#hc ; seren ; your wish is my command

[gazpachoandbooks]

HC that some lords or whatever visit Winterfell for the first time since the Starklings have been ruling there. They've all heard a great deal about every single one of them, how they are legends who battled the dead and lived to tell it, how they took back their father and brother's kingdom, how they faced the wars in the South and gained independence, how they are fearsome skinchangers, and above all how they would defend each other fiercely, until the last breath. How there is magic in Winterfell once more.

So they are extremely shocked to find the White Wolf and his She-wolf little sister with swords in the courtyard, the fight looking a lot more intense than a training exercise, both swearing loudly at the other until they come to a halt.

"Enough!" yells Arya Underfoot, her famous Needle pointing at the shape of her brother. "Confess, heathen!"

"Fine, I did it" says the Bastard of the Wall, apparently not afraid of facing his fate.

"No, you didn't " comes a voice from the ramparts, and to their surprise it is the Red Wolf herself speaking, she who can see through the eyes of the eagles. She is half-laying against a column, her Tully hair shining in the sunlight as bright as the songs claim it does. "Arya did."

"Blasphemy! Have I not beaten him in the very first round? The gods guided my hand!"

"He beat you in the second-"

"The gods guided my hand first!" Arya the Fearless proclaims, ignoring her sister, and if the lords didn't know better they'd say everyone in that courtyard is trying their very hardest to hold back their laughter, but the Lord Commander and his sister look deadly serious. Would brother and sister, both well renowned for their protectiveness of one another, unseath steel to settle a mere quarrel? The Water Dancer raises her sword to point ar her brother once again. "Do you still refuse to accept the truth of your crime?"

The Lord Commander meets her gaze with a glower of the same intensity. "I don't. I did it."

"No, you didn't, Arya did" the Mockingjay's Bane repeats from up above. Arya the Featherfeet throws her hands up in the air. "Unbelievable! Justice is staring you in the eye and you are still too blind to see it. Very well, then. If the gods guiding my hand-"

"And Jon's. In the second round."

"-IF THE GODS GUIDING MY HAND FIRST IS NOT ENOUGH" she insists, "then we must settle this the old way. Let the gods guide the hand of every last warrior who chooses to follow me."

A silence spreads through the yard. "Careful, little sister" He Who Came Back From The Lands Of The Dead says. "Do not start something you can't finish."

"Oh, fear not. I'll finish it alright."

The lords look around themselves and watch men and women eyeing each other, forming small groups, and with a shiver they realise they're picking sides.

"You should hide somewhere" a kitchen boy whispers behind them, and they are about to do so when they see coin changing hands. "They're betting?" One of the lords demands, outraged. The kitchen boy merely shrugs. "Might as well, m'lord. It happens at least once a moon."

Once a moon?!? The lords exchange shocked glances. They haven't heard of such infight in the very heart of the North. In fact, they've been repeatedly informed of the fondness with which Ned Stark's children treat one another. How are they only hearing of this now?

"Alright. If this is your wish, then you shall have it" says the Ghost Commander, a wolfish grin settling on his features that his sister quickly matches with one of her own.

"A piece of advice, m'lord" says the boy. "You should choose a side right now, m'lord, or hide. And, under any circumstance, don't. Trust. Anyone. People here change cloak each time it happens. You can never know who to trust, not really."

The lords can't believe what they're seeing, but they stand their ground all the same. Who must they choose?

"To the death" says Arya.

"To the death" her brother agrees, shaking her hand shortly. The lords have still been unable to decide when a giant mountain of snow lands from the rooftop, right where Lord Snow was standing. "BRAN!" Sansa screams, looking up from the edge of the railing, and a red head appears on the periphery of the roof, followed by a grinning face. "In the name of all that is good, how did you get up there?"

"I had help" says the man who can only be Bran Stark, the Winged Wolf, gesturing behind him. Another red head appears, this one belonging to a smaller lad that can only be Rickon the Wild, and another head still, this one filled with small braids that remind the lords of the way Ironmen like to keep their hair away from their face during battle.

