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@wanderingkarakul
BORTE ORONIR. a particularly sheepish adventurer from the azim steppe. exceptionally unexceptional, she embarks on a journey to eorzea in order to better herself.
AN INDEPENDENT, SEMI-SELECTIVE ROLEPLAY BLOG FOR BORTE ORONIR, AN ORIGINAL CHARACTER FROM THE GAME FINAL FANTASY XIV. READ MORE IN HER CARRD HERE. PENNED BY AMON (HE/THEY, 29).
❝You free tonight Borte? Several of us were planning to meet up at the tavern if you want to come.❞
There was no subtlety to the way Borte's entire demeanor lit up in response to the invitation. That the invitation had come from Lightning herself was perhaps the most delightful thing about it.
❝ I'm free! ❞ She responded, perhaps a bit too eagerly. ❝ Can we go together? I can leave right now. Who's going to be there? ❞
okay hi hello i still plan on doing a Proper post for this, but for now i wanted to put out some general information about borte’s akotsk/asoiaf verse for easy access.
- borte altan, princess of the kingdom of gerelt
- gerelt is an original kingdom created by myself, located in essos ( i am mentally carving out a bit of the steppelands for this, don’t think about it too hard )
- founded from the union of an old valyrian house that formed an alliance with a nomadic tribe just before the doom. the house was known for taming and caring for dragons and that knowledge has been passed down within the royal family for generations even though they have no dragons of their own.
- ( they did smuggle out an egg when they fled, but it never hatched. they still have it. )
- current ruler is king jebke. he sired three children with his late wife bolormaa: two sons and one daughter. it was an unhappy marriage. after bolormaa’s passing he married her sister who now serves as queen consort.
- oldest son is erdene, middle child is tseren. borte is the youngest and the only daughter.
- king jebke is a greedy and ambitious man who wants to increase gerelt’s strength by forming alliances with stronger kingdoms and wiggling his way into positions of power.
- he has a particular interest in house targaryen,and believes gerelt is owed an alliance solely because of their shared valyrian roots. he will pester them.
- unless plotted otherwise, by default borte is eventually engaged and married to phoenix’s aerion targaryen ( lykirae ). it is technically an arranged political marriage, however borte was absolutely pulling strings behind the scenes to make it happen. she is exactly where she wants to be.
the imposter syndrome that creeps in whenever cool people follow me first—
Cynder froze, his momentum halted as she reached for him. He had been ready to leave, yes, but to fetch Borte a healer.
"You are injured," he insisted. "I was taking a beating. You should not have placed yourself in harm's way, Borte. Not for me."
Despite his words, his tone was not scolding. It was more like...a stern pleading.
"I -- I should be the one to apologize. For you to feel compelled to --" he leaned back, frowning at her face. He touched her cheek gingerly, ever so lightly. "I need to get you ice. You're going to bruise. My wife is not permitted to experience any such pain."
His mind was racing. He had half a mind to grab his axe and return to his father, but Borte needed attention. And, again, it was his failure that had led her to harm in the first place. He did not know the direction in which to send his rage.
❝ Please don't apologize. It was my choice to step in... ❞ Borte shook her head, keeping her arms loosely draped around Cynder's neck even when he leaned back. His hand found her cheek and at first she winced, but it did not take long for her to lean into the gentle touch.
❝ How can you expect me to stay back and do nothing? Surely you would have done the same— And it is not different. Not to me. ❞ Slowly, hesitantly, her arms withdraw from around his neck. Her eyes remained fixed on him, slowly trailing over her husband's face and the damage done.
❝ Don't go, ❞ she pleaded softly. ❝ Stay with me. ❞
As if to further persuade him, Borte leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against Cynder's cheek. Her hand raised to his face, thumb brushing gently underneath the cut on his brow. She frowned, eyes still glossy with tears she fought to contain.
❝ You're bleeding… ❞
❝ I want to join Mei and Light for drinks… ❞
" May I have the honor of wearing your favor today, my lady? " ( he's playing it up for attention 🫶🏼 )
𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒.
The raucous cheers of the crowd served as ample evidence of the riveting joust that preceded it. Even Borte, who had only attended the tourney on her father's orders, found herself completely engrossed in the competition. Her own brother Tseren had taken to the field that round, but it was not for him that she had been so transfixed.
Aerion's reputation preceded him, for better or worse. It had not taken long for a noble lady to catch Borte's lingering gaze and divulge details of his nature; a kind girl like you should stay far from the likes of him, she'd whispered. What she didn't know was that their families were already acquainted with one another, that Borte was already well aware of what the prince was like. Such warnings may as well have been spoken to a wall for all the good it did.
He was a frightful thing upon his stallion. Though Tseren would never admit such a thing, Borte could feel the fear that shook through her brother as if it were her very own without even looking at him. No, it was not her own blood that she watched, but the Targaryen prince in his jet-black armor and an air of smug confidence that could be felt even with his expression concealed behind the disturbingly human-like helmet he wore over his head.
