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redwayfarers · 6 months

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(you) restless son

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Nika/Artoirel Characters: Nika Perseis (WoL), Artoirel de Fortemps, Minfilia Warde (mentioned) Rating: Mature (direct references to sex, though the scene is fade to black) Words: 1795 Spoilers: Heavensward spoilers read on ao3

Nika’s visits to Ishgard have been few and far between recently, but every time he does go there, he makes sure to go straight to the Fortemps manor. It’s become something of a home, if you can count the presence of the few people he’s bonded with in this whole frozen hellhole. He hasn’t had a home in a long while, least of all in a person. It’s a strange feeling and something entirely too tender for Nika’s harsh hands, but it settled under his skin and it’s not going anywhere.

He can’t complain all that much, really, when it affords him unlimited access to Artoirel. He likes Emmanellain just fine, and Edmont makes for a nice dinner buddy when he isn’t being a horrible parent to his sons. But Artoirel is the heart of that whole oversized house for Nika; it’s his face rising amidst everyone else that makes his shoulders relax and his jaw unclench. When did he clench his jaw so much anyway? And more importantly, why is he noticing that?

No matter. What matters is that time after he settles in his room, after he eats dinner, or lunch, or whenever he happened to burst upon their door like a cannonball, when he and Artoirel go to the grand salon with the big piano, drinks in hand, and find comfortable places on one of the couches. What matters is the way Artoirel loosens his collar, opens his throat up a little, and Nika can’t help but look at the way it bobs ever so slightly under his gaze.

“Do I have something on my… throat?” Artoirel asks, confused, red in the face, and Nika looks at the glass in his hand.

“No,” he says and rubs the side of his neck. “I just think you look better without the cravat.”

“Such are the fashions of Ishgard, Nika.”

“Fuck the fashions of Ishgard, Artoirel.” Nika looks at his own shirt, open at the front, and the length of his white boots. Artoirel follows suit; his eyes linger on the exposed skin of Nika’s chest. “Some of them, anyway.”

“Not all of us can make that shirt look good,” Artoirel comments quietly. “You and Lord Stephanivien, perhaps. As for myself? The cravates are that much presentable.”

“Bah, you’re too prim and proper.” Nika puts a foot down. The heels echo in the otherwise silent room like a battle trumpet. It may be the drink he’s had, but his next words come out offensively shamelessly. “I like the way your collarbones look.”

Artoirel huffs amicably and shakes his head. “You may look at them as you please, then,” he replies, though his voice is colored by something Nika doesn’t dare name.

“Thank you for the permission.” Nika says as he downs the rest of his drink and pours himself another glass. “I will now proceed to indulge myself. At the grand piano, of course. Why would we go in the grand salon if not to play the fucking piano?”

“I did want to show you a composition I have been working on in my leisure time,” Artoirel says. He sounds almost uncertain, half the size he usually is on the battlefield, or in the political arena of Ishgard. “What?”

“You’re afraid I’m gonna hate it or something? Is that why you sound like you’re a kid meeting your idol for the first time?”

Artoirel laughs in disbelief. “Nika, do you realize even an inkling of what weight your opinion carries? You are the Warrior of Light, the slayer of Nidhogg. You rode into Ishgard on a dragon - the first individual to have done so in history. You are one of Eorzea’s best living bards. Compared to you, I am but playing pretend.”

Nika blinks. “Didn’t wanna be that hero you bring up,” he says. “If it was up to me, I’d be playing my little lute and singing about other people. But no, Minfilia had to use my arrow shooting prowess to kill a primal or two and now here I am.” The thought sticks to his skin even though he vehemently tries shaking it away. His heart aches for Minfilia still; the love he’s nursed for her feeds into his bloodstream. His knees will forever ache from kneeling at her feet, and the memories of her soft voice and gentle smiles and kind eyes will nurse them back to health.

But recently, in the midst of all the grief he wears around his neck like a collar, he’s found it in himself to be angry at her. Angry she didn’t stop sending him when he asked her to. Angry she kissed his tears away only to send him off to his potential death afterwards. Angry she never told him, no, stop loving me, not until she fucking died and stayed in the aether, and he had to go see fucking Hydaelyn herself just so he could hear it.

Artoirel does nothing of the sort. If anything, Nika feels like he’s stringing him along, pulling at his heart that wants nothing more than Nika’s presence. Artoirel never asked him to be the hero. Everything since he’s arrived in Ishgard has been Nika’s choice. Any hurt he feels about that shit he can lay at his own feet and use it to cut open his heart again.

Nika drowns the entirety of his glass in one chug. “You give yourself too little credit,” he says. “Too fucking little.” He curls a hand around Artoirel’s slender shoulders to run his fingers over those biteable collarbones.

“Nika,” Artoirel goes to stand up just as Nika’s hand bends around his shoulders, and the height difference makes Nika take a step forward and his hand slides down to Artoirel’s waist. He holds it anyway.

“Let’s go play the piano,” Nika says. His voice is gruff, stuffed to the brim with need and anger and yearning and the drunkenness of the whiskey and the warmth of Artoirel’s skin. “Let’s go play the fucking piano or I’m pinning you down on these overpriced floor covers.”

Artoirel’s mouth opens and the tips of his ears burn bright red. His hand folds in a fist and he tries to look down, avoid Nika’s eyes, but the fact he’s tall as all fuck bites him in the ass so hard that he just ends up looking where he didn’t want to. Or did he want to? He shifts his body closer to Nika’s, hip to waist, and Nika’s fingers play over his shirt.

“There’s a story,” he says. “I know of someone who supposedly had sex with her lovers in her grand salon and over the piano, specifically. That poor piano, I’d thought. Of course, I don’t normally follow that kind of rumor, but I’d overheard it and it stayed with me.”

“Piano sex? What happened to walls, floors, or even good old fashioned beds?” Nika feels his face burn. Must be the drink, he thinks, even if he has to admit that Artoirel’s words are only making whatever need that’s already been here stronger. He doesn’t even know what Artoirel’s lips feel like, but he does know he wants to kiss them, and that Artoirel wants to kiss him too.

It’s just never been this direct! Nika blames the whiskey, the open shirt, those delicious looking collarbones, Minfilia’s memory, Ishgard itself. He knows what it feels like - Estinien’s hands on his skin are a refreshed memory - but this is Artoirel; his Artoirel, the way Minfilia was never his, his to spend time with, his to kiss, his to enjoy, his to listen to him laugh. His to make Nika’s heart beat and warm up faster than any fire would.

