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[kochei0]

I turn to Ares.

Thanks to Tyler Miles Lockett who allowed me to draw inspiration from his ARES piece for page 2! Look at his etsy page it's SICK

⚔️ If you want to read some queer retelling of arturian legends have a look at my webtoon

[cozystars]

!!! BUILT LIKE BILBO BAGGINS !!!

[runawaymarbles]

The thing I keep coming back to, with all the *gestures expansively* is that real life doesn't have peaceful epilogues.

Every single win has to be defended. Forever. I'm sorry. It sucks. The Nazis lost until they stopped losing. The US had abortion rights, and then 50 years later it didn't. Empires fall, and then they invade other countries again. Oppressive regimes are overthrown and replaced with other oppressive regimes. You will never finish the work etc etc etc. Which is why it's so fucking important to be able to acknowledge and celebrate progress, when it happens. The people who came before you didn't put in all that work for nothing, and you aren't, either. You can't save it all for the Ultimate Victory because there is never going to be an Ultimate Victory. There's no such thing as a time when everything is good, and ours shall not be the commune of Heaven.

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Honestly, this. This, this, this.

Especially with Agatha’s excuse of “it was the 1920s!” sounds so similar to how white people respond to reparations (“It was 400 years ago! Get over it.”)

[daigah]

We lose everytime a girl in fiction who is on the masc side and happy with it becomes very feminine as a supposed sign of maturity

[800db-cloud]

i’m literally shaking buy them brown contacts pls

[etirabys]

as a child I wondered why adults were so stupid (doing things out of habit/routine/heuristics rather than reasoning explicitly about what to do based on their goals) and the answer is that adults are unimaginably fucking tired all the time

[ambrosiagourmet]

I think one of the biggest tragedies of Laios & Falin and their relationship is how much his actions impact her life. But like. Specifically how much they WOULDN’T impact her life as much if they weren’t both stuck in such a shitty abusive situation.

This part of the Falin-tries-makeup daydream hour comic is what got me thinking about it again because truly it just... it seems like such a like an offhand comment that I'm sure Laios didn't mean to be cruel or anything. That's just like. A little kid not thinking about what they are saying. ESPECIALLY when the kid in question is Laios.

But man they depended on each other SO much as kids. Too much. It really feels like they didn't have any other source of positive reinforcement, or anyone else to share themselves with. So of course an offhand comment like that has a huge impact on Falin.

Or this little bit from one of the flashbacks:

This tears me apart. Do you think it tears him apart to think about? I think it does. I think Laios holds every small failure to care for Falin against himself.

And then there's the Bigger stuff. The way that him coping with his own trauma ended up impacting her.

Like his interest in monsters. Like him going to find a ghost, and accidentally revealing Falin's magic to the whole village in the process.

Like him needing to leave. And leaving her behind.

He shaped her life so much, and he carries so much guilt for it. And again, there should have been other people there to help. The same things that made Laios need to leave home are the things that made his leaving so hard on Falin. She ate alone after that. She shouldn't have had to eat alone just because Laios wasn't there.

She was 9 when he left for school, and he was 11.

Nine. And Laios feels like he failed her because he didn't stand by her through this better. As an eleven year old.

Both of these kids deserved so much better from the world.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki is and forever will be a massive baby.

and it’s all your damn fault, so he says.

you hadn’t even said anything bad. all you'd said was that he looked even more handsome today then he usually did. and he'd looked at you like you grew an extra head, and now he's like this.

you don't even really know what did it, but then again it could've been anything with katsuki. too much eye contact, too long eye contact. your hands lingering a little too long on his face or your fingers rubbing at the crease of his eyebrows.

you don't know what it is but he won't remove his head from your neck now, grumbling about how stupid you are.

"katsukii.."

"shut up." he hisses through gritted teeth like he's angry, and he is. look at what you do to him ! it drives him crazy. you drive him crazy.

yet you giggle, rubbing softly at his hair and he shoves his head into you harder, the angle he's forcing your neck at is awkward but you don't mind, you'll let him have his little tantrum as you stroke his blonde messy tufts of hair tickling your chin.

"all i said was that-"

"i heard you. the first time. shut the fuck up." his grip on your hips tightens to the point you think he'll make indents in your skin. hands practically steaming and boiling hot to show you the embarrassment he refuses to let show on his face. your smirk grows wider, god you love messing with your boyfriend.

