#he just carried way too much a burden of the nation

[nightfal1n]

"I miss you"

"I miss both of you"

+ Timelapse

[boundinparchment]

Cry Like Rain

Neuvillette carries a heavy burden; you remind your husband he isn’t alone.

Gender neutral reader • Comfort • Drabble • Special thanks to the mutuals on this one 🫶 • Reblogs are greatly appreciated and encouraged.

On AO3 here (must have account to view)

It was instinct now, to reach up and catch the first drop before the tear grew too big.

Your husband, for all his fronts and stoic demeanor, felt everything from the water slowly swallowing the nation. A burden of his Hydro affinity as the land’s Sovereign. One so heavy that you were never under any impressions you could ever truly comprehend it in quite the same way.

The people of Fontaine experienced the rain. Just a change of weather.

For you, it was the way he grew quiet. Absorbed his feelings via osmosis, as if they were nothing more than molecules passing through. His eyes were distant and his touch was distracted, his mind long gone on trying to make sense of how the way justice was enacted was just.

How was any of this sustainable?

Gently, you cradled Neuvillette’s face in your hands, your thumbs wiping away more stray tears. Anyone who claimed his stoicism was apathy had no idea how truly in-tune their Chief Justice was to the world around him. You waited until his silver eyes fell on you and recognition passed over his features.

“I’m—“

Your lips brushed the tip of his nose.

“Do not apologize to me, mon amour,” you whispered. “What you do every day is the hardest work of all.”

One hand left his cheek to stroke his hair and smooth a blue horn gently. Neuvillette complied when you gently turned his head and kissed the tips of his ears. You heard a low rumble from his chest as you moved on to his forehead, his temples, his cheeks.

“You do so much for Fontaine, so magnanimously. Everyone, including me, is so grateful for you.”

Rain pelted the windows of your bedroom harder for a moment before he faced you again you kissed him, fully. The din tapered off as the last few droplets fell outside.

“And I will tell you as much every time you need to hear it, Neuvi.”

For the first time that might, the fog lifted, and your husband smiled softly.

“Thank you, mon couer.”

[quillthrillswriting]

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︵‿presenting...quill's kataang week!‿︵

︵day one: cultural exchange/ culture sharing/ revival of traditions‿

︵‿︵︵︵‿︵︵‿‿hosted by @kataang-week︵‿︵︵︵‿︵︵‿‿

summary:

after an upsetting council meeting in which aang is painfully reminded of how little the other nations understand of air nomad culture, katara is there to remind him that he isn't as alone as he thinks OR: aang & katara friends to lovers post-war 👀

:D the following are excerpts from "and i promise, that one day i'll feel fine":

Aang typically prided himself on standing strong when it came to upholding the beliefs of his people. It was his responsibility, his burden of loss to carry and his gift.

But if he was being entirely honest with himself, moments such as the one he found himself in now, surrounded by a council of nations in which he was the only Airbending representative, it was difficult to remain pretending as if nothing was bothering him. He’d accepted a seat on the council of nations before fully understanding what it would mean to him, how it would feel . Every other representative was flanked with another member or two of their tribe.

Aang stood alone. 

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He’d been so sure that he’d kissed her, in the Cave of Two Lovers, and again before he’d entered the Fire Nation. Both times, he’d waited for her to say something, anything, to confirm that those kisses had been just as earthshaking for her as they had been for him, but both times, she hadn’t. He’d pressed her about it only once, and the moment she told him that she felt confused, Aang had felt like an absolute and utter idiot . The idea that he’d made Katara uncomfortable… It was enough for him to do his best to suppress his feelings as much as he could. 

That had left them where they were now- on opposite sides of a council room. Two teenagers who could end a war but couldn’t manage to communicate. Aang supposed that there was a bit of comedic irony present there, but truth be told, nothing felt funny to him at the moment. 

Not with how the other council members were speaking about his people. 

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“How can you say that?” Katara ran her hands through her hair incredulously, his jaw set. “Each nation standing on their own and neglecting the balance between our peoples is how the war started. The blood of the Air Nomads is just as much on the other nations for neglecting to remember that, for failing to come to the defence of the remaining Air temples after the first of the Fire Nation raids.” Aang flinched at the visceral reminder, the images it stirred, but regardless, Katara was right. She continued on, her voice dropping in volume but only gaining intensity.

