Heart beneath His Wings

RP Blog for a Final Fantasy 16 OC Aramis Dantes [Follows back from the-leyline-directory]

[umbral-dominant]

"Hold close your Heart, for the world may strip you of your Mercy."

Independent RP Blog for Aramis Dantes, a FInal Fantasy 16 OC, Dominant of Níðhöggr (Nidhogg). Follows back from @the-leyline-directory [Rules/Carrd] / [General Info] - [Mobile] / [History] / [Verses/Tags]

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Art Tag // Idle Information [Extra Notes] // Permanent Starter Call

-> Interaction Memes

[the-leyline-directory]

ive been convinced to do some kinda pinup/suggestive thing for Aramis and I take no qualms with this-

[the-leyline-directory]

here you go you thirsty dweebs. [Will I finish it?? Maybe who knows if I do its gettin a background or somethin'] gotta get clean after a long day you know how it is.

[umbral-dominant]

Multiple times he glances the paper, as if doubting he's reading it correctly; he's not. Nearly the whole of it is covered, save for one. A trait the once-guardian knew full well about that cherished sun. "I'll always know what you want..." Old habits hard to break, details in the mundane. "...So don't push yourself."

[umbral-dominant]

♥ — In honor of Sexual Sunday, how does Aramis view intimacy? (This does not have to specifically be about sex, of course!)

Before his Excommunication, Intimacy was something that could be seen as 'casual or comforting' - still something reserved for very personal relationships, but the door to reach that point was open. After, and in pair with the fact his eikon priming is not as well controlled as any other who's had a teacher or time to learn, intimacy can feel like a trap, punishment, or depending on the situation 'A good thing that's waiting to go wrong'. True Intimacy means Trust; his whole given to another in honesty - physically or otherwise, If someone who he trusts and wishes to protect wants that from him, he will give it. It is never a requirement, and rarely will he himself take that step [in regards to sexual intimacy]. Even if not in a 'relationship' with someone who is trusted, the first sign that Aramis himself has opened up to some degree is if he initiates any kind of intimacy; gentle touch on a shoulder, remembering your preferences or thoughts, letting you lean against him, and eventually holding your hand.

[umbral-dominant]

[Prior] -- Taleswritten

"I'm sorry." Clive mutters quietly as if this is somehow his fault, maybe he feels at fault because he's been on the other side, slaughtering others just because he was ordered to. "The imperials....they don't care about anyone but themselves." He outstretches his hand to accept the food. He stares down at it for a moment before bringing it to his mouth to take a nibble for little regard of it being hot or not. It doesn't burn him despite being freshly cooked - he can thank Ifrit for not letting anything burn him. "Thank you." He says once he chews and swallows the bite of food, already his stomach is calming. "Are we camping the night here? Should I take watch?"

He was eating. Good. The thought lingers for a moment as the blanket of knowing covers the conversation. Little more needed to be said on the topic, and so the lancer lets it die. Dead to the air, but languishing, boiling, unending in his chest.

A violence not meant for the other.

Clive’s spoken thanks solidified the need to hold his tongue. A genuine sound. Not leashed by expectation. Progress had been made.

The silence drifted between them for a little while as bites were taken by the once-Lord, the ease of sated hunger noticed in laxing posture before the flame, as well as the openness to pose another question. This one was met with quiet debate as Aramis looked to the sky. A drifting breeze carried the scent of rain. It was unlikely to hit them tonight, but it meant larger merchant caravans would stop earlier along the main road. The chance of ‘catching up’ with the group that had been in this campground before them was a higher chance at that point…

He nodded. They would wait the time then. Give some distance, deal with the rain on the morrow, rather than race towards it and happen across people.

Aramis realized that didn’t quite give a full answer, as two questions had been asked. His own meal was taken to a platter, the pan placed to the side to cool for cleaning. Tentative bites of his own were taken - a thick sensation on the tongue, weighing his throat and stomach with that forced need to swallow nutrition. After a moment he spoke.

“…If you’ll be more comfortable.” It was doubtful the other would sleep well, even with that tentative olive branch. Aramis himself slept light enough it wouldn’t matter if a watch was taken - but easing the worries of knives in the dark would serve Clive well.

