#bc it is not fair to us that we have to be taught by someone who doesn't even go there

[inkskinned]

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.

[unreadpoppy]

it's almost 12:40 am, i just got a hold of what my classes are and i want to throw somebody off a bridge

[prime-adeptus]

ONE LOVE, ONE LIFETIME – YONE X READER

“Well, if you decide to come back here one day,” you said, reaching for his hand. Your skin felt warm against his own. “Just know that I’ll be here waiting for you.” Or, the one where Yone fell first.

CONTENT.⠀female reader; romance, light angst and hurt/comfort, family issues, elitism in the family (yeah), Asshole Father bc I have problems, family member death, very heavily implied that MC was an accident baby, talks about death and the afterlife on yone's end, brief talks of arranged marriage, allusions to misogyny. + Spirit Blossom AU with some changes to fit the narrative. ~11k words

NOTES.⠀I wanted to finish this before I start properly using the break so woe ~20 pages be upon ye. I've had this in my drafts for ages and it took longer than I would've liked but! we made it! this is a gift for my beloved @kakujis, a dear friend and my Shimada Liker in Arms. <3 I hope you enjoy!!

divider by cafekitsune | cross-posted on ao3

Pride and honour stood above all else.

Such a lesson was established in your clan from the moment of its founding, forging ahead generations of noble swordsmen who have never strayed from their paths. Every child born into the family is bound to duty, raised and trained by the elite until they are seen as ready for the battles ahead of them. Pride flowed in your veins and you were taught to believe that what you bleed is your negligence. Honour is engraved in your bones, down to the marrow—strong as the seas, and immovable as the mountains.

Every child of your family knows this by heart, including you, the broken one. The odd one out. The blemish on what would otherwise be a pristine reputation.

Born without the same mana or prowess that all of your brothers possessed, you were deemed a flawed child undeserving of the honour of your family name. Fate restricted you from following the path you wished to take as soon as they decided on where your life began. How was it fair at all to put such a heavy burden on a child’s shoulders? On someone who hadn’t opened their eyes for the first time yet?

You craved to learn the ways of a warrior, to be someone the younger generation could trust and look up to. Instead, you were scorned in your own home by a family that was hellbent on upholding tradition and their position among the elite. All because you were born differently. Anything said about you was always done in contempt, especially from your own flesh and blood—your father, your brothers, and your sisters.

‘You are not my child.’ It was your father’s way of saying he didn’t want himself or his beloved sons associated with you, his flesh and blood. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. So long as he and the oh-so-esteemed council were alive, you would never be seen as a part of the family. So long as he continued to breathe, he would look down on you as much as he could. And yet, even though he so explicitly despised you, you still did everything you could so you could be worth his time.

A fruitless endeavour. He held your weakness over your head, his glare a constant reminder of how he’d always see you as a failure. You would never be enough. You wanted to leave, but where would you go? Without your family name, you had nothing. With your name, all you were was a bastard. You were bound to a home that didn’t welcome you.

‘You are not my child.’ You didn’t want to be.

You wished you had the chance to meet your mother. She abandoned you on the doorstep, they would say whenever you asked about her, your father saved you. It wasn’t until years later that you learned the truth. She never abandoned you—she was threatened, forbidden from stepping foot inside the mansion again. You used to wish she had fought more and taken you with her, but the more you grew, the more you understood. Whatever fury you harboured towards her dwindled like a flame dying on its own.

She didn’t have a choice. You knew firsthand what that felt like. Everything the elders said was law; within these walls, there was no going against them. They saw her as disposable, a lowly commoner who just happened to earn the affection of a nobleman for a night. And dispose of her they did. As the midwife took you away, your mother was sent off to another city in a carriage that never returned. No one spoke of her again. Whether it was by command or a collective agreement, you weren’t sure.

There were times when her name would come up in hushed whispers. Some of them were from your father. You remember being six years old and listening to your father’s drunk mumbling. With a hand on your head, he told you that you looked just like your mother. It was the gentlest he’d ever been with you. But when the inebriation left his system the next morning, your loving father was gone, and the patriarch was back.

His soft tone became harsh once again. His eyes burned with hatred. It was as if everything was just a dream. It might as well have been. You chalked it up to him having a bad day, just like yesterday and the day before that. Surely he’d be kind to you again if he drank.

He wasn’t.

And as if taking your mother away wasn’t already enough of a mockery, you were constantly reminded that this was not your home. That you were here because you belonged to the clan. You’ve always been. You were already their property from the moment you inhaled your first breath.

Your life was theirs, but even that wasn’t enough.

(You don’t think you’ll ever be.)

A child in a loveless family. Your father thought it wasn’t worth trying to train you, having decided that you were beyond help. Your brothers didn’t see you as someone they had to protect. Your sisters didn’t want to be seen with you. All you had were your grandparents.

With them, you were treated as family. It didn’t matter to them that you didn’t have what your siblings did. They loved you.

You spent mornings in the apothecary room with your grandmother, learning all about herbs and medicine from all around the world. In the afternoon, you’d spend time training with your grandfather in the dojo and listening to his stories of ages past. Then, every evening, you’d spend time with both of them at the temple that they cared for. All of your best memories were made there. When your grandparents inevitably passed, you didn’t hesitate to pick up from where they left off.

Your volunteering to maintain its upkeep seemed to satisfy the elders enough. At least you’ll be useful in something, your father said without batting an eye. You liked to think you’d become numb to all the jabs thrown your way, but you were wrong.

The temple was your getaway, somewhere you could hide from the world and feel more at home than you did in the estate. The smell of flowers and herbs inside the temple, alongside the sight of the sunrise or sunset, never failed to lull you into a state of tranquillity. The voices you’d hear from around you weren’t those of disappointment, but those of birds chirping in a joyous tune. It was the only place you’ll ever feel at peace in. Seeing the names of your grandparents engraved on the stone slabs broke your heart whenever you walked by. You might not grieve any more, but you were still alone.

Ionian faith and tradition flowed in your veins. You were taught about grace by your grandmother and what it meant to be dignified, worthy of respect even without noteworthy achievements. Your grandfather taught you strength and combat so you could protect yourself and others from monsters, both human and unknown. You wouldn’t have gotten the chance to learn the blade elsewhere. He was more than enthusiastic to pass on his knowledge to you. He’d grown weak with age, he said, but you’ve always thought he was the greatest swordsman you know. Aside from the temple, the dojo was where you felt the happiest, but as always, good things never lasted long for you.

In your world, secrets were nearly impossible to have. Spies and traitors lurked in the walls, engraving every decision you made and every word you spoke into their memory. It didn’t take long for your father to find out about the lessons his father had been giving you. In fury, he forbade you from entering the dojo or holding a weapon again and told you that you didn’t deserve to carry on his father’s legacy. Forced to leave behind your passion and descend into monotony, the art of the blade eventually left your mind. Had you just fought back—

No. Not everything was under your control. As long as you were in your father’s home, he would continue to treat you however he liked. The cruel words will keep being said, behind your back and to your face, but you won’t give them the satisfaction. You swore not to let anyone see you at your weakest again. You hated the name that you bear, but you would honour it the way you were taught to. The world might be against you, but there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. Staying hopeful in a place like Ionia was all you could do.

Dawn always comes after dusk. The sun always rises for a new day. You didn’t see why it should be any different for you.

—

Your days got busier as the Spirit Blossom festival approached.

More and more people came to honour their loved ones every day, praying and making offerings to their ancestors for protection. You weren’t sure if you ever attended the festival yourself. You knew of the legends and stories behind it, of its reasons and purposes, but you had only been a bystander. You couldn’t see spirits even if you wanted to anyway, you thought bitterly, so there wasn’t a way for you to see your grandparents again.

‘In the Spirit Blossom festival, the dead reunite with their loved ones until the afterlife calls for them again.’

Whether or not it was possible to see said spirits, it was still hard to ignore the longing in your heart. The cycle of life and death was not unknown (you were more familiar with it than you’d like) but you didn’t think anyone could ever get used to it. You loved deeply, and when the ones you love are taken away from you, you’re left alone with yourself. You weren’t a stranger to partaking in as many tasks as possible to stop needlessly thinking, either. You spent your entire morning doing chores and running errands for this reason. You needed to keep yourself busy so you could drift away just for a little while.

With all of your tasks completed, you had nothing left to do. Leaves were swept into neat piles that the farmers always came to pick up later per routine. It took longer than you would’ve liked, though you supposed it was bound to happen when the workload wasn’t meant for one person, but two. The other shrine maiden had an ‘urgent matter to attend to,’ as her messenger informed you and left. You knew right away she paid him to cover for her. You’d like to think you mellowed out with age, having lived for almost three decades, but you were wrong. You were just as easy to irk as you were as a child.

‘It’s not a good thing to harbour negativity in a sacred place,’ your grandmother’s voice rang in your head, ‘it brings bad luck.’ But there you stood, the most irate you’ve ever been as you wished a terrible week upon the both of them.

Thanks to the tedious work done in all your lonesome, the tile flooring within the temple was spotless. The altar was dusted and reorganised, ready to accept the next batch of offerings. The place smelled more like soap than the usual floral incense you were used to. On any other day, you’d return to your quarters after such a productive time, maybe read a book before you go to sleep, but nature had other plans in store.

The wind howled and rain started to pitter-patter against the rooftop while the sun began its descent. Silhouettes of nature and man-made structures were the only company you had as you made your way back into the prayer room. Away from the rain, you idly watched the world go by from inside. You remembered your grandfather telling you about his battles in a storm and how tumultuous it had been. The retellings of his past exploits were your favourite stories to listen to in your childhood. He travelled through the lands and protected those he held dear with honour. He lived a life of pride and accomplishments that you wanted to have in yours. You still did.

A singular incense stick burnt in the centre of the bowl of ash and sand, its smoke disappearing into the air as it did so. The air grew colder as the sun set, painting the sky in warm hues and your skin in gooseflesh. The storm outside threatened to extinguish the flames within the lantern posts outside. Your uniform robe and long skirt, despite its many layers and the fabric, didn’t aid much in shielding you from the cold. A shiver ran down your spine from the sudden drop in temperature.

If you were asked what you disliked about this time of the year, you would say the weather’s unpredictability as the veil was lifted. The day started pleasantly; the sun was bright and the spring breeze was refreshing. There was no way you could’ve known that there would be a storm approaching.

The doors slammed shut with a loud bang, making you jump in fright and instinctively reach for a sword you no longer owned. You frowned. Years had passed since you last held a weapon, and you weren’t sure if your body had any memory of it at all. If danger were to actually happen, your only means of defence would be the old wooden broom in the corner, which you doubted made for a good weapon. Still, you found yourself keeping it close, your fingers curling tightly around the handle. It was better to be safe than sorry. You were fortunate enough to live in a densely populated area that was well protected, but as typical of an Ionian village, worse things awaited after sunset.

You were a cautious person for as long as you could remember. As optimistic as you tried to be, you weren’t exactly so convinced that there was such a thing as a safe haven. So long as peace exists, so will chaos, and with chaos comes things that are out of your control. You were taught to let things progress the way fate and nature intended them to, to let go of your anxieties because you always worried over ‘nothing.’

But that was easier said than done. You worried for a reason. Everything happens for a reason. Fate weaves the threads of life the way it wants to. The strong are led to lives of fame and power, and the blessed are led to lives of love and fortune. But you weren’t strong or blessed, you were cursed. If the Creator put you on earth for a reason, what is it? What path does fate want you to take, and what did you do in your past life to be put in such a suffocating position?

The anxiety at the pit of your stomach grew stronger the longer you observed the forest and the shadows in between. In the daylight, the temple was comforting and tranquil, picturesque, but it hadn’t occurred to you until then how daunting it was in the dark. It was a quiet night, eerily so, and the floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you padded into the prayer area. Tentatively, you placed the broom down and knelt before the statues of the gods you worshipped. The incense burnt itself down to the base, gradually putting out the flame on its own.

‘If you are afraid, pray. The gods will protect you.’

You weren’t a child anymore. Monsters only existed in stories—there was nothing to be afraid of. But the feeling persisted and it became worse as the door swung open and slammed against the wall. You heard something breathing.

It wasn’t the wind.

A low growl rumbled from the chest of whatever was stalking towards you. An animal of some sort. A predator. Your mind screamed at you to just run, but you were terrified, you couldn’t move and your body just wouldn't listen—

It drew closer.

You were going to die, ripped apart by a monster, and it was going to hurt more than anything ever had. Squeezing your eyes shut, you muttered a prayer under your breath in hopes that it would help. Maybe it was a spirit that couldn’t pass on. If you prayed for it, you could alleviate its pain and then be left alone. You were frantic, the words coming out incoherent as you got tongue-tied and struggled to remember the rest of them. When you felt it breathing down the back of your neck, your voice died in a choked whine. It watched you with hunger and it raised its claws with murderous intent, ready to slash.

It never did.

Instead, you heard the gargling of blood, followed by a clatter on the floor. Your body finally listened and you turned around to see what you could only describe as a demon. The glow in its mask’s eyes dimmed as it died with a sword speared through its chest, inches away from your face. In terror, you watched it bleed as the crimson splattered on your skin. It crumbled into dust as if it was never there. Just like that, it was dead and gone.

The mask dropped where your saviour stood. Wordlessly, he picked it up and attached it to a grotesque belt adorned with similar faces. All you could do was watch as everything slowly sank in. The downpour became louder, heavier. Your ears rang and your body felt numb. The only sound you heard was your ragged breathing as you tried to calm down and think. This must be a nightmare. It had to be. It had to be a hallucination from your paranoia and lack of sleep.

You closed your eyes and opened them again. The man was still standing in front of you.

You weren’t dreaming.

It was all real, from the blood splattered on the ground to the man in front of you. Half of his face was covered by a red mask, more menacing than what the monster had worn. Bandages were loosely wrapped around his torso and his arms, revealing some of his pale skin and scars from what could only be combat.

You weren’t dreaming.

A monster you had never seen tried to kill you and you were lucky enough that this man came to save your life. It felt as though your mind stopped entirely. You didn’t know where to start. Were you supposed to ask about the monster or ask about him?

You decided on the latter. “How did you know it was here?”

A beat of silence passed, and then he spoke.

“It is my curse to bear.”

That didn’t really answer your question. You attempted to ask again, but one glance at his face made you realise that he didn’t care about answering them. It was essentially impossible to tell what he was thinking and you’d rather not agitate someone as intimidating as him.

“Thank you,” you opted to say instead.

Your gaze landed on the swords in his hands. Blood was still dripping off of the red blade that seemed to be glowing. If his mask was menacing, his blades were worse—you had never seen anything quite like them.

He didn’t respond. All he gave you was a nearly imperceptible nod, a sign of acknowledgement. Seemingly satisfied with his kill, he made the move to leave, and your thoughts ran rampant. You wanted answers, an explanation, anything to make sense out of what happened.

You should let him go. You should run home before you encounter another one of those things again when you’re not as lucky, but you didn’t.

“Wait!” you called out, louder than you intended. “Teach me how to fight.”

He stopped in his tracks, then slightly looked back at you. The action had you fidgeting nervously. There was a gut feeling that he was going to say—

“No.”

You needed him to teach you. He was strong. He knew what those things were and how to kill them. He could help you. If that thing could come in here so easily, undeterred by the protective runes and wards placed around the temple, another could do it again. You couldn’t afford to let this place get destroyed because of your inability to defend it. You needed to protect your grandparents’ memory, a small sliver of their legacy that you were allowed to touch. You had to.

The chance was falling out of your hands right in front of you. Your confidence wavered, but you tried again. “I… I’ll pay you. Just name your price.”

“Money has no value to me.”

“Please?” Your voice was quieter, more hesitant. “This place, it’s… It’s all I have left. I need to protect it.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I have a duty I must fulfil.”

“Please—wait!”

This time, he didn’t spare you another glance as he walked off into the night, leaving you afraid and alone with the monster’s blood still on your skin.

—

No matter how many years passed, Yone’s hands would always be stained in blood.

The village was different from what he remembered. He knew of it when it was in flames and scattered with bodies of the brave. With what little time it had after the war, the village has been rebuilt from the disaster that the Noxians left behind. It was stronger, safer, liberated from their clutches. More swordsmen and warriors were patrolling the area, all bearing the crest of the clan that owned the village itself.

That didn’t. The clan of where men were raised to be elite warriors and women were raised to be the most adept of mages, known for their noble blood and valiance. Their estate was fortified and bigger than it used to be, looming over the smaller houses that unsurprisingly didn’t get as much protection. What seemed to be the most protected, though, was the temple. It was known to be a sanctuary to the villagers and the most important value to them was faith. Seeing said sanctuary well-protected wasn’t a shock. It was always that way.

As a child, he used to visit the temple on particularly rough days. Sometimes, his brother would come along, and they’d go find the master swordsman who took care of it with his wife, the shrine maiden. His brother in particular enjoyed hearing all about the swordsman’s stories, inspired by his strength and bravery that remained well into his older years. His wife was stern but motherly to all, more doting towards children than adults.

They weren’t like the rest of the clan who looked down on the weak; they loved. They loved their home, they loved their fellow men, and they loved the world. The people loved them, too. He loved them, just like they loved this sanctuary they built.

Yone stepped into the courtyard. Though it was past sunset, he could see that the place was much greener. More flowers had grown since then and the spring was well-maintained. He thought that the temple remained the most welcoming place he ever found himself in. It was clear that whoever was taking care of this place did it with the same love that the elderly couple had. He spotted their names on the stone slabs written in gold. There wasn’t just one bouquet on their grave, but several. Well-loved even after death as they deserved.

As he approached the main building, he sensed it—danger lurking within, undoubtedly the work of a monster he was all too familiar with. The wooden doors were broken and splintered. Cautiously, he stepped inside. True to his suspicion, at the end of the hall was an azakana hunched over someone, its grotesque mass a stark contrast to the pristine state of the walls as it growled and breathed heavily. His swords glinted in the light of the moon as he drew them.

Yone’s kills were clean and precise. He didn’t need to destroy his surroundings to prove his strength, nor did he think that he was destructive to that extent. As disciplined in life, as disciplined in death, and even more so in between. His physiology was wholly different from what it had been when he was alive. His being alone defied life itself.

He felt weightless, numb yet still in full control of his body as he moved into the prayer room, his footsteps not making a single sound. He heard what sounded like crazed muttering from where the azakana stood, something akin to pleading or perhaps a prayer. The azakana raised its hand. Its talons grew longer and sharper, prepared to strike whoever it was hiding. Before it could, Yone pierced his blade through its heart, silently watching as it disintegrated back into nothing but ashes and dust on the ground.

“How did you know it was here?” you asked, still struggling to catch your breath.

He was silent for a while as he picked up the mask it left behind and pinned it to his belt as proof of yet another successful hunt. You were staring up at him with teary eyes, still shaken from being so close to death’s grasp. He didn’t want to alarm you—he knew he looked ghastly—but you were obviously different from what he was. You were alive, vulnerable, and from the way you quivered like a leaf, you had never encountered one of those things before.

“It is my curse to bear,” he replied smoothly. A practised response, one that he hoped would be all you asked for. Yone knew it didn’t answer your question. As if you had more questions—you most likely did; he didn’t blame you for that—you parted your lips to speak, but no words came out.

Slightly defeated, you exhaled and gave him a small smile. “Thank you.”

Yone glanced at you. Your face felt familiar to him like you were an old friend he hadn’t seen in years. You must be related to the previous caretakers somehow. The resemblance you had with them was striking. The way you spoke was timid, unlike the boisterous master swordsman or the confident shrine maiden. It didn’t bother him. If he was like you, defenceless in your position, he would’ve acted the same way. You seemed to be calming down with each breath you took, making him relax just the slightest. You weren’t harmed.