“It’s "every nation on their own" until it was your nation, the one that this “nation of one” defended only months ago.” She spat the last of the words out as if they were laced with venom, her disgust evident as she reminded Hanh of the water spirit form Aang had taken to ward off the invasion of the Southern tribes.

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“Aang. There's no precedent for any of this. The scenario you’ve found yourself in… unique feels too simple of a way to put it. None of the monks would judge you for succumbing to moments of grief and anger.” 

“ I would judge me. I would not forgive myself.” 

“You should.” She smiled softly, shaking her head. “Even the great Avatar, saviour of the world, is not without moments of imperfection.”

Aang chuckled through his tears, his smile turning cocky. “You’d be surprised. I think you’ll find that I’m about as close to perfection as can be.”

“I know,” she said simply, and the genuine quality of her voice was enough to send a blush blooming across Aang’s face. She pushed on, internally berating herself for letting that slip. “And I understand why you feel alone, I really do, but I’m right here, in your corner. Please don’t forget that. You’ll always have me there." She smiled softly, shaking her head as she did. "If you’d escalated the situation back there, if you had snapped completely, I would’ve been right behind you, following your lead.”

Aang’s nose wrinkled as he laughed at the idea of the pair of them fighting the entire council.  Katara shook her head, her eyes fixed on his, her tone dead serious. “Let Sokka, or Zuko, or Toph pull us back to reality. I’m right there with you, in everything .” In life too, if you’d let me, she added silently, her hands itching to pull his hands back to hers. 

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♥ feel free to check out the entirety of this fic & my ao3 here! ->

to see the rest of the kataang week submissions from the other extremely talented and lovely members of this community, head over to @kataang-week :)<3 thank u so much to the wonderful mods for making all of this possible!

[mmmkaybye]

Why Zutara Shippers are Wrong (JK, You can ship who you want lol)

(Although, I don't care if you do actually ship Zutara, that's your prerogative, I'm just waiting for better arguments for the relationship and for people to stop negatively viewing Kataang)

First of all, I'm premising this with the fact that I don't think that ATLA should have ended with Katara and Aang kissing. I think it would have been fine to just end with a slightly more intimate-than-friends hug/cuddle. I would have personally preferred that two children who survived being literal child soldiers get the chance to be kids before they delve into a more mature relationship with one another, but they didn't exactly have adults of the modern culture there to guide them a different way, now did they?

BUT! I am a firm believer that Zuko and Katara would never have worked out romantically and that Katara and Aang's relationship 1. makes more sense and 2. is actually healthier in the scope of trauma and trauma responses.

First of all, I don't understand how the creators of ATLA managed to craft literally the MOST traumatic childhood backstory ever with incredible detail and nuance and everyone just fricking glosses over it like WTF??? Not to mention, the creators did an amazing job diversifying trauma responses to similar trauma experiences.

Let's discuss Katara's childhood trauma, which was not healed magically after a little side quest with Zuko. Katara carries immense survivor's guilt over her mother's murder. Katara understands very well how and why her mother was brutally murdered in their family home. She has been deeply aware of this since the day of her mother's murder - and she fully blames herself. Katara understands that a fire nation soldier killed her mother, but he killed her because of Katara - she said so herself. Then, Katara, who was the last person to interact with her mother, discovers her mother's body, and it is insinuated that Katara might have even witnessed her mother's brutal execution-style murder. This forever alters Katara down to her core personality traits. Katara is 'bossy' because of her trauma. I work with kids from pre-k through graduating american high school. It's pretty normal for girls to do what I call 'mothering' to their peers and to kids younger than them. It often is described as being 'bossy' and some girls are in fact bossy, but for the most part, they are roleplaying a caretaker mentality as they are most familiar with. In Katara's deep guilt of being the reason her mother was murdered, her trauma response was burden herself with the role of mother. This is further antagonized when her father leaves with the rest of the adult men to fight against the Fire Nation. He might've well as died too due to lack of communication for many years. Sokka does not allow Katara to mother him for very long, so she doesn't get to have a chance to work through her personal trauma response to her grief because she has no one to safely and consistently direct these mothering tendencies towards. The other children in the village are not orphans, their mothers are most likely very alive and very involved with them, so they would be temporary fillers at best. Sokka has stepped into the role of village man and definitely would reject Katara's mothering, which often led to tension between the siblings. Toph had the very reaction to Katara's mothering tendencies as I expect a young Sokka had to them. He lost his mother, too, he didn't want a replacement, nor did he want to lose his sister to the role of mother.