“I suppose she has had enough of those options by that point,” Artoirel shrugs, but his cheeks are still red, his hair’s in disarray, his lips are slightly parted, thin and pink, and those fucking collarbones are still taunting Nika like it’s their one job.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Nika replies, as if that makes any sense to the prior conversation. “And I want to kiss you so, so badly.”

“I would very much like to kiss you too,” Artoirel replies, holding onto the edges of his self-control. Nika can feel his fingers ghost over the skin of his jaw and takes a deep breath not to groan from the way it sends sparks down his spine. The knowledge Artoirel wants him just as badly, right now, makes his belly tighten. “May I?”

“Yes,” Nika breathes and Artoirel’s facing him, tall, relaxed, hair a dark halo around his head. His eyes are impossibly wide, impossibly big, and Nika rises on his tip toes and wraps himself around Artoirel’s body, like he was made to be here. Maybe he was. Maybe he was made to share breath with Artoirel de Fortemps for torturously long moments before their lips meet, maybe he was made to bury his fingers in his hair and pull him down on the couch. His body soars and he’s shaking with need and his heart beats wildly in his chest.

And when their tongues touch, Nika claws at Artoirel’s back. I’m going to fuck this man tonight, he thinks, and it feels brash and crude but he can’t help himself. Artoirel moans into the kiss, and it only serves to make Nika’s skin even tighter.

“I wanna fuck you,” Nika says between kisses, pulls on Artoirel’s hair. “Stop me if you need to, fuck, Artoirel, I want to bite your chest, and I want to make you feel good, I want–”

“Yes,” Artoirel breathes out. His body’s shaking beneath Nika’s touch and Nika peppers his face with small kisses. “I want that too–”

“Glad we agree,” Nika replies and steals the rest of his sentence in a deep kiss. Artoirel’s hand wraps around Nika’s waist but Nika uses the leverage to drag him beneath him and settle on his hips. From this angle, he looks even better. A prim and proper lord, commander of men, count de Fortemps, beneath him, already hard, messy from kisses, and Nika can’t help but groan. It’s not like he’s any better himself. He then leans down and kisses him softly, the way he never got to kiss Minfilia.

But she isn’t here, is she? It’s just him and Artoirel, alive, in the flesh. And it’s an aching flesh, and Nika wants to kiss it senseless, and he wants to keep him close, keep him warm, safe, wants to make him happy and make him laugh.

“Artoirel,” Nika says, because he can’t say anything else. And Artoirel kisses him back, presses his hands against Nika’s back, and somehow, he feels like he got the message just fine.

Just like that, the rest of the world falls away.

#ffxiv #inspo birb has come to town #nika perseis #artoirel de fortemps #wolship #wol x artoirel #wol #warrior of light #hyur wol #ffxiv fic #ffxiv fanfic #now that housekeeping is done:#baby's first non-fluff is out to public pls be kind to me #this isn't smut but it's close #these two have eaten my braincells so this came to be #also not me posting at weird times. sad #heavensward spoilers #nika x artoirel #wolartoirel

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redwayfarers · 1 month

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vanilla gpose challenge ◇ npc

there are two great loves of nika's life. minfilia was the first. when he came to the scions, aimless and lonely, he stuck by her, because who wouldn't? who would look at her and think she's not worth the devotion? nika had just started his 20s, with a fresh scar on his face from a blow he took for a beloved friend, and minfilia offered a place to stay, a place to be useful, a place to maybe build something. and he fell in love, as one does, though his love was sadly one-sided, and minfilia never hesitated to use it to the advantage of scions and eorzea, often to much anguish to nika himself. but he allowed her. because being useful to her was enough. because he wasn't really made for anything else, was he? a bard to sing, a bowman to shoot, a knight to serve his lady. artoirel came in nika's life in what's arguably its most painful period yet. even if nika secretly thought his jaded, angry, grieving self would turn artoirel off, it did not. both are stuck with titles they have complex feelings for; both grew up parentless and lonely; it didn't matter that artoirel far outranked nika in ishgard for a time, nor did it matter that nika was an outsider. a knight lives to serve, true, but here they stood on equal ground, they spoke a common language. they found a life companion in each other, and eventually, a husband. he will love minfilia always, but he will always remember the way his love for her hurt. and he will sometimes be angry with artoirel, their prides will sometimes butt heads, but in the end, he knows that he's happy with him, and that love, for once, doesn't have to hurt. there are, after all, two great loves of his life.

#ffxiv #nero plays ffxiv #gpose #nika perseis #minfilia warde #artoirel de fortemps #nika x minfilia #nika x artoirel #wolfilia #wolartoirel #wolship #vanillagpose24 #ffxivvanilla24 #vanilla gpose #ffxiv wol #hyur wol #this had to be out i'm so sorry #i know the first week didn't end but i had to #i was vibrating about this

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redwayfarers · 10 days

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Let there be damage ensued and tabloid news In that kind of love

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redwayfarers · 12 days

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early heavensward nikartoirel simulator

#ffxiv #nero plays ffxiv #gpose #nika perseis #artoirel de fortemps #wolartoirel #wolship #nika x artoirel #ffxiv gpose #ff14 gpose #ffxiv wol #hyur wol #i spent the last two hours of my life giving artoirel the middle finger so now you will see it #sorry for spamming. i am just having so much fun and nobody to show these to lmao #should've been ass grab then this but these turned out better #can you believe they're in love? yeah me too

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redwayfarers · 3 months

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AFFRONT

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Nika/Artoirel Characters: Nika Perseis (WoL), Artoirel de Fortemps, Lucretia Fiore, Mina Fiore Rating: Gen Word count: 1696 Spoilers: minor StB spoilers. part 2 - read on ao3 divider by @saradika

He’d been warned, of course, how difficult this would be. Nika is far from an easy man to get along with on the best of days, let alone in what appears to be the worst state he’s found himself in as of recent history, mentally and physically. He’d been warned, yet he’d insisted, because he couldn’t simply watch as they organised the transport to Ishgard and not offer to help. He couldn’t watch as they carted Nika, fragile and unconscious, away to the hands of Ishgardian chirurgeons, and away from his vigilant eye.