"i don't get why you're so angry, baby." you coo sweetly and he growls from the deepest part of his throat. he squeezes at your waist, clearly wanting you to just stop talking. but of course. you don't.

"it's cus you—you fuckin'—" he splutters and cuts himself off, not finding a proper way to convey how much you make his skin burn and prickle and itch. how you have his heart buzz and beat so loud against his ribcage he's sure you can hear it. and how much he fucking hates it. (he doesn't)

so he does the next best thing.

"ouch !"

he bites you. the asshole.

you're such an asshat !" you whine, pushing at his shoulders, and he grumbles when he pulls away. he lightly nuzzles against the mark he's left into your skin as a sort of apology, you don't deserve a kiss right now. (he'll give you one later) then he pulls away to look at you.

"s'your own fault," he huffs, cheeks less bright then they first were when you'd made the irreparable mistake of complimenting him (in his eyes, you regret nothing) but still with a nasty scowl on his face.

"ya keep sayin' dumb shit so now you deal with the consequences," he presses his nose against your pulse point as he huffs hard into your neck to annoy you and it works because you grumble, you feel him smirk proudly.

two could play that game.

"what dumb shit ? the fact that you're handso-" you cut yourself off with a giggled squeal as katsuki drops you backwards onto his bed with a snarl. you snort and giggle when he blows raspberries and softly bites into your neck, helplessly trying to push him away with your limp arms.

"you just can't help yourself, can ya.." he tuts, grabbing your arms and pushing them against his bed, barely suppressed smirk on his face as he sees your eyes prick with tears, leaning back in to blow into your neck "think you’re funny ? hah ?!"

he ignores your giggled plea's and bites at your fingers when he leans back enough for you to push at his face.

"yuck ! you're gross !" you wheeze, still giggling as you see the lopsided smile on his face. he huffs at the exertion of keeping you still, he really isn't trying hard to convince you he isn't handsome when he looked like that.

"yeah ? i'm gross, huh ? right back at you," he leans in close to you again, smirk still playing on his face "saying mushy shit like that."

"yeah well, i'll keep sayin' it !" you retort, sticking your tongue out at him. he rolls his eyes and drops onto you, causing you to grunt out an 'oof !' sound. he's stays quiet until he presses a soft kiss onto your skin, right where he'd bitten you. unbeknownst to you, his expression softens as he tries to repress a smile. he scoffs.

"you're so damn weird." he utters affectionately.

[theauthorandtheartist]

See now I want to see how the rest of the chain is doing during/after this conversation. Do they put pieces together? Do they try to push or make their own conclusions? Do they...believe the rumors? All rumors are rooted in truth after all...

Alright, @undertheopensky

This one’s all for you 😂

Your long awaited sequel to this fic!

Hope you enjoy!

4849 words, slight warnings for one (1) instance of assault, and ngl its angsty and doesn’t really have a happy ending? But it’s not a bad ending either.

Summary: Four hates towns. Or, well… Four hates his town. The one he protected with his blood, sweat, and tears. Sky asks the right questions.

~~~~

It had been a long couple of days when they arrive in Four’s era.

Right outside the smithy’s house, Four scrambling right through the door and tumbling in. “Papa!” The kid shouts, and they take a minute to glance at each other before following him inside.

Finally met the smithy’s grandfather, got settled in, got to rest for an afternoon, and a home cooked meal.

Now they’ve been tasked with trying to get Four to take them around town for a bit so they can get needed supplies.

And they’re rather unsuccessful.

The kid beams up at him unapologetically. “Sorry, Sky. I can’t. I have chores to do.”

“Four-” Time sighs, but there’s no getting the kid to come. Four’s sweeping out the floor of the forge, eyes sparkling, just happy to be home.

“I’ll find you a map if you give me a minute.” Four hums, turning away.

Time sighs, staring at the back of Four’s head.

Sure enough, Four finishes sweeping and leads them to a small office with a strong looking desk and lots of shelves and drawers.

The kid rustles around in one of the drawers for a moment, pulling out a sheet of parchment and studying it for a moment before offering it to them.

“I can’t read this.” Time reminds him, and Four hums again.

“Don’t need to. Red circle is the apothecary, the center of the town is the market. You’ll find anything there- and it’s just a straight shot past the gates.”

“If it’s so easy-”

“I have chores to do.” Four repeats with a poorly hidden grin, already leaving the room.

“Should we find an inn or are we able to stay here?” He asks, and that gets Four to pause for a minute.

“We have room on the floors. Definitely not enough beds- it might be best for you guys to find the inn and sleep in some beds for a night or two. I dunno. Think about it.” Four shrugs, and then he’s gone.

Time sighs yet again, rolling his eye.

“Time, let him be with his grandpa again.” He says quietly.

“It’s not that.” Time says.” “He knows the town, he knows it well. He can take one hour to make sure we find everything we need. We need potions and medical supplies, we need to restock on rations and food. If we don’t find those-”

He smiles gently at the old man.

“We have more pressing things-”

“Time.” He pushes, slightly less gently. “He’s a child.”

All the fight deflates out of the old man at the reminder.

Seems to remember this, looking away.

“You’re right. I’ve… I’ve been too harsh on him.”

He shrugs, accepting the map from Time. “Let’s get this done- he made it sound like an easy trip. We can be back before supper.”

“Sounds good.” Time agrees, and they leave the room to gather up the others to make the trip to the little town.