Zuko, in the same fashion as Sokka, had a mother who he loved, and lost, and was not looking to replace. Zuko's mother was also a topic that is deeply rooted in a lot of Zuko's personal trauma as well. Zuko did not get to spend much time with Katara for her mothering tendencies to be extended over him, but he definitely would have aggressively rejected them as Katara's trauma response would have negatively triggered his own. Their trauma would have deeply and negatively impacted any romantic relationship they could have developed because of how they would react to each other. Their relationship would have crashed and burned very quickly.

On top of that. Katara would have never left the South Pole indefinitely - that is her home, and she consistently returned to it throughout her life. That is an effect of her cultural upbringing. Zuko couldn't leave the Fire Nation, and as we saw in the graphic novels that followed, Zuko's personal welfare suffered greatly because his whole world was upended and now he was responsible for the one nation that didn't get peace at the end of the war. It's incredibly naive and slightly delusional for people to desperately push romantic wishes upon a sixteen-year-old boy who was burdened with the responsibility of healing an entire nation, one that fought him every step of the way in many aspects. He did not have the emotional energy to expend upon a frivolous relationship. That's why Mai and he broke up, not because they didn't love each other, but because Zuko simply could not have personal relationships until his reign and nation had stabilized - that alone would take upwards of 10 years. Plus, Zuko may have helped others work through parts of their trauma, but he had to address his trauma too, which we saw the beginnings of during the graphic novels. Simply put, by the end of ATLA and all of the graphic novels, Zuko was in no place emotionally, mentally, and even physically and politically to seek out a relationship that was meaningful and healthy. And I know that Zuko would have changed the tradition of political marriage, at the very least he deserves to have married for love at the end of everything he suffered through. Zuko is a great opportunity to normalize waiting until you're in your mid-twenties -thirties before seeking out romantic relationships. Logistically speaking, I don't think there would have been much opportunity for romantic feelings to develop between the two of them. I especially don't think Katara would have easily been able to live in the Fire Nation because the Fire Nation was directly responsible for her trauma, and that is also why I don't think she would have every pursued a relationship with a Fire Nation man, Zuko or not.

Now onto Aang. Everyone always jumps onto this idea that Katara and Aang had a very mother-son relationship - which is wrong. Aang comes from a culture that literally does not have mother and fatherhood. There are NO mothers and fathers in the Air Nomad Nation. Sure, kids had birth parents, but parenthood was not part of their culture, nor did Aang ever seek out that kind of relationship. Aang may have been kid-like, but he was the most adultified kid in the group. He was incredibly independent and confident in his ability to travel internationally by himself at 12. Katara had never thought to leave the South Pole to seek out a waterbending master in the North Pole because she didn't have that confidence or training. The Air Nomads thrived on a mentorship-based village raising of children. So, Aang never thought of Katara as his mother. He literally couldn't, because he had no scope of reference for such a relationship, same with fatherhood. He never had a parental relationship with Monk Gyasto. It was more like a fun uncle mentorship. I think that's why everyone thinks Aang was a bad father, but he was an outlier in the Air Nomad nation because there was no Air Nomad nation when he had children. The village that raised the children in his culture was gone. He was actually a fairly decent father and the two older children probably felt bitter because Tenzin was the only other air bender in existence so it obviously Aang is going to spend a lot of one on one time with Tenzin in the scope of mentoring Tenzin in the way of Air Nomad culture. Aang was not an absentee father like how many people assumed from the very one-sided and brief explanation given by the two older, jaded siblings. Was he perfect? No, he literally had no clue how to be a father. Did he and Tenzin leave to get milk and never come back? Also no. That being said, Aang was the only individual who was comfortable with Katara mothering him, he never felt threatened or overburdened by her trauma response, which allowed for Katara to genuinely work through her grief and mature out of the extreme bossy mothering we first saw in book one. If you pay attention, yes Katara does retain that 'bossy' kind of personality, but that was permanent fixture due to her childhood trauma and a little bit of cultural influence as well. I think, if Katara had never been traumatized, she would have always leaned towards a very soothing and nuturing type of personality, which we began to see in the middle of book three. Her bossiness/mothering trauma response gradually lessened the longer she 'mothered' Aang. Once again, neither of the two saw each other as Mother-son. They were simple too close in age and Aang also had the added sense of duty-boundness due to being the Avatar. Katara was always going to be a caretaker archetype personality, trauma or no, and that simply wasn't the type of person that Zuko would lean towards for a romantic relationship due to his own personal upbringing and culture. Aang is a much more gentle and playfully empathetic personality that works with Katara's firm care and sassy disposition.

