#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!

[youngestdaughtersyndrome]

Tagged by my darling @glassangels <3<3<3

1. Are you named after anyone? Im named after a kinks song which is a massive win for me personally. They almost named me rosa after the pixies album (which wouldve made sense bc we do in fact surf) but one of my moms friends was already knitting a sweater with the kinks-name on it and she convinced them to keep it. My middle name is also my paternal grandmas middle name so i guess that counts too

2. When was the last time you cried? No idea tbh. That thing where you lie down on your side and then your eyes start leaking happens to me a lot but a proper sadness-induced cry hasnt happened for months. I will say that sometimes i say something made me cry, and although it technically didnt due to no tears falling, it did make my soul hurt and crying is the closest phrase that expresses that <3

3. Do you have kids? Thank god no

4. What sports do you play/have you played? Soccer, ran track for a bit, ultimate frisbee, swimming, fencing, fighting (mma, kickboxing, cage, etc), equestrianism (im including my brief and unimpressive time vaulting here), did some stuff with a circus briefly (contortionism, aerial arts, lyra), and then the usual outdoorsy shit (surfing, bouldering, hiking, skiing, and since caving is technically a sport, caving). Also danced for a bit (ballet, contemporary, and jazz). Yeah man idk either

5. Do you use sarcasm? Technically yes but its less "sarcasm" and more "inability to express a truth about myself without making it into a joke". A bit of sarcasm when the time calls for it is always fair game though and i will indulge

6. What's the first thing you notice about someone? The way they carry themself says a lot about their temperament and emotional state and whatnot so thats typically where my eye is drawn. Second place goes to wherever theyre keeping their valuables on them and how expensively theyre dressed though

7. Eye color? Blue but ive got a bit of yellow central heterochromia so they tend to look green if its bright out

8. Scary movies or happy endings? Kill them <3 scary movies 4ever

9. Any talents? Party trick-wise i did retain some contortionist ability and so thats always a good one to break out. Also can spit water up to 30 ft for tooth gap reasons. I am the type of person whos just naturally good at a lot of things (sorry) so i consider that a talent too

10. Where were you born? The top left corner of the USA, not including alaska

11. Hobbies? Writing, journaling, watching movies, reading, various textile arts, going for walks, playing assorted instruments, and occasionally traditional art (im particularly fond of ballpoint pens and oil pastels). Would say listening to music but thats a job to me and i clock into that shit like i get paid

12. Any pets? Maeve the most anxious dog in the world who i love very much <3

13. Height? 5'8/172 cm

14. Favorite school subject? I was a school hater so it really depended on the teacher... in high school i did have the same teacher for like three years in a row (she taught me english in freshman year, history in sophomore, + health in junior) and she was totally awesome so all those classes were great. Typically the classes i had the most fun in were english and history just bc there was more room for fucking around. In the single semester of college i took i did have crazy amounts of fun in my film class though which i will say was mostly because my professor rocked and i got him on my side early so i could kind of do whatever

15. Dream job? Due to the Issues and also common sense mainly i just wish the government actually took care of people and i wouldnt need to work. But if i have to chose a job than itd be a) writing a book or two that are good enough i could live off the royalties and film rights and whatnot for the rest of my life or b) pulling an enya (dropping some widely beloved and largely incomprehensible music and then disappearing totally from the public eye to live in a castle in the middle of nowhere)

Idk whos already done this so ignore me if you have lol @supersonic1994 @nothingrhymedwithcircus @hauntedwoman @halogenstreetlight @evebabitzgf @serethereal and anyone else who wants to <3<3<3

[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!!

[withacapitalp]

Hi Liam! I don't feel like doing work so close to the holidays, so please enjoy this half-baked thought I wasted 10 minutes finding a gif for.

So many fics have Eddie wearing Steve's Yellow Sweater™, yet nothing with dressing him up like S1 Assistant Youth Pastor Steve. Please use the space below for a prompt or a rant or anything else you fancy ...

Oh no you don't even know what you've done here. Okay costuming is one of my all time favorite things, so I'm going to talk too much about subtle stuff (fair warning this is just me having fun so if it's at all inaccurate or not true, well I'm just a guy who likes a show too much LMAO)

Okay so let's start with season one. Steve dresses exactly liek you said like an assistant youth pastor lmao but it's also just like very showing of who he's trying to be there

First of all his hair is way more stylized in this season than any other. We talk about Steve's hair so much, but here in this season it's so obvious that he's trying to be someone specific instead of just who he is. He's also always wearing a collared shirt and a very dark jacket, and the costumers have said that they use darker colors for darker moments/feelings, so he's wearing this exact jacket when he destroys Jonathan's camera AND when he and Jonathan have their fight

Really the first time we see him without his collar or his dark feelings jacket is when he goes to save Nancy and Jonathan

He's laying himself more bare and he's let go of the chain jerking him around (his terrible friends and their opinions.