The Red Wolf doesn't seem fazed. "Rickon, Theon, pull Bran down from the ceiling or I swear-" but then Rickon throws a snowball over the edge, and it lands right in his sister's face. The lords stare in horror as the Lady of Winterfell wipes away the wet water on her face, and then serenely says "very well" as a terrifying smile lightens her face. "TO THE DEATH!" She screams at the top of her lungs. And then all hell breaks loose.

Arya has used the distraction to get as far away from Jon as she can, her sword now sheathed at her hip, and gather as much snow as she possibly can in her small hands. She doesn't get to finish her task. A snow-soaked Jon appears behind her and shoves a handfull of snow under the collar of the back of her tunic, making her wriggle as she tries to get away, her laughter ringing in the courtyard. Every man and woman around them has left what they were doing to eagerly throw snow at each other, some betraying their team as soon as they have the chance. Lady Sansa is using a barrel to propel herself onto the roof, while in the other side of the walkway Greyjoy and the youngest Stark are trying to pull Bran down to escape from his sister's wrath, but laughter seems to be taking away all of their strength. A one-handed man with a familiar face races across the yard, closely followed by a tall, armoured woman with short blonde hair and a massive amount of snow in her hands that looks like she is having the time of her life. A redheaded giant throws an enormous proyectile at Jon, who is now trying to evade his and Arya's snowballs.

This is ridiculous, one of the lords thinks, just as a snowball hits his back. He turns around furiously, only to find his wife waiting, a devilish smile dancing on her lips, and his resolve crumbles. They are right, he thinks as he grabs snow from the ground and sprints to catch her. They pass the legendary Starks on their way, now all battling each other in the grounds of the yard, and hear the breathless laughter of the Red Wolf as she tries to squirm from her sister's tickling hands. "FINE, I DID IT!" Sansa yells, tears in the corners of her eyes and a wide smile across her face. "I ATE THE LAST LEMONCAKE! I REGRET NOTHING!"

The lord doesn't slow his pace to witness the repercussions of her confession. They are right, he thinks again as he chases after his wife. There is magic in Winterfell once more.

#sorry about the rant #starklings #house stark #asoiaf #theon greyjoy #jon snow #sansa stark #arya stark #bran stark #rickon stark #brienne of tarth #ser brienne of tarth #jaime lannister #ser jaime lannister #braime #tormund giantsbane #my writing

[utterlyinevitable]

imagine this

Ethan Ramsey and MC BOTH inhale the mitotoxin and Ethan has a death scare...angsty

why u always killing these characters ??? 🤣

sinking suspicion that my hc’s are just less detailed fics 🤔 am i do headcanons right??? 

Ethan Inhales the Mitotoxin

Ethan stared at MC through the window. It was just the two of them left. 

The two more-than-colleagues shared the same look of utter despair and heartache. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” he asked.  MC was grateful yet skeptical, “They won’t need you in the lab?”  “I can be of more use here.” 

Ethan wouldn’t tell her that his mind wouldn’t be able to focus - he was fighting the whole day between his professionalism and his feelings for the resident. At the forefront of his desires was running to her side and wishing he could take all her pain away. Absolve it all. 

He threw on the hazmat suit and made his way to her as quickly as possible. There was no second to waste. 

They talked. 

They shared regrets. 

They finally spoke their true feelings in such small words in the room that’s taken almost everything from them. It was only a matter of time before he lost her too.

Ethan climbed into bed and held her as best he could in the bulky hazmat suit. 

And she tried not to cry as she told him she wished she could kiss him one last time. That she could count every time their lips met in the most perfect synchronization on one hand. That she’d give anything to have him one more time. Even if that one thing was her life. She wanted to love him and have that love, unashamed, returned for once. [i’m not crying as i write this line nope no i’m not] 

Holding her in the cramped twin-sized bed. Not being able to feel the warmth of her skin against his. Ethan wanted all of that as well. He wanted her and more. 

The way she was looking up at him, fragile and broken and yet still the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, he made a decision. 

He’d be damned if these were their last moments together. 

Against all rationality, Ethan removed his helmet. 

“No! What’re you doing? Are you stupid?” MC freaked out through her compressed breaths. 

She tried to pull away from him, to put as much distance between their bodies as she could.  