~~~~

It's an easy, quick trip to town, and they find Four making supper with his grandfather upon their return.

“Supper should be ready in about fifteen minutes.” Four smiles at them, a little smudge of some sort of seasoning on his cheek.

So they get all their supplies packed up and put away, and enjoy their meal.

He sits next to Four, managing to be lucky enough to sit at the table, meaningless chatter filling the house.

It’s the evening when they really speak again, Time sighing and relenting as he, Twi, and Wars ask to spend some time at a tavern.

“Four, we’re going to find the pub, will you come get us before you settle for the night?” The old man asks.

Four’s expression remains the same for a long second, giving absolutely no indication that he heard Time, then nods. “Yeah. The only one is on the side of town- once you enter go to the right as much as you can and then up towards the castle. Can’t miss it. I’ll get you guys around… eleven and a half bells?”

“Sounds good. Thanks, kiddo.”

“Not a kid.” Four hums, and he has to smile.

“It’s what your grandfather calls you.”

“Yes. My grandfather is sixty two- everyone is a kid to him. He’s called grown adults kiddo.”

He laughs at that, and Four’s eyes flick to him.

“Be safe.” Four says softly, oddly… serious in his warning.

“It’s just a town. Little town,” he says, confused. And it is- a small, peaceful little town. Rather reminds him of Skyloft, actually.

“What’s the worst that can happen?”

Four shrugs, already turning away. “There’s a festival or something coming up soon. Just… it may be busy, people may be territorial. They’re not all so open to outsiders.

“They seemed fine when we went to the market.” Wars frowns, though Four merely shrugs before vanishing into a room.

