#so...what's the deal with you and hien....it connected better in my mind

[scionshtola]

wip whenever

i was tagged by @coldshrugs @lavampira @impossible-rat-babies ty friends!! 💗not tagging anyone since it's kind of late and im not sure who's been tagged. but here's a little bit from the morning after fic i was working on, i'm not sure if the fic is gonna make it but i think this part is cute

 “Did you sleep well?” Y’shtola hums a laugh, content and amused. She has hardly looked more beautiful to Corisande, sleep mussed hair, warm brown skin glowing in the morning light. “Indeed. And you?” “I do not know the last time I slept half so well as I did last night,” Corisande says. It had been far too long since she had fallen asleep so easily, or woken up so peacefully. And sleeping without some specter haunting her dreams is a luxury she has long since forgotten.  Y’shtola brushes a loose strand of Corisande’s hair away from their face and leans in to kiss them, lips warm and gentle against theirs. There is little urgency in it, yet her desire echoes in their chest, heart fluttering with each kiss. “I am glad to hear it,” Y’shtola says between kisses, voice soft in the tiny gap between them. “As I have been saying for weeks now, you deserve a decent night of rest.” “Is that why you finally took the hands-on approach to seeing it happen?” Corisande murmurs, grinning when Y’shtola laughs.  “‘Twas incredibly effective, was it not?” Y’shtola fits one hand to the slight curve of Corisande’s bare waist, thumb sweeping across their skin. “Perhaps I ought to have tested the method sooner.”

[yzeltia]

From your prompt list, “ what are you doing out here by yourself? ” (from @driftward)

A Violet Story

Characters: Estinien Wyrmblood, Violet Fisher Rating: T for Tired Dragoon Notes: The homunculus probably doesn't need to sleep. Also a follow-up to Sentimental.

The moon was high over Thavnair, the Lover's light illuminating the colorful city of Radz-at-Han. Even in the silence of night, the city found a way to be loud and vibrant. Even the things Estinien thought should have a semblance of peace to them lacked rest, Varshan lightly snoring beside him. 

"They made the effort of making him a vessel but didn't remove the annoyances of the mortal experience," he bitterly thought to himself, freeing his arm from the homunculus's grasp as Varshan rolled over and hugged onto the stuffed dragon he'd brought him from Balshahn Bazzar.

Getting up, he stretched then wandered onto the balcony finding Violet leaning over her own, next door, swirling a glass of spiced rum in a chilled glass.

"What are you doing out here at this hour?"

Violet's gaze shifted, looking to the Dragoon out of the corner of her eye before she took a sip of her drink. "I couldn't sleep. And yourself? Our forlorn Prince keeping you up?"

"His body is exhausted from traveling. It seems they went for realism for his upgrade. Sawa logs like any other."

Violet smiled, "I think he'd appreciate knowing. Be embarrassed for sure, but it seems his people love him so much be they don't hold back on giving him the full mortal experience."

"That they do. I'll be better rested sleeping against the wall than his labored breathing against my ear."

Estinien crossed his arms as Violet hid a Cheshire grin behind her glass. "You damned well know what I mean."

With a wave of her wrist, Violet laughed it off the leaned back, quickly growing solemn. "You two make it seem so easy."

"Get your mind-"

"No. I mean, the sibling thing. You just instantly gravitated to one another…I'm just feeling I'm missing something."

"Are you referring to the twins? I believed you to be rather close to the Leveilleurs. And note that I am no kin true kin to Vytra..but it is the remnants of Nidhogg that are mingled with myself.”

"Still, a connection writ in blood was it not?...As for the twins, that developed on its own…I meant, the natural connection you're supposed to feel with others. For so long I thought of myself alone…and then when I found out about my connection to Lord Hien…I thought I'd be glad to have a family, but I wasn't. I didn't want to be a princess…inviting any of that would have been more than I could deal with at the time. And the look of disappointment he has when our adventures unite us…It just felt like it should have been instant, and it was a letdown. I was a letdown…”

Estinien inhaled deeply then shook his head, "You owe him and Doma not. As you've said, you've grown into your own family. If you're wanting that connection, then you've already started the process by being open to it now. I'm sure the Doman prince has his own feelings and will appreciate any gesture if you merely just show you're interested. Hardly a letdown unless it is expected of all of us to be falling over ourselves at each sentimental revelation. You reacted the way you react. It is who you are, and if he wants to see you as his sister, he will have to accept that of you.”