Ethan pulled her closer; “Yes. But I’m not letting you go.” 

They stared at one another for a moment. She couldn’t believe he was jumping into the unknown, risking every thing he has worked his entire life for. Risking it all for a few moments with her. 

She tentatively raised her hand up, wanting so badly to cup his face. To feel the coarse stubble against her skin. 

But she knew she couldn’t. The toxin was all over her and he was already at risk of inhalation. 

Ethan saw the hesitation as her hand froze in midair. He guided her palm to his cheek. 

Their eyes locked on contact. 

Neither closed their eyes as they savored the feeling. They wanted to see - to catalog and remember - every moment of this. For as long as they had left.  

And she started to cry the second his warmth met her palm. 

The tears slowly fell down her tired, so tired, features. 

Ethan reached out to catch them on his thickly gloved hand. His thumbs on the apples of her cheeks and fingers cradling the back of her head. 

He swallowed.

His ocean eyes searched her. 

And as he looked he realized he was holding his whole world in his hands. 

So Ethan pulled her closer to him. He trailed one of his hands down to her waist and slipped it around the small of her back. He needed her closer. 

The whole time MC’s fingers twirled and grasped the strands of his hair, reveling in the feeling of the soft locks of the man she loved. Her other hand finding home on his chest, counting the faint thumps of his heart. 

And yet she wasn’t close enough for Ethan’s liking. 

In one failsafe movement, he swept to press his lips to hers. 

He kissed her. 

He kissed her in the middle of the apocalypse - in the middle of Pompeii as Vesuvius’ ash rolled closer and closer.

It didn’t matter. The toxin didn’t matter. None of it mattered because he had her.  

If she was fading he would follow. 

As much as Ethan Ramsey hated Romeo & Juliet, he never identified with the star-crossed lovers more. 

He would follow her into the dark. 

She broke them apart with a heavy gasp, needing air all too soon. 

He let her take the deepest breaths; his kisses making up for lost time at her nose, her cheeks, her forehead, and the spot under her ear in the meantime. 

And they kissed some more. 

They held one another all night as MC snuggled up against him. Her forehead pressed against the warmth of his cheek, keeping them connected. 

There wasn’t a single second since he took the mask off that they weren’t skin to skin. 

As they lay there, the humming of the machines drowning out serenity, Ethan began to feel the side effects of his irrationality settling in. 

MC could hear the panic in the irregular beating of his heart. 

“Regretting your stupid decision?”  “I could never regret time spent with you,” he told her honestly. 

She rambled on about how he shouldn’t have done it, no matter what. That this wasn’t worth the both of them dying. 

Ethan begged to differ. 

But now wasn’t the time to tell her he’s irrevocably in love with her. That, hidden in his earlier regrets is that he may never get the chance to tell her. 

With every certain fiber left in his failing body Ethan asserted, “We’re not going to die.”  “Ethan... I’ve come to terms with it. I’m okay.”  

She leaned over and kissed him again. It was languid, slow and lingering, spilling every unsaid feeling into the kiss as if they had all the time in the world to work through their issues.  

And in the distance she could hear Sienna screaming. 

“Doctor Ramsey! What are you doing!?” 

The pair didn’t break away quick enough to notice the tiny resident at the window. 

Quicker than lightening Sienna searched around for a spare suit while paging June and Baz to make their way upstairs. 

“Great you’re together.” Sienna let a small congratulatory remark slip before the fire in her eyes took hold. She turned fully to Ethan, making certain he saw deep into her eyes, “What the hell! Do you have a death wish? I cannot lose another friend tonight.” 

And the weight of what he’s done finally came to fruition. 

Ethan didn’t care. He was selfish. He didn’t say goodbye to anyone who could be affected by his impulsive decisions. He didn’t patch things up with his dad before he’d gone. 

“Take off your suit. I’m going to take your vitals,” Sienna commanded.

June and Baz arrived. Both were a little surprised Ethan would do something so bold, though June was less shocked than Baz. Neither dared to ask why their boss would do something so irresponsible. The intention was staring them right in the face. 

Right in the way MC and Ethan kept in contact. 