Aside from the azakana’s blood, tonight, his hands were clean, and he wouldn’t need to repent.

He decided to leave. There was no reason why he should stay for any longer. The sooner he could find the other stray malevolent spirits, the safer his childhood home would be. Things like him didn’t have the privilege of resting. He didn’t need it. Before he made it past the door, you called out for him, forcing him to stop in his tracks.

“Teach me how to fight.”

He didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“I… I’ll pay you. Just name your price.”

You looked less and less confident with each passing second. Dealing with stubborn people wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for him. He grew up with Yasuo—he was more than used to it. He pursed his lips.

“Money has no value to me.”

“Please.” Yone should’ve been out for the next hunt by now, but there was something in your voice that kept him staying where he was. “This place, it’s… It’s all I have left. I need to protect it.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help you. He wanted to protect what he could too. It just… wasn’t for him. He thought you’d be better off learning from a master. Surely you could go to the dojo that your clan owned?

“I can’t,” he replied, realising that he had left you hanging. “I have a duty I must fulfil.”

He didn’t look back this time. The cold air of the night greeted him as he stepped out and put his swords back in their sheaths. The rain washed away the blood and its remnants on the stones beneath his feet. The skies seemed to be clearer than they were earlier. The moon and stars glowed brightly in the darkness, illuminating the paths before him. There was a nagging feeling in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Something was off—were there more azakana hiding in the area? He decided he’d patrol the forest one more time before moving on elsewhere.

He left without a trace, just like a ghost like him always did.

—

You started to carry a dagger with you wherever you went.

It wasn’t a naginata or ootachi like you were trained to use, but it made you feel safer to have something you can defend yourself with. Thankfully, the temple wasn’t damaged too badly, though it would still take some time to repair. One of the older mages dropped by and offered to cast a protective seal, which you gladly accepted.

“Miss?” you asked, fidgeting nervously as she finished up her work.

She hummed. “Yes, dear?”

“Is the… The veil, is it already open?”

“It should be by now.” She contemplated for a bit. “I will say, it wasn’t this disastrous last year… I assume it’s because the magical energy is stronger this time around. Don’t worry, dear—nature will have adapted to it by now.”

“I see. Thank you,” you chirped. “I’m more worried about the temple getting attacked or broken than anything… I can’t see spirits the same way you can. I won’t be able to protect myself.”

“The seal will keep out malevolent entities.” She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. Then she lowered her voice as if she was worried someone would hear her. “Was this really done by the storm? I could feel something strange in the air when I came here.”

You hesitantly shook your head. “There was a monster. It broke in and some—something else killed it.”

“What did it look like?”

“I was too scared to look,” you said apologetically, “but it was wearing a mask.”

“A mask?”

“It looked like a demon. The same ones in stories I used to read as a child.”

The mage frowned. “We’ll need a stronger seal than the one I put here, then.”

“Do you know what they are?”

“They’re called azakana. They are demons,” she explained. “You’re really lucky to have made it out alive. Those creatures are ruthless. They’ll stop at nothing.”

Azakana. You didn’t think you heard of them. You weren’t allowed in the magic library. Your grandparents didn’t like going into detail about the unknown, said it was just hearsay. You never got to explore the world the same way they did. All you knew in your entire life was the estate. You contemplated sneaking into the library to learn about everything that was kept from you, but there were bigger matters at hand.

“How do I stop them?”

“You kill them before they kill you,” she answered wryly. “I’ll do all I can to help keep the temple safe, but I can’t guarantee your protection.”

You had a busy afternoon ahead of you—more errands to run, more favours to do—so you couldn’t stay for long. With a polite goodbye, you went your own way, her words echoing in your mind all the while. You’d have to retrace your steps and learn to fight by yourself. The thought of how ridiculous you’d look training alone made you grimace. But she was right; it was kill or be killed. You wouldn’t always be as fortunate as you were a few days prior.

You idly swung the empty basket in your hand as you walked through the estate. The gardens look much better now. The hedges were trimmed, wilted flowers were removed, and the pond was clear. You couldn’t believe a storm just happened. The weather seemed to have settled for good, too. It was a warm and sunny day, the perfect weather for you to collect herbs and flowers for the village apothecary. She had become more frail with age, and considering her station isn’t too far from the temple, you offered to do the job for her. In your pocket was a written list of what she needed. It was nothing too difficult to find.

You were about to leave until you heard your name coming from someone in the meeting room. The doors were closed, but the walls were thin enough for you to be able to hear through them.

“—a leftover person,” a voice said—you recognised it as your uncle’s. “Past the age of marriage, but it could still be an option.”

Your heart dropped. You hid behind a wall, your fists clenched tightly around the handle of the basket as you tried to calm down and stay quiet lest you get caught eavesdropping.

Another voice chimed in. “—offspring would be cursed as well. Are you sure you don’t want to set up an arranged marriage? It’s been years—”

“Being constantly reminded of a mistake I made nearly thirty years ago is quite irritating, councillor,” came the unmistakable haughty voice of your father. “I said no. I refuse to tarnish our family name.”

You should be used to this. The cruel words, the hatred, the anger, but you can’t, no matter how much you’ve tried. It’s not as if you’re unaware of your power or lack thereof. It’s been said to you time and time again: you were weak, you were nothing.

“—what about training? It could help with getting started,” a feminine voice added. You weren’t surprised that she was the only one who was less harsh with her words talking about you so far. She of all people would know how you felt.

“Out of the question,” your father replied snidely. “Our mages and swordsmen are all pure-blooded. The bastard doesn’t deserve the honour of being one of them.”

Their words slipped through your ears. You were no longer listening; instead, you bit down on your lip and tried to hold back tears. How could someone hate their flesh and blood so much? How could he take everything away from you so easily? Not caring that they would hear you, you stormed out the gates while harshly wiping away your tears with your hands. Knowing them, they probably wanted you to.

You ran and pushed past strangers, unbothered by the concerned and irritated looks you were given. You ran until you found yourself deep in the forest, far enough so you could be left alone. Everything you tried to hold back then burst. You wailed, nails digging into your skin and your body wracked with sobs. The sound of water flowing down the stream slowly but surely calmed you down. The sobs eventually became quiet sniffles until they stopped entirely. Your tears dried on their own and you could finally breathe again.

Looking up from your hands, your gaze drifted to a fawn across the river. It lovingly nudged its mother with its head, stumbled a bit as it tried to keep up with her pace. The sight warmed your heart. It was always nice to see beings, human or animal, be gentle to one another. You hoped to be in that position someday.

A twig snapped behind you. Alarmed, you reflexively grabbed your dagger and whipped around, but the threat you were going to say died on your tongue when you saw who it was. The masked man—the one who saved you from the azakana—stood before you, huffing at you as if he found something funny.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

You glowered at him with furrowed brows before hesitantly relaxing, putting the dagger back in its sheath. “What are you doing here?”

“The dojo.”

“What?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you not ask me to teach you how to fight?”

“I did, but…”

You bit the inside of your cheek. It was kind of him to seek you out again to tell you this, but you weren’t sure how you felt. Part of you wanted to say yes, to learn to protect yourself and others. The bigger part of you already felt defeated. You could only be tough for so long before you started to break.

“Thank you for reconsidering,” you said. You meant it. “But I’m not allowed there.”

“Not allowed?”

“My father is quite a stickler for the rules.” You chuckled humorlessly. “Only his sons are allowed in that dojo. The ones with noble blood, not the bastards. Take a guess where I fall between those two.”

He mulled over your words for a bit. Then he said, “Tell me your preferred weapon.”

You blinked dumbly. “Huh?”

“Your stance. It doesn’t belong to someone who uses a dagger.”

You supposed it made sense for someone like him to know something that even you didn’t notice. Awkward as he might be, it was evident that he was passionate about what he knew. A man of honour and discipline, a dual wielder with effortless lethality. You wondered how someone like him wasn’t revered and well-known the same way that the bladesman from Wuju and the blade dancer of Navori were. You broke the silence with a noise of disbelief. How strange, indeed.

“My grandfather thought I was best suited for a naginata, so that’s what he trained me in as a child,” you told him. “I don’t think I remember anything, though. It’s been a very long time.”

“You do,” he cut in. “No one forgets the art of the blade. Your mind may not remember, but your body does.”

“That’s very kind of you to say… Thank you,” you responded, smiling softly at him, “but what made you change your mind? I thought you had your… duty.”

“I do, but helping you can also be one of them,” he replied bluntly. “You have something you want to protect. As did I.”

You tried not to think too much about why he said it like that. It was not your place to pry, but you had always been a curious one. He must have lost something or someone along the way. For someone so stoic, he didn’t hide the regret in his tone well.

You glanced at him, deciding to end your train of thought before you slipped up and said something you regretted. “Are you sure you want nothing in return?”

“I only ask for your name.”

Heat rushed to your face. It was an incredibly mundane thing to ask for, normal for people who were getting to know each other to do. His forwardness caught you off guard, made you lose your balance for a moment. You cleared your throat and gave him your name, which he repeated quietly to himself.

He nodded at you. “My name is Yone.”

Yone grabbed a bamboo stick (where did he even get that from?) and tossed it your way, visibly pleased when you managed to catch it with ease.

“Well, then, let us begin.”

—

You developed a new routine since you started training with Yone.

In the morning, you took care of the temple, which you said was ‘good as new.’ In the afternoon, you helped the apothecary with preparing medicine. In the evening, when everyone went home, you trained by the riverside with Yone. Then, at night, he walked you home per your request.

For someone who was adamant that they forgot everything, you got familiar with the blades quite easily. You were a quick learner, he noticed. He didn’t understand why you thought so lowly of yourself. He didn’t understand how your family could hate someone like you. From first glance, he knew that you were kind. Stubborn, but a great listener. Thoughtful, quick-witted, and gentle even with those who didn’t treat you the same way.

It had taken a while, but you started to be more confident in yourself as well. You hesitated less. He could see you rising up the ranks in the dojo quickly; you just needed encouragement and practice. It didn’t make sense to him why your father was dead set on restricting you from everything.

No matter, Yone thought. His heart swelled with pride every time he saw you. You didn’t even seem to realise that you were nothing like your family said you were. As much as he wanted you to know that, he wasn’t good with words. On top of his unfamiliarity with comfort or praise, he also didn’t know where his relationship with you stood. You weren’t friends, you weren’t strangers, but you weren’t distant like acquaintances would be. Regardless, he didn’t want to overstep. All he could do was hope that you’d understand him.

Steel clashed against each other as you parried his attacks. Something was different, like you weren’t completely there. He was proven right when he managed to pin you down to the floor, the edge of his sword hovering only a breath away from your neck.

“You faltered,” he said more as a statement than a question. “You can not hesitate in a fight.”

You averted your gaze from his intense stare. Were you afraid of him?

“I’m sorry.”

“We should stop for today.” He smoothly rose to his feet and offered you a hand, helping you up. “Is something wrong? You seem distracted.”

“The festival is tomorrow,” you murmured. “But I’ll be alright.”

“You don’t wish to participate in it,” he finished for you.

You gave him a strained smile. “I can’t. I just… can’t.”

Abruptly, you pulled your hand away from his and squeaked out an apology. He hadn’t noticed they were still joined together, but there was a strange feeling pulling at his chest when you let go. Still, he didn’t say anything, choosing to let the conversation end there. He knew what it was like to lose someone. Rebirth might have changed him, melded him into stone, but some things could break through and get to him.

(He hadn’t known it then, but you were one of them.)

“I’ll… see you tomorrow, then,” you said hesitantly. “I should go back.”

He nodded. “I understand. Get home safe.”

You looked as though you wanted to say something else, lips parted and eyes curious, but you didn’t. Instead, you smiled at him—softer this time, less strained—and left without a word. As you faded into the distance, Yone sighed quietly and sat down on the grass, his swords laid next to him. He didn’t want to take you away from your other responsibilities; he knew fully well that you were quite dutiful as he was. He’d gotten so used to spending evenings with you, training and listening to you talk about whatever was on your mind that your absence felt off.

Though you were sure that you weren’t going to join in the festivities tomorrow, you most likely had to help out somehow. From what you told him about your family, he doubted that they’d leave you alone as well, taking the chance of reuniting with loved ones to look down on you. His lips tugged into a frown. Feelings weren’t exactly his strong suit since his new life began, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t understand how you would feel.

The breeze caressed his skin, taking him in its cold embrace. The drop in temperature didn’t bother him. It never had, really. He was more than used to how inconsistent the Ionian climate could get. So what was this weariness and uneasiness clouding his mind? Lingering somewhere between life and death, feelings were the least of his concerns, but he didn’t like what it was doing to him as he thought about you.

He stared at the moon’s reflection in the river. It did the same thing not long ago when you sat together and talked to him about your fondest memories. It was the first time you were so open with him. He listened to your stories, your laughter and the bittersweet tinge in your voice.

He saw a spirit walking hand-in-hand with another person somewhere not too far from where he was. A festival meant for reuniting with their loved ones, the only chance spirits and humans got to see each other again. He didn’t have anyone to visit—even if he did, he doubted he could bring himself to face someone he had failed years ago.

His thoughts wandered back to you and what you told him about your grandparents. It was a relief to find out that they never changed even after the war, having stayed the same loving people until their end. A thought popped into his head. If he could just find them—no, he could.

He knew their names. He knew them.

He wasn’t a magic user, but he was confident in his ability to search. Reinvigorated, he grabbed his swords and got up. Pondering under the stars would have to wait, he had a mission to do.

The only advantage to being something he was, Yone thought, was that fatigue was never an issue. He traversed through the plains, made his way up the hill, taking every twist and turn he could think of. Not wanting to risk being seen by civilians—he wasn’t exactly unaware of how… appalling he looked—he stayed in the shadows, hiding in the darkness. After what seemed like a few hours, he finally spotted the silhouettes of your grandparents, distant but familiar.

“Yone? Is that you?” your grandfather said in disbelief, his tone still full of the same joy it had whenever he spoke to Yone and his brother. His eyes crinkled as he beamed at the younger man. “I haven’t seen you in… in years! You’ve changed!”

Your grandmother was less boisterous, though it was clear she felt happy to see him as well. Upon taking a proper look at him, her face fell, and she approached him with a concerned expression.

“It’s far too early for you to be like this,” she sighed. Yone wanted to argue that he wasn’t exactly young anymore, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. “What happened?”

“It… is a long story,” Yone replied, his voice lacking the same strength and volume it had earlier in the day. Grief was such a fickle thing. He’d feel nothing one moment and everything in the next. He didn’t mourn himself, never had nor did he ever think it was necessary, but he did regret. Regretted being unable to protect his family, regretted being unable to protect your family. The curse laid upon him gave him the chance to atone, and even then, it never eased the chains wrapped around his soul.

He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. “I have a favour to ask of you.”

—

Yone was acting suspiciously.

To start, when you arrived at the clearing of the forest you usually trained with him, he wasn’t there. You didn’t know how long you waited until he arrived, offhandedly apologising for his tardiness. The sky had already faded into dark shades of blue, the sun nowhere to be seen and replaced with the moon peeking over the horizon. It might have been immature of you to scold him while being as huffy as a petulant child, but he didn’t seem to mind.

The day didn’t start out well for you, to say the least. The only things spoken around town were how excited people were to see their late relatives again and how much they looked forward to spending time with them for the next three days. It wasn’t like you wanted to feel bitter about it all. You were glad on their behalf, but the feeling of being the odd one wasn’t something you could control that easily. You wanted to be able to experience the same magic and happiness the others did.

As if that wasn’t enough, a councillor—likely the same one you overheard that time—left you a letter summoning you to a meeting the same night. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve kept that in mind and made sure you arrived in time. But you knew what it was going to be about. You were already in a loveless family. A loveless marriage wouldn’t make your life better and the only one benefiting from it was your father. You didn’t exactly like being spiteful (it’s a sin, a monk would say) but there was nothing wrong with it if they deserved it, was there? You ripped the paper to shreds, threw it out somewhere you couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter as long as you got rid of it.

There were a lot of things to be angry about, like how irritating it was to still be under your father’s control as an adult, or how they all never broke their habit of speaking as though you weren’t there. It didn’t mean you liked being angry. You weren’t built for such aggression.

You shook your head. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about this.

“You’re late.” You didn’t mean to say it as whiny as you did. Overly aware of how you sounded, you looked away from Yone and crossed your arms over your chest, ignoring whatever reaction he had to it. “I’ve been here for hours.”

“I’m sorry. I… had something to attend to,” he said. “I have something to show you. Follow me.”

Without realising it, you pouted. “And you have the nerve to boss me around…”

Yone’s silence made you begrudgingly glance at him again. He looked anxious, which was a surprise—you always saw him so calm and collected. It was… concerning. You sighed. He didn’t seem like he meant to leave you waiting for so long. Heaving out a quiet sigh, at last, you relented.

“Fine. Lead the way.”

The walk was quiet. You had a bunch of questions in your mind, both from curiosity and a bit of pettiness you had left. He deftly navigated through the woods, turning back once in a while to see if you were still following him. It was dark, almost as dark as it had been when you met him in that storm for the first time, but you weren’t as afraid anymore, either. You couldn’t describe it. Something about him felt safe. It could be that it was because he saved you from death and helped you become stronger. You didn’t think that was it, though.

You caught up to him, now walking beside him rather than behind. “Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer. You huffed. Fine.

But you couldn’t stay annoyed for long. You found your gaze drifting over to him; the curves of his mask, the clenching of his jaw. How was it possible for someone who scared you so much when you first met to also be someone who you’d trust with your life? You knew nothing about him. He was a strange person, impeccable swordsmanship aside. He never spoke about his family or his home. He was familiar with the village like he lived here before, but you’d never seen him. Just who was he?

Yone led you to a cliffside. The trek—how wasn’t he tired?—felt worth it in the end when you saw the night sky. The crescent moon smiled at you from her place among the scattered stars, sparkling and glowing brightly on what would normally be pitch black. A hand was placed on the small of your back, taking you by surprise and making your breath hitch before you relaxed. It was just him.

“I brought you a gift,” he said plainly. You narrowed your eyes at him. He didn’t look like he was one for gifts, but who were you to decline? It must be a reward or something, or an apology because you were left for hours—

Someone called your name. A familiar voice, one you hadn’t heard in years. You must be imagining it. They were dead, there was no way it could be. Were you so tired that you were imagining things?

“They’ve been waiting for you.” Yone gently pushed you forward. “Go.”

Sceptical as you were, once again, you relented.

The figures were clearer the closer you approached. You recognised the clothes, the voices—was this a prank? Would someone like Yone play such a cruel joke?

“You’ve grown so much,” came the voice of your grandmother, laced with a tenderness you’d recognise from anywhere.

“How…” you trailed off. Your grandparents stood in front of you, happiness radiating off of them in waves as they walked your way. You didn’t know what to think, what to feel. Weren’t they supposed to be dead? Were you hallucinating? “I don’t understand…”

“It’s us, kiddo.” Your grandfather placed a hand on your head, ruffling your hair affectionately. It was cold, but it felt real, too real. “We came to see you.”

You fell apart. Tears sprung to your eyes as you fell into their arms, broken sentences and wailing leaving you at its will. It was real. You didn’t understand it. You weren’t supposed to be able to see them, to see spirits—you didn’t have that gift, your father always made sure you knew that. So how was this possible? How could you see them, touch them, feel them?