So he bartered. He told his father it was securing Eorzea’s future if he stayed in Ishgard, by Nika’s side, overseeing his recovery. Maybe he even expected pride in his father's eye for the foresight. He found agreement, but little else.

Artoirel knows it’s not becoming of him anymore. He knows, yet finds it necessary to justify his actions to his father. Securing Eorzea’s future seems to matter more than the heart of one’s son almost breaking at his lover almost dying. His father has even taken upon himself to bring Nika’s mothers from Limsa, as an additional pair of eyes.

He wonders if his own father would share the same relief. For Haurchefant, certainly. For Emmanellain, perhaps. But for Artoirel? The fact he has to wonder at all speaks much more than any answer could.

But he has bigger things to worry about, such as the hurt in his chest at Nika’s shame-fueled anger that had nowhere to go but to Artoirel. He knows it’s not personal, he even understands the impulse, and yet, his eyes prickle with tears he can’t shed. Relief comes when Nika’s mother rushes in, looks between them and just signals for Artoirel to go.

Ordinarily, he would’ve been insulted. As it stands, he takes the direction and leaves, though he stops to watch Nika stifle a scream in his mother’s neck. Artoirel hardly remembers what his mother’s hugs felt like. He cannot seem to recall a recent one from his father, either.

If his insides were a battlefield, they would signal a lost battle.

Artoirel turns away and walks briskly to his office. He contains any sniffling, and his eyes burn with the effort of holding back tears, but the few gazes he does notice linger. It makes shame burn bright - he’s their lord now - so he picks up the pace and closes the door loudly behind him. Only then does he crumple, halfway across the room to his desk, and the stain of tears follows him as he sits and hides his face in his palms.

And he cries. He cries, and cries, and cries, cries even as his pride begs him to stop and reason demands he does. It all hits him like bricks, one at the time: Nika’s harsh words, barely audible through tears, that sickening feeling of emptiness and resentment when he thinks of his father, the sight of Nika crying in his mother’s arms and the absence of his own. He feels his hands shake and realizes he’s shaking from head to toe, and cries even harder, because he’s failing his duty.

Halone save him, he’s failing his duty. He’s responsible for Nika now, and he should be there, in that fucking room, take the yelling with grace, and he should be grateful he’s alive at all to scream at him, not run away–

The door slides open and Artoirel’s blood runs cold.

“I came to– oh, you’re crying,” a female voice says and he raises his eyes. She sounds genuinely empathetic, which makes him dig his nails into his palms.

“Madam, I apologize you had to–” he starts, but he hates how his shaken voice sounds. The woman huffs. “If you could just wait for a moment–”

“That kind of crying isn’t about to disappear in a moment,” she says quietly and Artoirel slumps in his chair. “It’s all good, though. Crying’s normal. Didn’t know you Ishgardians are so uppity about it.”

He wipes his eyes and looks at her. She’s tall enough to be a Highlander, and her hair is dark and short. She’s dressed in an oversized, woolen coat, and in the dim light of the room, her eyes appear to be two smothering pools of darkness. He suddenly recalls where he knows her from. It’s one of Nika’s mothers.

“Madam Perseis, I do not.. I do not ordinarily cry before guests,” he says by way of apology.

“Ain’t a Perseis. Nor a madam.” Great. Now he feels incompetent, ashamed and stupid. “Name’s Lucretia Fiore. I hope my own son’s mentioned me once or twice.”

“Once or twice,” Artoirel cautiously replies and sniffles. “Shamefully little. He’s never mentioned that your surname is Fiore.”

Lucretia sighs. “Gods know how little he told you about anything else, then.”

“I still don’t know what happened to his father, if it’s any consolation, and we have been courting for months now, and have been friends for longer.”

Lucretia stares. “When he’s less likely to bite my head off, I will have a word with him about it.” She walks over and uncrosses her hands from her chest. “You’re a lord or something, yeah? Is it okay if I skip the titles and just call you what your name is?”

“A count,” he corrects and throws his head back against the chair. Not that he’s worthy of the title in this state, anyway. “But please, do not refer to me as such. It’s hardly earned.”

“That’s how aristocracy works, I think.”

“It is not a just system, necessarily. Artoirel is enough.” He shrugs. “It is my name.”

“Good.” Lucretia points towards a nearby seat and he nods. “Just came to say sorry on Nika’s behalf and that he’ll come around. It’s not your fault he almost got himself killed. You didn’t deserve the anger he poured on you earlier.”

“I am responsible for him now,” Artoirel replies. “For the time being, I should say. For his care. I have seen people.. Do unjust things in their rage, and there should be someone there to listen to that rage.” He pauses. “Not a.. superior. A caretaker.”

“Very noble of you,” Lucretia says. “But what happens when caretakers get overwhelmed? Taking care of people is hard. Taking care of Nika is even harder. Give yourself a breather when you need it.”

He simply sucks air in and massages his hands. His head feels full of lead, a heavy pull that drags down to his chest. There is no ‘breather’ when you are responsible. There is no ‘breather’ when you have a duty, towards one’s country, one’s family, and one’s lover. A part of him notes that Nika’s failed in honoring the one he has towards his family.

But when has Nika ever cared for such things? He disapproves, of course, but Nika’s offense feels lesser than his own. In fact, he might as well have not had a single bad thought in his entire life. It’s a lie, of course. But Artoirel has no strength to grapple with moral qualms right now.

“He will come around,” Lucretia repeats. “He’s like his mother, says shit he doesn’t mean, does shit he doesn’t mean. He also has her tendency of running away, but something tells me he won’t run away from this one. I won’t let him.”

“He does resemble her,” Artoirel whispers. The image of them, side by side, comes into sharp focus; the same dark skin, black hair, the same full lips, the same prominent nose. Nika looks so alike to his mother that there is no question that they share blood. But she lacks the scar, and her eyes are the same brown and warm, whereas his are mismatched and sharp.

There was no sharpness when he crumpled in her arms, though, only anguish. Artoirel recalls his own mother and wonders if his features keep anything from hers anymore or he’s entirely Edmont’s son. He’d been told that he had his mother’s face as a child. But since then he’s grown, and the fullness of his cheeks has been replaced by sharpness.

But round though it may have been, his mother’s face could still be as cold as his father’s. Cold enough to whisper in his ear that he should reject Haurchefant, cold enough to convince him of it. Cold enough to leave an emptiness when she died. She was only ever truly happy when she played music.