Even as he stripped off the suit she had her hand on his back. As Sienna took his vitals his fingers laced with hers. As he explained his symptoms and MC began to fade, he wrapped an arm around her and tucked her safely against his chest. 

With jaws on the floor the doctors made their way back down to the lab to tell everyone they had another patient. 

Ethan and MC allowed themselves the small whispers and pillow talk of finally getting to spend the night together. 

After all these months they could be happy together. They could forget everything except for their bodies pressed firmly against one another, their arms clasped behind the others back. The feeling of the others shallow breaths and drumming heart lulling them to sleep. 

He ran his fingers through her hair, loosing himself in the sensations he’s had dreams about for the better part of the last year. He placed a kiss to to top of her head, letting it linger. Letting her natural smell engulf him. 

No matter what happens he wants to remember every aspect of her. 

And eventually, Ethan let himself sleep. 

He was jolted awake by a tightening in his chest and need to vomit. He leaned over the bed and let the bile fall into the wastebasket. Then he sent an ‘911’ message on his pager. 

MC rubbed her eyes awake, terrified as he keeled over onto the floor. Whatever strength was left in her body she exerted to get herself to him. She sat next to him and rubbed his back, whispering sweet nothings of “It’ll be alright. It’ll pass.”  

The despondent look he gave her sent a chill down her spine. 

No. 

He reached out and touched her face one last time. 

If he wasn’t gasping for air he would have said the words. 

Ethan didn’t need to say them, she felt them in the blue of his irises and the way the lines of his face smoothed out. He was slipping through her fingertips and yet he never looked so sure, so serene. 

Then he collapsed. 

And MC cried. She cried so much she couldn’t see through her tears as she tried to check his vitals - checking for breaths, and mustering her strength to roll him on his side. 

And soon enough the team was suited up. 

Tobias, June, Baz and Aurora entered the isolation room. Aurora held MC back as the other three lifted Ethan onto a gurney. 

They plugged him with oxygen. 

And as they wheeled him away June shared a sorrowful look with the forlorn resident.  

________________________________________

Masterlist

Perma:

@rookiemarsswiftie @lucy-268 @binny1985 @thegreentwin @queencarb @danijimenezv @starrystarrytrouble @terrm9 @interobanginyourmom @adrex04 @maurine07 @mercury84choices @schnitzelbutterfingers @theeccentricbibliophile @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @kaavyaethanramsey @mvalentine @rookie-ramsey @drariellevalentine @lifeaskim @otherworldlypresents @therookie @aylaramseycarrera @angela8754 @fireycookie @stateofgracious

Ethan:

@udishaman @honeyandsunfl0wers @hutchereverlark23 @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @blossomanarchy @claredal424 @caseyvalentineramsey @rookieoh @openheartthot @senseofduties @lilyvalentine @tsrookie @kalogh @aworldoffandoms @takemyopenheart @casey-v @ramseyandrys​ @peaceinmidstofchaos​ @ethanramseylover​ @ramseyreader​  @a-crepusculo​

#aylaramsey #asked #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart hc #hc #open heart headcanons

[ffxiv-ariavitali]

HC: The Eighth Umbral Calamity

Because apparently ya’ll wanna cry LOL

Shadowbringer spoilers | Alternate universe: If G’raha Tia and the Ironworks did not do research on the Crystal Tower and allowed the Eighth Umbral Calamity to run its course

special thanks to @haylin-chan , @sage-just-loves-elves and @windup-dragoon for enabling me like this. further thank you to everyone that liked the cursed post

i’ll be collecting my jars of tears now.

AO3 ver.

❅ ❅ ❅

Premise: With the aid of you, the Warrior of Light, the Garleans had been pushed back, line by line, across accursed Ghimlyt Dark to the point where it was deemed that the Resistance would be able to fully wrestle control and claim victory by the turn of the season. As a result, the ally nations within the Eorzean and Far Eastern Alliance withdrew from the battlefield in order to return to their nation-state and to shore up defenses for any future hostilities that the Garlean Empire would retaliate with.