Okay so season two is also really interesting one because Steve's hair is parted the other way now (literally changing sides), but specifically because of Steve's jacket. Yes I know I talked about the jacket being a signifier of Steve's darkness before, but in this season it's different

This is right after the bathroom conversation between him and Nancy. This is him trying to convince her to stay with him, and feeling rejected, and not understanding how he can fix something he didn't even realize was broken. His jacket is zippered up

But when he's walking with Dustin, it's back to being open. Okay I can hear you saying to yourself 'Liam this is a wild leap to take' except is it??? Bc it isn't and I can tell you why

HIS JACKET IS ZIPPED UP WHEN THEY START THIS WALK. But as they keep walking he opens up to Dustin and the kids. His jacket stays open for the rest of the season, even when it's the middle of the night and probably way colder and it would make a lot more sense for him to zip up his jacket? Is this actually a thing that matters? No probably not to anyone else but I like symbolism and I search it out like a little squirrel looking for nuts to store for winter

Also here is where I mention something important. Steve is a social chameleon. He's learned/was taught that the best way to get people to like him is to be like them. That's why he was so easily ranked in with the popular kids, even when it's clear that he didn't really like it all that much given how fast he flips. He also dresses a lot like Tommy in S1, and then in S2 we see him start to develop his own style once he's broken up with Nancy. But even in developing that own style, he's still a social chameleon. He's still going to try and look like the people he wants to have in his circle

Which brings me to the very first sweater we ever see Steve in

LOOK AT THAT COLOR AND LOOK AT THE COLOR OF DUSTINS HOODIE ABOVE Same exact color!!! Now I'm not saying this is anyyyyything conscious. Steve isn't looking at his closet and being like yes I will choose this because Dustin wore this color and I know he likes it, but I am saying we have literally never seen Steve in any shade of red before this moment.

Now season three. I know he was in his Scoops Ahoy Uniform for most of it (thank the gods for those shorts) so I'm not gonna talk too much about that but I am going to talk about that last final outfit as another example of chameleon Steve

This is actually a two fold example of Chameleon Steve. First of all he's dressed pretty much just like Marty McFly the character from Back to the Future which is the movie he and Robin ran into after the Russians. Second of all he's matching her too. Dark blue, Dark blue, White accents, White Accents. Just like Dustin he chooses colors that are similar to the people he likes. We're also once again seeing him start to open up color wise (first time we see him in yellow).

Now Season four. Well Season four we see him getting stripped bare (quite literally) for a good portion of the season. Obviously we have the battle vest and I love that, but I want to talk about Steve's jacket again and one particular outfit that I think sums up growth for Steve in a lot of ways while also showing some other stuff

His Dear Billy outfit.

This outfit is incredibly similar to the one he wore back in s2 when he first protected all of the kids. Light grey outer jacket, inside darker shirt, but he's wearing a collar again. TLDR he's back to trying to button up, back to something familiar that will 'keep him safe', but also a jacket and a color that he would associate with 'protecting the kids'

Anyway that was a very very long talk, but Steve's progression of outfits and the way he dresses himself is very interesting to me, and like I said if there's even a hint of symbolism I'm there

[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

[damiemontclair]

I've had this post in my drafts since sunday. My mom and I have just been harassed by our neighbour again today so. I'm going to post it. Because thats 3 times in five days and I am sick of it and of being treated like I'm appropriating words that don't apply to me by people I talked to about this.

Theres this common misconception that you cannot experience xenophobia if you are x ethnicity in a country where x ethnicity is the majority. Or that a white person cannot experience xenophobia. But here is the thing. Xenophobia is not racism. Xenophobia means the fear of foreigners. And you can absolutely be the same ethnicity as someone while still being foreign.

I am as white as my neighbour. And yet my neighbour is from here, and I am not. And that is A Problem.

We have...

Been reported by neighbours over a minor violation of the law regarding our hedge (one which, btw, every other (German) neighbour indulges in) and sued by the state because of it (this happened right after my parents bought the house. It had never been a problem for the 30 years before that)

Had the police called on us by a neighbour multiple times for a variety of reasons, incl. made up ones

Been yelled at

Been insulted (we have some very creative neighbours, gotta give them that much)

Literally been told that we, as foreigners, don't understand the law (my father read up on it extensively). Multiple times. By multiple people.

We have a german name for making reservations. Otherwise it's anyones guess what people will write down.

Have had our names knowingly, on-purpose mispronounced by teachers for a cheap joke at our expense.

Been told by teachers who also taught french as a subject that 'this is x class not french i won't translate this exercise for you if you don't get it' (failed that class btw bc 2 years of german 'classes' was not enough to get the material)

Been told by teachers 'oh wow, I didn't expect you to get top grades with your accent' (my sister consciously keeps up her accent)

Been told various other rather problematic things by teachers considering it was a bilingual school with its fair share of french students

And a variety of other things I am too tired to make myself recall.

So yes. A white foreigner in a majority white country can experience xenophobia. It just looks slightly different from what you might expect. Amd yes, others have it plenty worse. It is no less xenophobia and I am done pretending everything is fine just because it could be worse. We had our neighbour come ring our bell to cause trouble two days in a row this weekend. She came by again today to start shit with my mother. We have her on tape as she calls us a bunch of stuff. We're not talking to her anymore until she apologises. I recon she'll die before she does so. She never wanted foreigners to buy the house next to hers. We've been living in this house for over 18 years. I am tired.