But both she and Haurchefant are dead. Her hatred does not matter anymore. Artoirel blinks tears away. Lucretia is watching him, gentle, and it makes him want to cry even more.

“Do you need a hug?” she asks, and her voice is low and akin to a soft wave. She places a tentative hand on his arm. Artoirel doesn’t recall his parents’ hugs.

His pride rebels, naturally. But this whole situation is ridiculous enough as is and his head feels as if it’s about to burst from the pressure of recent events. He thinks of Nika in the other room, his sharp words play in Artoirel’s head in a loop, but he cannot find it in him to be angry. He thinks of his father calling Aymeric his son, without a word in Artoirel’s direction, but he cannot find it in him to be angry about this, either.

All he can do is endure and hope it goes away, like any duty-bound son of Ishgard would.

“I do, actually,” he says at last, and Lucretia shuffles until she wraps her arms around him, and Artoirel melts against her and this time, he doesn’t bother to hide his tears.

Because all he can do is endure, and maybe, enduring does not have to mean being strong at all times.

What an odd notion. He’ll take it anyway.

#ffxiv #inspo birb has come to town #nero plays ffxiv #nika perseis #artoirel de fortemps #nika x artoirel #wolartoirel #wol x artoirel #ffxiv writing #ffxiv fic #ffxiv wol #stormblood spoilers #house keeping done: please look at my little art study #do note that half of the relationships here are my hcs and interpretations #i find him so fascinating though. and squenix isn't feeding me #so i make my own lore #this is too niche-y i'd say but hey it's out

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redwayfarers · 5 months

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nika & romance

thinking abt that alia + romance thing @lavampira did and as it would seem that today is nika romance day (since it's all i can think about) so i'm taking inspo, i hope you don't mind <3

silvairre

minor crush back when he was in gridania. nothing truly exceptional. they're not really in contact anymore, although they bump shoulders sometimes.

minfilia

first love. when nika first joined the scions, he was largely aimless, aside from wanting new materials for his songs; minfilia gave him a sense of purpose, even if the key part - part where he too deeply cares for eorzea and does this out of selflessness - didn't really show up. they became friends, and eventually nika fell in love, though minfilia never really returned his feelings. instead, he was glad to simply serve wherever she sent him, and that was enough. her happiness was enough. unfortunately, by the end, nika started feeling used, yet nurtured his love for her for long enough to swallow his feelings on the matter.

his feelings may have even become more intense simply because he knew, deep down, that he had no chances with her. he never tried anything, never bothered her about it, it just floated unresolved for years before her death. she's still a sore spot, and he isn't really sure whether he will ever entirely finish grieving for her, even if he allows himself some measure of anger she left behind. but hey, what is grief if not love persevering? there is no world in which nika does not love minfilia, in whatever capacity.

lyse

a small crush that would have been if there wasn't artoirel. a love that would've gone very sour, very quickly. best left at a single hookup.

artoirel

another case of nika catching feelings for someone he can't, initially, have. nika's equal in a lot of respects; honest to a fault, not very nice, competent yet reserved. nika doesn't begrudge artoirel for trying to get him killed at first. there's a lot of ease in accepting each other, faults and good qualities, between them. artoirel, thus, began to feel like a certain safety. they bonded greatly over their shared love of music and their shared grief for haurchefant. artoirel doesn't ask anything of nika the same way minfilia did, nor does nika himself look for a superior, even though artoirel outranks him by far. to him, artoirel's rank isn't something that matters all that much, just as nika's status as the warrior of light doesn't matter to artoirel after a while.

instead, what they end up being for each other is a partner and an equal, because brothers doesn't quite cut it. it's the one place in this star where nika doesn't have to be the warrior of light, where he can simply be himself, and vice versa, where artoirel isn't the count de fortemps. they're just two guys of equal yet opposite vibes, and at some point, they allied to try and make sense of their respective lots in life. sense is nowhere in sight, but they're too bound together to undo that alliance now. at least they have each other's company on the road.

#nero plays ffxiv #nika perseis #nika x minfilia #nika x artoirel #wolship #wol x minfilia #wol x artoirel #minfilia warde #artoirel de fortemps #not commenting on lyse and silvairre bc they're simply in passing. reverie. envy. 'do i wanna be him or fuck him.'#but they should be mentioned #would've mentioned estinien but that's for a nika & friendship post #there are no romantic feelings between nika and estinien #and a lot of interesting contrasts between his relationships with thancred and estinien respectively #how he idolizes thancred in his youth and then accepts estinien as he is when he's a little older #and how all three of them are angry jaded and bitter #gahhh i love nika's relationships with people. esp other men. they're fun to write about #bc he gets along with women just fine as a general statement. if said woman is one of the rare few PEOPLE he likes #but men are a whole other ballgame bc well nika does have a lot of toxic masculinity and one of his major themes is masculinity so

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redwayfarers · 2 months

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defense

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Nika/Artoirel Characters: Nika Perseis (WoL), Artoirel de Fortemps (mentioned), Mina Fiore Rating: Gen Word count: 1516 Spoilers: minor StB spoilers. part 1 - read on ao3 divider by @saradika

The door closes behind her. Admittedly, she never imagined her first introduction to this mysterious Artoirel to be like this; from Nika’s stories, he’s a proud, determined man, reserved but genuine, devoted to a cause. And those things may be true - from the way he stood there, taking Nika’s verbal abuse like a stone figure, betrayed largely by a shaking hand and blinking eyes that try to stave off tears, Mina glimpsed at all those things that her son spoke of that made him look away with a silly little smile on his face.

But this is different, gravely so. She knows something of pride, but she also knows something of pain, and by the Twelve, if Artoirel’s eyes didn’t shine with hurt! The Nika that spoke of his finer qualities is not the same Nika who yells now, draped in a shirt too large for him, holding onto a bedpost for dear life and crying. So Mina sends Artoirel away, wraps her arms around her son and muffles his anger-filled screams in the collar of her shirt.

The same way she did when he was a baby, when he was upset. Rogan was there too, playing with Nika’s hair, trying to get him to calm down. But that was years ago; Rogan is now dead, Nika is no longer a baby, yet Mina holds him all the same.

What else should she do? It’s her child. No mother likes seeing her child in pain. Maybe if Rogan lived, maybe she’d have another, but as fate would have it, she only has Nika now. Really, what else should she do?

It’s later that day, when Nika’s calmed down, that she hears him ask in a quiet, sore, wrecked voice, “Do you think he hates me now?”

