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scionshtola · 2 months

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sweet distraction

summary: On Friday night, Y’shtola found herself alone at the only bar in town. Corisande saves her from ending the night early. pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul word count: 2.4k | rated: G | read on ao3 notes: a modern day AU of sorts, where Y'shtola is a geologist new to town and Cori is a ranch hand who shows her around. there's a little bit of Hilda/Joye in here because I could not resist [divider credit]

On Friday night, Y’shtola found herself alone at the only bar in town.

“Leave your books and your research in your motel room for one night,” Hilda had said outside Y’shtola’s room only an hour ago, the same thing she’d said to Y’shtola every weekend since Y’shtola had arrived in town a few weeks ago. Y’shtola had shocked them both by agreeing, and then Hilda had shocked her by abandoning her for a pretty young woman, blonde hair divided into two braids over her shoulders, the moment their drinks had arrived. She’d given Y’shtola a shrug and a wave as she followed behind Joye, carrying both their drinks.

She could have left then, could have gone back to her room where her books and her research still waited for her. But something had held her back, something that had her keeping a vaguely interested eye on the crowd as she pushed her straw around her drink.

Part of her—a small part—had hoped Corisande would be here tonight. Not that Y’shtola thought about them often, but they’d spent the greater part of the last few weeks together, with Corisande escorting Y’shtola around the Haillenarte ranch as she ran her tests on the land. It was only natural that her thoughts might stray now and again toward the ranch hand who had practically become her coworker. It was hardly her fault that ranch hand was six feet tall, with bright green eyes and the most sincere smile Y’shtola had ever seen. That was barely an observation worth noting—a simple declaration of fact.

She pushed thoughts of Corisande from her mind with a sip of a drink. She couldn’t deny there was some kind of connection between them, friendship and understanding forming between them from their very first meeting, when Corisande had shown both interest in and knowledge of Y’shtola’s work as a geologist. But Y’shtola was here for work, and she was not here for long—there was hardly even time for friendship.

Anything else would only be a distraction.

“Mind if I join you, miss?” a soft voice said, pitched just loud enough to hear over the music. Y’shtola looked up and found herself staring directly into those bright green eyes, that sincere smile directed her way.

“Oh,” Y’shtola said, unable to keep the note of relief out of her voice. “You’re here.”

Corisande tilted her head. Her long hair, free of its usual braid, fell in burgundy waves over their shoulder, soft pink highlights catching the warm light. “Were you waiting for me?”

Y’shtola shrugged, and tried to recover. “I figured you would show up sooner or later. Everyone else in town seems to be here.”

“There’s not much else to do on a Friday night around here,” Corisande said, with a knowing quirk to their smile that tugged at something in her, though she could not quite decipher what.

That did not bear thinking about. She tore her gaze from their mouth, letting it fall over them on its way back to her drink. Their usual plaid top had been left unbuttoned, the tails tied together in a knot on one side, revealing a low cut black tank top beneath.

Y’shtola took another sip of her drink, mouth suddenly dry.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, though.” Corisande set her drink on the table, a swirling sunset-colored concoction in a tall glass, and draped her jacket over the back of a chair before sliding into it. “Especially not sitting alone.”

“I was talked into taking a break,” Y’shtola said, tilting her chin to where Hilda sat with Joye, their heads bent close together. “And promptly discarded at the door for another woman.”

Corisande glanced over their shoulder, and a smile played on their lips when they turned back.

“So you had no choice but to sulk at a table alone all night instead of, I don’t know, dancing,” they teased, gesturing toward the crowd on the dance floor that Y’shtola had kept an eye on all night—just for something to do, certainly not on the lookout for any pink tipped ears standing above the crowd.

“I’m not sulking. I stayed to finish my drink,” Y’shtola said, swirling her glass in their direction. “Besides, I’m not much of a dancer.”

Corisande rested her chin in the palm of one hand as she sipped her drink, looking at Y’shtola with a glint in her eye that concerned her. There was an embarrassing swoop in Y’shtola’s stomach when Corisande smiled. She ignored it.