In the graphic novels, I personally saw a great deal of healing and maturation in Katara in relation to her trauma. She was less mothering towards Aang, too, and I think that had a lot to do with the fact that Aang matured a lot as well and the change in their once platonic relationship to a more romantic-leaning one. Was their relationship perfect? No, they are kids who survived a horrific war and many many trauma-inducing situations. However, once Katara fully leaned away from the mothering habit, we get to see that Aang allows Katara to relax and be more playful. She genuinely was just happy with Aang. He pushed her to be a little more child-like and to have child-like fun even as they grew up into adulthood. Katara helped Aang mature and face a lot of adult burdens that were placed child.

In the end, Katara and Aang always brought out the best in each other. Katara and Zuko didn't have enough time together in ATLA to develop an individual relationship outside of the group. There simply isn't enough time outside of their little side-quest in which Katara and Zuko interact solo- which was definitely NOT Katara's best, and in fact was Katara lashing out aggressively towards people who loved and cared for her and she them. Zuko was also not his 'best' in that time either as he was also being triggered emotionally. In fact, during ATLA, there's way too much negative tension between the two of them that leads to really intense disagreements and emotional outbursts more often than not until Katara begrudgingly accepts Zuko into the group, they don't even positively interact until Ember Island which is what, two weeks? She's not exactly nice when she pretty much demands him to help her hunt down the man that murdered her mother. Zuko is all gung-ho about vengeance too. Of course, they both have a lesson learning moment, but that episode cemented in my brain that Aang is the better partner for Katara than Zuko. Aang, once again the most mature in the Gaang, fight me on this, has a deep, empathetic understanding of the world, he doesn't do a great job trying to explain to Katara, but I think that's because no one in the Gaang understands how Appa is not just an air bison, and Aang never views Appa as an air bison like how everyone else in ATLA do. To everyone else, Appa's an animal, but to Aang and Aang's culture that is deeply offensive, Appa is an individual with emotions and value outside of what he can offer the group in terms of transportation and that's never really explicitly clarified to the audience either (because despite being a kid's cartoon, the creators knew their audience well and did not treat the audience like we are stupid and can in fact infer and read between the lines). If Katara had killed that pathetic worm of a man, it would have absolutely destroyed her as a person. She would not have been able to heal from her trauma and would probably suffer even more trauma and guilt. This side-quest was a plot point to lead up to the big debate of killing Ozai, and not many, in fact I don't know if anyone has talked about that fact. I have no doubt that Zuko has probably killed people, at the very least, he's deeply desensitized to people dying as I think he probably at some point did experience or witness some form of warfare battle before he began chasing Aang down.

Once again, I don't really care if you do ship Katara and Zuko. In fact, I think that's a-okay. But, with the Netflix live action adaptation's take on the Secret Tunnel scene, I've seen a lot of people speculating and even hoping for it to become canon and there have even been some opinions of Kataang that have resurfaced that really rub me the wrong way because it feels like many individuals are just looking at the surface level of ATLA. There's so much nuance to each individual character in terms of culture, societal norms, age and gender, and most importantly, trauma and trauma responses. The creators did an amazing job world building and story telling that a lot of what I put up in my opinion in preference for Kataang over Zutara is information that I inferred from the show and graphic novels due to my personal experience and education in familial relationships and childhood trauma. My thoughts are not the end all be all to this debate, nor do I think they should be, I've seen some really solid opinions in favor of Zutara that I can understand and somewhat agree with. I think a lot of those details and moments that people look to as indicators of romance between Katara and Zuko were remnants of the creators' previous intention, but I think that the change to Aang and Katara as end game was logistically and realistically more accurate. I never thought that Katara and Zuko were meant to be, and I always struggled to put to words as to why until I had pursued my psych studies in college that focused on child development, childhood trauma, and marriage and family counselling. I think that the creators instinctually were seeing the red flags that would have occurred naturally within Zutara and changed course accordingly. There were just a lot of details and nuances that I noticed personally that I wished more people would discuss.