“We tried to come find you every year,” your grandmother spoke, her voice as soft as a whisper. “But we—we couldn’t come in. The estate, it’s… locked away from us.”

“You left me,” you snivelled, “you left me here—you…”

You didn’t know what you were saying anymore. Giving up on trying to voice your thoughts, you kept crying until you grew weary, the devastated weeping gradually dissolving into shaky breaths. You felt her hand on the top of your head, lovingly smoothing down your hair as she hummed the tune she always sang to you when you were young. Your grandfather leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, chuckling under his breath—they were as overjoyed as you were.

“We can’t stay for long,” he murmured. “But we really wanted to see you. That young man helped us. Quite the man you’ve found, hm?”

“He’s just a friend,” you grumbled. As cross as you were with him earlier, you were thankful that he’d done this for you. There were many unanswered questions you had lingering in the back of your mind, but those weren’t that important anymore, you thought. Finally pulling away, you smiled for the first time that night. “I missed you.”

“We missed you too, sweetheart.” Your grandmother returned the gesture, brushing your stray tears away with her thumbs. “Why don’t you come sit with us, tell us what you’ve been up to?”

As you followed them, you turned to look back at Yone, mouthing ‘thank you’ with another smile. He nodded. You learned to pick up on his cues in the past month you spent with him, so you knew what he meant. You’re welcome. He wasn’t the best with words, preferring to let his actions speak for themselves. You wondered if he knew how important this was, how you’d always remember his kindness.

Lost in conversation with your loved ones, you missed how Yone’s stern expression melted into fondness as he watched the scene, the corners of his lips curling up just the slightest. It was the happiest he’d ever seen you.

(And it was the moment he knew—he’d do whatever it took to protect your smile.)

—

Existing somewhere in a plane between life and death, Yone spent his days on autopilot with only one goal in mind. Cursed for as long as his afterlife would last by the azakana, he’d continue to hunt them down one by one until there was nothing left. He saw his ‘life’ differently, ‘felt’ differently.

Bound to the world of the living, denied the peace of death, as he used to say. Time was no longer so important to him now that he became what he was. It passed as it willed, and he would only follow until it was over—assuming it would ever be. Yone didn’t care—or rather, he just tried not to think—about the state of life, the meaning of his existence. If he was bound to duty, at least he’d try to accomplish this one, unlike what he failed in his youth.

He should have left Ionia when he killed the last azakana in that temple. But more and more showed up every day, dangerously close to where you lived, and he knew that they would come find you again eventually. Deciding to take your request wasn’t an impulsive decision. He found your determination admirable even with the chains that held you back. It reminded him of who he had been. Who he craved to be once again. He tried to keep himself distant, staying within the boundary of just a kind stranger, but before he knew it, he found himself feeling tethered to you.

You weren’t just someone he saved. You were someone he had grown increasingly fond of. Yone knew you were kind, that you had a lot of love to give even to those who didn’t deserve it. He believed in his ability to predict what would happen, to adapt to sudden changes, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the whirlwind that was you.

For the first time in years, he felt alive, and it was all because of you. Your smile, your voice, the way you’d playfully talked back to him, the way you were always concerned for him. That much still held true as he sat beside you on a hill, his gaze focused on you over the sunrise you meant to show him.

He didn’t expect you to invite him to something that could be seen as so intimate. He didn’t expect himself to agree without a second thought either. He prided himself on being someone who always thought before he did anything, but something about you had him caving into his whims more frequently. He’d find that irritating if he was the same young man he used to be, but he didn’t. If he was bold enough, maybe he’d go as far as to admit that he liked how you made him feel.

It seemed his gift for you had changed you overnight. You weren’t mad at him anymore; if anything, you seemed to be more gentle with him. Like you saw him differently. He didn’t want to assume you did—that would be unfair to you.

This was what made it difficult for him to leave.

He couldn’t stay here for long. Fate would guide him to other places, more obscure and dangerous, and as much as he felt like he overstayed his welcome with you, he didn’t want to go. He didn’t know if he’d get the chance to see you again, to talk to you again. Getting attached to what could be temporary wasn’t a smart idea—he knew that. But for once, he wanted to let himself live again.

Seeing your face fall when he told you about his imminent departure was, perhaps, the worst he ever felt. He lived through countless battles; the scars on his hands proved that. He didn’t lose his senses even with his state of being a ‘ghost’ of sorts. He still felt the sting of a cut, the aches in his muscles after exerting himself. Emotions, on the other hand, were more complicated. Growing up with his brother, he had to be stern, calm and confident. He had to be assertive. He had to be strong.

With you, he could let all of that go. He wouldn’t lose his habits, he didn’t want to, but with you, he could let his guard down.

“Yone?” you broke the silence. He blinked, suddenly overly aware that he had been staring at you like a fool in love. Maybe he was. “Are you alright?”

“I am. I’m sorry for worrying you,” he responded. “I was only… thinking of the future.”

“You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

You went silent. He frowned, wondering if he should’ve kept it a secret after all. He didn’t want to hurt you. He never did.

“Well, if you decide to come back here one day,” you said, reaching for his hand. Your skin felt warm against his own. “Just know that I’ll be here waiting for you.”

Yone felt like time and the world stopped for him.

“I know I’m a lot to handle.” He didn’t think you were. Still, he didn’t interrupt, letting you speak your mind. “And I know this is just some favour, but you know… I’ve grown pretty fond of you. I’d be sad if you left without telling me.”

Your tone was lighthearted, playing off your words as if they were only a joke in case he didn’t feel the same. He felt warm—the warmest he’d ever been—and he was never one to be timid, but you always managed to bring that out of him with ease.

Yone said your name. You hummed, urging him to continue.

“You should be proud of yourself,” he said. The words felt unfamiliar to him, foreign, but he needed you to know. “Like I am of you.”

You smiled. He wanted to engrave this sight into his memory, make it something he would never forget. You teasingly nudged him with your elbow, giggles leaving your throat as you replied without missing a beat, “So you’ve grown fond of me too, huh?”

This was the most casual you had ever been with him. It was a nice change, he thought, one that he really liked. In a matter of a few weeks, you’d gone from a meek, terrified person into someone confident and much happier than you were when he first met you.

“I have, indeed,” he replied. Perhaps more than I should.

With another chuckle, you fell back into a silence that was tranquil this time, more comfortable. He wondered if it was obvious that he was staring at you—he was trying not to be, but he was always told his gaze was intense. It didn’t seem to be an issue with you. Sighing in contentment, he let his eyes wander back to the sunrise before him. The last day of the Spirit Blossom was fast approaching, which meant that you’d once again find yourself in a busy schedule. But he didn’t have to think about that, so he stopped. Instead, he let himself indulge in this rare moment with you, thinking of nothing but how much things have changed. How much he has changed.

You never let go of his hand. Neither did he.

—

“Will you be going back too? To the spirit world?”

He did say he would be leaving, after all. You weren’t really sure what you’d do if he left. His presence had become something you were accustomed to. Since the moment he found you again in the forest, your routine seemed to have more and more of him. It would feel odd, having something you were so used to just disappear so suddenly. You knew you’d get over it, but you didn’t want to.

“I’ll be staying in the human world,” he said, “only elsewhere.”

A selfish part of you wanted him to stay. You liked having him around. With him, you could forget all about the people who shunned you. Your initial lack of strength or inability to use magic never bothered him; he saw you for who you were, treated you like any person should be treated. You weren’t lying when you told him that you’ve grown fond of him—you truly did.

No, you didn’t want him to leave. But he had to.

“I see,” you whispered. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

The longer he took to reply, the more anxious you became. The familiar stinging of your nose and the watering of your eyes had you trying to hide your face from him. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry. A quiet whimper was all you let slip before you held back the onslaught of tears. You didn’t want him to think you were strange. Someone who got more attached to him than they should’ve. Someone lonely, desperate for company.

“Would you like to join me?”

Even with his mask on, you could still feel Yone’s gaze on you.

“What?” you echoed dumbly. You must’ve misheard him. You could’ve sworn you just saw his lips twitch like he was amused by something. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve said before that the only thing stopping you from leaving was your fear,” he continued. “You’ve become stronger. You fight well, by yourself and by my side. We might also be able to find your mother if we travel together. And, I…”

He trailed off, seemingly to collect his thoughts before he added, quieter, “I enjoy being with you.”

Flustered, you couldn’t say a word. It took a while before you could properly process what he said.

“You mean…”

“Yes. I’d like you to come with me.” He cleared his throat, hesitating as if he was nervous. “You can decline if you’d—”

Yone was cut off by you tackling him into a hug, nearly sending him falling backwards had he been unable to keep his balance. You buried your face in his neck, smiling against his skin before you pulled away to properly look at him. Seeing how close you were made your eyes widened, and you were about to pull away before he leaned down to kiss you softly, which you melted into with ease.

Hesitantly, he pulled away. You could’ve sworn he was blushing. “I assume that’s a yes…?”

“You already know what I meant, Yone.” You grinned, unable to resist the urge to tease him. “You just want me to say it.”

“Well, it… would confirm my thoughts.”

“Of course, it’s a yes!”

“I must warn you it won’t be easy,” he hesitated, giving you another chance to say no. Like he couldn’t believe that you wanted to join him. “So if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to… Why are you laughing?”

“I mean it, you old fool,” you teased.

“Old fool—”

“I would love to come with you.” You curled into his side, laying your head on his shoulder as you watched the river flow in front of you. “I’m not scared anymore. I have you.”

Yone pulled you closer, leaving a ghost of a kiss on the crown of your head. “And I have you.”

It felt like something straight out of a fairytale. You were going to leave this wicked place with someone you fell in love with. You couldn’t believe it was happening, but it was, and your heart raced, not out of fear but out of excitement.

You couldn’t wait for the adventures you’d have together.

[kawaiijohn]

Danny tries to pawn the Ghost King position off on his classmates.

Idk what I was doing, and then suddenly it turned into wes/danny I'm so fucking sorry?

T rating I embarrassed myself fucking writing this bc it came out of nowhere girl (gn) HELP

"Hey Dash how about instead of you focusing on your homework you just start beating me up, just like old times! I sure miss being slammed into a locker."

Dash looks at Fenton, confused before scoffing.

"Even though I normally love wailing on you, Fenturd, coach needs me on my best behavior. State's next week and I'm one loser swirlie away from being suspended."

"I won't scream or anything, I promise! Whaddya say? You get to beat the snot out of me and I won't even complain! I'll even thank you for it." Danny responds, looking around nervously. "But I'm in a bit of a rush, so can you make it quick and do it, say, before six tonight?"

Danny gives the other boy the saddest, most punchable puppy dog eyes he possibly can.

Dash rolls his eyes seeing Fenton ham it up. The loser only does this for his birthday, so it's really weird having him request it four months in advance. Dash decides to ignore the request, only gently pushing the dweeb out of his way. "Beat it, Fentertainment Tonite- I know you don't have a life, but I do."

Danny curses as Dash disappears down the halls.

"I know you want to punch me. You wanna do it so bad." Danny eggs on another of the jocks- Travis, he thinks. "Remember that time I said you punch like my Grandma?"

His grandma taught both his mom and aunt how to fight, but Travis doesn't need to know that.

"Beat it, jackwipe!" Travis shoves Danny out of the way and continues down the hall.

"The one time I need to be shoved into a locker or punched, none of the jocks want to even look at me." Danny bemoans.

He's already struck out with Dash and Kwan- both of which need to stay as non violent as possible with administration lurking around this close to their big game. Paulina pretended he didn't exist, and Star laughed in his face. Something about 'she already kicked his ass months ago'. Which was true, but he was certain he's done something since then worth beating him up for.

"I can't ask Sam or Tuck, it's gotta be someone I hate." Danny pauses with a shudder. "But definitely not Vlad- he already has an ego the size of the Milky Way..."

Danny hears the bell ring and wipes his sweaty palms on his pants.

He has until six tonight to get his ass beat. He can do that, right?

---

Danny is downright panicked now.

Detention really put a damper on his plans. Being stuck in a sweltering classroom with Lancer and Wes only made him more nervous. It really didn't help that Lancer needed helping hands for some after school thing.

Danny only has one option, and he's glad it's one of his 'enemies'.

"Heyyyyyy Wes, what's happening tonight?" Danny slings his arm around the tall boy's shoulder, pulling him down to pipsqueak height. "Wasn't that round of detention just fun?"

Wes nearly growls and shoves Danny off of him. "Fenton! You're the reason I was even there in the first place! If it wasn't for you and your stupid ghost bullshit I would have gotten to class on time!"

"Yeah?" Danny asks, being as annoyingly positive as he possibly can. "Well it's good that there was two of us, or else Lancer wouldn't have let either of us out until well after six!"

Danny looks at the clock nervously- five fifty.

He has ten minutes.

"I don't find moving entire stacks of chairs halfway across the school fun, or even a fair punishment for being late twice in a week. So what if the crafting club has their expo tonight? They should be the ones moving furniture." Wes tries to overtake Danny in the hall but he can't outwalk the other boy.

"But we got to spend all day with each other! Isn't that just swell?" Danny pukes in his mouth a little. He's got a goalpost to reach in less than ten minutes, and my the Ancients he's gonna do it.

"Spending time with a chronic liar and freak of nature isn't really what I consider fun, Fenton."

"Yeah, but we really bonded, don't you think? Had some quality one-on-one without you being a creep outside my house."

Wes's face reddens. "HEY! That was one time, and I don't want to have the cops chase me again. Or your parents, who are worse somehow."

"See, we're bonding here!" Danny jogs alongside Wes, making sure to keep pace at just the right level of obnoxious. But we should really bond sometime in the next... eight minutes."

"God there it is again! What? Do you have important Phantom shit to do at six or something?" Wes rubs his temples. "You're being freakier than normal today and I'm gonna get to the bottom of it."

"There's nothing to get to the bottom of, I just have something to do later. Not Phantom or ghost related- something completely normal and human, yep."

"God you piss me the fuck off, Fenton." Wes crosses his arms and blocks the doorway out of the school. "And one of these days, I'm gonna get you to confess, and then it'll be all over."

"Yeah, that's nice and all, but like, wouldn't it just be so satisfying to, I dunno, take out all that pent up frustration on me?" Danny grins devilishly at the other boy. "Come on, I have such a punchable face! Aaaaand since you say I'm a ghost or whatever it won't actually hurt me, right?"

Danny gets right up into Wes's personal space and looks up at him with a shit-eating grin.

"Back off, Fenton." Wes backs himself against the lockers. He looks anywhere but Danny's face. "Personal space is a concept even stupid ghosts understand."

"Yeah, but if I'm a stupid ghost doesn't that make you wanna prove it? Can't you prove it by beating me up? You have a camera..." Danny reaches for the camera slung around Wes's shoulder and points it at his own face. "It'd be soooo easy."

Wes's face is currently doing its best impression of a tomato as he continues to ignore Danny.

"Please? I'm gonna start begging you to beat my ass soon if you don't acknowledge me, Wes."

"Back. Off. Fenton." Wes stares Danny right in the face. "Last chance."

Danny does the opposite and yanks Wes to stare him in the eyes. "You wanna punch me so bad it makes you look stupid, Weston." Danny chuckles and makes his eyes flash green. "Your face is sooooo red with rage- you wanna kick my ass, admit it!"

Danny barely gets a warning before Wes lunges and tackles him to the ground with a kiss.

Both boys gasp in surprise and Wes backs himself against the lockers with a loud bang.

They sit in silence, staring at each other in disbelief before Danny laughs.

"Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Sh-shut up! It's not my fault you're kind of..."

"Wait, have you been staring at me this whole time because you're crushing on me?" Danny laughs in disbelief as Wes turns even brighter red. "Is that how you 'accidentally' discovered my secret?"

"No!" Wes sputters out. "I don't sta-"

"Stalk me, yeah. Dude you follow me around with a camera to try and expose me. What sort of fruitloop shit are you pulling??"

"Well, if you weren't lying about being a human, then I wouldn't need to-"

"Yeah yeah, whatever." Danny doesn't know how to feel about it, really. Wes is kind of cute, and he's unhinged just like the rest of his friends. But he's also obsessed with exposing him, and kind of stalks him (to no success).

He spends a few moments before he glances at the clock again.

Two minutes left.

He can use this to his advantage, even if it's dirty and underhanded.

"Hey Wes. You really fucking suck at kissing." He eggs the other boy on. "Like, zero technique, all desperation!"

"Shut up!"

Wes starts crying a little. Danny only feels a little bad, but he really needs this to happen.

"What, even I've kissed people before and I'm a loser! Plus I bet you can't even man up and fight me like I want- you're such a little cuck boy, Weston! Always relying on other people to do the dirty work of beating my ass so you can gather your evidence like a little bitch in the dark."

"I said shut up!" Wes's face is bright red again- an angry embarrassment with tears streaming down his face.

But he still has to keep going, even if it feels gross to do this to someone who he kind of likes.

"Make me, Wesley." He spits.

---

It's a dirty brawl but it ends with a very red-faced Wes pinning a bruised and elated Danny to the ground. The latter feels awful about playing dirty with Wes's feelings, but it seems the other boy really needed to take out his rage on him.

"Sooooo, you admit you have complete victory in this fight, right Wes?" Danny smiles up from underneath the other boy.

Wes sputters, his face still bright red and tears running down his cheeks. "You're such a fucking little shit, Fenton."

"Thanks, I try!. But I need you to accept that I'm saying you have total victory in this fight."

Wes sighs and lets go of Danny's wrists and sits back against the lockers. "Yeah, sure. I beat your ass fair and square. Also do you know how weird it is to see you healing this fast? I swear I gave you a black eye."

"You did. I'm just a fast healer." Danny sits up and looks around. He feels... guilty. At least for only finding one person to do this to.

The clock strikes six.

"Also, I'm sorry I lied- you're not a bad kisser. I just needed you to beat my ass. Also sorry about what's about to happen." Danny rubs the back of his neck.

"Sorry about wha-" Wes is interrupted by a portal opening beside the two of them.

"Sorry for being impolite, we should assume." An Observant materializes out of the void beside him. "It's not polite for the crown prince to wait until the last minute to find a replacement, but since you have... bested Prince Phantom in combat, albeit not formal combat, the rules are the rules."

Wes glares at Danny who is doing his best trying to disappear without going ghost.

"Prince Phantom??" Wes spits at the other boy.

"Yep! Former Prince Phantom." Danny smirks. "And again, sorry, but they only gave me today until six to find a replacement. The whole King schtick isn't really my jam."

Wes stares at the other boy as more Observants spill from the hole in reality and bow to him.

"Fenton..."

"Hey! I'm not gonna bail on you or anything. You still need an advisor- I just really don't wanna deal with the formality shit. Hope you understand!"

Danny gives Wes a peace sign as he's escorted through the portal, pissed off, confused, and shell-shocked.

[dykefruit]

Fuck dude, I finally found that quote I was looking for and I read more stuff from Rabbi Tzvi Freeman and it’s just hitting me hard. Like the one I was looking for was this:

The child naively believes that everything should be fair and everyone should be honest, that only good should prevail, that everybody should have what they want and there should be no pain or sadness. The child believes the world should be perfect and is outraged to discover it is not. And the child is right.

And like, that is one of the most important moral beliefs for me personally, and I become outraged when someone insists that believing this is naïve and a result of immaturity. Like I’m sorry you became sad and bitter, but I refuse to and I work hard every day to focus on hope and compassion and it baffles me that anyone could see that as a flaw or as something I should grow out of. I will always refuse to.

A child cannot learn something without running out and screaming it to others. And so it should be with all those who have knowledge.