The chocobos - as if knowing rest was on the menu - began to peeter and peck at their stands, beginning to settle in with each leaning against the other, in a close comfort so different than their riders. The sight did bring a smile to Aramis’s passive expression.

He’d start setting some type of bedroll in a little while. They were comfortable already.

[umbral-dominant]

[Prior] -- Phoenixfiiire

"He's still bound." Joshua's brow furrowed before looking back at Jote. "Had I not made it clear-" "He is a threat, your Grace." Her words were low and hissed, but there was no attempt to him them from Aramis as she spoke. "For your own safety, I cannot release him." The cuffs were not the crystalline fetters designed to bind a Dominant's powers. It made had taken effort, but they would not hold Aramis 'er he decided he no longer wished to be held. Even if the bindings would have worked, this was not the way to start any sort of conversation with the other; they needed to be on equal ground, not a master speaking to his prisoner. Jote made her displeasure clear with the noise that escaped her when Joshua stepped forward, but she could not stop him. He knelt down in a smooth motion, hands held out in an offer to undo the shackles around Aramis' wrists. "Forgive my companion. I have no reason to doubt that you will not harm me."

Light streamed past the lithe figure - a halo through strawberry locks - the dark coming soon after as the latch closed once again. Despite the shadows clinging to inch and ilm, that new face carried a warmth befitting a dawning sun; comforting, chasing away cold talons from aching scars, a healing ease draped in the enclosed space.

A voice leadened with maturity, well spoken and commanding - but not authoritative. Not a leashed cruelty of a ‘king’.

Raven strands of hair drifted to the barest sensation against his cheek as that young man came closer (obviously to the detriment of that waiting guard) yet, the prisoner did not flinch. Even as the knowledge of that far-too-recent imprisonment within the halls of starving stone, of his own black scaled lashing in tiring survival, there was… a faint something that tempered any notion of self-defense.

Coated in plumed reds, baubles around a thin waist, all belied something of the familiar. A forgotten taste that lingered as a ghost’s memory.

Dark eyes flicked up to the fair-speaking other as ‘his Grace’ knelt before the edge, not an ounce of hesitation in proffered hands toward those clasped wrists; yet as Aramis’s gaze drifted down to meet the vibrant blue, he knew that there was no weakness in the man before him. A dedication burned in those eyes. Empathy. Intelligence.

The dragon was in no danger, yet he felt outmatched all the same.

Experience beyond presumed youth.

Hesitance of his own came then, only for a heartbeat, before meeting that halfway distance to freedom; the shift of shackle a music well known - the release of that pressure a rarity. Fingers drifted from touch to drag nail across scarring scales, easing away the sensation iron left.

Again came that ‘feeling’. A spectre of bygone years, of an aether once known, lingering in the scents of the breezeless room; Hearth of fresh timber, Comfort in a familiar home, Skies after healing rains. Unique traits beyond the aspects of a mortal.

Of a Dominant.

Once more those compassionate blues met his stare. That spoken voice older than the memory that surfaced in turn - of a child fueled by kindness and responsibility. A sickly bird clipped amidst a garden of roses.

“…I know those eyes,” Knives against his unused throat. Swallowing the whisper grew louder. “…Lord Rosfield?”

Distant was their connection - through the claimant of others, and he himself nothing more than the shadow of what truly mattered - though with the sight of the dead so clearly before him (Older, living, no other Dominant could hold that feeling.) Aramis shifted to sit up a bit more on buried instinct of duty.

Had he died within the walls? As scales crossed his skin, as bones snapped and writhed, did his own death come within the Dark of that prison? To find his waking hours beset with the clarity of a memory, doubt lingered in a murder against the back of his thoughts.

That light before him cast it down. Easing tense features, even as they studied the sickly thinness of a once happy youth. Time had not been kind to them. Wounded in flesh and soul.

Once more nails picked along the arrowhead scales that clung to his skin on habit, not yet pulling the obsidian curse from flesh as his fingers drifted across each wrist. Had the Lord seen the beast he had become? That lashing torment of virulent wrath; was that ichor of copper in his mouth the bloodshed of friend or foe?