Violet looked up to the sky then sipped at her rum before closing her eyes. "You're rather insightful, it's a shame you're spoken for."

"Would you get off that!?"

Violet laughed and then stood up, letting the warm breeze sweep through her hair as it passed by them. Looking to the moon above, she closed her eyes then turned inside, mind on her half-brother a short sea away, wondering how he'd take to an impromptu visit.

[therovingstar]

Like Flowers Aflame

Summary: “I took your kill.” He almost starts when she calls to him, turns her head, and meets his gaze across the distance between them, still poised as he is on the wide steps. He questions which strikes him first: her dark eyes, ringed by a fire all their own, or the mild smile playing about her lips. She shrugs a shoulder. “Sorry.” 

Hien x WoL (pre-relationship), <2700 words, fluff and feels, mild descriptions of blood.

@ffxiv-writers

AO3 Link

It is pandemonium, still, throughout the city and beyond its walls. Soldiers, leaders, resistance volunteers; dozens cross his path without him once being able to put a name to a mien. ‘Tis little surprise; he and his are the foreigners here, and there is no one who would recognize his face anymore than he would theirs. There are exceptions, of course, in a precious few, but they are justifiably occupied with the small matter of their nation’s new freedom.

He knows the feeling well. He should be with his own, miles away across the seas. And yet…

Lyse was a beacon in red, waving them down in the crowd. “I saw her earlier,”she said, “helping the other healers. Then I heard she went up top.” The young woman pointed above her head, and he followed her finger to the top levels of the Ala Mhigan palace, gleaming white and smoky gray against the blue, early evening sky.  

“For what reason?” Yugiri asked. Lyse shrugged.

“Something about sussing out the aether in the atmosphere? Making sure that primal doesn’t show back up, presumably. We’ve already removed Zenos’ body. Guess it’s a precaution.”

That was all he needed to hear.

“My lord, where are you going?” Yugiri called to his back. Hien looked back over his shoulder, offering a bracing grin.

“To retrieve our hero, of course.” And before anyone could respond, he rallied himself and disappeared back into the bedlam.

He should be with his people now, or at least crossing those great waters to return to them. And he will be, come the definitive end to this day of revolution. But first…

The Gyr Abanian sun begins its descent in earnest as he traverses the residents’ quarters and approaches the palace. It paints everything in shades of orange and gold, from the stone buildings to the cargo wagons to the dented armor of Garlean machina and the torn uniforms of Alliance soldiers. For a moment, one can almost ignore the carnage of the day, so effective the dusk is at casting it all in gilded hues. It makes him yearn for the sight of the Ruby Sea at such a time, when the waters are burnished with a fire to rival Hell’s Lid.

How surprised he is, then, when he enters the palace under cover of chaos, climbs the staircase, and steps foot onto the shore of another kind of sea entirely.

There is a garden aflame. Hundreds, thousands of them, pink and red and white blossoms swaying as if from the tips of candle wicks under a breeze that teases his cheeks and the white fur lining his collar. Water gleams in golden pools bordered by white marble and teeming with green leaves and lotus.

It is beautiful, a landscape painting turned reality, and made a portrait by the lone Raen woman standing at its center, still as a sculpture.

But first, I wish to find her. See her, speak with her. Just for a moment.

What a ruler he is.

“I took your kill.” He almost starts when she calls to him, turns her head, and meets his gaze across the distance between them, still poised as he is on the wide steps. He questions which strikes him first: her dark eyes, ringed by a pink fire all their own, or the mild smile playing about her lips. Odzaya shrugs a shoulder. “Sorry.”

Hien blinks once, perhaps twice, before he bursts with a laugh.

“Aye! I suppose you did!” He approaches, his steps light, and stops several fulms away from where she stands bracketed by blossoms. “‘Tis fitting, I think.”

She looks surprised. “Truly?” Skepticism coats her gaze and tone as she turns in his direction.