This is another one that hits me hard bc I feel like sharing knowledge is one of the truest forms of love. At least for me personally. Like, when we are young our parents teach us as much as they can as fast as they can to help us grow into the best people that we can be. They love us so much that they try to share as much knowledge with us as we can learn, but why does that stop when we become older? Why do so many treat correcting false information as a personal insult and belittlement? Why do so many treat someone who shares knowledge as a braggart and assume this person must think themselves superior? I know that it is because of pride, that to be corrected damages the ego and to be taught new things makes one feel inferior. But they shouldn’t. And I am baffled and upset that they do.

And then, as the child emerges to discover that the world outside is not quite the same as that sanctuary, we will explain, "Yes, this is not the way it is supposed to be. But it is only temporary. You and I and all of us, we are going to change it. We are partners in the act of creating this world, because it is our mission to perfect it. And we are doing this now, with acts of beauty and kindness, one good deed at a time."

Is this not the entire purpose of life? Community? Society? I am so earnestly begging to not feel like I am alone, screaming this out for no one to hear.

I am not (currently) religious at all, much less Jewish, so I have no idea how I came across Rabbi Freeman’s writing, but it just speaks to me so incredibly. I’ll end this way-to-long post with one final quote from him:

A child gives love for the sake of love. But even an adult can learn to do the same.

[its-been-rose]

Honestly, i always love myself a good messed up slasher. Especially when they work in pairs (Scream, anyone?)

But when it gets to the story of Killer Frequency, I always just keep wanting to pull Marie aside and go "Yoooooou! Put that boy through so much trauma! And then JUMPED?!"

And like in your art, I doubt this is just a spur of the moment thing, like she's been training for this! Imagine as a young child waking up and your mother teaches you to whistle, not because it's a fun little skill but bc you're gonna use it to terrorize then murder people with.

You are compared to a father you've never even met and somewhat care but also don't care for because it's an image presented to you via your mother who you love so much you'd do anything for.

You are taught to use a knife, probably. Something just tells me this isn't their first instance of killing someone, especially Marie. I mean do you remember Mrs. Loomis in Scream 2 when Randy is talking shit and she MAIMS him? That's Marie all the way.

There's just... so much to say about Marie. Like what was she even planning to do after this fact?

THISSS!!! ALL OF THIS!!!!

I don’t think this was the intention, but her jumping off Whistling Point at the end seemed to me like it was something she’d planned the entire time, like she’d planned it to be a murder-suicide from the get go. I think in reality it was probably just a very serendipitous coincidence that’s where her running from the cops took her and she took the easy way out due to the convenience. I’m just a sucker for drama and having her basically planning a 20-year long suicide plan is pretty dark.

But either way, she completely threw Henry to the wolves. Obviously she told him to run but what parent wouldn’t be like “don’t go after him he had nothing to do with it it’s me you want”??? Like girl you’re just gonna orphan your son?? Who looked up to you so?

I do not doubt for a single second that she raised Henry for that night and that night alone. Literally nothing else mattered. She absolutely screwed him over and let herself believe she was doing the right thing. If you think about the game for more than five seconds the real tragedy becomes obvious.

I totally agree with you that Henry did it less because he loved his father and wanted revenge for his death but more because he loved his mother who loved his father and wanted to do right by her. Like some of my own relatives passed away before I was born, and I was told stories about them, but I don’t feel a connection to them at all. I feel connected to how my parents felt about them. Like one of my parents lost their brother (my uncle) but i feel worse for them losing their sibling than i do for myself losing an uncle, if that makes sense. I can definitely see Henry thinking something along the lines of “yeah my dad was killed and it sucks and it’s not fair I never got to meet him, but look what his death did to my mom, it destroyed her, and it’s all their fault she’s been miserable for 19 years”

Yeah, Marie taught him, raised him, to be this. It should be a parent’s worst nightmare for their kid to turn into a monster, but she encouraged it. Completely unfair. And yeah I mean we know from Clive’s tapes that Whistling Night wasn’t their first foray into murder. They’d been chasing down stragglers for a while before then, could have been anywhere from months to weeks to days before.

As for what her plan was after the fact… I don’t think she had one, to be perfectly honest. This was all that mattered. I mean like- she even revealed her identity and the identity of her son ON AIR, so it would be way harder to go into hiding anyway. To me that says she didn’t really plan ahead. Just be perpetually on the run?

[khaopybara]

Ok so we are in agreement that may definitely knows that ai-oon is not oom right? Like even if she somehow managed to avoid seeing the news of the accident our girl oon is NOT doing well acting like someone may has/had been dating lol.

But also I love them so i am more than willing to turn a blind eye to all the sus behavior 😆

ALSO we finally got PhimPang and they are ICE COLD!! I wanted to like Pang soo much because of ciize but Pang is the WORST! I was so mad when she pull oon away from may so that she could basically make sure that May was blind. WHO DOES THAT!? 🤬🤬🤬 i know we’re only on ep 2 but at this point i am all for PhimJan!

Really i am praying to the GL gods for a true triangle! Give me PhimPangJan or give me death!

AND ANOTHER THING that grandma is on thin ice

Ok what else….planetarium dates was adorbs and the the cockroach scene had me dying 😭

-🤫

miss famous lawyer who's studying to enhance human rights and went to a meeting in geneva to create a roadmap to help with her mission most definitely knows something is up. i think i got spoiled about this whole situation, but i'm not 100% sure how trustworthy people's vague commentaries and my deduction skills are. either way, oon is now the love of my life. she is adorable and she needs a very tight and good hug, and for now, may seems like she's doing it quite well (tho i must admit, my heart hurts for oon every time may calls her oom).

LISTEN! i love my girl ciize. i adored her as alpha in 23.5, and i was so looking forward to see her in pluto (still am, don't get me wrong, i think this plot line will give us so much), but from the moment ciize said, yeah you know, pang has had this crush on oon since forever but never made a move bc she didn't know oon liked women, too, but now that she knows that's an option for her, you know, she might go for it. never mind this relationship i have with this other stunning officer who lives with me. it's like having war flashbacks of raymew in only friends, tho they are very different characters in very different circunstancies.

the thing about pang tho is that she's very logical. ep 1 pang telling oon, hey girl, i know a lot has happened in the last week of your life, but you're really taking the side of a girl found out existed just the other day and you met literally once. get a grip. iconic behaviour. i was saying the same thing. but ep 2 pang make me feel she does all of that out of misplaced jealousy and sense of ownership over oon's time and presence which is not really nice. i hope we get to see more of the phimpangjan triangle thing soon, because as i said, it's gonna be juicy~ (also, jan is so much more loyal and driven than i thought she would be. from the pilot trailer, i thought she'd be just a jealous wine lady who'd get in between kapookciize, but she's sweet so far).

grandma clearly has favorites (or so we think. at least this part of the story is from oon's perspective, after all, and we know we can be biased when telling a story), but @suppaloscurse talked about it in this post and i agree with a lot of that. oon not only is the older twin, she's also the one who needed to be strong and support her younger sister. it's not fair of grandma to pick favorites so blatantly, but i feel like it's what oon has always expected. she was sidelined bc her sister's fragile health, oom went to a private school, and then as adults, oom became a flight attendant while oon works in delivery (pls know i'm not putting more value in one more than the other) and then, also married rich. namtan talked about how grandma is pivotal in oom's story and is the reason for the granddaughter's growth, so i'm looking forward to figure that relationship out, too.

also, THE SAPPHICS OWN THE SPACE. THAI GLS TAUGHT ME SO. and, props to the cockroach that gave us the classic falling on top of you scene. i've said this during ploy's yearbook when namtanfilm's character found themselves in a similar predicament that if they were dudes, they would have kissed on the lips back then, and we almost had it in today's episode. fingers crossed i still can get my cliche from them.

[inkstainedhandswithrings]

TBB s3 ep4 Thoughts!!!

Oooohh starting off strong

Omega immediately wanting to go back because “it’s right”

Crosshair wanting to keep moving, not because he’s scared of going back but because he understands that he can’t help anyone if he’s dead

Ah there he is. The bitch. The Hemcock.

I wanna say Nala Sa deserves to be in prison but idk I’m starting to feel for her

Pretty sure she won’t survive the season though

IM SORRY THAT SHOT WHERE THE COAT IS HANGING OVER THAT POWER LINE???

is that,,,, a reference to yanno,,, shoes hanging from a power line?

hahahahahahah poncho stormtroopers

“You’re the one who wanted to bring… the hound.”

HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH

YOUR HONOUR I LOVE THEM

best duo this show has given us

If Hunter was the hesitant but willing dad, Crosshair is the exasperated older brother that was forced to bring his younger sister to the party he was invited to an now has to spent all night watching her

Ey not cool Omega. Someone was using that jacket to advertise their business

“See, isn’t this better?” “No.” “Ugh.”

HAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHHA

“I could take out half of them before they even know what happened” 😳😳

Yeah, I believe you sir

Damn fuck how many more clone crushes will I have to be burdened with

Jesus Christ

“That went well” “Stow it”

THEM

YOUR HONOUR

THEM!!!

Scottish Robot ahhahahahahaha

Say what you will about Crosshair, when that dude sat down across from Omega he was ready for a FIGHT

big ol’ softie <3

“You or your dad”

Glad Hunter wasn’t there to hear that

Or Crosshair for that matter

Both would’ve blown their cover

Tbh Crosshair makes a fair point about leaving while they can. The planet is filled with Empirials and they are running out of time

But he also hasn’t been part of a team in a while and maybe he’s forgotten some of what that entails too

Either way, loving how “selfless” and “selfish” are meeting in this ep

“I’ll do it your way BUT I WOULD LIKE THE RECORD TO REFECT THAT I DONT WIKE IT!”

Crosshair giving Omega a boost to get over the wall I’m crying

“Shouldn’t we free the other animals too?” “Don’t push it.”

HE IS MY SOULMATE (based on sarcasm. I am vegetarian and I would free those animal friendos in a heartbeat)

The extra head shake and eye roll at that question too, he is already so done I can’t hahahahahahahah

“I hope your take-offs are better than your landings” “we’re about to find out”

Aaaaaaand that just reminded me that Tech was the one who taught her to fly

🥲🥲🥲🥲

That fucking shriek when the stormtrooper got blasted by the engine hahahahahaha

Ohohoh altered batch theme after take off? Okayokayokay I see you👀

Jesus Christ, Crosshair trying to prepare Omega for the very real possibility that Hunter and Wrecker are dead?

Like I know it seems cruel and defeatist but it’s actually kind in a way

Managing expectations in order to save her from a worse fall out

FUCK I THOUGHT I’D HAVE TO WAIT TILL NEXT EPISODE FOR THEM REUNION

JESUS

AAAAAAHHHHH

“We crossed the galaxy four times looking for you”

SIR

I AM QUACKING

why did Hunter’s appearance suddenly piss me off

Like Wrecker had a cute line and Hunter had to walk up like

“Um, five actually”

Like idk it felt like he was taking over the moment (which makes sense because he’s her dad but still it just sounded awkward)

EXCUSE ME??? I BEG YOUR BIGGEST PARDON??

Omega just explained that she only got off that planet AND survived so far thanks to Crosshair and all they can do is look all bitchy butt-hurt

Like I expected this from Hunter but why isn’t Wrecker hugging him?

Bc they went looking for Cross before, I thought we were past the straight up hate?

Love how stoically Cross is taking it though

I have to admit, so far this is one of my all time favourites. The comedic timing, the very real story line, the confrontation of previously opposed characters? Wonderful. But the pièce de résistance? Crosshair’s character description rings true again. “Severe and unyielding” Tech had said. I’ve rambled about this a lot recently, but the boiled down version is that when Crosshair commits to something, he commits all the way. Like how he committed to the Empire so hard that he hunted down his brothers. Or when he finally decided the Empire was a bunch of shitbags and shot officer shitbag (I forget his name) in the face. He has now decided to commit to Omega, for whatever reason. And it shows. Because even when she tells him to go, he’s literally only a minute behind her. He lets her employ her own strategies despite his preference and experience. He’s ready to beat up Captain Dickhead (did they even give him a name?) for sitting down across from her. He tells her to get into the ship first while he lays down cover fire.

Crosshair’s next “severe and unyielding” decision is Omega’s safety. And I couldn’t be more excited to see where it goes!

AND I cannot believe how much I suddenly like his character. I was so disinterested in him for like s1 and maybe 90% of s2 but now I am more interested in what becomes of him than I am in what the deal is with Omega’s M-count.

I’m saying it now. These seasons hyper focuses are: Rex, Echo and Crosshair (in that order) (for now, we’ll see)

Thanks to everyone who sat through that, have a good day/night/whatever, friend!

[sweetest-honeybee]

C'mon mate what's the tea on the manager they crazy or just stupid? A manager is usually one or the other. Or both.

PFFT just an ass to literally everyone in the building but I learned all this in pretty much one day:

She was hoping to fire this one girl bc the girl has a no call-no show on her record (girl in question is a mother and I believe it was due to an emergency related to that). The hope was that the girl wouldn’t come to work on another no call-no show but she ended up coming which pissed off manager

This is just something I heard from someone else (old friend from high school who happens to work there) but apparently one of the employees there is suing due to violations regarding an injury they received at work. Manager made them continue working and demanded them do things their doctor specifically said they couldn’t do and so company and manager are being sued

Lady I work for in the kitchen HATES her and they have a fair bit of history from the last year actually including a screaming match which ended in items being thrown apparently? Manager keeps butting in to cook things bc she thinks lady in the kitchen, despite it being her job, either doesn’t know what she’s doing or is too slow

Manager put me and girl she was hoping to fire in there together to cook stuff and train me in the kitchen. All was fine til manager butted in to teach me the EXACT same stuff lady taught me and was somehow surprised I already fuckin. Knew how to do it 😂

Manager just kept getting in the way of every damn thing in that kitchen

Manager sent lady int he tiki hen home early bc she decided there was nothing else she needed to do even tho we kept continuing to prepare food under the training of 2 managers including asshole manager

Kept pulling employee who’s suing aside to bitch at them in the kitchen in the last couple hours of my shift

Generally kept bitching about every damn thing in the store (loudly going “Customers come in here expecting us to drop everything to help them! 😡😡” in the kitchen)

Kitchen lady was busy training me so nobody was watching the roller grill for the first 2 hours of my shift which pissed off manager even tho she stuck be back there to train. Openly complained about it in front of customers

More of a pet peeve but she also bitched about my name tag being on the wrong side like 8 feet from me. Didn’t say it to me, never did. But bitched to another manager about it. There were no specific codes on how to wear the name tag, just that you had one. I wore it on my left side with the company logo bc I’m right handed and reaching things with my right hand would make my arm hit it and repeatedly scrape against my arm. I fixed it but apparently she’s got a reputation for bitching about something to EVERYONE except you if you’re pissing her off with something

But yeah people quit there all the time bc of her and the ridiculous workload she puts on everyone. And by ridiculous I don’t mean a lot, but such a small store means there’s not always something to do. So before store inspection, she had me scoot along the inside perimeter and scrub that little corner where the walls and floors meet. Honest to god I god paid an hour to sit and scrub dirt out of THIS

[sheikahwarriork]

I am sorry you had a bad day my dude, would some Byleth cheer you up?

I think, we all as society should recognize Byleth!~

Byleth does not fight fair. In a support conversation with Felix, Felix mentions that Byleth will randomly throw out punches and kicks along with sword attacks. Byleth's probably a biter. She is going to Mike Tyson her way through entire military campaigns, and I have no idea what happens when you punch a giant lizard creature, but the campaigns give Byleth the opportunity to find out before the time skip ever happens.

I mean one of the main skills of Enlightened One is brawling.

So yeah. She's a bruiser who punches her way through problems and eats more than anyone else.

And people still say she has no personality...

TY ANON YES!!! YOU SPOKE THE TRUTH

i mean, in a crit's animation byleth throws a punch before slashing the sword:

and as you said, she got brawling as a skill of her unique class.

i think being raised as a mercenary by mercenaries taught byleth to survive by all means. when she fights, there's no such a thing as a "fair fight", there is just "win = survive".

on a side note, i like to think that when she first teached the blue lions, with all the faerghus "knight honour" mentality etc, she was taken aback. when ingrid did her first lance tournament, byleth was screaming "PUNCH HIM IN THE GUTS, INGRID!!" and dimitri politely said "professor, i'm sorry but this is a lance tournament, not a brawling one. she's not allowed to use her bare hands". byleth looked at him with a "error 404 not found" face and then goes, "do you really think an enemy on the battlefield will care if she's using a lance or her hands? they'll try to kill her anyway, so she- no, you all must learn to fight and survive". and this is why byleth doesnt let her students focus on only one weapon and by the end of the war even the mages have proficiency in brawling. byleth is not going to let her babies die! (okay i love this headcanon i HAVE TO write something about this)

omg i love byleth so much im crying ok. i HATE when people say byleth doesnt have a personality!! just a few days ago i was thinking about the animated cutscene at the beginning of the game, the one when you see all the students. that cutscene begins with byleth reading a book, then the clock bells ring, yk? well, i LOVE that little detail of byleth reading. bc think about it: a 20-something yo mercenary is hired as a professor at the great official academy of garreg mach. byleth knows well she is not competent. but its a job, its her job now, so she must do her best. and so she starts reading all kind of books about magic and history and weapons and tactics. she knows shes not a good professor (yet), but she wants to be one!! so she does everything in her power to be one!!!!

or the fact that the first time we can see byleth smiling is when they give food to a cat/dog? its waaaay before the flayn's rescue, which is the canon "first time" the house leaders see byleth smile.

people often complain about byleth being a silent protagonist. in my opinion, OF COURSE BYLETH is not very talkative. they grow up in a mercenary company, they probably never interacted with someone with their age before the academy! (remember byleth doesnt meet leonie when jeralt goes to her village.) they never had a friend. and now byleth is supposed to be a perfect professor?

but byleth tries. byleth gets better with people. in fact, i think byleth actually gets more lines in the second part of the game (i should check but im pretty sure).

byleth also is more expressive post-timeskip. i'll never forget the "... :( " face byleth does when dimitri says its better to go rescue lady rhea before taking fhirdiad (his feral phase, i dont remember the exact moment but its during a war council in the first part of the post-timeskip). or the fact byleth has an angry face when talking to feral-dimitri during the exploration days (i mean the sundays).

also, apparently byleth has a very bad sense of humor. after the fhirdiad map in azure moon, when byleth and dimitri talks, he says "you taught me something very important" and byleth can say "humor?" and dimitri responds something like "you never let up, do you?", which means its not the first time byleth says a silly (but loved!!) comment.

do i think byleth should have got dubbed lines in three houses? of course i do. but even with the little lines they have we can see their personality.

IN THIS HOUSE WE LOVE AND RESPECT BYLETH!!!!!!!

thank u anon i love talking about my beloved!!

[keyleth-clay]

Do you have any headcanons about your favourite venture maidens ships or characters that you'll never let go of?

I always love getting VM asks from you, even when it's been long enough since I've watched Fate that I'm a bit fuzzy on the details 💜💜💜. (That means that if canon contradicts any of these headcanons, I genuinely don't remember, so therefore no it doesn't 💙.)

I'm sure I've made it clear by now that Sawyeh Noor is my most favouritest gorl, so I'll stick with her for the character headcanons, but I'll jump around a bit for the ship headcanons. (Now that I've finished typing this out, this got way longer than expected so I'll be putting the ship headcanons in their own post.)