Mina shuffles on her feet. She stops brushing his hair for a moment. “Artoirel?”

Nika huffs. “No. His brother in Camp Dragonhead. The dead one.”

Mina squints. Nika’s shoulders droop. “Yeah, Artoirel. I told him… I told him a lot of shit earlier.”

“Quite angrily, too.”

Nika sighs. “Do you think he hates me?” A pause. “I’d hate myself. I’d try to kill me, if I was him. Kick me out of my house and my life.” A pause. “Certainly not love me anymore.”

“I think you hurt him,” Mina says. “And I think you have to apologize to him. But I don’t think he wants you out of his home.”

“But does he love me still?” Nika pushes, and turns sharply to look at her. But the movement is probably too sharp, and his face scrunches in pain.

“You can love someone even if they hurt you,” Mina quietly says. Nika purses his lips and slowly turns away. “Likewise, you can love someone and hurt them at the same time.” She knows all too well the extent of her words. Had life been different, had she maybe been wiser, maybe she wouldn’t have left Ul’dah after Rogan’s death, and wouldn’t have uprooted Nika’s life. Maybe he wouldn’t have run away otherwise - in that same half-baked wisdom that Mina herself had in her times of grief. But the facts remain. Love is not enough. You can have all the love in the world and still it won’t save you the pain if you’re not careful.

“I would kick me out, if I was him,” Nika repeats. He then laughs, but there’s no joy in it. It’s as wrecked as he himself is. “We’re the wrong people to talk about this sort of thing, right, mom?”

Mina blinks. She looks at their reflections in the dresser’s mirror - their similar faces, their dark hair, with hers bearing the signs of age, and his the signs of violence. In the dim light of the dying evening, his eyes shine like Rogan’s once did, whenever he’d feel overwhelmed; a spectacle, a show, bloodshot, puffy. But that’s the only thing Nika has of his father - everything else is of Mina, down to the actions, to their bones, and the proud, uldan marrow. Rogan was of Ul’dah himself, and looked the part, but Mina’s face disappeared in the crowd more easily. He didn’t carry the pride of the city’s inhabitants in quite the same way Nika and Mina do.

“I don’t think so,” she says. “Have I ever talked to you about me and your father, before you were born?”

Nika’s response is quick. “No.” He sounds tired, too tired to make it an accusation it should be.

“I remember we had a big fight one day, right before he was meant to go on a mission,” she swallows a lump in her throat, “and I told him a lot of bad things. I had to sit with them for two weeks, praying he’d return soon so I could say sorry, and when he did, it was all solved. We were hale once more.”

“That sounds like a fucking nightmare,” Nika shivers.

“And Lucretia too - she asked if she could meet you, I told her it was not the time, without consulting either of you, and I hurt her feelings too. But we made up, and she did get to meet you.”

“Was that right before the dinner you broke the news that you were bisexual to me over flatbread?”

Mina buries her face in her hands. Not her finest moment. “I had no idea you knew the word at all. Gods, I didn’t know how to label it myself for a long time.”

“Heard some kids on the street use it,” Nika says softly. “I figured out what it is for the most part on my own. I just..” He trails off.

“Didn’t think I was going to ever be in love with a man?” Mina finishes and Nika nods.

“Listen, when Minfilia died, I thought–” he looks away and rubs his eyes. “The world can go fuck itself for all I care, but I– he–” He shakes his hands around his head and hisses. “He’s my second chance at— at love, and if I ruin it because I’m a jackass–”

“You didn’t!” her voice comes stronger than intended and he looks in the mirror, alert. “If you care about him, and you do, you will apologize, and all will be fine again!”

“How do you know that!”

“Because it’s happened before! To me, to your father, to Lucretia! And it will happen again to all of us, including you and Artoirel! And while there may be things you can’t overcome, a lot of things you can. So just suck it up, go to him once you’ve slept a bit, and say you’re sorry!”

Nika curls in on himself. “Suppose sleep will help,” he murmurs. “My head feels twice its fucking size.”

She ties the braid off and rubs his shoulders. “It will. Go sleep. And remember that this is nothing you two can’t overcome.”

Nika makes a noise she can’t decipher and doesn’t fight it when she helps him up and guides him to the bed that’s far too large for one person. Mina wonders if hers is as big as this for a brief moment, but such thoughts disappear when she feels Nika’s head rest against her shoulder.

“Try not to fall down,” she says quietly, halfway joking, and he blinks.

“How fucking embarrassing,” he replies. “One day I’m shooting at fucking insane Garlean princes, and the other I can’t walk in a straight line to the bed.”

“You almost died,” Mina says. Dread settles in her bones and she looks at him, imagines her son dead and gone, and she holds him a little tighter, to feel the warmth of his skin. “Don’t– Your body needs time to recover from that. You need time to recover from that.”

He’s quiet for a long time. Long enough to get him on the bed, to get him under the woolen covers. Long enough to sit beside him and run a hand down his arm and have him lean into the touch like it’s a gulp of water in the midst of a drought.

“I’m scared, Mom,” he croaks, and buries his head in the pillows. “Gods save me, I’m so scared.”

“It’ll all be fine,” she whispers as she slicks back his hair. It needs washing tomorrow. She then runs a finger over his jaw, where the coarse hairs of a growing beard disappear in the shadows of a bedside candle. It’s as if not a day ago she was helping a child fall asleep, and in the long, painful absences between them, he grew up. He has a beard now, yet it hardly matters.

He’s her son, and that is all that she knows.

“It’ll be fine,” she repeats until his breathing becomes even, and only then does she press a kiss to his forehead, one he’d rarely ordinarily allow.

They may have lost one chance at a relationship, but now they both know that love isn’t enough by itself. And that’s good. Whatever comes out of this, it’ll be better than anything they could’ve had before.

And that is very, very good.

#ffxiv #inspo birb has come to town #nika perseis #mina fiore #artoirel de fortemps #nika x artoirel #wolship #ffxiv writing #wolartoirel #ffxiv fic #ffxiv wol #stormblood spoilers #ff14 wol #wol x artoirel #finally posting this lmaooo #look at it go <3

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redwayfarers · 5 months

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Decembhyur Day 28 - Love

A/N: This is a snippet of a larger piece but not all of it would fit in the conditions of the prompt. So I chose the love confession itself, which is shorter, sweeter, fits the conditions of Decembhyur much better, but I will link the whole piece on ao3 + independently post it on a later date. I just really wanted this scene to be for this prompt, even though it wasn't written with it in mind!