“Truly,” Hien confirms, and crosses his arms, considering. “Zenos yae Galvus took much from me, certainly, but I am hardly the only one. Every Doman, every Ala Mhigan, every person who lost a home or a loved one or a livelihood to the Empire’s greed and his supposed ennui…they all deserved a chance at his head.” His gaze finds the place where the man in question’s body fell; his spattered blood still shines unnaturally jewel-like under the evening sun on the marble, as well as the petals of nearby flowers. Beautiful in the most morbid of ways. He grins suddenly, and looks at her. “My heart warms knowing that you thought of me, however.”

“A brief thought as he attempted to eat me, yes,” she admits, half sarcastic. Hien chuckles.

“Conqueror of Bardam’s Mettle and proud samurai I may be, but I know well that my skills paled in comparison to the man who felled my father, renowned swordsman that he was.” His grin widens. “I could not have hoped to defeat Zenos with my blade any more than a farmer with her hoe or a merchant with his silver tongue.”

“Give yourself a touch more credit, ‘Fire Walker’,” Odzaya replies, a thick purple brow lifting as she smirks. “You would at least do better than the merchant.” Hien guffaws, and her expression turns curious. “Speaking of silver tongues, whose was it that convinced you to come all the way up here?”

“I looking for you,” he answers easily, “of my own volition. Lyse mentioned something about your doing aether surveillance.”

Odzaya shakes her head. “Nothing so pedantic; I’ve not the tools on hand, nor the patience to use them. I was merely satisfying my own paranoia, more than anything.” She shifts back to her previous position of facing the far end of the gardens, and Hien follows without thinking, unwilling to resist his own curiosity. Soon, they both stand on the site of the Garleans’ last stand, where Zenos’ primal – Shinryu, he overheard it called – was previously bound. “Here is where it is most concentrated,” she tells him. “Feel it?”

He does, slightly. Sees it, as well. A strange thickness to the golden air as it enters his nostrils, barely visible undulations of sickly green at the edges of his periphery. A taste on the back of his tongue, just this side of bitter. He cannot hone in on any of it, distant sensations that they are and try as he might, but it makes his skin itch, his lungs reluctant to expand for what they may suck in. He looks beside him to find Odzaya’s eyes closed, her nose lightly wrinkled. Little doubt she senses more, for better or worse. “I will say,” he begins, crossing his arms, “I am glad we have not to compete with such creatures in Yanxia.”

“Mm,” Odzaya hums in agreement. “Be glad they’ve taken so much to these lands, instead.”

Hien thinks, then grins. “Ah, but then we have no Warrior of Light, either. Perhaps it would be a fair trade to deal with the occasional evil being knocking down our doors, to have one such as yourself in our regular company.”

She snorts once, and her smile, having disappeared beneath her concentration, returns. “Selfish.”

“At times,” he replies, and grins wider at her profile. “As we all are.”

They share silence, then, but for the wind through the blossoms and the gentle trickle of water. If he strains, he can hear the din down below, but up here, they seem separated from it all. It reminds him of the Azim Steppe’s plains, where malms of grasses stretch into infinity. Where one could seemingly chase the horizon forever and never encounter a soul.

He misses it. Here, however, with her, it feels as if a small fragment of the feeling has returned to him, even on this foreign soil located on the other side of the world. A power she gained as khagun, her connection to the land allowing her to carry its essence with her? Or merely a power she has all her own and over him, to conjure fond recollections of those days that were as fraught as they were halcyon?

“On the Steppe,” Odzaya begins suddenly. Hien mildly startles, thinking for one impossible moment that she read his mind. Then she continues. “There is a belief, that to interrupt a hunt is to interrupt fate. It is a sacred bond, that of two souls opposed. Predator and prey, seeker and sought. A matter to be left to the gods and the gods alone.” She opens her eyes and shrugs lightly. “A silly thing to consider perhaps, given what soil we are on and my extensive record of solving others’ problems. But…”

“But?” he encourages.

“But unlike those others, who gave me their blessing to act in their stead,” she says, and looks up at him, her sun-red gaze keen beneath the clean cut of her braided bangs, “you did not. And I recognized the desire in your eyes when we fought together in the Naadam and in Doma. To meet blades with those to stole so much from you. Regardless of your chance at victory.”