“Dance with me,” they said, tilting their head again so that Y’shtola had no choice but to follow the fall of their hair.

It took her a moment to realize what they’d said. She gave a short, incredulous laugh in response. Hadn’t she just said she was not much of a dancer? She opened her mouth to protest, but a voice boomed from the stage before she could speak.

“Alright folks, you know what time it is! Who’s ready for some good old-fashioned line-dancing?”

Corisande’s lips parted, her eyes growing wide in excitement. She reached across the table and grabbed Y’shtola’s hand, pulling her to her feet and halfway to the dance floor before Y’shtola came to her senses with a shake of her head.

“No, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, though she could not quite get herself to pull her hand from Corisande’s, their callused fingers warm against hers.

“As your appointed guide, I can’t in good conscience let you skip out on a line dance,” Corisande answered, reaching to take Y’shtola’s other hand as well.

“You’re only my guide at the ranch,” Y’shtola said, still not stepping back.

“Consider this an anthropological extension of your research, then,” Corisande said, squeezing her hands. “You’ll have fun, I promise. We can stand at the back, and if you get lost you can just watch me.”

Their lips curled into a sly grin then. “You look like a quick study.”

Y’shtola did not like the way her heart skipped a beat at their words. Music started up again on stage, and Y’shtola’s protests died in her throat when Corisande moved their hips in time with it. They tugged on her hands with each slow swivel, and Y’shtola could not stop her gaze from following the long line of their legs, from where their dark jeans tucked into their tall brown boots to where they clung tightly to the curve of their ass.

“Please?” Corisande asked. “Just one song.”

“One song,” Y’shtola relented. Corisande beamed down at her, and Y’shtola could not help but smile back.

She let herself be pulled into line at the back of the crowd. The dance had already begun, and Corisande fell easily into the steps beside her, while Y’shtola watched the woman leading and did her best to follow the callouts.

After a moment, Corisande caught her eye, her lips already quirked into the teasing grin Y’shtola was quickly becoming familiar with. “Good, but I know you can give it more than that,” she teased.

Y’shtola kept her eyes carefully away from where Corisande’s fingers framed her silver belt buckle, her hips swaying. Instead she followed the next step, sliding to the left and punctuating it with a quick shuffle and spin, finding her rhythm easily as she picked up the steps. When she met their eyes again, their grin had grown wider.

“As you said,” Y’shtola said, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “I’m a quick study.”

Corisande’s head tipped back with her laughter, a sweet sound that warmed Y’shtola more than any drink this place could serve.

When the lines turned and Y’shtola found herself behind Corisande, it was difficult not to watch her. She leaned into each movement, her long wine-colored hair swaying, a carefree ease and rhythm to each step that somehow made Y’shtola more comfortable in her own movements.

They turned again, facing the front of the bar, and together they clapped and stomped and stepped in place with the others. Y’shtola’s skirt swung and swirled about her knees as she kicked and glided. She slid to the right, just a bit too far, and Corisande caught her with one arm around her shoulders and spun them both around. They leaned in and, just loud enough for her to hear them over the music, said, “I knew you weren’t one to do things halfway.”

Now it was Y’shtola’s turn to laugh, bubbling breathlessly out of her as they released her. The lines turned, and she felt their eyes on her from behind. She cast a glance over her shoulder, and they met her gaze with a warm smile, one that felt inexplicably secret and knowing between them despite the crowd around them.

They caught each other’s gaze more often than not for the rest of the dance, smiling and laughing as they stepped and clapped. Each glance set off a spark in Y’shtola’s chest, leaving her warm from more than just exertion.

Corisande’s dark blue pickup rolled to a stop outside of the motel. They’d passed the short drive in a companionable kind of quiet, Corisande with one hand on the wheel and Y’shtola watching the night pass by outside the window, settled in the jacket they had slung over her shoulders. Every so often their gazes met across the cab for a moment, until Corisande’s kind smile made Y’shtola’s cheeks heat and she had to turn away.