They take a minute to shrug at each other before heading out the door.

~~~~

It was Twi’s idea to… mess around a bit and try to dig up some information on Four.

He definitely didn’t mean for… all this.

But the situation had spiraled well out of their control, and he’s a little too tipsy to defuse it.

So he clutches his sailcloth in his fist to avoid punching someone.

“Oh… he’s… crazy.” One woman sighs softly. “He… he didn’t come back quite the same. A shame, he was such a good boy.”

The bartender glances up, eyes narrowing. “That’s a rather kind way of saying he had a screaming match with himself in the middle of my shop.”

They all freeze. This has gone way too far, they need to end this, this-

“Oh, your anger towards him is unjustified, Mr. Elson. He’s a boy- he’s a boy, and he’s alone and traumatized. He was so young… how is he supposed-”

“Are you kidding me?” The man laughs incredulously. “The kid is absolutely insane. Didn’t come back right in the head. Being twelve at the time don't change that.”

Rage flies through him, and he forces himself to take a deep breath. Time’s eyes narrow dangerously. Wars looks ready to go full war captain mode.

Seemingly oblivious to their reactions, the man continues.

“I mean, sure. I get it. The poor kid is traumatized. But isn’t that his responsibility? He doesn’t need to come around town and make it the rest of our problem.”

Time’s hands shake with rage, and he feels the blood pounding in his ears. War’s hands clench into fists, but it doesn’t hide their shaking at all.

“It’s been almost three years? I think the kid’s almost sixteen. Used to hang around with the princess, was around her age. He should just be better by now.”

“Guys. Let’s go.” A voice says quietly. The last voice they want to hear right now.

The three men turn around tensely and freeze when they see the smith himself standing behind them.

“You’re not welcome here.” The bartender says, and he whips around, barely leashing his anger when Time places a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, Mr. Elson, I apologize. I’ll be leaving shortly.”

“You’ll be leaving now or I’ll contact the authorities.”

“Yes, sir.” Four says softly.

“Yes, sir.” The man mocks. “Get out of here, you freak. If I catch you around here again-”

They leave the man still angrily ranting about what exactly he’ll do if she catches Four around here again, exiting the shop. The words ‘crazy lunatic’ are heard before the door slams behind them.

“Four-” Time starts quietly, but the smith shakes his head, cutting him off.

“Don’t.” Four’s eyes are trained on the ground, ignoring the glares and whispers thrown his way. “Just… don’t.”

“Four…” He says softly, trailing off when Four stops.

Four looks up for a second, meeting his eyes. Something passes between them- he’s not quite sure what- and then Four looks down at the ground again.

Leads them around a block before pausing. It’s busy for so late at night, he notices finally, glancing down at Four. He had mentioned a festival or something.

The kid gulps visibly, expression flickering into an anxiousness he doesn’t understand.

But slowly steps forward, taking a deep breath.

He and Wars share a glance but follow.

People stare and fall silent as they pass, eyes lingering on Four.

Expressions from anger to curiosity to distrust on their faces. One man looks at Four with such hatred he pauses.

"Move.” Four mumbles to him, and he forces his feet to obey.

But the man stops them, stepping into their path and forcing Four to stop.

“You’re not welcome here.” The man says firmly, crossing his arms.

Four doesn’t even look up from the ground. “I’m just passing through.”

“You’re going to take another way. You’re not welcome here.”

Four chews his lip, finally looking up.

“Going around takes an hour, please just this one time-”

“Don’t make me call the guards, freak. Get out of here.”

“Please- one time, just one time, you can watch me all the way through-”

Quicker than he or even Wars can react, the man lashes out and strikes Four across the face.

Four stumbles back, clutching his face, ignoring or not hearing their yelps.

“I said get out of here. We want nothing to do with you. Now scram.”

Four turns without another word and starts back down the path. He glares at the man for a long moment until Wars gently taps his arm- their signal to keep going.

The ranch hand refuses.

“You have no right.” Twi scowls, and the man looks to the rancher. “He sacrificed everything for you.”

“Twi.” Wars mutters under his breath.

The man laughs. Loudly. “It would’ve been better if he’d never stuck his nose in that shady shit to begin with- and then came back all jumbled, talking to himself and having screaming matches with nobody in the middle of the road. You keep that freak away from me, you hear me?! He’s a freak!” The man yells the last part at Four’s retreating back.

Four’s shoulders hunch down, the kid shrinking into himself.

Twi grabs the man by his tunic, shaking the man rather ungently. “He sacrificed everything for you! You don’t even understand what he’s been through!”

“Twilight.” Wars says softly, seriously, grabbing his arm.

The rancher shoves the man away, sending him to the ground. “A freak?! That’s a child you’re assaulting!”

Twi glowers down at the now cowering man, disgust on his face. “You’re not even with his time.” The rancher mutters, turning his back and finally letting Wars drag him down to where Four’s waiting down the street.

Not quite meeting their eyes, cheek pink where he’d been hit.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Four mumbles, taking the turn to leave town.

“Four-”

“They’ll know you’re with me. You guys won’t be able to come back- they won’t want you here either.”

Silence.

Four leads them all the way around- for such a little town it sure does take a lot of time to get around- back to the forge.

Inside the front door, down the hall to his room, vanishing from sight.

~~~~

There’s a long silence where everyone stares up at where the smith had disappeared, then Time shakes his head.

“Leave him be.”

It’s a quiet night, the others taking in their tenseness.

Twi hesitates, looking down the hall where Four had vanished, fidgeting-

“Twi. Leave it.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“I know. Just leave him be.” Time says gently.

“But-” the rancher cuts off, sighing slowly.

“Is he ok?” Wind mumbles groggily, having been woken up as they came in.