Character Sawyeh headcanons:

I like to think that with Sawyeh's background growing up in the monastery, she developed a unique perspective on community that the other Maidens don't necessarily have - every member of the monastery would need to contribute to the upkeep and care of not just the building(s) and grounds, but the other people within it as well. This does come through a fair bit throughout the campaign, most notably post-Bastard's Breach and her consistent commitment to helping rebuild and train and help anyone in the Sisters of Sorrow that she can, but she's also just like that in her day to day life, to the point of occasionally being almost naggy towards the other Maidens to clean up after themselves or to keep their gear repaired and stuff like that.

I also think she would have learned how to cook while in the monastery (part of taking care of the people and not just the place is making sure everyone is fed), and I think she'd both be quite good at and genuinely love cooking, and find the process almost meditative.

Alistar Fritz Patrick occasionally joins her during her early morning yoga sessions - instead of cat yoga, it's pseudodragon yoga!

As a Way of the Four Elements monk, she obviously ends up having a connection to the elements, but I find it interesting which elements she ends up gravitating towards. She starts the campaign using fire the most, and then uses it and water (bc of her connection to Olhydra/Persana) fairly evenly throughout the campaign. She also uses air a decent amount, and that connection gets stronger once she gets her dragonfly wings...

...but she doesn't use earth all that much, if at all. Which I think is incredibly fitting for her, as a big part of her motivation in leaving the monastery was her desire to travel and experience new things - and if A:TLA taught us anything, that freedom and curiosity is essentially the opposite of earth as an element. I think she genuinely struggles with that kind of rooted-ness.

Building off of both of the above, I like connecting her to Ranna and Chidi once she starts studying from/training with the Carillons, and as such, she has someone who has influenced her life that is directly connected to one of the elements: her mother Maheen is water, her father Aram is fire, Ranna is air (bc air genasi), and Chidi is earth (bc of The Tree).

We already know that she's a big tea-drinker and avoids alcohol (I am considering late-campaign Sawyeh drinking an exception to the rule due to. y'know. the potential unravelling of the fabric of reality), but since I am also a big tea drinker, I have Thoughts. and by that I mean I am projecting my own taste in tea on Sawyeh.

She tends to favour black teas, but also really enjoys rooibos and herbal (especially anything with ginger or chamomile), and doesn't particularly like green teas. Properly brewed masala chai is her absolute favourite, and when she was growing up it was a treat for special occasions.

I know that Naseem is Iranian-American, and I know that Sawyeh Noor and Maheen and Aram are all Arabic names (or at least from neighbouring regions/languages), but in the very first stream that the Venture Maidens made on their channel, Naseem describes Sawyeh as Filipino, and that idea has stuck with me since then. However, I am Incredibly White and know next to nothing about Filipino culture - but I can definitely look up traditional & popular Filipino food, tie that back into my earlier headcanon about Sawyeh and cooking, and say that her favourite food is tinolang manok.

Also she can fucking DESTROY some minatamis na saging and lumpiang saging.

In the time-honoured tradition of the one ace/aroace friend in the group, she's somehow the person all the rest of the Maidens come to for relationship advice. Maybe she just seems wise beyond her years. Maybe she's able to keep a clearer, more rational viewpoint that isn't distracted by attraction. Maybe she's just the least likely to deliberately give them bad advice as a joke. Who knows.

(It's all three.)

As I said in the tags on one of your art posts that I reblogged, I love the idea of Sawyeh and Persana ending up as queerplatonic partners. I'm always a sucker for ships where one half is human or essentially human-like, and the other is just so inherently alien that their relationship fundamentally can't be put into the typical framework that we usually put relationships in.

Also that one scene from The Shape of Water. You know the one.

[pingintech]

there something i think about the epigenetics of schizophrenia where theres a ton of people with similar sets of symptoms and similar upbringings that i feel no one talks about??? i feel like ive seen similar things in other people with similar experiences my own father is a good example of this and i think theres a lot of bleed over into us his kids but ive also met a fair number of people not related to us who have similar lived experiences

schizophrenia is VERY genetic to the extent if youve have or have had a close family member with schizophrenia its suggested that you dont do any psychoactive drugs and you just in general sense of anxiety around that thought that youre constantly likely very close to a psychotic break the thought that it could happen at any point and send you over the deep end

i think theres something about the kind of people so very close to the edge of a psychotic break who also have a shared culture of living with someone with schizophrenia whether in my families case that means a lot of paranoia that is both partially inherited but also to a specific extent encouraged and taught to us growing up a vast knowledge of obscure conspiracies even if we dont believe in half of them a (well deserved) general distrust of the government and interest in paramilitary things i also think especially if the schizophrenic family member was a caregiver it influences the kind of behavior you think of as normal not even necessarily in bad ways as much as weird was often something ive noticed just anecdotally is that often these people have their own experiences with delusions and have a unique relationship with politics

i dont think this is a one size fits all situation but i definitely see similarities across the board in people ive met and i dont want anyone to think im suggesting this is like the "burden" of having a schizophrenic family member bc thats not what im saying at all but i am saying theres a lot of active and passive inheritance genetics at play when it comes to schizophrenia and schizophreniform spectrum disorders and i think how that affects those who DONT have schizophrenia or any schizophreniform spectrum disorder but have family members that do is hardly ever talked about??????

i cant be the only person who has noticed this kind of weird community of people with a specific set of mental health issues and culture around living with people with schizophrenia that goes almost completely untalked about by online mental health communities right???

[lvsifer]

🍅give yourself some constructive criticism on your own writing

🧩 what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

and

🍬 post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

for the Writers Truth & Dare Ask Game ���️

Feiniiii thank you for these, this was a lot of fun! 💞

Okay constructive criticism: I think it’d be useful for me to practise plot-driven narratives. I love character studies and mood pieces the most, esp in fic bc I can feel it out a d explore the inner lives of characters, but esp as someone who wants to eventually publish, it’d be good practise to very consciously plot stories. I have been researching various plotting structures for a while now, esp for screen writing, but they apply to prose too. I have been studying the craft of painting for almost 3 years and it’s honestly taught me how important structure is to build actual art on top of, and I want to do the same with writing as well. So. Plot. And not to be afraid to move scenes around!

What will make me click away: bad writing, ooc characters, mistakes in tenses in the first few sentences, tone, honestly anything that I simply Don’t Vibe With, though I have read my fair share of bad fic too bc I was so starved for the content (we’ve all been there and I am still thankful for the authors) 😂 and just bc it’s not for me doesn’t mean it’s necessarily ‘bad’ (though sometimes. it is. and those have a right to exist too)

Unpopular opinion on a fandom character: Hmmm. An old one BUT that Thranduil is this whiny femme bottom. He absolutely IS femme but he is also a fn warrior. He would not cry out of pain while getting fucked. Can we please stop equating femme behaviour/looks with weakness? Thanks.

[throughtrialbyfire]

HEEHOO GET ⭐⭐⭐

HEHEHEHHEE OKAY since u sent three i'll pick three scenes bc i love. rambling. okay.

this one is going to be a slight continuation of the answer here, as this scene is from chapter 16 and relates directly back! this got long (like, REALLY long), so i'm gonna put it under a readmore. i'll be putting my notes between the paragraphs of the scene!

He narrowed his gaze down at them. Athenath shrunk back. Looked away. Every word that fled from the Bosmer's lips burned their ears. His voice, low, sturdy as an oak, varnished by years of what must have been an adventurous life, to have such a charisma to his words, to himself, no matter who he spoke to or where he went- It made Athenath realize just how small their own life was in comparison.

[Athenath is the youngest of the trio, and Emeros is the eldest. this creates an interesting dynamic between them when they get into spats like this one, over something fairly serious and fairly personal. athenath feels small in this moment because after the fight (and athenath was left to cool off a bit), emeros came to check on them and directly asked them what was wrong, and told them that he needs to know what set them off since they're gonna be traveling together. the fact someone he fought with sought him out after and checked in, was calm, considerate, and still stern… it's not something athenath is used to, to put it lightly.]

A beat passed, maybe two. People milled about in the market square, and Heimskr cawed on with his sermon, a bird hopping around a bear trap and daring it to snap shut on him. [you know. talos worship and the white-gold concordat and all that *waves hand*] "Maybe."

Emeros hesitated, leaning back against the bench, the sun-warmed wood meeting his spine through his clothes. "I suppose that's a fair answer. Perhaps I'm just surprised, is all." "You shouldn't be," Athenath snorted, the tinge of a sneer against their mouth, "one of the first things we did after that dragon bullshit is go up to those stones. I chose Thief, remember?" "Is that what you are, then? A thief?" If they said yes, then what would he think? And if they said no, then would it be worse to lie? Would it be easier to swallow the concept of a one-off impulse, or to see him and what he was? To lay bare the fact of their less honorable profession, Bravil's dirt-caked streets a bittersweet memory that gave them these quick hands, this sharp tongue? Athenath didn't look to the other Mer, instead drawing their focus somewhere on the horizon as they said, "yeah. Sort of."

[athenath has never mentioned having been to, or spent lots of time in, bravil. he's always told his friends he's from anvil and leyawiin, because they KNOW what reputation the city of bravil has, and that he spent a good few years there and learned how to be a better thief… it's a lot. and it would be a lot to admit to all of this, especially in the middle of this whole situation. also, not being able to stand looking directly at emeros. to face the fact they hid something they stole in his belongings. that they did something wrong and wronged someone he's starting to care about. AUGH………….]

Emeros pulled his ankle over his knee and drummed his fingers along the side of his boot. He sat a moment, eyes avoiding the other now, as well, his breaths slow. Steady. Controlled. "Well." "Well." Athenath repeated. "I'm going to presume that this isn't a recent development?" "Nope." "Then why," he leaned forward, worry etched into the lines of his mouth, dimpling at his cheeks, "why did you hide this? If we had known, we could… We could have-" "What, stopped me?" Athenath scrunched up their face. "It's not like this was some random urge. I did this 'cause I wanted to, y'know." The further admissions of guilt alarmed both of them, in a way. Emeros tugged his cowl from his head, letting it drape loosely over his strong shoulders. He set his jaw, as though he were struggling with a potion he'd only been taught once many years ago by a mentor he'd rather ignore than heed, the evident confusion melting into his features, the lowering of his brow and the tension in his jaw and the burden of concern in his eyes. He shifted his torso to face the bard further. "While not an impulse, it was still dreadfully impulsive, Athenath. And hiding it among my belongings, I assure you, will not earn you any favor with me. Quite the opposite, in fact."

[haha, the conse's are quencing.]

Athenath grit their own jaw and rolled their eyes in a wide arc. Emeros caught every inch of the expressions they made. The Altmer was on a ledge in their mind, balling their fists. The smallest fragments of places, people, actions long-taken, long-gone, all of it bled into him now, here, worn and tired from the tension. The bard bounced his leg, boot making tiny tapping noises against the stone as he avoided Emeros' gaze. Wouldn't even look him in the face. "He sold it to a Justiciar. If I can keep even one thing out of the Dominion's hands, I'll do it." "You didn't know who the customer was when you stole it, though." "And? Now that I know-" "Athenath." "Emeros." They shot each other's names out like darts. They sat, staring into one another's faces, both searching for an answer that wasn't there.

[i want to expand on this whole scene one day but for now this snippet gives a good overview of the situation - athenath made a mistake that is also a habit/profession. they did something wrong, and hid the evidence in the belongings of someone he's traveling with. who's to say the guards wouldn't have searched emeros' belongings? or wyndrelis'? who's to say if they hid it in wyndrelis' belongings, that the mage would even be mad? i mean, he wouldn't be happy, but he doesn't have the same hatred of the thalmor (on a deeper level than just thinking they suck) that emeros and athenath have, so it wasn't a random decision for me to make athenath hide stolen goods in emeros' bag.

now, emeros is confronting them on that mistake. he's setting boundaries and saying he won't tolerate that, and the fact that he's being stern but still trying to be friendly, trying to not let it show how betrayed he feels (he defended athenath from belethors accusations, after all) and still trying to make it all work even when athenath seems like he's pushing him away… it says a hell of a lot about emeros, i think. and it says a hell of a lot about athenath, too, that after this, he apologizes and makes a joke and finally looks emeros in the face. AUGH.]

oh that was a lot of typing im so sorry HAHAJKHGDFKJGHFDHG

i've focused a lot on these two, but we GOTTA give everyone's favorite anxious mage some love!! so i'm gonna focus on wyndrelis here >:3c this is from chapter 21!!

It bothered him, how much space this occupied. Not the image of someone bloodied and in need of help, that much he could handle. No, it was the nagging suspicion of something wrong. Someone pulling a trick, sleight of hand like a jester in the streets of the Imperial City, deceiving himself and his companions. That moment the scraggly Altmer had made the tiniest flick of a weakened wrist - the smallest thing that Wyndrelis seemed to be the only one to notice - the sour taste of metal latched to his tongue. Magic cast when someone was desperate. A spell from a mage without much left to give. And when he'd held a hand near the other, his own magicka had been met with a repelling force like the Dwemeri magnets he'd studied once with an old colleague. The ends opposing. A force meeting force, an uncomfortable sensation that pushed back against his hand. And what had he said about Illusion magic?

[this scene… ough. it's fair to say wyndrelis doesn't think highly of himself, which will show up later. but right now, let's focus on the magic: it's a tangible thing, it's an intangible thing. to me, magic is like the mycelium of energy - it extends outwards towards sources, it bumps into other sources, it changes course. when it's used, it can be felt by others proficient in the craft. hell, it can be tasted, smelled, and touched, depending on what the caster has done with it. and this scene is wyndrelis mulling over the events of chapter 19, the injured person they found off the road, and the fact that not all was what it seemed with that man. i think magicka can touch other magicka, and either be pulled in, muddled together, or repelled. and in this case, wyndrelis is wondering why there was such a strong, repelling force.]

The thick, dark clouds lowered into their slow graves in the hills, ground marshy and squelching under the boots of the farmers who checked now on their animals and their crops, returned to duties put off for the weather. Wyndrelis preferred to stay in the trio's room for the day, the sight of the hearth so near to him making his palms shake. He laid there in the dim, a book left behind by a former patron of the inn propped against a bent knee, reading silently as he struggled to distract from his unease. The sun sloped into the inn's high windows, or the half-alive vestiges of it, the light weak against the forces of the torches and hearthlight. Footsteps interrupted his thoughts, but he kept his eyes locked on the book, turning a page quietly.

[the trio had, only days prior, dealt with the fight at the western watchtower. and then wyndrelis and farengar's attempt at figuring out a staff in chapter 17 went wrong and caught the floor on fire. and of course, wyndrelis' personal history with fire is not a good one, so it's safe to say he's enjoying being away from the hearth and just… trying to relax.]

"You okay?" Athenath asked, leaning casually against the doorframe. Their arms folded over their chest and dark eyes locked on him, the Altmer gave the mage a quizzical look as he faced them momentarily before his gaze once more landed on the pages before him. "Yes." Athenath looked to be suppressing the momentary twitch of a frown. "You sure?" The Dunmer waited a moment before pushing himself up out of his recline, shoving his fingers through his dark hair until it was tousled and feathery. Explaining to the younger elf the situation seemed like an effort not worth taking. He doubted they would understand why he was concerned. The sights of the bodies, the putrid stench of death, all of it had jostled their nerves enough, no use telling them anything else, let alone that they may have sent something awful Whiteruns way with a handwritten note and a wave.

[this is a recurring theme of the other two elves underestimating athenath, frankly. it's both to do with their age - he's 24, which is still an adult to elves, but its also an age lacking a shitton of life experience among them - and their personality, where athenath tends to act very youthful, light-hearted, and cheery.

all of this congeals into the other two's underestimations of their bard friend. wyndrelis, being the middle of the trio, still falls into this trap himself despite not being that old compared to most elves. he's probably in his 50s-60s, chronologically. in a way, wyndrelis does want to protect both of his companions. he's actively healed them in dangerous situations before healing himself (bleak falls barrow, for example) and defended them with wards. but here, that protection also carries the weight of underestimation, which wyndrelis falls into subconsciously.]

He combed the strands into place with his hands. He couldn't find anything to occupy his attention other than the questions that burned holes in his ears no matter how hard he struggled. Could he even begin to explain the thoughts worming through his mind, burrowing deep into the subconscious parts, eating their fill on his suspicions? He couldn't. He rubbed at his shoulder. He shut his eyes and breathed in the warm air. His mind stagnated on the idea, how to explain, what to say. He wondered if Emeros held the same discomfort in his chest about the blond elf.

[a LOT of the imagery i use for wyndrelis has to do with things like death, decay, bones, ravens/crows, and etc. i love just pointing that out because it's a hell of a lot of fun. all three of them have their unique themes in imagery (emeros gets a lot of hawk/wolf imagery, and athenath gets a lot of cat imagery, for example), and this is a great example of it. and a continuation of his thoughts on the previous day, and his inability to just ask emeros or athenath if either of them have the same feeling. to say wyndrelis has low self-esteem is putting it lightly, and fears a negative response and a "what are you talking about? it's nothing" reply to his concerns.]

"It's a long story." He settled on his reply, words dripping out from his lips on the trail of a long exhale, Athenath traipsing easily over and plopping down into one of the creaking chairs in their room. Slinging their arms on the rests, he craned his posture lightly forward, intrigue in the knit of his brow. "Wanna get into it?" The offer could have been genuine, but the Dunmer had no faith in it. Mostly, he had no faith that they would even listen, or be interested. Wyndrelis shook his head. "No, no thank you."

[POINTS AT MY PRIOR POINT. wyndrelis' low self-esteem is a huge issue for him that he'll need to work through for the good of all three of them. he's an incredible mage, but that's all he feels competent with. and even when someone offers to hear him out, he rejects it, and even redirects the conversation after this.]

and now, this scene from chapter 6, which is hilarious and very telling, and relates back to the scenes i've commented on above in a way. its very light-hearted overall, so its a good piece to end on!

"I'm just glad we're not traveling during the Great War. Horrible time to be on the road, that was." "Really?" Wyndrelis arched a brow as he shut his bag and set it under his seat. "I wasn't traveling then." "You weren't?" The Dunmer shook his head again as Emeros leaned back in his chair, an arm slung over the back. "What were you doing during that time?" "I was still at home, working on my studies." Wyndrelis waved the admission away with an absent hand. "Gods, it was a mess. Every opportunistic bandit in all of Tamriel set upon some of those truly isolated roads. Not to mention, having to skirt battlefields and navigate around all of that… Well, I'm just glad that whole affair is done with." After a long pause, all eyes landed on Athenath, who shrunk back. "What were you doing during the Great War? Gallavanting about with your tambourine?" He teased, light-hearted in his tone.

[emeros spent most of his younger years traveling. he left home at 16, and traversed Valenwood until he decided his call to alchemy - difficult to practice with the green pact, y'know - was more important, and he went to cyrodiil for a while. then hammerfell, high rock, cyrodiil again, and now skyrim. he's got a hell of a lot of experience on the roads, and was actively traveling during the great war!

meanwhile, wyndrelis was working on his studies to join the synod one day. he is the only mage in his family for various reasons, and he was discouraged from pursuing magic. however, he still did, and he taught himself the basics at home. then he wound up in the college of whispers for other reasons, and there, he excelled. during the great war, he was studying, though.]