Now that they’d arrived outside Y’shtola’s room, she found herself reluctant to end the night so soon. But she supposed there was no use in staving off the inevitable.

“Thank you for the ride,” she said, forcing herself to unlock the door and reach for the handle, though she did not open it just yet. “And for the dance. I had far more fun than I expected tonight.”

She could just make out Corisande’s gentle smile in the dark. They leaned back and stretched their arm across the back of the seat. “Better than a night spent with your data?”

“Yes,” Y’shtola admitted with a small laugh, and their smile grew. “I think I needed the break—I’ve been so caught up in my work I’ve hardly let myself have one since I got here. It’s good to be reminded every once in a while.”

“Happy to help,” Corisande said, the sincerity of their tone causing an embarrassing flutter in Y’shtola’s chest. Before she could get out of the truck to avoid any further flustering sentiment, Corisande’s eyes darted to the radio, which had been playing at a gentle hum in the background since they’d left the bar. “In fact…”

They shifted toward Y’shtola. She froze, her breath caught in her chest as they leaned in, until they bypassed her in favor of the window crank. Y’shtola watched them roll down her window, and then hop out of the truck and come around to the passenger side. They opened her door and helped her out of the truck with one hand, before ducking back into the truck, leaning across the seat.

“What are you doing?” Y’shtola asked, watching them. The volume on the radio climbed and a soft, slow song emanated from the truck’s speakers, a woman’s gentle twang carrying toward her. Corisande straightened and faced her, shutting the door behind them, but it wasn’t until Corisande held their hand out, palm up, that she understood what they intended.

“You haven’t had enough dancing?” she teased, but she took their hand. She hesitated a moment, and then rested her other hand on their waist.

They moved closer without pause, putting their arm around her shoulders. “One more dance, before you get back to work.”

“I wasn’t planning on doing any work tonight.”

“Sure you weren’t,” Corisande said, beginning to turn them in small, slow circles.

“Well,” Y’shtola said, a bit sheepishly. She looked up at Corisande, who smiled teasingly down at her. “I may have wanted to go over one set of results—but only one.”

“Of course, only one,” they agreed, in a tone that indicated they definitely did not believe her. “And then another, and another, until it’s four in the morning and you’ve scattered papers all over your room.”

They lifted their arm, leading her into a twirl as she laughed before pulling her back in, somehow closer than before.

“You may have a point,” Y’shtola said, surprisingly pleased at the way they seemed to know her so well already. Corisande only hummed, and they fell back into the same comfortable silence they’d had in the truck. Y’shtola found herself leaning in, her head resting on their chest as they turned. She tried to remember the last time she’d felt this relaxed, but nothing came to mind. And yet it hardly seemed strange at all that she should find some kind of peace in their arms, a sweet distraction from her duties here, though she had only known them a few weeks.

When the song ended, Corisande stopped turning them. They held Y’shtola for a moment longer, and then released her, stepping back. The cold night air rushed into the space between them, making her shiver.

“I suppose I will see you Monday,” Y’shtola said. It suddenly seemed an eternity between now and then, though in reality it was only a few days.

“I suppose so,” Corisande said, her smile small but warm. She squeezed Y’shtola’s hand before letting go. “If you need a break before then, you know where to find me.”

“The ranch? Or line-dancing at the bar?” Y’shtola teased, pleased when she was rewarded with Corisande’s laugh as they turned away, heading for the other side of the truck.

“Definitely line-dancing,” they called as they climbed into the truck, reaching over to turn down the volume on the radio.

Y’shtola got the feeling that Corisande would not drive away until she was inside her room, so she bid them goodnight and went inside. It wasn’t until their headlights had completely disappeared that she realized she was still wearing their jacket. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and pulled it close for a moment, letting the peppery scent that lingered on it take her back to the moment Corisande had held her close, her head against their chest as they spun.

She shook her head clear of the memory, slipping the jacket off and hanging it over the back of a chair. Though she had planned to do some work, it seemed it would be a largely useless endeavor with the way her thoughts kept drifting toward Corisande.