“Yeah.” Wars says gently, making his way over to the sailor. “Go back to sleep, you could stand to grow a little more.”

The sailor squawks in protest, but the captain only snickers and affectionately ruffles Wind’s hair.

Gets his bedroll set up next to the sailor’s, settling down. Time and Twi slowly do the same, Twi’s gaze still lingering down the hall.

“I’ll go check-”

“Twi.” He interrupts gently. “He doesn’t want to talk to us. Try it in the morning.”

Another long sigh, but the rancher finally settles.

He stretches out himself, missing the bit of warmth Four usually provided during the night.

~~~~

He wakes up early- very early, the rest are still sleeping and the moon hasn’t even set yet.

He’s suspecting around two chimes, but he can’t tell for sure. Time feels different in Four’s era- it has a strong flow.

Or maybe the surface is making him crazy.

He stands, though, stretching softly and goes in search of the smith. Down the hall, rubbing his eyes.

The room Four had shown him and labeled it ‘his’ is empty when he glances into it.

So he wanders down the hall into the other room, peeking carefully into the room-

Four’s slumped next to a table, surrounded by books.

The room is packed with book after book- on shelves that line the room.

It is a small room- the size of a large closet, really- but it’s still an impressive amount of books.

A small table is shoved into the corner, two cushions on the available sides.

That’s where Four is, curled up on one of the cushions, a blanket over him, book still open in his hands.

He slowly walks the rest of the way inside, stepping carefully over books on the floor to get to his friend and sitting next to him.

Carefully takes the book in his hands, putting a folded slip of parchment in it to mark the page, closing it and setting it aside.

Slowly, carefully, taking hold of the teenager and getting him carefully into his arms-

Four shifts and mumbles sleepily, nestling closer to him with a soft noise of contentment.

“Shh… I’ve got you, kiddo.” He whispers.

Four’s eyes flutter, but don’t open.

He carefully carries the smith back down the hall, tucking him gently into the bed in the corner, the teenager mumbling again and curling into the soft bed.

“Better than that little cushion on the floor, yeah?” He whispers, getting the blankets around the kiddo.

Four’s hand slowly grabs at the blanket, other one finding his hand and clinging to it.

“Shh…” he hums softly, trying to ease Four’s hand off of him… Four’s eyes flutter open, and he freezes.

“Stay with me.” The smith murmurs groggily, slowly releasing the grip on his hand when he nods in shock.

Four manages to scoot to the side of the bed so he can lay next to him, the smithy curling right back into his arms when gets settled.

“G’night, Sky.” Four mumbles drowsily, and he has to smile.

“Sleep well, buddy.”

~~~~

He sits in his bed, gazing out the window thoughtlessly. Sky snores softly next to him. 

Watches the sun slowly rise, the light peek through the window in beautiful shades of gold, pink, and orange. 

Trying not to think back to the weeks after his adventure, but… after a day like yesterday how could he not?

“It’s going to be ok.” Zelda had said softly once, his first time seeing her after everything. “But it’s going to be different.” 

If only she knew how right she was. 

“Four?” 

Sky. 

He glances down, forcing a little smile. 

“Hey, Sky.” He manages, the knight rubbing his eyes and flopping so he’s on his back. 

He’s reminded heavily of a golden retriever asking for belly rubs, and has to resist the urge to smile. 

Silence. Sky looks nervously at him, matching his smile with one that’s equally as fake. 

“You can ask.” He says finally, laying back again to curl into Sky’s warmth. “I… I owe you an explanation.” 

Sky finally does. 

“This is why? Why you hate towns? Why you prefer to stay at the inn, or do research, or… anything other than the market.” 

He nods into Sky’s steady heartbeat. 

I don’t understand, Sky would say, shaking his head as left for the market, leaving him at the inn at his insistence and sometimes begging. 

I don't expect you to. All I ask is that you respect it, he’d shoot back rather sharply. Uncharacteristically sharply. He’d ignore the other’s surprised looks, and they wouldn’t press the issue further. 

He stares out the window some more, then sighs slowly. So much for fighting off the bad memories. 

“After I came back from my… after… after I returned the sword to the palace, something… it changed me. The magic I used had… consequences.” 

He curls into a ball, turning to look at the wall. 

Keeping Sky out of his gaze. 