Athenath sat there, quiet. "Well, no, not exactly." The Altmer sat on the bed, the shaggy cut of their hair more apparent now that it was no longer neatly combed, curls running past their shoulders. His dark eyes were round and curious, but now, they tried not to look directly in the faces of either of his companions, flitting between the other two's hands or torsos, chin tucking to their neck. Emeros narrowed his gaze, his intrigue clearly piqued by the awkwardly mumbled statement. "What do you mean, 'no, not exactly'?" The alchemist questioned slowly. Athenath dragged their palms down their face, as though he'd been dreading this. Wyndrelis carefully observed as the bard heaved a loud, dramatic sigh, fiddling with a corner of their vest. He mumbled something the other two couldn't hear. "What?" Wyndrelis asked. Athenath looked up, frown creasing the edge of his lips. "I'm twenty-four. I was born a few years after the Great War." They uttered the admission with a level of embarrassment, and Wyndrelis understood why. An elven childhood lasted about the same length as any humans, the shortest period of their lifespans and often marked with celebrations, then their lives slowed, all things eased to a stroll as they grew older. This placed Athenath squarely in adulthood, but among other Mer, a young adult was treated as naive and lacking in the knowledge of their peers. Among humans or Khajiit or Argonians, this was grown out of quickly as responsibilities and families cropped up in those years, but among Mer, this was a particularly scathing presumption, treated less like capable adults and more like overgrown children, weeds among oaks.

[THIS okay this is what i was talking about earlier. okay. so the point made here is that while for non-elven people, these years would be marked by already having children, marriages, careers, or being in their studies and having sufficient experience in at least some fields (apprenticeships in early life, for example), among elves, this is seen as the time period where you're off to your studies/starting apprenticeships or getting out into the world. this is the time period where elves are expected to be quiet and learn their shit. athenath had a pretty rough start to being out on his own at 16, so they've had to figure things out and do their best, and he's encountered a lot of other elves who, upon learning they're not even in their 70s yet, discredit everything he says and brush away their opinions as those of a young lad who still has too much to learn to be taken seriously. and it gets to athenath a lot, and they don't like bringing up that he was born after the great war.]

"What?" Emeros' eyes widened, laughter brimming in his voice as he cupped his hands over his mouth. "My gods, I figured you looked a little young, but-" "Oh, shut up," Athenath plucked a coin from his own pocket and tossed it feebly at Emeros' shoulder, watching the glittering septim bounce off his form, the Bosmer laughing. Wyndrelis considered stepping in, but there was a humorous grin at the edge of the bard's mouth. Emeros picked the coin up off the floor, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. "Aw, is the infant feeling fussy?" He cooed in a mocking-sweet tone as he linked his fingers together, Wyndrelis stifling his own laughter. Athenath heaved a monumentally dramatic sigh, throwing their head against the mattress of the shared bed. Emeros chided, "none of that, now, you don't want to injure your soft spot." After the Altmer gave a strangled groan of frustration, Wyndrelis couldn't fight his urge to follow in the teasing. "Do you need a nap?" The Dunmer managed through his own tittering. Athenath's eyes locked on him and he plucked another coin in a slow, menacing manner. Wyndrelis held up his arms in defense, prepared for the gold to be tossed his way. Athenath plopped the coin back into his pocket with a sigh.

[this scene is so much fun for so many reasons. athenath expected the other two to treat them as lesser, but instead, they've taken that presumption all the way to its extreme for a joke. the trio JUST went through helgen and bleak falls barrow together, the respect for one another is already solidifying, and while this will have an impact that bites them all in the asses later, right now it's all jokes because how could they really see athenath as incapable of handling himself when they all JUST fought draugr and solved ancient puzzles together??]

"Come on, you don't even look much older than me. Weren't you a kid during the Great War, Wyndrelis?" Wyndrelis ticked his tongue. "I was in my twenties." Athenath pressed his face into their hands. The look he gave Wyndrelis through his fingers was a pouting plea for the other to help him out here, a little. "And I was already in my thirties when it ended," Emeros tutted, "so you can do the maths on that." Punctuating with a wink, he leaned back in his chair comfortably, the bard's grin sprawling wider.

[this scene still feels clumsy to me every time i read back, but i wanted to clearly establish all of this because it is important to how the trio react to events down the line. emeros will obviously, due to his own age and life experiences, have different reactions to situations than wyndrelis and athenath. the same can be said of the other two. and when those events happen, and when things get either hilarious or intense, they will have their own reasons for reacting the ways they do. after all, the experiences of someone on the road during the great war, vs someone studying at home, vs someone who wasnt born until like 6 years after are vastly different, and i felt the need to establish all of this. well, it still feels clumsy, but i'm not rewriting it again, damn it HAHJKHGJKF]

Linking their fingers together under his chin, he batted his lashes and put on a saccharine smile, coated in barely-concealed mischief. "Aw, then how was the Oblivion Crisis, pa?" Emeros sputtered and coughed, head jerked wildly at the question. "I'm not that o-"

[dont dish out what you cant take, emeros!! HAHAH]

"Terrible, Mannimarco was a nightmare for Mages' Guild recruitments," the mage replied dryly, pushing his glasses up his straight nose. The sound of Sven tuning his lute rummaged under the door, Orgnar making a droning comment somewhere in the middle of it all. Wyndrelis stood and stretched, the sound of the Altmer's laughter died out moments ago. "Let's have a look around town, then we can plan for tomorrow."

[i love throwing in a little mages guild reference. mannimarco my beloved <3 and its fun because, well, of course a mage would bring up the mages guild as a reference to the time of the oblivion crisis.]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK TEN MILLION YEARS. but i hope you did enjoy skimming through the commentary on these, i have a billion notes on all of these scenes and getting any chance to infodump about them will always leave me thinking things over for hours. thank you so much for sending the asks and i hope you enjoyed this absolute wiki article of an answer AAAAAAHKHDKJSHGF

director's commentary

[waltwhitmansbeard]

you need not worry, child (a my fair lady one-shot)

y'all thought i was done, but like delilah briarwood, i simply refuse to accept death! this is a one-shot that is going to be bridging my fair lady with its sequel. unlike the previous one-shot set in the mfl world, this one is actually like important and relevant to the plot, so i recommend reading it only once you've finished mfl, which you can read here on my tumblr or over on ao3.

the story does require some trigger warnings, but bc i don't want to spoil some things if i don't have to, i'm gonna ask you to go over to ao3 to read them there. this way people who want the trigger warnings can get them but people who would rather not have those warnings spoil some of the plot points of this one-shot don't have to worry about that. in general, i will say that this one-shot deals with some sensitive subjects that may not be appropriate for all readers. also i'm not a doctor. i don't even play one on tv.

and of course, we would not be here without @romeoandjulietyouwish and her wonderful medieval au!

In the depths of autumn, when nightfall is quickened and the wind blows cold, a little cottage stands under the mostly bare branches of a cherry tree. Out front, a small patch of squash and turnips grows wild, framing the path leading up to the bright green front door from the direction of an impressive castle. A man walks this path, a black cloak pulled tight around his shoulders against the chill, and stops briefly to smile at the member of the castle guard stationed on watch a few dozen yards away before pushing inside, where he is greeted by a crackling fire and the smell of something burning.

"Hello?" he calls, trying not to be too worried by the smoke in the air as he toes his boots off to set just inside the door.

"Hi!" Keyleth twists around from their little kitchenette to grin apologetically at him. "I'm...still getting the hang of this."

Vax doesn't mind. (Vax never minds.) As a princess, his wife was not taught the ways of homemaking and cooking, but since they've moved into their home, she has thrown herself into the effort. Though her days are often filled with important work befitting someone who will someday rule a nation, she practices as often as she can, and Vax, who still wakes up disbelieving that this is his life, treats each attempt as though it were concocted by the castle chefs themselves.

(Of course, Vax himself is no slouch at the culinary arts, having studied at his mother's elbow for years before he and his sister were sent to Syngorn. He's always enjoyed cooking, the riot of aromas in the air, his attention being pulled in half a dozen directions at once. He knows Keyleth feels the urge to learn, to prove herself to be more than a coddled princess who's never had to work to provide for herself, and even though he'd never believe such a thing about the woman who works harder than any person he's ever met, he understands that this is a matter of pride, and he's not going to stand in her way.)

He sidles up behind her at the stove and wraps his arms around her waist. "What's for dinner?"

She sticks her bottom lip out, stirring hopelessly at a large pot of...something. Stew, maybe? "What we can pilfer from the kitchens, I think." She sighs. "I'm not very good at this, am I?"

"Hey." He presses a kiss into the side of her neck. "You are extraordinary at a great number of things. If cooking is your greatest weakness, I do believe the future of the Ashari Nation is still in good hands."

Her body is tense, jittery. "I suppose. I just wanted..." She tosses her ladle into the pot. "It doesn't matter." She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I can go get us something from the castle."

"Come here." He spins her away from the stove to face him. "There is trouble in your eyes. Did something happen?"

Something shifts in her smile, and now instead of disappointed, she seems restless. She glances at the pot, clearly gives up, and takes his hand and pulls him toward the little sofa facing the fire. She sits and curls her legs under her, her entire demeanor feverish and distracted. She plays with his fingers nervously. "I spoke with Nel today."

"Oh." Nel is Derrig's wife, and since Derrig took over his role as Keyleth's primary guard, she has become a staple figure in their lives. She comes to tidy the cottage for them sometimes, her three eight-year-old girls and baby boy in tow, and has been Keyleth's principal instructor on her culinary journey. It is not unusual for Keyleth to have spoken to her today, so he asks, "What did you talk about?"

"Well, you are aware of what Nel does? When she is not being a godsend to us, of course."

Vax furrows his brow. He's sure he knows, but after the day he's had, he can hardly remember his own name. "Remind me?"

Keyleth worries her lip between her teeth. "She's a midwife."

The realization comes slow, like the sun breaking over the horizon. His eyes widen, and a hopeful smile creeps along Keyleth's face. "No." She nods. "Truly?"

"We're going to have a child," she breathes, and then she's squeaking, having been lifted up off the sofa and spun around in a circle. "Vax!"

He sets her down carefully, knocking their foreheads together. "We're going to have a child." He sighs. "How long have you known?"

"Nel only confirmed it today, but I've suspected for a few weeks, actually. I wanted to be sure before getting your hopes up."

Vax is worried his heart is going to leap directly from his chest. He holds Keyleth's face in his hands, her skin flushed and bright in the glow of the fire, and kisses her, grins against her lips like a man possessed. It was approximately a year ago that they were just beginning, a princess and her guard, a romance fated for heartbreak and misery, yet here they are, in their home, their rings on each other's fingers, and a baby on the way. Vax could never have imagined for himself this ecstasy, this contentment, this peace. As he pulls his miracle of a wife back onto the sofa, curling her into his side, he sends a quick prayer to his matron, the mistress of fate, to thank her for weaving for him a destiny far brighter than any he would have created for himself.

.

They sit on the news as long as they can, but Keyleth, not quite the purveyor of secrets that Vax is, starts to split at the seams before a fortnight is out. She comes home after a long day of meetings, most with her father, and demands they tell him before she blurts it out in front of the entire council and his advisors. Vax, mercifully, agrees, and the next morning the two of them set off for the castle together, in search of the sovereign. They find him in his private study, and the door has only just closed when Keyleth, gripping Vax's hand tightly, spills the news like a criminal's confession.

The sovereign, who sits at a large desk littered with all manner of maps and papers and ledgers, stares at them impassively for a long minute, and Keyleth feels beads of sweat trailing down her neck. Finally, the exterior cracks, and he is grinning, crossing the room at a breakneck speed to gather her up in a hug. She sinks into her father's embrace, relieved that he is not displeased.

"Congratulations, my daughter," he says, holding her out at arm's length to look at her. "I should have known. You have that same glow your mother had." Tears spring to Keyleth's eyes, and she flicks them away with a laugh.

Her father then turns to Vax, claps him on the shoulder, and pulls him into a hug as well. Vax's face blooms in surprise, but he tentatively returns the gesture. Her father ends the embrace and then shakes his hand. "You're in for an adventure, son."

At the word son, Keyleth watches Vax's entire body shift. He straightens up, his throat bobbing just a bit, and he says, "There's no one else I'd rather go on it with."

They tell Percy and Vex at the same time, which is easy enough, given that the two spend little of their free time apart these days. They invite them over for dinner, Vax helming the cooking effort, and Vex hasn't even shrugged off her cloak before she's pointing an accusatory finger between the two of them. "You're pregnant."

Keyleth gapes. "How?"

Percy, who is in the process of hanging his own jacket up near the door, looks at her with concern. "What do you mean, how? Surely you know the mechanics of it."

Keyleth's face bursts into flames. "That—I didn't—how did you know?"

"I was right?" Vex gasps. "I was fucking with you!" She wheels on Vax, barreling toward him and throwing her arms around his neck.

Vax catches her with a laugh. "So you're happy for me then, Stubby?"

She pinches the back of his neck. "Of course, I'm happy for you. Anything that brings you joy brings me joy."

Percy walks up to Keyleth and pulls her in for a hug. It is a relief not to be keeping this secret from the closest thing she's ever had to a brother. "This is magnificent news, Keyleth."

She grins. "You're going to make a wonderful uncle, Percy."

His eyes grow misty, and she knows he's thinking of all of the other nieces and nephews he is never going to have. "I'll protect any child of yours with my life, you know that, right?"

"If you love them half as well as you've loved me, my child will be very blessed, indeed."

"And you." He holds her by the shoulders, looks her straight in the eye. "You will make a wonderful mother. Any child would be lucky to be raised with your empathy and your generosity."

Now it's Keyleth's turn to be teary-eyed, and she buries her face in his shoulder, so grateful to have a friend as true as he.

.

Word spreads quickly through the castle, because nothing loosens lips like the news of a royal child. Keyleth once again finds herself the object of much attention and speculation, which is never a position she enjoys. The situation only worsens when the news breaks beyond the castle, beyond Zephrah. Felicitations and gifts come flooding in from all corners of the Ashari Nation and countries beyond, including a beautiful wooden cradle of Elvish make from the High Warden of Syngorn and a child's book of arcane magic from the Stormwinds of Draconia. (Keyleth decides to give the latter to Lady Allura, Mistress of Arcana, for safekeeping.)

Along with the well wishes come snippets of gossip, rumors about the child's father and a royal woman carrying the seed of a lowly commoner. The fact that Vax has been titled as Champion of the Raven Queen has not reached all corners of society, but even still, Keyleth boils at the thought of either her husband or their child being scorned for their social standing. Is it not enough to have the eternal adoration of a royal? Is a title what makes Vax worthy of her, and not his heart, his courage, his loyalty? Vax brushes away the gossip, reminding her that as a god's Champion, he needs not the approval of others, but Keyleth cannot forgive the injury.

The only word that seems to have any effect on Vax is one Keyleth knows he's had hurled his way his entire life: bastard. Their child is not a bastard, of course, and Keyleth is not so naïve as to be unaware that a princess birthing a bastard child would cause problems with the line for the throne. It is perilous, therefore, for such slander to be whispered about, and they both know it. There is only so much they can do to quell the rumors—they are married, a fact that cannot be disputed before any king or god—but worse than the dangers regarding lineage is the way the word brings out the shadows in Vax's eyes. There is nothing she can say—how does one shake off insults about one's child when they aren't even true?—so she turns to her father, who in turn decrees that any potential guest at Zephran court who has spoken ill of his grandchild and the future sovereign of the Ashari Nation shall never darken the halls of his castle again. The rumors don't stop completely, but they never hear the word bastard again, which is something of a relief.

.

Keyleth is quite amused to notice the changes in Vax's demeanor now that they are expecting a child. Already an extremely physically affectionate person, Vax is almost never not touching her when they are together. His hand is on the small of her back, or his chin is hooked on her shoulder, or he keeps their legs pressed together when sitting beside one another. He is always there, a moth fluttering about a flame, but Keyleth doesn't mind. She enjoys the happy, loose grin on his face, the press of his palm against the barely-visible curve of her stomach. She knows that family is a matter of particular importance to Vax, whose own experience with it has been unsteady and often lonely, and she will never begrudge him these first moments of domestic joy.

It is not only in their little cottage that his physical attentions have become more prominent. Before Keyleth became pregnant, she was always careful to maintain a respectable display of affection while in the castle, not only for her father's sake, but also to maintain her regal presence in front of court. This habit is broken by Vax, who keeps at least one hand on her wherever they are in the castle. He has also developed an interesting tendency of just slightly placing his body between Keyleth and whomever they're speaking with, an impulse Keyleth suspects he hasn't even noticed in himself.

Personally, she doesn't resent Vax's new proclivities—she has always felt more relaxed when he is near—but she does see the hint of scandal in the eyes of those at court who are accustomed to more proper displays of affection. Once, when Vax has been called to be present at the funeral of a farmer on the edge of town, Keyleth visits with her father, to whom she apologizes for any discomfort or impropriety.

Her father, however, waves off her concern. "Keyleth, I was a complete and utter madman while your mother carried you. There was a page who accidentally spilled some wine on her one afternoon and I nearly had the boy thrown in the dungeons for a month until Vilya talked me down off the ledge. Vax's behavior does not trouble me at all."

So Keyleth allows herself to enjoy it, the small touches, his constant nearness. When they lie together in bed and he presses his ear to her scantly rounded belly, whispering secrets and promises to their child, she comes to understand that this, this quiet joy, this tremulous heart in her throat, is when her lifetime of loneliness has truly come to its end.

.

One morning, just a few weeks after the night their lives changed forever, Vax awakes suddenly before dawn to the bed jostling harshly. He lifts up onto his elbows in time to see Keyleth hurtling out of their bedroom and into the kitchen. Confused, he slides out of bed and follows her. "Kiki?" He hears a violent retching sound and moves faster.

In the kitchen, he finds Keyleth bent over the sink, trying to keep her hair out of the way as she vomits into it. Vax rushes up to her, holds her hair in one hand, and rubs the other up and down her back. Her entire torso ripples as she heaves, again and again, until nothing but bile comes out. In what little moonlight creeps in through the curtains, he can see she is ghostly pale, and she gasps for air through her retches.

When she seems to be done, her shoulders slumped forward, he grabs a dishcloth, wets it in the sink, and uses it to wipe the sweat and sick from her face. "There," he breathes, brushing her hair back. "Are you alright?"

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, and her mouth is clearly dry. "I'm sorry."

"Absolutely not." He takes the carafe of water from their tiny dining table and pours her a glass. "Drink this, and do not ever apologize to me for this. I have no way of knowing what stress this is putting on your body. You never have to be sorry for growing our child, Kiki."

Exhausted, Keyleth slumps against him, slowly slipping at the glass of water. He ushers her back into the bedroom, where they sit on the edge of the bed together as she finishes her drink. He then takes the glass from her, sets it on the bedside table, and lays her back down. "You take such good care of me," she murmurs, her eyes sliding closed.

Vax leans down to kiss her forehead. "We take care of each other. We're a team."

She smiles softly, and then she's asleep again.

These violent purges quickly become a nightly thing, waking them both suddenly from a dead sleep, until the issue begins to infect their days as well. Keyleth cannot keep any food down, vomiting everything back up within half an hour of each meal. Nel visits often, testing out new methods of combating the nausea—herbal teas, smelling salts, different diets, changing the pace of eating—but nothing helps. Vax notices that Keyleth is losing weight, when he knows she should be gaining some to support the baby's growth. Anxiety fills his every waking thought, and he skives off most of his duties as Champion to once more follow his wife around, the princess's uneasy shadow, not that he imagines he would be any help to her in this condition.

His anxiety turns to panic a month later, when Nel, having stopped by to check on Keyleth after what has now become her regular afternoon nap, pulls him aside to say, "I worry for them both if she cannot start gaining weight again."

Vax's blood runs cold. He sees the pallor in Keyleth's skin, the sunken shape of her cheeks, and he knows that she is unwell. "Nel, please. They are my world."

Nel runs a stressed hand through her long blond hair. "I wish I knew what to try next. She is not able to keep food down long enough for either she or the baby to receive enough sustenance."