I see. So that is her quandary, then, and why she has brought it back to the fore, despite his assurances. Hien sighs, thoughtful, and absently rests a hand on the hilt of his katana. “You are not wrong,” he answers honestly. “A large part of me longed to meet the man on the battlefield. Partly for my father, as well as my countrymen. But also for the sake of my own pride.” He huffs once in amusement at his own foolery, and his thumb plays with the catch, teasing a release of the blade. “Would I be able to hold my own against the warrior no other has? T’was a question I could not help but ask myself, however ridiculous.”

“I took away your opportunity to find out,” Odzaya says, her gaze somewhat regretful. Hien laughs aloud.

“Fret not, my friend! Regardless of our blades never meeting, I received my answer well from the ‘hunt’ I witnessed between the two of you.” He takes his gaze to the palace’s tower and surrounding spires, a broken beacon still smoking in the aftermath of their duel. “I could scarce imagine besting the man, let alone a beast of the magnitude he became.” He sobers, and his smile gentles. “No, I am content to have had you there in my stead, and the stead of all those who suffered from his deeds.” He faces her fully, then, and makes a show of bowing low. “Just as it was my honor to have you at my side during my country’s liberation, so it is my honor to have had my personal hopes met by your hand.” When he straightens, only to be met with her widened gaze, he grins broadly once more. “I daresay you are performing your role well. ‘Tis a khagun’s duty to fulfill the wishes of her people, no? And from what I’ve gathered since arriving here, you have many outside of the Steppe.”

To his surprise, the woman scoffs lightly. “As if they would know the title.”

“I am here, yes? And Lyse, as well as a contingent of the Xaela who chose to take the journey here in your name.” He thumps a fist to his armored chest in a warrior’s gesture. “We will inform them.”

Odzaya shakes her head emphatically. “Keep the knowledge to yourselves, if you please. The last thing I need is more unnecessary ceremony. They already make too large a matter of me on this side of the world.”

“Can you blame them?”

“Yes,” she replies bluntly. “And you and Lyse for making it worse if you talk.” When he merely shrugs in answer, she narrows her eyes and angles herself toward him once more, her mouth pursed. He notes the medic’s uniform she wears, identical to the one worn by others he saw about the field but for the extra padding about her torso and arms, her armored boots, and the white and red cloak clasped at her neck. An attempt to make her abilities known, perhaps, while still blending in. Frankly, it fails. She still stands out like a lone lantern in the dark, not just for her scales or the vibrancy of her hair, but for the understated grace and power with which she carries herself. Like the blooms around them, he reckons, his eyes absently finding them; far hardier than they look, for all the epic battle that just took place here put them through. Even the ones that bore the brunt of Zenos’ bloody collapse have sprung back up in a way the warlord definitely did not, bruised but otherwise unscathed, and no less beautiful.

His gaze returns to her, and his smile, for a moment, turns inward. “Fitting,” he says again, this time as a murmur to himself.

“You said that,” Odzaya replies. He forgets about those keen horns sometimes; even Yugiri still blindsides him with all she manages to hear. “Still thinking about it?” she inquires.

“Just wondering what it is like to face a dragon in combat,” he says, in effort to cover his momentary daydreaming. To his surprise, she answers immediately.

“Hot and messy,” she states with all confidence, as if it is a knowledge she is intimately acquainted with. “And terrible-tasting. The blood gets everywhere.” She absently licks at the thick width of her bottom lip, and Hien splutters before he can control himself.

For every substantial thing he learns about her, like her gift for healing or her war-torn past or her casually rubbing shoulders with some of the most prominent figures on either continent, it is the smaller things – the fact that she sharpens the decorative edges of her staves and adores children and has apparently tasted dragon’s blood – that set his heart racing for reasons he is not quite yet willing to ponder.

“I suppose we’re done here. You did come to retrieve me, yes?” Odzaya makes the first move for the rooftop’s exit, her cloak billowing briefly outward with the abrupt spin of her heels. Hien comes back to himself with a small shake of the head, and she lifts a brow. “Are you alright?”

“Aye,” he says, pasting an easygoing smile on his lips. “Perhaps it is the aether, along with the hectic events of the day. My attentions seem to be scattering themselves.”