For a blessing, the match had been a fair one. Unfortunately, Tseren had still come out the loser, and with quite the nasty injury as well. Borte managed to tear her eyes away long enough to spare her injured brother a sympathetic glance as he was carefully ushered off of the field to be seen by the maesters.
While she hoped he would recover without issue, there was a part of her that remembered the years of his indifference and disrespect, and felt a tinge of satisfaction upon seeing her prideful brother fall.
As if drawn to the faintest scent of her innermost thoughts, the next time Borte looked to Aerion he was approaching the stands where her family was seated. Visor lifted to reveal the very image of cold, Targaryen beauty, and Borte felt her breath catch in the back of her throat when lilac-blue eyes met her own. The shouting in her direct vicinity quietened down to hushed, dubious whispers. Such displays were not like the Prince, and many wondered how the Gerelti princess would respond to it.
She could not see him as he was seated behind her, but Borte was most certain that her father was furious. To not only dismount and injure his son in front of a crowd, but to then have the audacity to ask for his daughter's favor immediately after? Right in front of him, no less? Regardless of the spirit of the joust, Jebke was nothing if not a prideful man. He would certainly not stand for it, and if Borte were to accept the Prince's request then he would not be pleased.
However, formality dictated that declining the request, especially so publicly, would be greatly frowned upon. Would it not be in especially poor taste, given her father's determination to form a lasting alliance with the dragon house? And as his daughter, should Borte not act according to his wishes?
Such points could be raised at a later time, but it was not formality which urged Borte to stand from her seat and retrieve her favor: a scarf of golden cloth from Gerelt, with an intricate pattern hand-stitched by Borte herself ( it was clumsy work, but such detail was only truly noticeable up close, ). She stepped down to the edge of the stands and bade him come closer, raise his lance so that she may tie the scarf around it,
❝ Good luck to you, my Prince. ❞ She spoke politely.
Glancing briefly towards the space where her wounded brother laid just moments ago, she looked to Aerion once more and smiled with a sparkle in her eye of something akin to amusement, fascination.
❝ Though it appears you do not need it. ❞
@wanderingkarakul ; straddle. lustful actions, always accepting & no prior ship needed.
I've always longed to ride a dragon, she says, delicate fingers caressing his shoulders, a sparkle in her violet eyes. aerion's weight shifts back, sinks down onto the chaise behind him, an elegant piece making its home in their shared bedchambers. one of her knees comes down beside his waist, then the other, straddling his lap as she settles over him. she weighs nothing, not really. but his hands instinctively splay over her thighs, caressing the skin up under the hem of her dress.
dohaerās, she says.
the princeling's pupils are blown wide, his eyes unsettling and dark as he tilts his head up at her, the gesture so animal and other in its movement. nails rake a slow trail down her thighs, hook behind her knees to pull her closer, seating her firmly against him before working their way back up under the glossy fabric.
“ ao vēdagon y'dza rōndaghon ao ? ” the words come silky and accented with his mother tongue, a language they both share. ( you think I'd obey you ? ) his nose brushes the underside of her jaw. the promise of sharp teeth in his mouth.
“ kesor nyke dohaeragon ? ” his fingers brush the waistband of her underwear, ever so barely resisting the urge to dig into her skin. ( that I will serve ? ) aerion is looking at her the same way someone looks at a doe they're about to slaughter.
“ sagon ka'réfúlza skoros ao as’hknos syt. ”
( be careful what you ask for )
At Borte's invitation, Lalanna let out an almost aggravated sigh of relief.
"You know? It does!" she nodded, brow furrowing. "You vould think that for people across the sea vould be eager to hear of such things! But nobody's asked me at all! And I am certain nobody else has been there!"
She pouted, folding her arms before she went on, expression softening.
"Thavnair is an island, mostly, rising out of Bounty. It is smaller than Eorzea, much, but it does not feel that vay upon it. The region is rich in giantsgall, so the ground itself begins as a deep purple color and the plants and mountains rise out of that. And it is hot -- so much more than here." She closed her eyes. "And the sea is so blue. Brighter than the vaters here. My village is not far from the mainland. I live on a collection of floating homes built upon docks and ve vere so close, I svam there every day."
She opened her eyes and sighed once more, more wistful.
"There is an open-air stage on the mainland. It is called Kadjaya's Footsteps, and it is dedicated to a famous dancer. I vas vone of the people who helped to look after it. Before this damn echo, that vas all I really had to vorry about in my life. I vas happy vith who I vas and vhat I vanted to do...until that damn starshower."
Borte laughed, but it was not because she found Lalanna's frustration humorous. No, it was so relatable that she could not help but laugh. Prior to being brought into the Scions, it was rare that anyone would ask her about her homeland, and a part of her had always found it somewhat offensive. Was the Azim Steppe not interesting enough for these people? They could not have been there themselves, what could they truly know? How could they not be even a little curious?
She offered the fellow Oronir a sympathetic smile and gestured for her to continue.
Her eyes widened in growing interest the more Lalanna shared — she found the concept of the ground itself being purple to be incredibly fascinating in particular. It sounded like such a beautiful place, this Thavnair, and Borte found herself thinking she would like to see it for herself one day.
