulties in your time here. It is my intention to do all that I can to support you in all your adventures.”

His words were a surprise to you. You did not know that he was harboring all these thoughts and emotions.  

“I-,” you started, but paused as you realized you did not really know how to respond. 

Instead of expectantly gazing at you for a response, his lips curled into a smile and his warm eyes stared at you ever so kindly. “Pray do not feel the pressure to say anything. I  bared all of these to you as I feel comfortable around you. These thoughts have been in my mind and I thought I needed to let it all out. Thank you, my friend, for listening. I apologize as well if I may have disrupted your peaceful visit to Haurchefant today.”

You took a deep breath. “No, Ser Aymeric. I thank you for trusting me as someone you could confide in. I appreciate that you are able to share these personal thoughts to someone else as these can get overwhelming at times.” 

“I am lucky to be able to call you a good friend, Ser Aymeric, that you are ever apt to welcome me whenever I visit home, Ishgard,” you said. “Additionally, my invitation for you to join my adventures is still up, if you would oblige in the future,” you continued. 

The two of you stood there in peaceful silence, looking at the wilting flowers by Haurchefant’s grave and regretting that none of you remembered to bring fresh ones. 

It was a peaceful day. It was the beginning of a new adventure for you outside of Ishgard, and a new day for the Lord Commander to lead his people.

It was time to leave the city again, but Ishgard is your home, and Aymeric could not wait for you to return home.