Silence hung on his lips as the lingering questions went unspoken, until he tried anew.

“…Where is this?”

Am I free?

[umbral-dominant]

"Clive, my boy, even life's smallest challenges allow us to grow and change. You must embrace these moments."

-

@outllawed liked for doodles! \o/ Ehe....Cidolfus......

[umbral-dominant]

Cid why are you so handsome.... Getting distracted lookin at references. Sir why are you like this.]]

[umbral-dominant]

✨✨✨Selene✨✨✨Has trouble with violence as a whole but would try to stomach it if the need beHas the stamina of a cricket and recovery speed of a stumbling lamb“Organizational” and “Tidy” are two different things in her book - the upbringing she had taught her to make things spotless, yes, but don’t expect her to organize her own space if she’s given free range over itBiting’s all she’s got, mate. If you’re in the mood for bruising you’ll have to take it up with someone more proficient. Like Lark :P

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[Wife wife wife wife I love her so much you’re so goddamn cute.... and you’re so goddamn funny. Lark is gonna ruin him huh.]

[umbral-dominant]

"Curse my chaotic nature, I almost got a full card... Pity, but I'll take it."

Almost a perfect score. He wasn't sure what that meant within the game, but with the smallest lift of a smile he answered for them alone. "I'll ignore that. Full marks."

[umbral-dominant]

((SOME OF THESE ARE VERY SITUATIONAL, but here I am throwing Cyra at him aggressively [affectionately] ))

"... Of course you like cats... You're the best of them all."

-

[they're fools your honor]

[umbral-dominant]

The question marks show up poorly because I am bad at this.

Sex not required - Joshua would... be tentatively okay with that in a poly relationship if the other partner was more sexual. He might also be okay if there was still other forms of physical affection.

Could be rough - I mean. He can try (he's not against being the 'dom') but Joshua is a twig compared to Aramis. Would the trying succeed.

Heat paints his skin. A nod given as the sheet is returned; He was unsure how to voice the emotion in his chest of the concept of an open door. Silence stretches until he ends up offering only; "...Thank you. Yes."

- [All forms of physical affection are valid to this dude \o/ Sexual or not! -- and Joshua may be a twig, but damn well it's the thought that counts in a situation like that <:3c appealing all the same.

[umbral-dominant]

🕯️ - Lark Belmond

'At first an annoyance. A stranger who could see too much. Knew too much... Then a friend, who did not need words. Earned my respect... Even if I try to hide enjoyment with ire.'

[umbral-dominant]

🕯️(Selene <3)

'Many think her a goddess. She is, but not the one they think. A being of laughter and joy. Finding a game in each moment, even at the expense of responsibility. Difficult to control, even more difficult to resist in her schemes. I miss her every day.'

[umbral-dominant]

[Slides this over, don't mind me]

[phoenixfiiire]

[ For @umbral-dominant of course o/ ] Technically equal in status cause of Eikons... and may be 'Poly/Open relationships' but that doesn't mean he doesn't get jealous/ growly about attention...

He finds himself worrying at his lower lip for a moment.

"I... I will certainly think on this. Thank you."

He's flattered and interested, but Aramis would be happier with Dion.

[saengjonja]

@umbral-dominant

Blackthorne's forge was noticeably empty, save for one lanky looking woman. She was not cleaning, nor taking account for stock of supplies nearby, instead single mindedly focused on the slow push and pull of her blade against a damp whetstone.

It was a small dagger, barely enough weight or heft to feel intimidating by itself, but the angle of the swedge and shape of the knife's sweep indicated it was made for precision- Whether that be precision cutting or piercing. Often the simplest of weapons were the nastiest, whittled down to it's base components through repeated use and time. The function isn't visual appeal, strength, nor endurance, but to sever a nerve, muscle or tendon fibers- or blood vessel to disable and kill the adversary via exsanguination.

Her long, scarred fingers handled it with the casual ease of someone accustomed to bloodshed- There was a intimate familiarity to the way her hands worked with rather than against it's construction, but also a comfortable amount of confidence, bringing the dagger to eye level to examine the edge for any burrs or a noticeably drastic difference in angle.