Korrin, who had joined Nel in her visit and whose eyes reflect Vax's own disquiet, says, "Vilya suffered similarly, if I recall, but I don't believe her nausea causes quite this much distress. There was some remedy, I believe, but that knowledge has been lost to me in the past twenty years."

Vax wants to pull his hair out. "There must be something. A potion we haven't tried, an old wives' trick, anything."

"I have an idea."

All three turn to see Keyleth leaning against the open door frame of the bedroom. Her thick dressing gown is wrapped around her to ward off the early winter's chill. She looks so frail, Vax worries one good gust of wind will come take her away.

"What is your idea?" Nel asks, keeping her voice bright, though Vax can hear the doubt in it.

Instead of answering, Keyleth walks toward them and out the front door. There is a light dusting of snow on the ground, and she is only wearing thin slippers. Vax snatches a knitted blanket off of the sofa and rushes after her, Korrin and Nel on his heels. Keyleth walks to the cherry tree, its branches reaching and bare, and settles herself on the ground between two large roots. Vax catches up to her and, wrapping the blanket tightly around her shoulders, asks, "What are you doing?"

"Wait." She places her hands on the hard, cold ground and closes her eyes. Vax steps back to watch, tossing a confused glance over his shoulder at the sovereign and the midwife. Keyleth sits in silence, breathing slow and deep, and between his own raucous heartbeats, Vax listens to the bracing wind whistle through the branches. The cold brings some color back to Keyleth's cheeks, though he isn't sure the exposure is good for her. He waits as long as he dares, and just when he has decided to lift her up and carry her back into the warmth of the cottage, her eyes flicker open. "Cinnamon."

Vax blinks in surprise. "I'm sorry?"

Keyleth begins to stand, and Vax rushes to help her to her feet. To Nel, she says, "The tea you made with the ginger and the fennel and the peppermint. We need to try adding cinnamon."

Nel seems just as bewildered as Vax feels, but she nods fervently. "Right away, Your Highness." She rushes off toward the gardens.

Vax and Korrin steer Keyleth back inside, settling her in front of the fire with several blankets piled atop her lap and shoulders. Vax sits at her feet and asks, "What did you do out there?"

She offers a little shrug. "I'm not sure. It...felt like praying, in a way, but to the natural world, rather than a god. Papa, you said that Mother had found a way to ease her symptoms, and I thought...I don't know, perhaps the earth remembers."

Vax exchanges a baffled look with Korrin. The sovereign places a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Did you hear her?" he whispers.

Keyleth reaches up to hold onto his hand. "Maybe. I'm not sure. I'd like to think so, even if just indirectly."

Nel returns within half an hour with a new tea concoction in hand. She steeps it in some boiling water and gives it to Keyleth to drink, which she does hesitantly. Vax and the others wait with bated breath. After several long, agonizing minutes, a smile begins to curl at the corners of Keyleth's mouth. "Well. I haven't felt this good in ages."

Vax lets out a nearly manic laugh, ducking his forehead against her knee. Nel announces that she is going to begin cooking at once, and Korrin comes to sit on the sofa beside his daughter. He pulls her into a hug. "You astound me. Every day, you astound me."

Vax watches with pride as Keyleth leans into her father's embrace, and to himself, he thinks a quiet prayer to the Raven Queen, asking her to pass on his endless gratitude to Vilya of the Ashari Nation.

.

Keyleth's health improves, but slowly, and while her nausea is abated enough to allow her to keep most foods down, she still struggles with general queasiness and fatigue. She will take that, however, over wasting away and near-constant regurgitation. As the nights stretch out, each longer than the last, so too does her belly, which Keyleth finds herself running a hand over almost compulsively. It doesn't feel real, this smooth, hard bump, and she is often distracted by it when she should be listening in meetings. Her father insists that she does not need to maintain her usual schedule, that she should be resting more, but she feels so behind already, with how much time she spent feeling ill and malnourished, so she attends every conference and planning session, offering her insight on farming subsidies, an updated taxation plan, and a major construction project in Pyrah. She studies her documents and formulates her arguments, and most nights she falls asleep on the sofa in front of the fire, physically and mentally exhausted.

Vax begs her to slow down, to take more breaks, but Keyleth knows that if she is to be sovereign some day, she cannot use pregnancy or motherhood as an excuse for any dereliction of duty. Her father raised her alone—albeit, with the assistance of the castle staff—and maintained his obligation to his people at the same time, and she'll be damned if she doesn't do the same.

Once a season, the royal family opens the castle doors and invites any Ashari citizen to come forward and express a grievance, concern, or request to the sovereign. Many also bring donations, extra food or clothing or even livestock that they do not need that can then be redistributed to the poor. Keyleth attends, of course, with Vax always at her elbow, and she helps her father welcome in each and every guest, who hail primarily from Zephrah, though a few have made the long trek from the other Ashari cities and villages.

Much to her dismay, the talk of the event is the upcoming royal baby. Many Zephrans have brought small gifts for the child, such hand-knitted swaddling clothes and toys carved from wood, and Keyleth accepts them all with awe and joy. The generosity of her people staggers her, and more than once, she finds herself needing to turn to wipe away tears.

Still, despite this awe-inspiring goodness, Keyleth's energy begins to dwindle quickly. She is rarely surrounded by so many people at once, and the noise and the smells and the heat are starting to overwhelm her. Her mouth goes dry, and her hand reaches back to where she knows Vax is.

Instantly, his hand is in hers, and his voice is in her ear. "Are you alright?"

She shakes her head, which is starting to swim. Through her dizziness, she is aware that Vax is quickly escorting her from the throne room, though she cannot feel her legs moving. When they are out in the hall, away from the bustle of the gathering, Vax leans her up against a wall and inspects her closely. "Kiki, talk to me."

Derrig, who had apparently seen their rapid exit inside, appears beside him, his eyes widening at whatever he sees on Keyleth's face. "She does not look well."

"We'll take her to Pike," Vax announces, which is the last thing Keyleth hears before her eyes roll back in her head and she crumbles toward the ground.

.

Vax manages to catch Keyleth before she crashes to the stone floor, staggering to scoop her up into his arms. His heart has leapt into his throat, and he turns to Derrig and snaps, "Get us to Pike, now."

Derrig doesn't hesitate. He leads the way toward Pike's chambers, Vax stumbling behind as fast as he can. He's only half paying attention to where they're going, his eyes locked on Keyleth's unconscious face. It seemed so sudden, her decline in the throne room; one minute she was smiling among her people, accepting a baby blanket dyed in the colors of the Ashari crest, and the next she was pale and distant. Is it poison? This wouldn't be the first time that someone would try to use a toxin to kill her, and with so many people crowded into one room, it wouldn't be difficult to apply something to her skin or slice her with a poisoned blade. Or perhaps some magic has been cast on her—would that be something Pike could undo?

Derrig shoves open the doors to Pike's study, which is half a library, half a shrine to Sarenrae. The Mistress of Divinity is up on a ladder, pulling a leather-bound tome off of a shelf that would be too high for Vax, never mind a gnome, and she nearly falls off in her surprise at their entrance. "What in the Hells..." She trails off at the sight of Keyleth, unconscious and sagging in Vax's arms. She scurries down the ladder. "Get her on the sofa."

There's a low sofa near the windows, and Derrig quickly knocks some papers that had been left atop it onto the floor. Vax carefully lays Keyleth down, crossing her arms over her torso and brushing her hair away from her face. "Pike, please!"

She appears, her holy symbol clutched in one hand. "Let me work." She closes her eyes and holds her empty hand just a few inches above Keyleth's chest. Vax hovers, heart beating wildly, eyes never leaving Keyleth's slack face. It seems like a lifetime before Pike relaxes out of her posture and says, "Neither magic nor poison did this. She seems unaffected by any outside influence."

"I don't understand," Vax grits out. "She just...dropped. Something must have happened."

Pike turns to Derrig. "Go get your wife, please." The guard nods once and disappears back into the hall. Then to Vax, she says, "This seems more medical than mystical to me. I want Nel's expertise."

Vax falls to his knees beside the sofa, taking one of Keyleth's clammy hands into his. "Is...is our child alright?"

Pike hesitates, then places a hand on Keyleth's rounded belly. "I sense a life in here, yes. For now, at least, your child still lives."

Vax's forehead crashes against the edge of the sofa, and he stays there, praying to the Raven Queen over and over and over not to take his family from him. Pike pats him on the shoulder before going over to one of her workstations.

It takes only ten minutes for Derrig to reappear with Nel, who carries with her a satchel of various herbs and remedies. Vax quickly moves out of the way for her as she leans down over his wife. "Any insight, Mistress Pike?"

"Nothing that I would be able to help with. I think this is more your area."

Nel puts her fingers to the inside of Keyleth's wrist, then presses her ear to her stomach. Vax watches in confusion as she continues to poke and prod at Keyleth, and he wants to scream at her to do something, but he stands by in tense, agonizing silence.

After several minutes, Nel digs around in her bag and pulls out a tiny glass vial, which she uncorks and sticks under Keyleth's nose. Five, six seconds later, Keyleth's eyes flutter open, and she coughs a bit, a hand coming up to flick away the offending vial. "What...?"

"Keyleth!" This time, Nel moves for Vax so that he may curl over her, putting his hands on either side of her face. "Gods, you're awake." He looks to Nel over his shoulder. "How...?"

"She fainted," Nel explains simply, "likely due to stress and overwhelm." She narrows her eyes and points a finger at Keyleth. "You have been overexerting yourself. You are very lucky no damage was done."

Keyleth smiles sheepishly. "Yes, ma'am." She turns to look at Vax, and he can only imagine what she sees on his face. "Hey." She lays a hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm alright, truly."

Vax can't even begin to find the words to answer, so it is Pike who pipes up and says, "I don't want to step on your toes, Nel, but between this and the extreme nausea, I feel like the princess needs to...take a step back."

Keyleth frowns, but Nel nods in agreement. "I concur. Your Highness, my recommendation is bed rest."

Keyleth's jaw drops. "Bed rest! But there's still months to go!"

"Your Highness, you are still underweight and fainting as you did today is alarming. Your dedication to your work is admirable but I hope you do not believe it should come at the expense of either your health or your child's."

"Keyleth." He barely whispers her name. It is a plea. It is a prayer. She looks at him, at the supplication in his eyes, and she relents. "I will...ease my pace," she agrees. "I cannot commit to complete bed rest, not yet, but I promise, I will not maintain the workload I currently carry."

Vax will take whatever victory he can claim. He kisses her, relieved she is awake. Nel instructs her husband to go to the infirmary and retrieve a rolling chair, and when Derrig returns with it, he and Vax help Keyleth up off of the sofa. They take her in the chair back to the cottage, Keyleth mortified the entire way, and Vax fusses over her until she is in bed and resting. He thanks Derrig for his and Nel's help, and when they are alone, he climbs into bed beside his wife, curling his body around her and dropping his head onto her shoulder. "Do you know how keenly I need you?"

Keyleth brings a hand up to stroke his hair down his back. "I am sorry. I didn't think..." She sighs. "I thought I could do everything. Be a mother and a wife and a sovereign."

"You can," Vax insists, "but you cannot do it alone. It is why I'm here, why Nel and Derrig and Percy and Pike and your father are here. But we can only help you if you let us."

A single tear rolls down her cheek. "I am afraid of losing myself."

"I am afraid of losing you. Please, I am begging you, let us take some of your burden. If either one of you is lost, I will not survive it."

Keyleth twists her neck and kisses his forehead, and whispers, "For you, anything."

.

True to her word, Keyleth begins taking items off of her schedule, limiting herself to only a handful of meetings per week with no more public appearances. She is assisted by the council, who come to her regularly to report important information and to seek her guidance for future conversations. Keyleth begrudgingly admits to herself that having the work come to her is a lot easier on her back and knees than daily trips up to the castle.

She does not stay completely bedridden though. She still totters around her garden, when the snow begins to melt, to tend to her vegetables and plants. She also has more time to devote to cooking lessons, which Nel is happy to provide if it means Keyleth is not traipsing about the castle at a breakneck pace.

In fact, Nel has become quite a staple in their little home, and with Derrig always somewhere near, it means that they have the entire family over rather frequently. The triplets trample in and out of the cottage, dragging the last of the winter's snow with them and constantly screeching about something or another, and baby Will is almost never out of Vax's arms. On a night, when Nel is walking Keyleth through some new recipe or technique, Vax is with Derrig on the sofa, bouncing the child in front of the fire and, much to the women's horror, watching him play with one of Vax's daggers.

Keyleth often finds herself distracted by the sight of Vax with the baby. He seems so natural, lifting the child up above his head or rocking him to soothe his cries. It is, much to her surprise, utterly provocative, and often after these dinners have concluded and Derrig and Nel have dragged their exhausted children home, Keyleth tugs Vax by the belt toward the bed, where he tries to insist that she not supposed to exert herself too much before giving in to her more persuasive temptations.

When the snow has largely finished melting and the white blooms appear on the cherry tree's branches, the two of them set up a small picnic at the roots to celebrate, still bundled against the chill. Keyleth breathes in deep, enjoying the sting of the air in her lungs. Spring is her favorite time of year, with the promise of renewal and growth. As the weather warms, new sprigs will erupt from the earth, and she cannot wait to watch and nurture each and every one.

After their lunch, in which Keyleth has proudly displayed her much-improved culinary talents, they sit back against the trunk of the tree, Keyleth nestled between Vax's legs, his arms tight around her torso. She keeps her cheek pressed against his and listens to the twittering of squirrels in the branches above.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he murmurs after a long silence.

She smiles. "You can always have them for free." She pauses, contemplative. "I was thinking about my mother." Vax hums, encouraging her to continue. "Nel has been a blessing, I think we both can agree, and I cannot imagine getting through this without her wisdom and guidance. But...I do wish I also had my mother's."

His arms tighten around her. "So do I. I also wish...I wish I had a father, a real father, to look to. My father is a prick, and I do not wish to emulate any of his parenting with our child."

Keyleth lets out a humorless laugh. "You with no father and I with no mother. We are quite the pair to be raising a child together."

Vax presses his hands down to the curve of her belly, and Keyleth can feel the familiar knocks from the inside of their baby reaching out for him. "I think...we shall do the best we can. We will take your father's advice and my mother's memory and Nel and Derrig's expertise and our friends' help and we will somehow, with the blessings of the gods, not fuck this up."

That earns a laugh from Keyleth. "Yes, that is the goal." She rests her hands atop Vax's. "I am so glad that we are doing this together. I saw how my father struggled to be my only parent, and...I would not wish to have that fate."

He brings his lips to her neck, kissing her once before saying low in her ear, "There is nowhere else in the world or the next I would rather be than right here, with the two of you."

She tips her head back against his shoulder and lets her eyes slide closed, content and warm even against the crisp spring air.

.

Just in time for her flowerbeds to bloom, Keyleth is consigned to full bed rest, with Nel brooking no arguments on the matter. The prescription came after a rather harrowing afternoon when Keyleth, in one of her limited sojourns to the castle for work, became light-headed and nearly toppled down a flight of stairs, kept upright only by Derrig's quick action. Vax is worried less by this event and more by Keyleth's quiet acquiescence to the directive. She's been more and more tired lately, even as the council has taken on a greater share of her duties, and Vax sees her tensing up more frequently against some pain or discomfort that she rarely shares with him. For her to accept Nel's edict so easily, knowing as he does her dedication to her work, feels like a great weight upon his chest.

He has all but abandoned his own work as well, only rarely straying from Keyleth's side. He reads to her, cooks more food than she can possibly keep down, and leads her on slow, careful turns about the garden to prevent clots and bedsores. He has devised a game in which he comes up with the most eccentric, horrible names for their child and tries desperately to get her to agree to them, which at least serves to distract her from her soreness.

Korrin comes to the cottage nearly every day, often taking his lunch with Keyleth, who eats what she can at their small dining table. The sovereign does his best to buoy her spirits, reminding her of her mother's own struggles during pregnancy and how proud he is of her tenacity and strength, but Vax finds that after these visits, Keyleth seems even more tired and anxious than she had been before. Percy and Vex come to call as well, although their visits usually entail Percy taking Vax's place by the bed and Vex dragging her brother outside for some air. Vax knows that his sister worries about him, worries about both of them, but there is little he can do to reassure her when he worries himself.

The spring wears on, and Keyleth wears down. Nel is keeping track of her stomach's swelling, and she says with confidence that the baby is still growing, but Vax can see Keyleth once more wasting away before his eyes. Every day, her skin is a bit more pale, her cheeks a bit more sunken in, her eyes a bit less bright. He sits with her and holds her hand and sends up a continuous prayer to the Raven Queen, who so generously spared her life once before, to beg for her life, for both of their lives. He has never felt more helpless, more impotent in his entire life than he does holding her cold hand, listening to her shallow sleeping breaths.

Of course, Keyleth, being Keyleth, attempts to brush away any and all concern, insisting that she is fine and that the bed rest is doing wonders. Vax knows she is lying, Nel knows she is lying, her father knows she is lying, but the lie seems so important to her, so they let her keep it. She jokes with Percy and loses card games to Vex and lets the triplets come in and tell her all about what they learned in lessons that day, but when everyone has gone home and it is just the two of them left, she ducks her head against Vax's shoulder and weeps silently, exhausted and aching. Vax just holds her, stroking her hair and whispering his love to her, over and over and over.

.

Black. When Vax opens his eyes—when he assumes he opens his eyes—all he sees is black, an inky darkness that is at once familiar and unsettling. Unlike his last time facing his matron, he does not wait. He calls out, "My lady?"

He feels the mask's presence before he sees it; in a blink, it is there. "Vax'ildan. My chosen."

He has not heard this voice since the night he believed himself moments from death. It sends a shiver rippling across his skin. "I have not been serving you as I should," he confesses, bowing his head. "I apologize for my negligence. I just...my wife..."

"Your child."

Vax blinks, feeling first surprised, then foolish for his shock; of course the goddess of fate would have already begun weaving a tapestry for his unborn child. "I find myself unable to leave them, in case..." He swallows, and asks the thing of the Raven Queen he is most afraid to know. "Are they fated to die?" Anticipating her response, he clarifies. "Are they fated to die now, as a result of this pregnancy?"

The mask, infuriatingly, is expressionless. The voice, smooth and soft, seems to emanate from just behind his left ear. "Death comes for your family, my Champion. Death, and undeath." Whatever body Vax has in this space is on the verge of collapsing. "It is choices, Vax'ildan, that determine where their next threads lie. I offer you this warning: keep that which you love most close to you. Fate is not as certain as mortals like to believe. You may pull at the threads, as much as I allow. Pull carefully, my chosen. Their lives depend on it."

Vax blinks again, and he is awake, staring at the ceiling. His head falls to one side to see Keyleth, sleeping in an awkward configuration of pillows and blankets, and the shadow of a now-familiar elbow running along the inside of her belly. He places a hand over it and whispers, "I will break the world for you." He rolls to lie along Keyleth's side, pulling her as close as he dares without waking her, and he does not sleep another wink.

.

When she confirmed Keyleth's pregnancy, Nel estimated that she was, at the time, roughly two months along, which the midwife did not find surprising, given Keyleth's slight frame. That would put her expected due date in late spring into early summer. This expectation is why Vax flies into a panic when early one mid-spring morning, as he is assembling a bowl of porridge that should not disagree with Keyleth's stomach, a sharp cry erupts from the bedroom. He drops his ladle and rushes inside to find his wife clutching her rounded belly, now quite large, with the sheets thrown back to reveal a spattering of blood across them.