“In Ishgard,” Artoirel starts, “to announce our serious intentions in pursuing someone, we court.” Nika squints. And Artoirel stands before him and swallows again. “Please let me finish, Nika. Ordinarily it would lead to marriage, and ordinarily we would not have slept together beforehand, but this is no ordinary situation. But I do wish to– to court you. To show you I am serious. We don’t have to say anything yet.”

Artoirel reaches for Nika’s hand, yet allows his fingers to dangle in the air. Nika looks down, away, anywhere but Artoirel’s face, and pouts.

“We can just try and see where this leads us,” Artoirel offers softly. “I want to think this meant something for you. I want to think that I mean as much to you as you do to me.”

“You do,” Nika says after a while, almost inaudible. Artoirel’s hands itch to wrap around Nika’s, yet he refrains. Not yet. Not until Nika gives his consent. He will not force his affections on him. Yet, Artoirel can’t look away from the emotions that fight on his face, from the way he trembles. Artoirel trembles too, the patter of his heart drowns all other noise but Nika’s voice, and his stomach ties in innumerable knots.

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity, on the precipice, ready to walk away or fall together. Eventually, Nika lifts his hand. Artoirel squeezes it.

“We can give this courting thing a chance,” Nika says, breathless. “Because, I–we– yeah.”

Artoirel breathes out. “Fury take you, Nika,” he mouths, and kisses him. Nika rises on the tips of his toes and kisses him back, draws him close, and Artoirel holds onto him, his grip strong enough to almost lift him off the ground.

When they part, Nika’s eyes are wide and round, as they were last night. Artoirel’s cheeks burn like a furnace, but he doesn’t care; it’s his first day of courtship, as unusual as it may be. He can’t find it in him to let go of Nika, and if it were up to him, he’d rather see Eorzea aflame than let Nika go to save it.

He knows Nika doesn’t like that anyway.

Frankly, Eorzea doesn’t matter anymore. What does is the way Nika clings to him, and the way his hair smells, and the warmth of his body against Artoirel’s. What matters is them watching the city move about, away from it all, standing by the window together. Together.

The rest of it really does not stand a chance whatsoever.

#ffxiv #nero plays ffxiv #inspo birb has come to town #nika perseis #artoirel de fortemps #nika x artoirel #decembhyur2023 #i'm so normal about them. they're so evenly matched but in opposite directions #and they match each other's vibes so well #like. the way nika doesn't fault artoirel for having tried to kill him.#the way artoirel accepts nika's nature as not that good of a person.#arguably artoirel himself isn't either if we're going by heavensward characterization #bc i've heard it changes. somewhat in the enw caster quests that i won't play for a long long time #if i ever get to any caster class that is.#so like. heavensward!artoirel is what my understanding is based on #*sobs* why'd i have to sell my soul to a guy in npc jail #wolship #wol x artoirel

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redwayfarers · 4 months

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jfc rotating nika and artoirel gently in my head rn, and particularly after they get married, when they're on their honeymoon. because fuck everything else, he deserves a nice little honeymoon. let the guy enjoy his marriage.

they go on a little tour around eorzea, spend some time at the beaches of costa de la sol, where nika mercilessly makes fun (affectionate) of the way artoirel burns in the sun and he does not, for the most part. then again, that same artoirel probably teased nika for freezing his ass off in coerthas.

they're stupidly in love, your honor, even if they come from largely different climates

#nika perseis #nero plays ffxiv #artoirel de fortemps #nika x artoirel #artoirel said he wouldn't doubt nika's abilites again. and he doesn't.#but he also is very much down to make fun of him for not doing so well in coerthas in the field #i love their dynamic so much they're everything to me

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redwayfarers · 6 months

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I am on the bus to uni and having Nika x Artoirel thoughts!!! Namely Nika thinking of him while aiding the rebellion in Gyr Abania and Doma, wanting to show him all those places, thinking he'd melt in the desert with his Ishgardian sensibilities!!

So at some point he drafts letters. He sends some, but the worst offenders are safely kept to himself thank you very much so those he does send end up being.. very out of logical order. He sends letters 3 and 6 but letter six mentions something that happened in letter 4. That Artoirel does not have access to.

Meanwhile in Ishgard, Artoirel is twirling his hair in the evenings when he reads them and very amused and hopelessly endeared to Nika by them

They're so !!!! about this whole having feelings for each other thing and it's so funny to me

#nero plays ffxiv #nika perseis #artoirel de fortemps #nika x artoirel #girl help this ship is eating my soul #and my hcs of art being very.. blind to certain nuances of relations between people are !! to me

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redwayfarers · 4 months

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assigned: unwell, therapy recommended

It’s taken Artoirel a moment to realise how much of a mercy this is. He doesn’t dare interpret it as a sign of care, not quite yet, but he’s grateful nevertheless. Said mothers did warn him about the difficulty of his choice, but he did see the relief in their eyes, knowing that their son has someone steadfast by his side. He wonders if his own father would share the same relief. For Haurchefant, certainly. For Emmanellain, perhaps. But for Artoirel? The fact he has to wonder at all speaks much more than any answer could. But he has bigger things to worry about, such as the hurt in his chest at Nika’s shame-fueled anger that had nowhere to go but to Artoirel. He knows it’s not personal, he even understands the impulse, and yet, his eyes prickle with tears he can’t shed. Relief comes when Nika’s mother rushes in, looks between them and just signals for Artoirel to go. Ordinarily, he would’ve been insulted. As it stands, he takes the direction and leaves, though he stops to watch Nika stifle a scream in his mother’s neck. Artoirel hardly remembers what his mother’s hugs felt like. He cannot seem to recall a recent one from his father, either. If his insides were a battlefield, they would signal a lost battle.