Anyways, thank you for coming to my TedTalk, I'd love to hear some of your opinions about this.

[sokkastyles]

i’ve seen people argue that it was selfish/unethical of zuko not to kill ozai when they were alone during the eclipse since he had the chance and placing that burden on aang’s shoulders (even though it had been on aang’s shoulders since the start of the narrative.)

aside from the fact that, from a doylist perspective, aang is the main protagonist and the audience would have been disappointed not to see HIM driving the final confrontation with ozai, i also think it would diminish zuko’s arc as he lets go of the control ozai once had over him, as not allowing himself to be goaded into violence and only defending himself when attacked is defiance in and of itself.

i can’t help thinking, though, what would have happened if he had, and i only see two/maybe three logical outcomes—none of which would have actually helped the team, anyway. either zuko IS goaded into a fight (not in line with his arc at this point, but for the sake of argument) and ozai kills him (because i do still think ozai would be manipulative enough to stall/prolong combat until the end of the eclipse), or zuko redirects lightning at ozai, which maybe kills him. (though iroh survives getting struck by lightning with, like, no healing in book two, so… who knows? not me!) whether it does or doesn’t, zuko would likely be arrested as a traitor (at best, though it seems unlikely execution wouldn’t be on the table), and if ozai did die, i can only imagine that would mean azula, who still actively upholds imperialist ideals and actions, ascending to the throne and carrying on with her father’s plans. i guess there is some small chance zuko could escape after an assassination (attempt), but i find “zuko is either killed or imprisoned, aang never gets a firebending teacher, and the team has a much harder time winning the war and/or they don’t” a far more likely chain of events.

i don’t really know what the point of this is, other than that i can’t stop thinking about it, and i’d love to hear your thoughts if my rambling happens to inspire any <3

Not only has it been Aang's burden to begin with, but another reason why Zuko should not be the one to kill Ozai is for the same reason Iroh shouldn't. It would look like an attempt to steal power from within the royal family. The burden has to be on Aang's shoulders because as the Avatar, he acts as an ambassador of all nations. That's the whole purpose of having all four elements in one body. If Zuko kills Ozai, he actually runs the risk of threatening the peace Aang is trying to create. What would it look like if word got out that the firelord's son did what the Avatar failed to do, after 100 years of people already losing hope in the Avatar? Part of the whole deal is returning that hope to the world, that faith in the harmony that the Avatar symbolically represents. Otherwise, why should the other nations care that one fire nation royal deposes another?

As you say, a number of things could go wrong. One is that Ozai goads Zuko into a fight and kills him, which was Ozai's plan in the first place. Like, does anyone think that Ozai was trying to get Zuko to do this for Zuko's benefit? Ozai is absolutely trying to manipulate Zuko in that scene and goading him into a fight, goading him into being angry and emotional and vengeful in the hopes that he makes a mistake, is one way to do that.

Any of the other possibilities, such as Zuko being arrested or branded a traitor or Azula taking the throne, would only increase the discord in the Fire Nation. Like I said, the Avatar is not just important as the Hero(tm), he is a political symbol. Even those who reject the spiritual significance of the Avatar would have a hard time disputing it if Aang has the backing of an army and several world leaders, whereas it would be too easy to paint Zuko as someone who acted alone, a son trying to steal power from a father. And those who supported Azula would recall how Zuko had been banished, how he had always been second fiddle to Azula, and look, it turns out he's also lied about killing the Avatar in an attempt to steal his sister's glory! Those who support Aang but distrust the fire nation would be suspicious of Zuko killing Ozai seconds before the coup, who again, looks like he is acting alone. Zuko could end up being killed or imprisoned by either side, and since Aang and co. don't know he plans to join them, they wouldn't know any different, either. Imagine the gaang showing up to Zuko, who has been their enemy for the past three seasons, being like "hey guys, I killed the firelord for you!" Do you think they are likely to trust him?

Also, man, these people will do anything to preserve Aang's moral purity but think it should be fine for Zuko to murder his own father? Where is Zuko's lion turtle in this scenario, I wonder?

[rhineposting]

( inspired by an idea from a genshin discord server )

The month was the 8th, slowly eclipsing in on the 9th. Like each year, travelers and merchants alike from all over traveled far and wide through different roads, all ultimately leading towards one destination beneath the surface - the underground Kingdom of Khaenri’ah, Starry House of Many Doors, and it’s annual Stjern-Falle Festival.