However, the nation leaders forgot the most important—and more arguably most dangerous—aspect of mortal kind: their irrational unpredictability and desperation when they are backed up too far into the corner. By this logic did the Empire rain hell on the battlefield with the toxic gas, its potency inexplicably high and spared no one along the way…

...Not even you, Warrior of Light. For when you had heard that your comrades were falling by the tens, by the hundreds, you had rushed to the front line as quickly as you could. You took precautions, your entire order did, that you thought would serve as defense against the poison, but it did not work. 

It did not work.

❅ ❅ ❅

[Aymeric]

The Black Rose spared no one on the front. It had been but a fortnight since he had returned to Ishgard when he received the news that the toxic gas had been let loose on the field and he couldn’t help the cold churning within his gut that something was going terribly, terribly wrong.

It was for this reason that he often visited Saint Reymanaud’s Cathedral. He prayed and he prayed to blessed Halone to show mercy, to offer Her guidance and protection in this most delicate of times. War often brought with it bloodshed of immeasurable quantities and faith in the divine had never been higher. Aymeric knew this. He knew this.

In the end, his prayers were not answered for the sight of you utterly destroyed him.

They brought your body back from the warzone and as you lay on the cold metal table, he swore that you were just asleep. Despite the wails of utter mortification, of pain and anger, from the Fortemps family—predominantly that of Lord Edmont, for the pain of losing yet another child of his family must be shattering him from within—he wanted to shake you awake because you appeared just as you always do when you would lie with him together in bed, so peaceful and so serene.

Yet, when he touched you—a palm against your cheek in the gentlest of manners, as if you were but a porcelain doll ready to fragment and shatter at any given moment—you were cold as ice.

Aymeric has never felt so empty, so broken, as if a dragon’s talon was impaling him over and over again without cease. The frustration within him broiled as if he was thrown into a blazing inferno for a sin he had not committed. In this entire ordeal, the same thoughts ring over and over again in his mind:

Why has the Fury forsaken us? Have we not suffered enough? Why did you go alone?

Why was I not there with you?

In his frustration, and after a few punches to the wall, Aymeric takes up his sword once more and gives the order for a return march to the front. If he was correct in his thinking, the Alliance would be requesting reinforcements anyway and he could argue that he was taking the initiative. Though, all he wanted was revenge. He was going to have. It.

Even if he has to die trying.

[Estinien]

Estinien swore that he wasn’t going to reveal himself on the front lines. The dragoon swore that he was only going to remain in the shadows, plucking off the war machina that he knew would be aiming for your blind spot, as you fought and fought and fought your way through your aches and exhaustion to reclaim the line that was regained by the Garleans.

In fact, he figured that it was only a matter of time, for you have allowed the returning Alliance members to push farther than they could have hoped for. In a way, it was almost as if the rumors of the soldiers dropping like flies was exaggerated overmuch, as rumors are wont to do in any given situation. So why?

Why did he have such a heavy sense of foreboding?

His instincts flared then, drawing him to attention, for there was a distinct change in the aether swirling about him emanating from the Garlean side. It was like a prickle, small like a leech, but he couldn’t shake it off. Soon enough, it was as if he was drowning on the inside the more he breathed in the scent of smoke and flame...smoke and flame…

When Estinien understood what was occurring, his head snapped towards where you were standing. With the amount of exertion you were displaying, the constant panting and pauses to catch your breath, you were in the most danger.

And his sense of foreboding proved true when you had collapsed to your knees on the battlefield.

Adrenaline pulsated within the dragoon’s blood, but even at his distance, he was growing weak. Darkness started spotting his eyes and he was growing dizzy, fatigued, exhausted.

Not like this, not like this!

The man mustered all his strength to vault into the air. It was shaky, even through his addled mind he knew this, but you were in danger. You were in danger. He won’t let you be in danger…!

A part of him registered landing by your side, scooping you up within his arms just before you were about to get hit by a magitek ray, and jumping into the air once more. However, he had used up all his energy just reaching you and the distance he wanted to put between you and the danger was nowhere near enough.

In the end, he had collapsed in some unseen corner of the battlefield close to Resistance Headquarters, with you on his lap and within his arms. At this point, even the inner dragon within was growing tame, growing lax, and it was then he knew that it was too late.