“I came back weird. Jumbled. I… I…” 

He lets out a broken laugh. “I was crazy. Maybe I still am. I don’t know anymore, Sky.” He whispers. 

Four bodies fuse back into one, but… four minds clash and fight in that one body. 

For a moment, Link is fine. 

And then he’s on the ground, clutching his head, screaming. 

Cursing, sobbing, giggling, yelling in pain, fear, anger, embarrassment, any emotion he can think of flashing through him in waves and waves. 

Zelda ends up running to get his grandfather, bawling uncontrollably herself. 

She’s terrified out of her mind, understandably. 

Papa carries him home- he can’t walk. He can’t speak. He can’t form a coherent, clear thought. 

He can’t do anything for a week. 

Can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t think, just lays in bed and stares at the ceiling, his mind quite literally at war with itself. 

Sometimes he manages to scream when the pain gets too bad. 

Papa sits next to him the entire time, holding him close when he manages to cry, scream, anything. 

Tries to coax some soup into him so he can eat, but…

He can barely swallow. He can't function in the slightest. 

After that week he… can somewhat do the very basics again. Sleep, manage some food, drink water… 

He slowly gets back around to talking- which he immediately stops doing again. 

It’s garbled, stuttered, staccato sentences that make no sense, barely stringing two words together before changing topics completely, and it hurts. 

It hurts real bad. 

The ache behind his eyes the first time he tried… 

“Papa!” He’d screamed, the first comprehensible thing he’d probably said in a month, then spent the rest of the day screaming and sobbing into his papa’s chest. 

He stops trying to speak. 

Moving is difficult and often painful- his movements are jerky, uncoordinated, and slow. 

As if four bodies are fighting for the ‘correct’ way to move. 

After a while, he gives up on moving, too. 

He spends as much of his time as possible sleeping.  

It’s the only way to escape the constant pain, the horrible loudness in his head. 

He… becomes a bitch. 

To his grandpa, to Zelda… to anyone who encourages him. 

Just starts ignoring everyone, doing everything and anything in his power to fight whenever someone tries to force him. 

Spits, scratches, screams, one time he manages a well placed knee into his father’s groin. He’s still pretty proud of that one. 

That attitude, however, changes with a visit from the minish. 

He wakes up one night to little footsteps on his chest, and he finds himself covered in minish. 

On his stomach, his chest, his arms and legs, a few curled up in his hair, chittering happily to see him awake. 

His mind is still too jumbled to understand them fully, but their love and encouragement seeps through to him. Their kindness and affection touching him, making him feel… remarkably less lonely. 

He hadn’t even realized how lonely he’d been- Papa is, as always, moving around and doing work, Dot is doing her princess duties, Father… well, was never around anyway… 

And even though Papa spends as much time with him as possible it’s different now. 

He can’t do the things he could do anymore- he can’t talk. Walk. Anything. 

He’s stuck just… laying there. 

His good arm slowly reaches to gently stroke a dozing minish on his chest, and he realizes he has to get better. 

For Papa, for Dot, maybe for Father, but… most importantly, for himself. 

So when Papa walks into his room the next morning, he gathers everything inside of him and sits up. 

“M- Morning.” 

He’s seen Papa cry one time in his lifetime- when Mama died. 

But now, Papa holds him and cries for a while. 

“I love you, kiddo, I love you so much.” Papa manages, wiping his eyes carefully. “Let’s get you some breakfast. Let’s get you to the table?” 

And with Papa’s support, a stupidly long time, and several instances of nearly eating the floor, they do manage to get to the table from his room. 

Though after that, Papa makes him a wheelchair. 

Walking is still too much- his legs don’t move right, barely support his weight, and wobble whenever he stands. But wheeling himself around… well, it works. 

Not quite easier. Not quite… better. But it works for him. 

He- for the first time in months- can get around by himself. 

Around the house, around the forge, even outside. 

Never to the town- but to the woods nearby, down the trail, just able to spend time outside. 

When he makes the decision he wants to walk again, Papa reaches out to a man from a whole different town to come and see him. 

They spend a week together, the man assessing his movement, what he's able to do, what he’s not able to do, how well he can move different parts of his body, and so on. 

By the second day he has what the man calls a mobility support, that straps onto his arms and has a big, sturdy stick that leans on the ground. 

His movements are still jerky, odd, and unnaturally slow. But he’s walking. He’s walking. 