Vax freezes, and then his body moves on its own. He spins for the front door and rips it open, and mercifully sees Derrig approaching for the beginning of his guard duty. "Get Nel now!" Vax shouts at him, and Derrig doesn't hesitate, immediately sprinting back the direction from which he came. Vax slams the door and flies back into the bedroom, where Keyleth is breathing heavily between pained cries. She clutches at his arm the moment he's next to her. "Vax." Her voice is thin. "Something isn't right."

He takes her hand and presses his fingers to the inside of her wrist. Her pulse is thready, weak. Terror grips his throat. "Nel is coming. Everything is going to be fine." He's not sure which of them he's trying to convince. "Let's get you cleaned up a bit, yeah?"

He dashes to the kitchen sink to wet a towel before returning to clean off her sweat-soaked face. He then cleans as much of the blood from her legs as he can, but there is so much, and his hands shake. Keyleth's breaths are coming shallow and hard and her eyes are closed, and for once, Vax is glad that they're not open to see what he's seeing.

It takes about fifteen minutes for the doors to burst open, Nel flying in with her satchel of midwifery tools and Derrig hot on her heels. She immediately begins barking out orders, which the two men follow without question, moving Keyleth into helpful positions and throwing the curtains back to let in as much light as possible. Nel settles herself between Keyleth's legs and asks her questions: how much pain is she in, where is the pain, when did it start, can she feel the baby moving? Keyleth answers as best she can, though her responses are interrupted by frequent yelps and groans. Through it all, the blood doesn't stop.

"We need to deliver now," Nel announces.

Keyleth, who is half-propped up on some pillows and squeezing Vax's hand, whimpers. "But...it's so early."

Nel pats her leg sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but..." Vax watches her edit her thoughts before she says them aloud. "I believe it is in the best interests of your health and the child's to deliver now."

She digs around in her bag to begin making a poultice that she explains will induce labor. As she works, she motions for her husband to come closer. When he does, Vax watches her whisper in his ear, "Get the sovereign, just in case."

Vax can't feel his body. He can't feel Keyleth's hand in his or his feet on the floor or his breath in his lungs. Death comes for your family, the Raven Queen told him. He moves automatically when Nel instructs him to climb onto the bed behind Keyleth, supporting her back, and there is a thin, high-pitching ringing in his ears. He surrounds his wife as best he can, bringing her back to rest against his chest. Her head tips back against his shoulders, and he almost doesn't hear her when she murmurs, "Vax?"

He smiles down at her, though the expression feels hollow, fake. "Yes, my love?"

"Will you..." Her voice breaks. "Will you tell our baby how much I loved them?" Tears topple from her eyes. "Will you let them know how sorry I am?"

Her words, their heartbreak and their resignation, alight a fury in Vax that he has not felt since Gaben Finefirn appeared in the middle of the night all those months ago. He curls around Keyleth to look her dead in the eye. "You are not going anywhere," he tells her, and much to his own surprise, he believes what he's saying. "You are going to bring our beautiful child into this world and you are going to help me raise them and you are going to rule a nation, do you understand me?"

She nods, but the tears don't stop. Vax pulls her close against him and takes each of her hands in his. Nel looks up at them from the base of the bed. "Your Highness, I'm going to begin the process of inducing labor. Your pain will likely increase, but I hope that the labor won't take too long, given your baby's current size."

Keyleth nods weakly, and Vax squeezes her hands. "You are strong," he whispers in her ear, "the strongest person I have ever met. I know you can do this." And when she squeezes his hands in return, it feels like a promise.

.

When the sovereign enters the princess's cottage at a near sprint, Percy is only moments behind, with poor Pike running as fast as she can to catch up. The main living area is empty, but behind the closed door of the bedroom, they can hear muffled voices and sounds of pain. Derrig, who led the troupe there, says, "Let me check on them," before disappearing behind the door.

The sovereign begins to pace from the front of the little house to the back, flinching every time a particularly loud cry emanates from the bedroom. Percy looks to him and says, "Sovereign, I'm sure she'll be alright—"

"None of us is sure of that," the sovereign snaps, and Percy falls silent. He's right, of course; Percy has no way of knowing if his friend, the closest thing he has left to a sister in this world, will survive the day. When the bedroom door opens again, his heart leaps in hope, but Derrig calls for Pike, and the two of them disappear again.

It is just Percy and the sovereign now, and he loses all ability to gauge the passage of time as they wait, the sovereign pacing, Percy leaned up against the mantle, too nervous to sit. The sounds coming from the bedroom are horrifying; he can hear clearly Keyleth's very obvious distress, almost animalistic, primal. Percy thinks about his own mother, whose face he can hardly remember anymore, and how she did this seven times. He thinks about Vex, and for a fraction of a moment, allows himself to wonder what a younger version of himself might look like with her thick dark hair and pointed ears.

Standing here, arms crossed, with nothing to do but bear witness, he feels like a fool, like a little boy, with no real sense of the world. Keyleth is a princess, someday a sovereign, and this is the lens through which he has always viewed her, even after she had become his closest friend. But hearing her cries of anguish, Vax's low murmurs of comfort, he realizes that she is a woman, a wife, gods willing, a mother. These are all pieces of her he has chosen to overlook, and he closes his eyes and prays to whatever deities are listening a promise to love each of those pieces as dearly as he loves the princess, if only they give her the strength to hold on.

It must be hours, he assumes, of quiet with the sovereign, who at some point throws himself onto the sofa and buries his head in his hands. Percy doesn't move, just stands by the fireplace and watches the bedroom door. Shortly after midday, the front door whips open again, and an irritated Vex'ahlia storms in, dressed in her full Captain's regalia. She gives a short bow to the sovereign before rounding on Percy. "Anything you care to share, Percival?"

Percy blanches. "I'm so sorry. Everything happened so quickly and then..."

Frustrated, Vex abandons her bow at the door and stalks into the kitchen, where she begins to brew some tea. She pours cups for the three of them, and then they wait as a trio, the sovereign on the sofa, Percy by the mantle, and Vex hovering near the front window, eyes darting nervously between the garden outside and the bedroom door.

Time wears on, and the sounds of anguish crescendo, agonizingly louder and louder, and Percy's heart is a manic drumbeat in his chest. And then, suddenly, there is silence. For the first time since they arrived in the cottage, there is no sound coming from behind that door, not even a whisper. The sovereign looks up from his hands, and Percy sees a man in terror.

They wait. The seconds drag on. The door remains closed. Percy does not breathe. And then—a mercy. A cry, sharp and shrill. Percy exhales, slumping back against the wall and Vex comes to throw her arms around his neck. The sovereign runs a tired, relieved hand over his face. He stands and resumes his pacing, and Percy knows that he wants nothing more than to knock down the door, but together they wait, listening to the miraculous symphony of a newborn's cries.

.

When Nel lays the baby, squalling and wet, onto Keyleth's chest, Vax stares in awe. He cannot take his eyes off the tiny, curled toes or the squashed nose or the just barely pointed ears or the fingernails! Why does a baby need fingernails? He is barely breathing as Keyleth brings a shaking hand up to brush their daughter's round cheek, stroke back the fine wisps of hair atop her head. His miracles, both of them.

There's a thick, fleshy cord still attached to the baby's navel, and Nel asks Vax if he'd like to cut it. Shaking and nervous, he grabs one of his daggers from where he keeps it under his pillow and carefully, so carefully, reaches around Keyleth and slices it. Derrig then comes over to take the baby over to a small basin to clean her. Keyleth's whole body tenses when his arms reach out for her, but Vax, still settled behind her on the bed, kisses her cheek and murmurs, "He'll bring her right back, it's alright." She nods hesitantly and lets her go.

While Derrig cleans the newborn, Nel and Pike get to work doing the same for Keyleth. They help her through the afterbirth process, and then Pike lays hands on her leg and slightly deflated stomach and bows her head. Warm golden light fills the room, and Vax watches Keyleth's entire body relax, the color returning to her face. He sighs in relief when she says, "Oh Pike...words cannot describe how much I needed that."

Pike pats her leg. "We can't be losing you, can we?"

Derrig returns with the baby, and Keyleth curls around her, pressing her close to her skin. Vax hooks his chin over Keyleth's shoulder to marvel at the splay of eyelashes—eyelashes!—across her cheeks. When Nel is finished with her work, she comes up to begin gently prodding at the baby, who wails in protest. "She is small," she announces, "but with excellent lungs, which is good, though perhaps not for your sleep. I would limit her exposure to the world for a little while, until she can grow a bit stronger. But congratulations, Your Highness, Champion. You have a healthy baby girl."

Vax is sure that his heart is to give out at any moment. "What do you think?" he asks quietly. "The name we discussed?"

Keyleth smiles. "I think my father will like it." She looks up at Derrig then. "Is he here?"

Derrig nods. "With Lord Percival and Captain Vex'ahlia, Your Highness."

Nel and Pike make sure Keyleth is appropriately covered before Derrig swings the door open to invite those waiting inside. The former appears first, eyes wide and mouth agape, and Vex and Percy's faces appear just behind. Keyleth shifts so they can better see their daughter's face. "Papa, Vex, Percy...I'd like to introduce you to Vilya of the Ashari Nation."

Nel, Derrig, and Pike exit the room to give them some privacy. Korrin comes over to stand beside his daughter, gazing down at the infant in her arms with adoration. "Oh, Keyleth." He bends down to kiss the crown of her head. "She is perfect."

"Let me see!" Vex rushes around to the opposite side of the bed, peering at the baby. "Brother, look! She has our mother's nose."

"Based on the crying we heard earlier, she'll have your mouth." He jolts when Vex reaches out to pinch him.

Percy hovers near the foot of the bed, wide-eyed. "And how are you feeling, Keyleth?"

Keyleth sighs. "I am feeling everything. This is a happiness beyond anything I could have imagined for myself." She pauses. "I am also very tired."

Korrin places a hand on her cheek. "You should rest, then. Let us get out of your hair."

Keyleth frowns, looking down at Vilya and clearly not wanting to close her eyes for even a moment. Vax knows she needs to sleep, though, and also knows that if his sister doesn't hold her niece soon, she's going to explode. He carefully slides off the bed, out from behind Keyleth, and coaxes the baby off of her chest. It's his first time holding her, and he is so sure she is going to break. "You rest," he says, urging his wife to lay down. "We'll be just outside."

Keyleth has little fight left in her. Her eyes easily slide closed, and before he leaves the room, Vax bends down, cognizant of the tiny person in his arms, and murmurs in her ear, "I am so proud of you, Kiki."

Once everyone has gathered in the common area, Vilya becomes the star of the show. The newborn, all pink and sleepy-eyed, is passed from person to person, and each face lights up when she is cradled in their arms. Vax sees tears in the sovereign's eyes as he holds his granddaughter, and when Vex holds her, she paces a large circle, cooing at her with a wide grin. Vax watches her, still disbelieving of the way the day turned out. The Raven Queen's warning echoes in his ears, death and undeath, and now that they are here, his wife and child both blissfully alive, he can admit to himself that he has spent every minute since that dream in abject terror of losing either of them. He can't but believe, then, that his matron's warning was not in regards to his child's birth after all, but rather something else entirely. He knows this should concern him, that as her Champion she has called him to face this challenge head-on, but today, he is a father, and the gods simply must wait.

As he watches his sister pace from his seat on the sofa, he notices Percy, just next to him, watching her too. Vax leans over to Percy and mutters, "You know, my sister has always wanted children of her own."

Percy gives him a withering side glance. "Is that so."

Vax shrugs. "Just thought that might be something you'd like to know."

Despite his annoyance, Percy claps him on the shoulder. "I know we have not always...seen eye-to-eye, especially where Keyleth is concerned. But you have made her exceptionally happy, and for that you will always have my thanks."

Vax watches his sister play with his daughter's impossibly tiny fingers. "Well you've repaid the favor with my sister, so I suppose that makes us equal."

"I suppose it makes us brothers."

Vax gives Percy a long, curious look before wrapping him up in a hug. Perhaps it is the ecstasy of his new child's arrival to the world, but for the first time since he was a boy, he feels as though his family, as big and complicated and confusing as it is, is finally complete.

.

Night has fallen, and the little family is alone. Keyleth's father, Percy, and Vex left with promises of another visit tomorrow, and Nel, whom they thanked profusely for her prodigious work, has already warned them that she and Pike will be returning frequently to check on mother and daughter. But for now, Keyleth and Vax stand in their little second bedroom, which has been furnished with a small chest of drawers, a rocking chair, and the Syngornian cradle, inside which rests Vilya, swaddled in the blanket of Ashari colors gifted to Keyleth by one of her people. They peer down at her, Vax curled around Keyleth from behind, and watch the infinitesimal rise and fall of her chest, each breath, to them, a miracle.

"Look what you did, Kiki," Vax whispers in her ear. "Look what beauty you've given us. A thousand lifetimes and I will never accomplish a feat half as extraordinary as this."

"I can't believe this is real," Keyleth breathes, squeezing Vax's hands atop her stomach. "I thought...I was so sure..."

Vax has always been able to hear her unsaid thoughts. "You thought you were going to die." It's not a question.

She was sure of it, sure that she would not live to see her daughter's first sunrise. She could feel the vitality leeching out of her with every minute of that arduous labor, and it is only by Nel's expertise and Pike's magic that she is able to stand here and gaze down at the most perfect of all the gods' gifts. "I hope you know that I wasn't...giving up. When I said those things to you. I truly believed that I would not be here to tell her how fiercely I love her." Though she would have thought herself all dried out, more tears spill down her cheek. "And now I get to tell her every day."

Vax kisses her tears away. "It is indescribable, my gratitude. For you, for her. For this life we are building together. I never would have believed myself capable of such joy. I thank you for sharing it with me."

Keyleth twists her head to kiss him. She knows that this slice of contentment cannot last forever. Some day, she will rule her people, and there will be great demands on her time and burdens on her shoulders, and those things will eventually be passed onto her daughter, but for tonight, the three of them are the entire world.

After a while, Vilya wakes up with a crackling wail—such sweet music, the cries of her baby—and Keyleth feeds her; despite such a difficult pregnancy and tumultuous birth, Vilya mercifully took to breastfeeding like a duck to water. Once the baby is sated, Keyleth stands from the rocking chair and says to Vax, "There is someone I should like to introduce her to. Come with me?"

She watches Vax look out the window at the dark castle grounds with uncertainty, but she knows his reluctance to deny her anything, so he nods and follows her out of the cottage. Vilya is tightly bundled against the evening chill, and Keyleth doesn't plan to be outside for long, but she still curls the baby tight against her body. She leads the way to the cherry tree, whose blooms are turning pink and vibrant. They stand beneath the branches, father, mother, and daughter, and Keyleth murmurs, "Mother, I'd like you to meet your granddaughter, Vilya."

The wind shushes through the branches, and a few cherry blossoms sway toward the ground. Vax once again wraps his arms around the two of them, warding off the cold and keeping Keyleth from trembling. "She is named for you," Keyleth continues, "because I hope she grows to have your confidence, your grace, your love. Our people lost a wise and compassionate leader when we lost you, and all I can do is attempt to raise my child to share in these traits, to be the queen that you were in what little time we had you."

She sniffs, thumbing away tears from her eyes. As she composes herself, she is surprised to hear Vax speak. "Your Majesty, I thank you for your daughter. Without her, I would have been lost to the shadows, never more than a bastard and a rogue. But she saw in me a light I thought long extinguished, and now I am the happiest man to have ever lived. I am a husband and a father and a tool of the gods, and I owe every bit of it to Keyleth, and by extension, to you. I am most regretful that you cannot be here with us, but I swear to you, by the moon above, that I will care for them both with all that I have to give. As long as there is breath in my lungs, they will be loved, they will be cherished, they will be protected. You have my word."

Keyleth tips her head onto his shoulder and looks down at the half-dozing baby in her arms. Tomorrow, Keyleth will once more be a princess, and her little daughter, still in her first hours of life, will become one as well, and all of the trappings and revelries of the crown will herald the arrival of the next heir to the Ashari throne. But tonight, beneath this spring moon and the branches of her mother's cherry tree, Keyleth can be a new mother, in the arms of her child's father, smiling down at her most beloved baby with a heart on fire.

[mamadarama]

Omg it's ok yumeshipping is basically just "I don't like this plot so imma insert myself and change the narrative. Sort of."

So yume me was a student at Yumenosaki and an underachiever idol, affected by the war I try to jump off yk the usual, and Madara who was sick and tired of seeing the bodies pile up, rushed to save me. From then on yume me gets greatly indebted to Madara and decided to live so I can make a better world for all idols, never wanting the war to happen again. Madara, is happy to support and stay by my side for that.

One thing after another, they grew together over the years as solo idols. Madara helped him train and taught him how to realize his dream: to have enough power to stop any future disaster from befalling the idol industry that he loved so much. It's thanks to this that yume me becomes a member of P-Association as well as solo idol. This position gives him a good bird's eye view over ES, as much as P-Association wants to stay neutral. He uses this to his advantage, having an "eye" in every agency so he can keep tabs on all happenings. And Madara becomes something like his right hand man.

At first it was an empty title, Madara didn't think of him as anything like special, just another person who needed his power and protection. That's what Madara thought he was to yume me, but he was dead wrong when I fell in love with him. Stubbornly going out of my way to come help him and stay by his side every time he runs off, scold him when he does something rash, but still keep him in his arms. Even going as far as getting involved in darker business for Madara.

That dark business would only get deeper once Kohaku and DF joins the picture. Ofc, yume me is willingly diving headfirst into this. Madara didn't urge him to anything, he's willingly soaking in blood so he can be with Madara, and that's incomprehensible to him. He always wanted to keep that shining pure people away from this business, but seeing someone willingly follow him there...

He tries to push him away later on, but they can't stand being apart either. It's a back and forth of trying to detach but ending up finding each other again. I insist, I'll always be with him whether he liked it or not. Because I'll never let him suffer alone and think all he's good for is being my tool. I love him, he is worthy of love, I want to marry him, whatever. And he's just stunned, no matter how far along we get, he'll still question and he's unable to believe it every day. But the alternative would be to never have me again in his life and he can't stand that either.

At this point even Kohaku has seen how homoerotic these two are, and now there's two shorties aggressively showing their love for him. Two tiny guys who are by no means weak, and they don't need his protection either, so it's clear they have nothing to gain from loving him. Two tiny guys tying a giant like him down...

Someone to knock that sense into him, to make him listen. I'll keep doing it no matter what it takes, that's just who I am. I'll keep insisting and telling him even if it takes another 10 years for him to understand that I love him, he's not my tool, he's my partner both in crime and life. My dream started with him saving me and I'll keep saving him time and time again, that's only fair. I genuinely believe someone who'd take a bullet for him is just out of his mind.

Anyways my yume love for him is genuine and I will knock a rock into his brain until he understands. That's it basically help I rambled.

Tldr Madara saves guy and guy decides he wants revenge on Eichi and to never let the war happen again. He ended up being a member of P-Association with Madara as his right hand man in the shadows, and later Kohaku as well. Madara trusts him bc of his genuine heart, only to unexpectedly find that genuine heart to love him as well. Cue push and pull and oh the aNGST

- Madara yume anon 🍀

HDJSJBDBBBD AW THATS RLLY CUTE I LIKE THAT ..... you could totally drag that out into a slow burn too cuz madara is stubborn as hell and it would definitely take awhile to get it through his thick skull that youre not joking or just saying that when you say you love him . (especially with his tendency to start speaking in riddles before physically running away if you get too real with him.... youre gonna have to pin him down for that one lol)