So, he pressed a kiss on your forehead, only noticing now that you were barely awake and crying in front of him and this caused him to shed tears of his own.

“Est...in...I…” you attempted. “Shh…” he whispered back meekly, holding you close as he felt himself fading away all the same. “I...love...sor-” “No…”

No. I am sorry. I love you.

I will not let you go alone.

[Haurchefant]

(AU where he’s still alive for the sake of this cursed post)

It was always tradition that the eldest son was to be the one selected to go into battle when there is a need for it. That being said, the role of the youngest son was to ensure that support was given where needed, but to focus predominantly on shoring up the defense on the home front. Haurchefant being the middle son, was duty-bound to serve on the front lines with Artoirel and he couldn’t be happier for the opportunity.

Or, at least, he thought he couldn’t be happier.

When the Alliance had deemed it acceptable to leave the defense to the Resistance, allowing token forces to stay within headquarters to maintain an efficient communications network in case things were to go south, he attempted negotiating with the lord commander for him to stay. He wouldn’t admit that it was no more than an excuse to ensure he could always have your back during a fight and was no more surprised when Aymeric told him no with an amused smile on his face.

Before he left, he approached you for a temporary farewell. He will pray for your success, will pray for good fortune to you so that you may bring freedom to all of Eorzea in the face of the ones that wish to lock them all away like rabid dogs. After all, you had brought his people solace after a thousand-year-long war and he has no doubt that you would be able to do the same here.

Little did he know that the smile that you had given then and the words of reassurance you had spoken was to be the last he would have of you.

The next time you appeared before him, he was staring at your corpse on top of a metal table. His eyes were wide with disbelief, a part of him dying, detaching and breaking away from inside of him as a result. Even at the behest of his father, who urged him that it was alright to openly weep for the loss, he left the room to be on his lonesome, somehow wandering outside in the process.

How could I have been so foolish? How could I not have known? How could this possibly happen?

...Why did I choose to follow propriety and not kiss you?

Somehow, in his dark musings, Haurchefant ended up walking to his encampment and from the corner of his eye, he saw the entrance to the intercessory. The Falling Snows. The place that he had welcomed you to use when you sought his help.

He entered the hall and he collapsed to his knees almost immediately. All alone, he unravels his burdens, his pains and woes, along with punching the stone cold floors and walls, tossing anything and everything that he could in a fit of rage that he is unable to break away from. It took half a dozen knights to restrain him when he tried going after you searching for Shiva, and it took half a dozen more with the help of an anesthetic to force him to stop hurting himself now.

You needed me, he thought amidst the darkness. You needed me...and I left you all alone.

[Thancred]

As planned, Thancred had taken a group of the most highly skilled Far Eastern operatives in order to carry out the subterfuge plan that he so easily proposed in front of the Alliance leaders. When you had approached him afterwards, urging him to be careful, he smiled and held you close.

“Worry not, I have done this before. I will ensure that I come back to you.”

All of the Scions knew protocol. Those participating in the espionage aspect of their order are issued a special set of linkpearl that are able to tap into multiple different frequencies if they knew the proper input code. With this, they are able to listen in to radio messages sent between different sectors of Garlemald’s imperial army…as well as receive coded messages from their allies safely and without any fear of being eavesdropped.

Then, one day and completely out of the usual norm, he had received a message from home base.

“BEACON. ROSE. GONE.”

Thancred knew that the mention of ‘beacon’ is a reference to you. While you may not know it, the rest of the order had decided this codename to reference you during missions because that’s what you were: a beacon of hope in the darkest times, lit up the brightest for those that can yet be saved.

‘Rose’ could only mean one thing, the Black Rose that had been brought to light thanks to Alphinaud’s efforts elsewhere on Garlean territory. The deadly poison was so potent that it was enough to utterly annihilate a group of insurgents seeking to revolt against the Empire. If anyone were to so much breathe it in, then-

‘Gone.’

Thancred’s heart almost gave way when he pieced the puzzle together. At this point, the mission was more or less complete as rumors of the puppet prince was beginning to gain traction, so he sent the order that the infiltrators remain on standby to ensure the fire was still burning as he returned.