#nika x artoirel #i am so unwell about them.#this is less art and nika and more... artoirel character study #because i yelled about him to a friend #and i am taking ownership of him now idec #he's entering blorbo lands so he needs some Angst TM #and dw nika will apologize even if it kills him

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redwayfarers · 4 months

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jumping on the train w/ my shitty paint editing. but have the boys <3

templates by @junnie133

#nero plays ffxiv #nika perseis #artoirel de fortemps #nika x artoirel #i'm sorry they're eating my braincells and i had to this was so cute #struggled w/ art's sexuality a bit. i don't think he's bi (although maybe?) and i do think he's mostly been into women until nika waltzed #into his life #so is he bisexual? is he heteroflexible? or is he simply catholic? we will never know #that joke will never not be funny #i wish i was half as funny abt it #also that updog thing.#artoirel says it in the most uncomfortable way known to man and nika stares him down like “say that again and we're getting a divorce”#even though everyone knows nobody's getting divorced #and yes nika is big spooning his 6'7 boyfriend!! its the law he has to do it #wolartoirel

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redwayfarers · 5 months

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so i mentioned a bridgerton AU for nika and artoirel and uh,,, it kinda broke my writer's block so i wrote a thing. self indulgent, as fics go. ignore the historical inaccuracies, glaring though they may be.

The gentlemen’s club is full. Of course, there was a good reason for that; as a frequenter of the clubs himself, Nika fully understands the appeal of such places, where you meet men of your rank, drink, gossip like you would in drawing rooms, but with less rigidity around it all. And this particular club, situated at the very periphery of the fashionable part of town, housed one of Nika’s favorite places to settle when he was in the mood for observation. The chairs are always awfully comfortable and the drink is of superb quality, and not to mention their black teas. Sometimes, after a performance at the court, he’d go here to listen to the impressions. All delightfully positive, which soothed Nika’s ego like little else.

Now, though, he has a mission of critical fucking importance. This club was the only place he could think of as he tried to run away from calls from a particularly adamant mother who wants musically inclined grandkids. So he tasked his own mother with fending her off, with a half strangled, ‘I do not wish to marry her fucking daughter’ and off he was, to the only place he knew he was more or less safe, to the only place where he could slump in the chair and nobody would bat an eye.

Who the fuck knew that fending off sharklike marriage connoisseurs would be so tiring?

Unfortunately for him, when he ran towards the table at the back with semi-appropriate haste, he found the seat had already been taken, by none other than the new Count de Fortemps. He’s equally taken a chance to tiredly slump, and is now drinking small sips of port. The delicate glass fits his long fingers, Nika thinks. The details on the glass is almost as pristine as the perfect roundness of his short nails; he crosses his legs, as if to showcase the brilliant shine of his black shoes and his long legs. The low lighting of a nearby lamp makes the sharpness of his face stand out, and in the warmth of it, his blue eyes gleam with relief of finally having a moment to himself.

Too bad Nika’s mean enough to disturb it. He deserves it, the handsome bastard. “That is my spot,” Nika says. Artoirel straightens immediately and squints.

“There is not your name written anywhere here, Lord Perseis.” Artoirel shakes his glass. He looks at Nika beneath dark eyelashes. “Therefore, I am permitted to sit here. Am I not a paying customer of this fine establishment?”

“You are, but you can be a paying customer on another seat. Your money’s going in the same pocket.” Nika crosses his arms. He will not allow anyone else, regardless of how pleasing to the eye they might be, to sit in his place.

“As is yours,” Artoirel quips and raises his chin. Nika stares him down. “Is there anything I can help you with, Lord Perseis?”

“You can move from– You know what, my lord? Nevermind. But I’m going to sit here–” Nika points at the chair opposite of the one Artoirel’s currently occupying, “and annoy you with my presence when you so very obviously wish to be alone.” He promptly throws himself on the seat. “You Ishgardians are another breed of person, I swear.”

He’s breaking a hundred social protocols, but he doesn’t care. He never did. Not now, when there’s a pretty bastard on his seat, and he has to wait for the offending matron to be successfully evicted from the manor premises. Artoirel’s steely gaze would make anyone uncomfortable, but not Nika. Oh no, not Nika.

“I concur,” Artoirel then adds, quietly. “Especially persistent mamas who would like to see their children married off.”

Nika blinks, but before he can react, the waiter comes over. “Brandy,” he orders, and turns his attention back to Artoirel. “They’re trying to marry you off too?”

“There is nobody to marry me off but myself, my lord. However, other people of rank seem to think they ought to be related to a Count.” He rubs his temples. “I, for one, am not willing to marry just yet. But alas.”

“Ah,” Nika takes a sip of his brandy. “People also seem to think they ought to be related to a musician.”

“And there is no stopping the tide,” Artoirel finishes, with the same misery as before. “‘Twould seem we share a struggle.”

“At the moment, no,” Nika throws his head back and sighs. He watches Artoirel - the dark pink of his lips, pressed in a thin line, the strands of black hair that fall around his face in a tamed wave, the high points of his cheekbones. I wouldn’t mind being seen with him, Nika thinks. This serious expression suits him. Although, he would probably look just as good if he smiled more.

No, I wouldn’t mind it at all.

Nika jerks upright. “We both have the same issue, my good count,” he starts. “And I may have a solution.”

“If you are suggesting we run to Coerthas and live in a small cabin, thus never seeing a soul ever again, which Lord Stephanivien has told me at some point, I shall promptly turn you down.”

Nika frowns. “No! What I meant to say was we pretend to be betrothed. That is the problem - people preying on our lack of current romantic lives, right? So we simply pretend we have them, with each other, we walk sometimes around the gardens and go to some operas and people leave us alone.”

“That.. is not a horrible plan,” Artoirel says after a thought. “And after a while, we break it off, once everyone else has understood that we are to be left alone.”

“Yes! Like that! We both win!” Nika grins. Finally! A solution that might work! No more annoying nobles, throwing their children at him! At long last, he’ll have peace, music and fame!

“If we are both in agreement,” Artoirel says with all the seriousness in the world, “when would you find it appropriate for me to ask your mother for your hand in marriage?”

Uh oh. I wouldn’t mind being seen with him.

Uh oh.

#nero plays ffxiv #inspo birb has come to town #bridgerton au #nika perseis #artoirel de fortemps #nika x artoirel #ffxiv #i am so sorry. i tried not to do full research for regency drinks and titles.#art was this close to being a duke and nika was this close to being an earl #but hey. this was fun to write! i missed writing fr #wolartoirel

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redwayfarers · 5 months

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(you) restless son - continued

Fandom: FFXIV Ship: Nika/Artoirel Characters: Nika Perseis (WoL), Artoirel de Fortemps Word count: 1533 Rating: Teen Note: Part two to this. Snippet was posted to Decembhyur. Here's the whole thing which, if I may say, is quite charming too.