The man teaches him exercises, stretches, and different techniques for him to do until he’s completely able to walk again. 

The man is completely certain he’ll be able to. 

It takes a lot of work, a lot of pain, a lot of nasty spills, one broken wrist, and another couple months for him to be able to walk without the supports. 

And though his physical strength is returning, or… on the mend, as Papa liked to say, he still struggles with the mental aspects of it. 

The voices. 

His grandfather finds him zoned out all the time- in between bites of food, walking down the hall, reading a book, just standing there with a blank gaze, staring at nothing, lips moving slowly. 

Talking to himself- he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Papa asks him what he’s talking about. 

His speech is still… stuttered, so he doesn’t do it a whole lot. 

But he can’t. Stop. Talking. To himself. 

Voices in his head all the time- not nearly as loud as when he first put the sword back, but still ever present. 

Telling him what to do, telling each other what to do, arguing with each other, arguing with him, arguing with Papa, conversing with each other, conversing with him, ever present, ever noisy. Driving him crazy. 

He cries one night, unable to sleep, the voices screaming at each other. 

It hurts. 

“Stop it!” He begs, Papa talking softly, helplessly, trying to calm him. “Make them stop, Papa!” 

Papa, of course, can’t do anything for him. 

He screams until he passes out. 

Several times the man who’d helped him walk had to go get Papa because he’d lose focus, start mumbling to himself, and… would stare off at nothing. For hours. 

Sometimes Papa’s able to coax him back to reality, but often times he isn’t. 

He often finds himself… ‘waking up’ to a throbbing headache, his throat burning, sitting on the floor, holding Papa’s hand. 

“Hey, Kiddo.” Papa always said softly, and then held him close while he slept off the nasty headaches. 

Oh… and the headaches. 

Always there, lingering in his head, waiting to stab. 

Sending him to bed for days, nauseating and he can’t tolerate any light or sound or movement. 

“Migraines.” Papa explains softly, massaging his temples as he fights the urge to sob. 

“Hurts.” He manages, knowing it’s only gonna hurt worse if he cries but unable to stop the tears. 

That’s about the time people start asking about him. 

It’s been months- they knew he was hurt, they knew… he wasn’t quite right anymore, but… they expected him to get better. 

He’s not getting better. 

Some days… some days are good days. 

But some are like he had just put that sword back and he can’t think he can’t talk he can’t walk he can only lay there and scream. 

“Want to come to town with me, Kiddo?” Papa asks one day, on one of his good days. 

He considers, blinking at his grandfather. 

“People have been asking ‘bout you. I think it’d do you some good to get out and see some people.” Papa offers gently. 

He considers further, then slowly nods. Carefully moves to get his mobility aids- walking for a while still aches and makes him wobbly- pulling his hair back into a little ponytail. 

And he slowly follows Papa to town for the first time in… five and a half months. 

That’s the first time people really stare. 

He’s winded by the simple walk to town from the forge, he looks ill- he’s pale and trembling. Papa keeps a gentle grip on his arm, steadying him when he falters at the staring. 

“Let them stare, Kiddo.” Papa murmurs, and they keep going. “Just make it worth their time.” 

He hates it. He despises it- the pitying looks, the sympathetic glances at his grandfather, the softness of their voices when anyone actually talks to him. 

Mostly, they talk to grandpa and just stare at him. 

“How’s he doing these days?” The shopkeeper asks softly to Papa, literally staring right at him. 

“Good.” He answers bluntly. Shortly. 

Papa chokes, but not before he catches the proud smile on his grandfather’s face. 

The shopkeeper flushes bright red and doesn’t talk again. 

It’s the same with all of them- no one has the guts to talk to him. Only about him. As if he’s not in front of them, too. 

“I’m sorry your boy is a crip, now.” The mill owner says softly, staring at his crutches. 

He resists the urge to whack the man over the head with one, though it’s difficult. 

Papa ushers him out of the shop without replying. 

“Does his father know?” The bar owner whispers loudly to Papa as they talk for a moment. 

He’s sitting at a table, reminding himself how to breathe. He’s pushed himself too hard. 

In… smoothly… out… out… out- 

“Papa.” He says calmly, and the man flinches and whips to stare at him. 

Papa rushes over to him, hand on his forehead in a flash, asking what’s wrong, what can he do? 