“You did come a long way,” she replies, and pauses, turning to face him once more. When next she speaks, her voice is softer. “Thank you, for the record. For doing that. Coming.” Hien’s smile widens.

“I said I would come,” he says with gentle conviction. “T’was a promise, yes?” Odzaya shrugs.

“Crossing an ocean is a long way for a promise, especially for a king with a country.”

“I could not well leave my khagun to do battle alone,” he half-jests. “A small difference we ultimately made, but it was a difference, still. And it was the least I could do for what you did for me and mine. And what you have done now.”

It is practically nothing, for all that she has done for him. A hundred years he could spend in attempt to repay her, and he fears he would still fall short. It says something, he thinks, that he still wishes to try.

“Well, you have my gratitude,” Odzaya says, and lifts herself briefly onto her toes, her head lowered just enough for her locced bangs to cover her eyes. A gesture of shyness, he inexplicably recognizes, having seen it last on the Steppe, when her family made such a fuss over her return to their midst. The realization brings that earlier inward smile to his face in full, blatant force before he can stop it.

“As you have mine,” he returns. Their gazes find one another again, and when she returns his smile, it is warmer than the sun on his face.

He dares to think he would cross another ten oceans, just to bask in its heat as he is now.

A hundred years. Ten oceans.

Small prices to pay for her eyes upon him.

[inviouswriting]

Breathing

This will be under a cut because it contains some spoils for 5.3 and my anguish over something that happened.

Aymeric x Kiya.

Kiya had returned after her lastest trip to The First. Bearing more with returning with her friends this time. She didn’t even have time to visit home, to her husband. To one she is avoiding. She huddles to herself in a corner unsure if she could even face him after what she had endured in Amarot this time. What she had to do to get through Elidibus’ mind games. 

Her head buried in her arms, she fights her own wits, she can’t get those events out of her head. Even as a pair of feet stand before her. She knows those feet, gold armor. It was a moment she knew she felt when she had a moment to herself. The anguish in her heart at having to slay everyone she held dear in that city. She had to, to progress. 

When everyone was safe, when everyone could return to their lives. Was when she found herself glued to the corner between crates and a wall. Shying away from all, refusing to be touched.

The person at her feet presses his hands to her shoulder, the one he can reach with her wedged between the wall and corner. He wonders what she witnessed to make her like this. Even her refusing to look at him. Aymeric waits patiently though, this isn’t the first time he has seen her in a state like this. Inconsolable and refusing anyone near her. He encountered her like this in his home after the events of Rhalgar’s Reach. Then she had managed to hide behind a bookshelf. He sits there and waits for her.

“Love? Talk to me.” His voice low, comforting. Kiya curls in herself more, he wonders if he is upsetting her more by being there. He wonders if one of the Scion’s was told of the events she endured to make her like this. He glances to G’raha Tia, he only shakes his head no.

“I’m afraid I don’t know this time. The others were separated before their reuniting. Not even Y’shtola knows of all that transpired before her first fight with Elidibus in Amarot..” He felt for his friend. He was the first to witness her shut down, and quickly went to Tataru who summoned Aymeric.

“Then all we can do is wait for her to come out of it.” Aymeric sits down next to Kiya, sitting just a few ilms away from her letting her have her time, but also letting her know his presence is there. He doesn’t touch her further, nor talk more until she snaps out. It would be hours from his guess. Not foreign to her traumas and the way she deals with it.

“We’ll leave her to you then, you have the most experience with her like this.” Of course he would. Aymeric nods and then settles into the waiting game of it. When she will reach to him. Seek him out.

The only thing he does is hold her left hand, grounding her to him. That “this” Aymeric is alive, this is “her” Aymeric. Not the illusion she fought with, the one she had to kill. She had hesitated in the fight, she even has new cuts from the sword on her face. Bandages applied. 

Kiya stares ahead of herself, her eyes drifting down to hand covered by his. She moves closer in resting her head on his side where she reaches. His arm moves to wind around her drawing her closer. He doesn’t say anything yet. He waits for her to break the silence. 

“You’re here... Really here?” Inward he sighs in relief at hearing her voice. Shaken and meek. Like she hadn’t seen him in months again.