Instead she readied herself for bed, and fell asleep to thoughts of Corisande’s hand in hers, and the sweet sound of their laugh.

#kels writes #corishtola #oc: corisande ymir #i find tumblr's post editor so hostile...aldksfjsdla #anyway. i listened to texas hold 'em five thousand times and lost my mind and now here we are. pls listen to slow burn by kacey musgraves #for the second half of the fic. thank you.#im actually kind of nervous about this bc i feel like it's not how i normally write lol. but it was fun.#also this is technically in my brain a yellowstone au so uh imagine after they left the bar #hilda's gang let a bull inside and closed the doors.

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scionshtola · 3 months

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from the touch prompts: 12. on a scar; or 18. because you are dying :>

ty azia!! this one really sent me on a spiral this week adkfd

the pain of perception

pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul word count: 1292 | read on ao3 notes: i went with 18. because you are dying. 5.0 spoilers!

Y’shtola has always found Corisande difficult to look away from, some inexorable pull between them perpetually drawing her gaze. She turned toward them as a blossom sought the sun, unfurling in their light and basking in the warmth of it. Even when Y’shtola lost her sight and the world lost its color, Corisande’s familiar aether was more than enough to draw her in, their countenance so dear to her that it hardly took any effort at all to pick out their features.

In the grand entrance hall of Emet-Selch’s recreated Capitol building, the light Corisande emanates is not the kind Y’shtola wants to bask in. They are a beacon of aether, so bright they blur the forms of the other Scions gathered around them. So bright the light lingers even when she closes her eyes, a ghostly blur haunting the back of her eyelids.

She watches them as they take their leave of the others and turn toward her, seeking her out as surely as she sought them. They cross the hall, the soft click of their boots growing louder as they approach.

“The others are nearly ready. Ryne only wants to charge a few more cartridges for Thancred before we start on our way,” Corisande says, gesturing at the others over her shoulder, gathered by the door that leads deeper into the building. She lifts her hand, starting to reach for Y’shtola, but stops herself halfway, arm falling stiffly to her side. ‘Tis difficult to make out, but Y’shtola thinks she might be clenching her fist. “I came to see how you fared.”

Y’shtola holds back a sigh, her jaw clenched against the sharp pain in her chest at the aborted gesture. In the three years she’d spent without them on the First, she had so missed the easy physical affection between them. A reassuring squeeze of her wrist, a gentle hand on the small of her back, a soft brush of their thumb across her cheek. Touches she had at times wished Corisande would not make, if only to spare Y’shtola the misery of her endlessly growing feelings.

But she’d been wrong to think it would spare her any pain. Since their reunion—that near disastrous moment when Y’shtola had mistaken them for a sin eater—Corisande has, for the most part, kept a careful physical distance between them. Every deliberate step back, every halted reach for her hand, left her far more hurt and confused than any touch that had ever led her to hope for more.

That they keep their distance even now, when losing themself to the light is becoming less a potential threat and more a rapidly approaching reality with every passing moment, is more than she can bear. She reaches for their hand in their stead, pressing their cool palm to hers. “l have no preparations to make. I will be ready when you are.”

Corisande tips their chin, head tilting down in the direction of their joined hands. Y’shtola holds fast, hope swooping through her stomach, her breath caught in her chest as she waits. But rather than pull away, they squeeze her hand, and the ache in Y’shtola’s chest is eased as she finally exhales.

Corisande lifts her head in Y’shtola’s direction, her familiar features—the heart shape of her lips, the curve of her nose, her downturned eyes—just as obfuscated by the light as the rest of her body. There was a time that Y’shtola could have known what Corisande was thinking just by a simple shared glance. Now, though she could make her best guess, she could never be sure what was written in their expression. What Y’shtola might give to see the curve of Corisande’s gentle smile once more, before they venture toward a battle that could change her forever.