“Home.” He whimpers, struggling to get air in, he can’t remember how, all the voices are screaming loudly at him trying to get him to breathe just breathe in he can’t remember he can’t remember- 

His hands rip the straps of his crutches off, slamming his hands over his ears, sinking into Papa’s hug and letting himself be pulled slowly to the floor. 

He’s choking air down in frantic gasps, hands grasping desperately at Papa’s tunic. 

“Home!” He bawls, and Papa’s much to shocked to say anything- 

Pull yourself together and calm down! We- 

We’re not a we! 

He! He is a him! 

We’re not going home! It’s nice to be outside around people and the sun- 

This sucks! This sucks! Everyone’s staring and no one will talk to us- 

Me! 

Us! 

Me! 

Us! 

Stop freakin stuttering and spit down words back out then! Talk to them first! 

Don’t you even go there- that’s terrible. We can’t- 

He! 

He can’t control that! It’s a stutter! 

It’s a weakness. 

Don’t be a jack-

Knock it off! 

It hurts! 

Stop it! Stop yelling! 

Guys we’re hurting Link. 

I want to go home! 

Well I want to stay out! It’s the first time being out of the house in nearly half a year! 

“Link, son, breathe- slow down for me, kiddo.” 

He crawls into his grandfather’s arms and screams until he passes out. 

Wakes up later with the worst migraine he’s ever had to date- leaving him bedridden for a week. 

He doesn’t realize until later- much, much later- that he’d screamed all of that, out loud, with half the town watching. 

By time he realizes… it’s months later, the town… has spread rumors out of control about him and his little breakdown, and they no longer want anything to do with him. 

He doesn’t tell Sky any of this, of course. 

“You’re not crazy, Four.” Sky says gently, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. 

“Even you guys think it.” He says flatly. He’s noticed the lingering glances when he slips and mumbles to himself, the staring when he jolts back from staring off into space, the way he can’t quite control his movements on his bad days. 

He’s gotten himself injured in a fight more than once because he couldn’t get his arm to move, or his feet to move quick enough. 

“No- no, Four - we don’t. We just worry.” 

“Yeah.” He mutters instead of arguing about it. 

Silence. 

“Has it gotten… I mean… the bartender mentioned it’s been two years…” 

Slowly turning on his back, he looks up at the Skyloftian, sighing. 

“It was different. I knew it was going to be after… after everything. But it didn’t make it any easier.” 

~~~~

[ribbittrobbit]

these kids are incredibly stressed out

[egophiliac]

tsum events really are just the best, huh

[glasses-drunk]

I wish there were a following dashboard that didn't include reblogs so I could just scroll through my mutuals flop posts

[walks-the-ages]

[ID: A painting for the series Babylon 5, showing a field of skulls stretching endlessly into the distance against an orange sunset. Londo Mollari stands on the highest point of the skulls, facing into the sunset while a lens flair from the sun shines past his feet, and overhead, two Shadow vessels, shaped like spiders, soar overhead. Londo is wearing a long jacket, and his hair is done up in the signature Centauri head crest, like a halo around his head. end ID]

Вавилон 5: Моллари и тени Babylon 5: Mollari & Shadows

[rhinestonesox]

Half-foots are highly discriminated against in the world of dungeon meshi.

They have a difficult time living in places outside of their own territories because places where larger races live aren’t built for their size and crowds can be dangerous.

they’re the least valued race by long lived races because their life spans are the shortest out of all the races. this means that they’re dehumanized and often considered disposable. their superior senses make other races use them as “lures” when hunting succubi/mermaids (usually dying in the process).

They’re often mistaken for/treated like children because of their appearances, and because of this they have a difficult time getting jobs because it’s assumed that they’re immature/can’t handle it.

Because of this, when living outside of Half-foot territories they’re forced to get money by any means necessary (often resorting to crime), so other races stereotype them as “cunning” “greedy” and “manipulative”.

On top of that, members of long lived races who tend to fetishize them.

Even the name “Half-foot” is discriminatory.

Ryoko Kui does a fantastic job at world building.

But even after all of that, im not gonna stop talking about how bad i wanna put Chi Chi in my pocket.

[numbuh424]

light wears this at the task force hq everyday (they still don't believe he's kira)

based on this shirt which I can't stop thinking about and want really badly