Somehow, possibly through Fury’s grace alone, one of them had enough wherewithal to suggest moving from the salon’s opulent settees to have sex. The source of the proposal disappeared in the larger scope of the night’s events. Desperate kisses in the hallways that were suddenly too long for Artoirel’s liking, Nika’s surprised oh when Artoirel finally slammed the door shut behind them and kissed him with all the passion he had in his body mattered much more than who’d spoken the words first.

Although, Artoirel thinks in the morning, it would’ve been so terribly entertaining if it was Nika. Reckless as the man is, maybe he does care about the Fortemps manor’s furniture. Even if he recalls how often Nika calls just about anything in the house overpriced. The furniture speaks of refined taste in Artoirel’s view, but Nika did not grow up in luxury. He speaks so little of his early life, but he’s said enough to suggest as much.

Artoirel would’ve been annoyed with anyone else for such words, but there is no point arguing with Nika on it. It is what it is.

Ironically enough, he is quick enough to cover himself in Artoirel’s fur coat on a mildly cold Ishgardian morning. It drags on the ground behind him as he sips his coffee by the window, a stark contrast against his white boots and the small pink cup in his hand. And yet, his hair blends with the darkness of the fur around the neck of the coat. Nika’s face sometimes breaks into a small, shy smile, only to disappear as soon as he notices Artoirel looking from his desk and later come again. It’s like he cannot contain it, try as hard as he might.

Nika looks different like this, younger. He looks younger than he usually does, scowling and disinterested. Now, he resembles a young man - which he is, even if Artoirel isn’t old , for fuck’s sake. It’s as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders for a little while, and in Artoirel’s big coat, with messy hair and a brightness in his eyes, Nika makes him want to come over and pull him to his chest, breathe in the scent of his hair and guard that private moment nobody really gets to see.

And he almost does, when the realization dawns on him. There is chaos around Nika at all times, but it’s of a dangerous sort, one word away from breaking someone’s heart or attacking. This chaos, though, feels like winter's first tentative snowflake. And it fell into Artoirel’s hands. His chest warms up. Not that long ago, he wanted Nika dead. Now, he’s rejoicing in Nika’s small pleasures and whatever domesticity a chronic evader like him can have.

“Why are you looking at me?” Nika suddenly asks. He’s looking deeply into the contents of his cup.

“We have seen each other naked, Nika. Am I not allowed to look at you while clothed?” Artoirel leans against the table. His cheeks burn a little, from embarrassment and happiness both, and taps his nails against the surface in a rhythm.

“‘M not talking about that,” Nika mumbles. “Also, that’s a very good beat.” He starts tapping against the porcelain in tandem. “That’s the song you wanted to show me last night?”

“Yes. Of course, wood and porcelain are bad replacements for an actual instrument, but yes.” Artoirel clears his throat.

“You’d be surprised what you can do with wood and porcelain. Not everyone’s fancy enough to have a grand piano.” Nika smiles. “Besides, it’s fun. I used to play with my mom’s pots like that when I was a kid. Before she’d take them away and shake a finger at me. ‘I need those to make lunch, Nika!’ ‘But we can eat music!’ Can we eat music, Artoirel? Can we eat music?”

“Does.. spirit eat music? And literature, theatre, painting, and other arts?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who grew up with those stupidly pretty Halonic chants. Me, I’m just a little bard of Gridanian tradition. The fact I have a magical voice is a side benefit.”

“We have to go to the theatre sometime, Nika. Since you’re in Ishgard, you might as well enjoy the culture. I think an exception will be made for your hats, too.” Artoirel laughs, but Nika’s giggle echoes around the room.

“Oh no, not the hats! I would have burned this whole place down ages ago if it discriminated against my hats!”

Nika’s voice sounds young, Artoirel suddenly thinks. Young and happy. He looks him over, from the oversized coat, the high boots, the cup in his hand, the unbrushed mess of his hair, and the way sunlight hits his eyes differently, bright and creased around the edges. His scar creases, as well, around his nose and spreads to give way to a smile.

Artoirel’s chest feels tight and warm. There have been few times in his life where he’s felt like this. He recalls a then unmarried countess he had had a mind to court some years ago, of a striking beauty; she had a birthmark on her cheek, and he’d longed to kiss it someday. Nika’s scar is less graceful than the countess’ birthmark, but Artoirel wants to kiss it all the same. He wants to have Nika’s hand around his arm, by his side. He wants to kiss his hands, even if they are not gentle. Nika would laugh at flowers, but does one give flowers when courting a man?

How does one court a man anyway? And more importantly, how does Artoirel de Fortemps court Nikita Perseis?

“You’re doing it again,” Nika says. “Looking at me so intensely. Like I’m.. Like you’re in love with me, or something.” He laughs, awkwardly. “Are you in love with me, Artoirel?”

Artoirel purses his lips and looks away. He stands up and runs a finger over the surface of the desk. “I am fond of you, yes. That much is obvious.”

“Being fond and being in love are two completely different things!” Nika puts his cup down on the windowsill and rubs his face. “Artoirel, I.. You are not like everyone else. You are dear to me, and I care for you, and–” He takes a deep breath. “I care for you more than I should. And twelve help me, everything else I’ve done feels like– fucking foreplay for the main thing. Which is–” Nika waves his hands around. “All of this.”

There’s something that goes unsaid. Us, Nika wants to say, but his throat seems to have closed up. Artoirel swallows. His heart beats wildly in his chest and he takes a step closer.

Artoirel reaches for Nika’s hand, yet allows his fingers to dangle in the air. Nika looks down, away, anywhere but Artoirel’s face, and pouts.

“We can just try and see where this leads us,” Artoirel offers softly. “I want to think this meant something for you. I want to think that I mean as much to you as you do to me.”

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity, on the precipice, ready to walk away or fall together. Eventually, Nika lifts his hand. Artoirel squeezes it.

“We can give this courting thing a chance,” Nika says, breathless. “Because, I–we– yeah.”

He knows Nika doesn’t like that anyway.

The rest of it really does not stand a chance whatsoever.

#ffxiv #inspo birb has come to town #nika perseis #artoirel de fortemps #nika x artoirel #wolship #wol x artoirel #hyur wol #ffxiv writing #ffxiv fic #ff14 #getting together #first kiss #here's the full thing enjoy them being in love <3 #in big and small ways #wolartoirel

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