Many believed at least once that the celebration honored the departure of Summer and arrival of Autumn, as the name almost seemed to imply - alas, with the nation being removed from Gods’ gaze, they knew not of gentle winds of Spring, golden middays of Summer, raging storms of Autumn and certainly not of the cold fangs of Winter. Having conquered nature, Khaenri’ah had essentially risen above the need for seasons and therefore had no need to honor them. What else could the godless people celebrate them? That which is above the seasons as well, of course - the stars.

Ages ago, scholars had found a way of creating environments with sights and conditions taken from anywhere else in the world, calling them simply Domains - as such, in it’s earliest years, the first Sages of Khaenri’ah cast upon their kingdom an image of a starry sky far away, beyond divinity itself ; and each year from that foreign sky a rain of stars would come falling down, it’s dews harvested by the scientists and mages alike, providing prosperity to the kingdom for years to come.

However, as is with human nature, both the outsiders from above and the residents from below saw that time as a most opportune occasion for profit and trade ; and so, the Stjern-Falle Festival was open to all who could afford to make the journey.

Or to those who were removed from the circle of commerce entirely, thought a bard as he climbed out of a barrel, his feather-light footsteps quiet as he ran, a bag in one hand and a lyre in the other, burdened only with but a few Mora.

(One that he personally picked off of his dear old friend earlier when he lied unconscious and unaware in his…The bard would have liked to be so kind as to call it a bed, but really - it was just a hoarding pile of expensive quilts, pillows and trinkets.)

Among his few burdens, one would not be able to find a solid plan of his future endeavors. Should one peek into his mind and search for any plan, at best they would find a small list written in colored wax, reading as such:

1. Wine from Khemia-grown grapes

2. Traditional Khaenri’ahn Music

3. Make new friends

4. Watch the star rain

5. ?????

6. Go home and take a nap

The best plan is the lack of it thereof, such was the bard’s philosophy, and it yet had to fail him. Each corner of the world had a story to tell, and if he wanted to hear them all, what good would it do to arbitrarily set directions by himself? Besides, with fate being world’s best guide, putting in the time to make a schedule of any kind would have been too bothersome ; and above all, the bard was a man of leisures.

Once far away enough from the cargo of merchants and the grand, iron elevators the size of stages, he found himself sitting upon a small wall, marveling. At what? Simply put, everything before and below him.

By then the city, called lovingly by poets a Puddle of Many Rains, had been flooded with market stalls and stages alike ; it’s own lights bright seemingly mirroring the artificial stars above, reflecting them much like a true puddle would have. Though windless, the air was thick with scents so numerous and varied, so much that they could all be referred to only with a collective name : scent of a festival. Truly, the bard found it incredible how little the scent varied across the continent, be it Lantern Rite in Liyue or Day of Sabzeruz in Sumeru - at their core, they were all the same.

Overjoyed and energized, the bard chuckled under his breath and proceeded to close his eyes, letting his legs carry him to wherever they deemed fitting.

***

Not long into his blind trek, his ears made him come to a halt, something catching their attention. Thus did the bard stop right in the middle of the river of people passing by and listened :

A simple tune, coming from an instrument likely between a violin and an accordion, should his knowledge of instruments be up to date. Though it’s tones were deep, he could not help but pay mind to how swiftly the melody could go from somber to joyful in seconds. Intrigued, he squeezed past the rushing stream of the crowds. To his joy, soon after he had been faced with a young man, a strange violin-like instrument over his shoulder, one hand pressing keys and the other shifting a bow back and forth, producing music unlike anything he had heard in most recent years.

So he stood there, a one man audience to the youth, his green eyes bright with awe - contrasting greatly with the young man’s focused face as he continued playing for what felt like eternity and a fleeting moment both. All spheres of life had rules unspoken, therefore once the youth finished playing he bowed, while the bard clapped, a wide smile almost cutting through his face.

“Why, that was delightful!�� the bard exclaimed, his palms by then aching from his applause, “Tell me o fellow poet, what is the name of this lovely instrument?”

“Nyckelharpa, sire!” the young man replied, “More commonly called the bowed violin, it’s our national instrument! And would I be right to assume you hail from the City of Winds?”

“Verily, my friend! Quite the perceptive eye you got there!” the bard praised, clapping once more, “Then again, my lyre does quite betray my origins, doesn’t it?’