"Blackthorne's not back yet," she explained aloud, not sparing even a once over to the man who stood at the threshold between the anvil and smithing table.

"Charon called him away, but he should return soon. I have some business with him, so whatever it is you need will have to wait until I'm done with the old bear."

Ji-ho merely wanted to establish that she had since been patiently waiting before this stranger entered the smithy's. No reason to let some newcomer try and muscle his way in front of her position of priority.

The wraps of colored silk and short cotton crossed over her torso were reminiscent of a courtesan's attire, though any gaudy baubles and jewelry she may have once donned had long been sold off for coin. There was no bearer mark upon the steep angle of her visible cheekbone, but her arms and shoulders bore countless scars: semi-circular divots of flesh were entirely missing in places, puckered scar tissue forming shallow craters from where fine cigarillos had been repeatedly extinguished into her bare skin. Thin and meandering lacerations snaked around bony elbows in idle, nonsense patterns- Almost creating a mockery of constellations between the beauty marks and moles standing out against her honeyed-olive complexion.

The tall and taciturn male standing there looked almost passingly familiar. Maybe she had seen him in parting while leaving Cid's solar? It wasn't immediately clear just how the woman had recognized his grim countenance, there were so many refugees and Cursebreakers joining the cause that it was hard to keep track of every single soul who resided within the Hideaway.

[umbral-dominant]

Home had never become a place, as much as it shifted into a feeling. To be near the few trusted souls that wouldn’t do harm to a slumbering beast, for a grafted reason to hold lance in hand; to defend and protect as he had ever done.

Thus even now, within this ‘Hideaway’ from the world at large, he found no sense of familiarity in crafted walls or passing conversations, often spending lengthy days out within the wider continent to hunt or be hunted in turn. A violence aimed on scaled shoulders preferred than a bearer’s fragile flesh.

Alas, one could not survive enclosed within nothings, and it was one such time that he found himself waiting at the threshold of smithy and conversation.

Conversation with who? He wasn’t sure.

An experienced hand with the weapons in their grasp, cared for with a killer’s eye as each motion shifted and turned the dagger in a professional’s attention. The ease in which they - presumed she - moved the steel required more than a passing familiarity with weaponwork. A sensation lingered beneath his skin as dark reds lingered on her form, listening to the statement of the missing blacksmith’s situation, and her claim on the man’s skills first.

Fine by him. He didn’t want to get roped into Blackthorn’s newest ‘trading tasks’ anyway. It was always the first moment the man got back from anywhere that something needed to be hunted, or found, or moved - or just buying a drink or three.

Leaning against the frame of the alcove, Aramis huffed a silent breath as the ache from his prosthetic once more send a twinge across the nerves, the supporting straps hidden beneath the cloth of his pant. Adjustment was needed as ever was the case in overusing the thing. The smallest shift in rivets caused a butterfly effect of discomfort - he’d had worse, so waiting was simple enough.

Gave him time to quietly observe the stranger who carried the ‘scent’ of warning. Different than other markless Branded, but a dense and miasmic aether nonetheless. Scars peppered sunned skin with the same frequency as her beauty marks, a story written on flesh, in a language not made for him.

He looked away, glancing out to the other wandering souls coming this way and that with all the intent of a beehive. Life had continued to get more chaotic as time drifted onward, a penchant for misbehaving beasts or catatonic villages burdened by a royal’s demand. Things he had little hand to fix beyond the continued goals of those who led the hive.

The handle of his lance rested to the wall as he made himself somewhat comfortable for the inevitable length of time it often took for Lady Charon to be finished with a helping hand, the long sleeves of his jacket left to sway unused as the coat hugged broad shoulders - crossing his arms over his chest as that looming ache was continued to be ignored, the weight shifted to the wall and good leg as a tentative ease.

Shifting cloth brought his attention back to the unknown. Observation would only get him so far - a duty buried in shadows reared to question the ‘feeling’. That potential of virulent danger.

“…You know your way around the Forge. What do you need?” Why are you here? Who are you to do so?