“Aye, I am really here, my love. Tell me? What has you this distraught that you are hiding away even from me?” Aymeric sees her lift her head and look at him, he sees the pain in her eyes upon seeing his face. Then is bowled over with her wrapping her arms around him and burying her face into his chest.

“I was in Amarot... and Elidibus had me fight illusions of everyone... I knew they were not real... but still...” Aymeric wears confusion in his face till he got what she meant. Everyone. Him included he lets her continue.

“From Papalymo... to Hien. To Lucia... to you...” His arms wind around her understanding why she is the way she is now. The man she had sworn to love and protect, she had to slay like they weren’t. He closes his eyes and tightens his hold on her.

“Dirty trick to use those you love against you. Anything to stay your hand or.. kill you. I rather you have lived if it were the case. The worlds need you before me.” Kiya sits upright on his stomach and glares down at him in a first of anger and a first a slap it echoes throughout the room. Enough that G’raha and Tataru flinch shrinking their shoulders they were around the corner listening to them. 

“Your people need you too... I NEED you! I don’t know what I’d do without you... Don’t you ever dare say that again!” He feels a hit on his chest in her flurry of emotions for him even suggesting such a thing. 

“Mine apologies my love.” He grabs her hands and holds them to him, using the back of his hand to rub the left side of his face where he feels the sting of her slap.

Kiya buries her face back into his chest to son freely.

“I’m sorry... I felt like I failed you having to do that.... Even with the success...” It is his turn to be stern with her. A shuffle and he pins her to the ground keeping her hands firmly above her head.

“Had you have died because you hesitated, you would have. You choosing what was right to do, no doubt with tears in your eyes and anguish in your heart over it. You did the right thing. And here we are. Still alive. You with me now.” Aymeric tilts her head up to look at him, Kiya keeps her eyes closed still not feeling like she can stare directly into those piercing blues that wait.

“Kiya. Look at me. Better yet.”  He takes one of her hands and presses it to his chest enough for her to feel the heartbeating a bit erratic from being smacked. Never had he thought she’d do it, but understands it is out of her anguish. 

The steady beating under her palm, she feels around his chest for it. Her fingertips lingering over the center. She is coaxed with him to sit up and press her ear to his chest. She hears it, and it lulls her out of her stupor. Arms wind around her and brings her even closer. To allow her, her weakness. 

“I’m here. We’re here. No one you love is lost here. Except those we could not save.. I know your heart hurts with those thoughts. I can’t erase them. I’m happy you have returned to me again. As you promised. Look at me.” Kiya lifts her head, and is greeted to the soft smile she knows first, then the calm eyes that soften when hers are on them finally. The messed black hair from the shuffling about. The slightly red cheek from where her slap connected. 

“Welcome home. Kiya.” Gentle words, enough to make her eyes peek with tears again and her ears to stand up in happiness. He catches her in his arms this time and holds her to him, so tight that she feels content.

“I’m sorry I slapped you...” 

“My back has endured worse my love. I still have the scars to prove of that.” Kiya’s face reddens and she pinches his thigh just above the chainmail he wears. Earning a fidget from him and retaliation in him blowing on an ear watching it twitch in the same manner his own cat does when irritated.

“May I take you home now?” Aymeric asks her, resting his forehead against hers. Eyes staring into hers pleading to let him take her home.

“Yes.. please...” She sees his eyes light up, and his chest heave a sigh he held. Relief in his entire being.

“We can talk more at home.” He feels a nod as he moves them both collecting her into his arms. He notes she is lighter than when she last left him. Probably from all her running around. He doesn’t press it further, instead he carries her now to head home. He sees Tataru and G’raha offer small smiles. Kiya buried her face into Aymeric’s chest.

Tataru passes up a cold cloth to Aymeric who shakes his head of not needing it.

“Thank you. Thanks for getting me for her. She would have been like this had you not. Probably till tomorrow.” Aymeric does take his wife’s left hand to press a kiss to her ring. An act that grounds Kiya even more to him.

“She chose well in someone who loves her so unconditional.” Tataru chimes up, she sees how Kiya is evenly breathing again, fallen asleep in his arms.

“Make sure she actually gets some rest!” Tataru adds, Aymeric nods.

“I will. I promise she will rest.” Aymeric gets nods then walks out with his wife in his arms.