“Nay, it’s actually your attire. Few people here need capes, and rarely in such vibrant colors as yours! If I had to name people I know of that wear capes, not only would their number fit on my single hand, they’re all from the Royal Court! Black Serpent Knights, the Mages, Court Alchemists and of course, the King and his family!”

That too the bard noticed - rarely did the clothes of the locals come in shades other than black, white, gray, blue or purple. Living beneath the surface did have it’s negatives, lack of access to a variety of dyes must have been among them. Still, from what he saw thus far, the people of Khaenri’ah made up for it with jewelry and adornments of brass and iron alike, ranging from simple buttons to elaborate earrings - worthy of landing in his dearest friend’s trash pile of a nest.

“If you’re so kind, could you tell me where may I learn more about your music?” asked the bard, “As it happens , I seek mastery over every instrument I can find - and it currently stands at the humble number of fifty seven!”

To that, the oblivious young man couldn’t help but burst out laughing, nearly folding both himself and his beloved instrument over. To that the bard took no offense, few ever believed him. Then again, few was the number of people who were capable of having enough years to master even three instruments, let alone fifty seven. By the time the young man managed to regain his breath, his cheeks had turned as red and round as an apple freshly picked off a tree, teeth bared in a wide smile.

“In that case, why don’t I take you to my school, master?” the man jokingly proposed, “I’d like to be there to see your list expand to fifty eight- or better yet, make it sixty! It’s a perfect time for such a milestone, is it not?”

“It is, friend,” the bard nodded. “It is.”

That year had marked Barbatos’ first ever Stjern-Falle Festival, as well as the year he mastered sixty five instruments total. From then on, the journey to Khaenri’ah’s many doors had become a voyage he would eagerly look forward to.

***

The wheel of time had turned a hundred times more, and so did the wheels of a cart as it came to a halt as soon as it got out from the since then upgraded cargo elevators. In spite of the countless inspections from merchants and guards both, once again it had an additional passenger - who had slipped from underneath the cart itself, filthy and dry with dust sticking into every crevice of his face. Resisting the urge to cough and spit, the passenger made a run for the shadows of various containers, where only then he’d wipe furiously at his twisted in discomfort face. Such a shame that no more were caravans as accommodating to stowaways as they used to be, sometimes even being as cruel as to employ usage of cats and dogs alike to avoid extra company.

“Phef phef phef,” the bard spat and wiped into his sleeves, a few tears running down his gray from dust face, “Oh dear, how am I ever going to wash this taste off?”

The question was purely rhetorical : as always, the answer to every issue under the sun would remain to be wine and music alike. That year, it was no different.

***

“May I ask for a slice of brie with that, good sir?”

Much time had passed, and by then the bard managed to clean both his robes and body from road dust - appearing as presentable and pleasant to the eye as ever, the image of a perfect customer that he was not. Not that the poor waiter would have known, as he kept bringing him more wine and snacks, blissfully unaware that upon being presented with the check, the bard would have been out through the chimney quicker than one could call for guards. Even then, no prison in Teyvat and below would have been able to hold him, as far as he knew.

“Will do!” the waiter bowed, and departed like a leaf in the wind, leaving the bard to his own devices.

Once more he had forgotten to bring a book to fill the time in between glasses and snacks and unfortunately enough, the establishment did not have performers of any kind, nor even books for a quick lend - effectively leaving him with plenty of time in his hands and nothing to invest it into. A shame, truly - had it not been for one ace up his sleeve for trying times such as these.

(And up more places, such as various orifices - at least according to his friend, whose constant stone face would eventually develop cracks upon losing a card game for the eight time in a row. A small breeze can carve a mountain, as they say.)

The ace being one of his favorite past times - to simply put, people watching. One would think that a man his age and wisdom would one day grow weary of the sight of humans of any kind - and they couldn’t be more wrong, fortunately. For the same reason why children insisted on hearing the same story for bedtime night after night, the bard would seek out the company of man, as mundane as their lives tended to be. Simple, infallible logic, he thought.

Surely enough, not long after the restaurant gained a new customer - a young girl, already tall for her age, donning robes of a scholar yet presenting herself with the confidence of a senior professor. Proud, with her chin lifted high, she approached the man behind the counter - the ringing sound of Mora making itself known across the establishment.