❝ It sounds like an incredible place… It's no wonder you miss it so much. ❞ Borte said. ❝ What was it like? Looking after Kat— Kadjaya's Footsteps? Was it hard work? ❞
a REMINDER on this beautiful sunday: CEASE with making people feel ashamed / nervous to write smut !! write smut any day of the week !! write smut whenever you want !! write smut however frequently you want !! write smut as nastily as you want !! GO reblog that spicy prompt hiding in your likes RIGHT NOW !!
❝ He said I have potential… ❞ Borte sniffled.
ugh. i imagine borte being so fond of egg, but with her being the wife of the brother who torments him there’s bound to be some strain there 💔
somehow i always forget it’s sunday until i see the spice on the dash. i get too shy to write it myself, but it’s always kinda tempting to throw borte at some of those prompts
i ought to write up a post about borte & sexuality at some point. because while she is shy in the general sense, she absolutely does want and think about sex more than one might expect.
was reading yet another banger post from phoenix and had a thought.
it really does show just how little jebke cares for his daughter that he was content — happy, even — to marry his daughter to aerion despite the fact that literally no other man would. just so that he could get in with the dragon house and further his own ambitions.
daeron may have been the initial choice, but literally the only reason he ever showed any resistance towards aerion as a match is because he wanted it to be his idea, his decision. but once he was convinced that he was the one who saw the benefits? caraxes? the “favor” of giving the targaryens’ wretched son a wife of valyrian descent to carry on the bloodline potentially winning him some power and leverage? he was all in, “rumors” be damned.
continued from here :
It had only taken one hit to send Borte to the floor — clearly Thorin had felt no need to hold back against his own son. What followed was a blur to her. The ringing in her ears drowned out the voices of both men; Thorin's insults left unheard, Cynder's threats towards him distorted as she subconsciously leaned into his protective hold.
The walk back to their bedchambers was quiet, tense. Suffocatingly so. By the time they arrived, and Borte was sat down on their shared bed, the ringing had ceased. Her eyes were wet with tears she did not wish to shed in that moment, and the only thing that ached more than her face was her heart; she couldn't help feeling as if she had done something wrong.
Before Cynder could release her and create space, Borte's arms wound around the man's neck and drew him in close. She clung to him as if worried he might storm off otherwise, to continue whatever disagreement had led to Thorin's assault.
❝ I'm sorry, ❞ she murmured. ❝ You were injured, and I just… A-are you alright? ❞
@newsidequest
Girls Night || @wanderingkarakul
Yuffie laughed and waved her hand dismissively. "Your hair is beautiful, and I'd like to braid it, regardless of how long it is." She said, perching herself on a chair.
"If you have a hairbrush or a comb, I can do that first before braiding it. You can sit on the floor in front of me, or we can sit on a sofa and I can do it that way. Whatever is more comfortable for you!"
Warmth rose to the xaela's cheeks at the compliment. Her hair had once been a source of ridicule during her time on the Steppe, and so it was a pleasant surprise for someone to call it beautiful.
❝ Ah. I do have one, just a second. ❞ Borte stepped aside to locate her satchel, where she kept all of her personal belongings. After a small amount of rummaging, she pulled out her brush and returned to Yuffie's side to hand it over. ❝ I can sit on the floor, that should be fine. ❞
And so she did, adjusting herself to be seated comfortably on the floor in front of Yuffie.
❝ You mentioned that your hair isn't long enough to braid… Have you thought about growing it out? ❞ She peeked back at the other over her shoulder for a moment, then faced forward once more so as not to disturb any brushing. ❝ I think it's really cute as it is, though. ❞
@wanderingkarakul | Cont. From Here
Ruminating on Borte's words, Artemis swallowed the lump in her throat. She recalled the little progress she had made and wondered if it was true. Should it have taken her weeks to be able to navigate through Naked Rock to avoid confrontation from the anoles whenever possible, and obtain the Stone of Courage from its peak?
"You struggle to keep up with me?" The younger adventurer asked, incredulous, "You can lift your axe without any trouble at all! You're a lot stronger than I am, Borte. I'm not incredible at all...I'm only mediocre at best."
Listening to Artemis in that moment felt like staring into a mirror. Oh, how easy it was to compare one's progress to the people around them; Borte had done plenty of that in her lifetime already, and it was likely she would continue to do so for many years to come.
❝ Without any trouble? ❞ Borte could not control the way that she balked at the notion. Had she ever truly done anything without trouble? She certainly couldn't think of anything!
❝ I'm always struggling! ❞ She insisted with a shake of her head. ❝ And that is even with years of experience — if you could even call it that. ❞ But this wasn't about her, and Borte knew that.
❝ You are far from mediocre, Artemis. You've shown far more promise than I ever have. And besides, struggling is… It's normal. You have to do it in order to get better. ❞ She knew it to be true, even if she herself was still trying to come around to the idea.
❝ If you compare your progress to the people around you, it will only make you miserable. Trust me, I would know. ❞