Y’shtola glances down at their hands, still pressed palm to palm between them. Corisande had not shied from one touch—perhaps she would not shy from another.

Do as your heart decrees, Y’shtola had told them, only moments ago. Without hesitation or regret.

Y’shtola raises her free hand to Corisande’s cheek, heartbeat a loud, steady rhythm as she moves. They lean down ever so slightly to meet her, their hair falling over her arm, the ends of it brushing lightly against her sleeve. She stills when their fingers wrap gently around her wrist, thinking they mean to tug her hand away, but they simply hold on.

“Is it difficult? To look at me? To—” Corisande’s grip on her wrist tightens. Their voice is soft, almost fragile to Y’shtola’s ears. “I know the toll a surfeit of aether takes on you. It must be exhausting just to have me near.”

“‘Tis not easy,” Y’shtola admits, though it pains her to say it. Corisande knows the truth already—the abundance of their aether is difficult for Y’shtola to process with her aether-fueled sight—and Y’shtola would not lie to her besides.

Worse than the harsh glare of their aether, though, is the damage the light has wrought on their soul, battered and bruised as it struggles to contain the light. For all the distance that Corisande has kept between them these past few weeks, they could not hide the depth of the wound from Y’shtola. While she knew Corisande would prefer it, Y’shtola saw no kindness in pretending otherwise—she would not turn from them when they were in pain, no matter how much it hurt to see.

Y’shtola sweeps her thumb across the swell of Corisande’s cheek, and hopes she’s looking her in the eye when she speaks again. “But I would no sooner look away than I would leave you to face what lies ahead alone.”

Corisande’s smile blooms under Y’shtola’s palm—cheek curving upward, the quirk in the corner of their lips where they’ve turned into her touch, the crinkle of skin around their eyes—and she answers with a warm smile of her own. Corisande sweeps a finger across the inside of her wrist, and after weeks—years—of so little contact between them, the deliberate touch feels monumental, as much a relief to the longing inside her as it is a catalyst for a desperate desire for more.

“Shtola,” they say, the newly restored warmth in their voice reigniting that flame of hope in her. The one that made her long for Corisande’s soft touches, that made her think Corisande has always felt about her the way she feels about them, the one that never quite went out. “I—”

They cut off with a soft whimper of pain, lurching forward with a grimace. Their grip clamps down sharply where they hold Y’shtola, fingers digging into her wrist and the back of her hand, and she feels the hold as if it were a vice around her heart, pressed under the weight of their pain. The light inside them surges, brightening and straining against their soul as Corisande struggles to stay on their feet, and then it fades.

“Are you all right?” Y’shtola asks, keeping her tone neutral though she feels anything but, unable to even blink away the image of the surging light. Corisande straightens, her expression smoothing beneath Y’shtola’s hand.

“Well enough,” she answers between breaths, her voice thin. She squeezes Y’shtola’s wrist, then gently tugs her hand away from her face, though she does not completely release her. “Perhaps we had better be on our way.”

“Of course.” Y’shtola expects Corisande to drop her hands, but they hold on to one as they pivot, placing themself at her side.

The door that will lead them to Emet-Selch looms before them, the others still gathered in front of it. Whatever they face beyond it, whatever Corisande’s heart decrees, Y’shtola would not turn her gaze. They would face it together—perhaps not hand in hand, but side by side.

#kels writes #xiv fic #corishtola #this really took hold of me this week so i hope. y'all like it akldjfasd #its wild how this moment did not exist in my brain til like 5 days ago and now it is so important for me that this happened #before the battle and before their first kiss #also i love writing shtola dialogue bc my process is sometimes like #here's the nice thing to say. the thing that in another romance the person would probably say. and here are all the reasons shtola would no #say that. she would just say!! the truth! and cori would know that and be fine with that. yes it hurts to look at cori. yes in my other fic #she's mad at cori. but she's gonna look and she's gonna love cori anyway.#ANYWAY. will stop the commentary now i just have a lot of feelings 😭#shadowbringers spoilers #idk why i feel nervous about this one okay. bye

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