Faster. Faster. Faster!

What greeted him upon his return to Seventh Heaven was what he didn’t wish for. Something that he couldn’t have ever imagined.

Your body was laid out on one of the beds in the medical wing, the other Scions—including Alphinaud—surrounding you in a circle. The twins were openly weeping, Alisaie being held in her brother’s arms. Y’shtola couldn’t bear to look, choosing to stand in the corner with Krile and Urianger’s consolations because it was so, so wrong to gaze upon your features without the glitter of your aether flowing from you.

“This has to be some sort of joke…” Thancred began as he approached your bedside. 

He called your name and when you didn’t respond, he reached out to hold your hand and found it eerily cold, like the Coerthan winter that you had escaped to after the bloody banquet. After he had failed Minfilia.

The thought tore him apart as he reached out to collect your body in his arms. This time, he allowed himself to cry in front of the others. He allowed himself this weakness that he forbade himself from feeling upon learning that Minfilia was gone. As he held you, his body was shaking, racking with sobs that was so painful to watch because of the fact that he would be the last one to show any emotion asides from frustration during a mission.

“I failed...I failed yet again...to save what I hold dear…”

With his words, the others couldn’t hold it in anymore. Their beacon of hope was lost.

You weren’t coming back.

[Hien]

He was the one that urged Yugiri to remain in Eorzea to provide continuous aid to the Alliance granted the number of stationed shinobi in the region. Upon learning the Scions’ plan to infiltrate into Garlean territory, Hien was rather proud of his nation’s immediate ability to contribute in the war effort, in the name of freedom that you and yours had provided to his country.

When he received the news that the leftover defense of the line at Ghimlyt Dark was to be left to the Resistance, when Yugiri had returned to the Kienkan in order to personally deliver the message, he thought finally. Finally, his brothers and sisters have the upper hand and will no longer have to live in fear of those monsters that had taken so much from them for their delusional causes.

Oh, how cruel the kami must be.

You had been sending him letters the entire time. On the surface, it was to keep him updated on the war but he mostly wanted to make sure that you weren’t pushing yourself overmuch in a land where he isn’t able to easily reach. He would often tease in his letters that, should the next time you come to visit be of leisure, he will no longer be tempted to release you from his embrace once more. He wanted to hold you, he wanted to touch you, he wanted you to be safe.

Then, your letters stopped coming.

One day, two days, three days, ten, there was radio silence even from the Alliance and he was half tempted to send a runner to your homeland to bear word on what may be going on. The only thing that stopped him then was Lyse coming on her own volition, bearing the message herself.

“Hien, I’m sorry…” the woman began and there was a ringing growing louder in the Doman lord’s ears. “Lyse, do not—” “Hien, the Warrior—” “—I implore you, please stop—” “—because of Black Rose—” “LYSE!”

Even as Hien stood to his feet, shouting the woman’s name from the top of his lungs with such disrespect in front of his ministers, Lyse continued eyeing him patiently. Painfully. For the words that were to escape her lips were unkind, unfair, and it makes him wonder what exactly the kami have planned for their people.

“...Hien, they are gone,” Lyse says softly, brokenly, with as much pain that he must have been feeling since she had worked with you for the majority of your journey as the Warrior of Light.

It only took but a moment for him to decide that he was going to return to Eorzea in the company of a contingent of soldiers. After all, if Lyse had decided to make a personal visit asides from passing the message along—which could have been done by any other Scion—then that meant that something had gone terribly wrong.

Prior to boarding the ship sailing for your homeland, Hien brings the letters that you had sent him all this time. In his private quarters, he reads them, over and over again. He could still hear your voice saying the words on the paper in his mind. Even as he spilled tears as he read the words, he could still hear you.

He wishes that he could hear your voice again.

#ffxiv headcanons #ffxiv writing #aymeric de borel #estinien wyrmblood #haurchefant greystone #thancred waters #hien rijin #tumblr requests #ANGST #LIKE SO MUCH ANGST #I'M SORRY #also i didn't do g'raha because i'm super emotional over 5.3 #plus he's sleeping let him sleep #uwu