“I’d like your meal of the day. Sunshine Sprat. Take-out,” she requested. “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“Of course, we’ll serve it to you in just a minute!”

So they did - before the bard knew it, the girl had been presented with the meal, wrapped up and secured like a gift, fragrant steam escaping from the cracks and folds here and there. Like a true princess, the girl took the package in her hands - and proceeded to run out the door as if her life depended on it. Soon enough, the server made the reason why known across the restaurant.

“You swindling little brat!!” The bard heard the man roar to the door, “Someone go catch her!”

When the bard looked closer, he saw that the Mora were gone - replaced only by a pile of rocks.

That evening, the restaurant earned two new customers on their blacklist.

***

It didn’t take the bard very long to find the girl - a few twists and turns, one flight across a few rooftops, two dives into the trash - and there she was, not even five minutes later ; not because she was slow, but simply because the bard was not someone anyone or anything could escape from, no matter how far they would travel.

He observed from afar, a hand under his chin, deeply entertained. The girl, likely no older than fourteen, carved into the dish much like a princess would have, while simultaneously reading a book that sat over her crossed lap as she sat on the ground behind a building. Her expression remained one of complete lack of bother or guilt of any kind, and it was so convincing that one would almost believe her, should she claim she was not to blame. By then, the bard’s amusement had almost shifted to entrancement, and before either of them knew it, he sat by her side after seemingly appearing from nowhere.

“Interesting trick back there, young lady!” he exclaimed, wearing an award winning smile, bright enough to blind, “Never seen anyone do something like that before, and I’ve been around for a while! Say, are you willing to share your secrets with a traveler from afar?”

In return, the girl graced him with a side-eyeing glare, unbothered by his swift and soundless fall from the sky - as if she was indeed a princess, looking down upon a mere peasant that managed to sneak past her bodyguards. From what the bard knew about the citizens of Khaenri’ah, chances were, a princess she might’ve been.

Her turquoise eyes were as bright as the stars themselves, and fittingly enough, her pupils resembled them as well - sharp and four pointed, almost shrunken into four thin lines as she looked him up and down. As far as he heard, those were exclusive to nobility of Khaenri'ah, a sign of their pure blood.

“Khemia,” she replied, before turning back to her book, “Basics of transmutation. Now can you go away, I’m trying to eat and you stink.”

“Oh, are you implying I don’t take proper hygiene measures when abroad? I’m hurt, deeply so!”

The girl raised one dark blonde eyebrow, “Wounded, even?”

“Hurt, young lady!”

“If you call me young lady again, you will be picking out worms from your nostrils for the rest of your life.”

“Then what should I call you instead? If you’d like, I’ll introduce myself first!” Before the girl could make it known how much she wouldn’t have liked to know his name, he offered his hand for shaking, “Venti! Venti the Bard!”

Not only did the girl not shake his hand, she looked at it as if it had been ridden with sepsis. Somehow, her already annoyed expression grew even more unimpressed.

“Rhinedottir. Not to be mistaken for my two sisters Rendottir and Rheindottir. Now can you put that away,” the girl ordered, as calmly as one could. “What do you want.”

“Well, truth be told, even though I’ve been here many times in the past for the Stjern-Falle Festival, I never quite managed to learn about Khemia from it’s source,” Venti explained upon putting his hand away, only to gesture away as he spoke, “And you seem like you know quite a lot about it, with how you’re able to use it so casually!”

For a while, the girl said nothing and merely observed the bard, expectantly - likely waiting for him to leave. Unfortunately for her, no such thing had occurred ; Venti did not undo his presence and continued sitting there, waiting for his answer as well. Had it been any other day, perhaps the girl would have entertained the idea of an out-waiting contest with her coming out as the victor. Alas, such couldn’t be, for if she continued waiting her meal would have gone cold.

“…Alright, fine,” the girl eventually relented, rolling her turquoise eyes to the sky and back, “…How do you explain white chalk in black soil, or the earth’s dense crust amidst the emptiness of space? While alchemy transmutates the inanimate, Khemia creates life, using other forms of life as a base. That’s how we can grow crops here underground. Otherwise we’d starve.”

Venti nodded, listening as attentively as one could, uttering not one word of his own.

“…But I think we can do even more with Khemia,” Rhinedottir suddenly added, idly shifting through the pages of her book. “I think that if I used the right formulas, I could create sentient life from scratch.”

“And why would you want to do that?” asked Barbatos. “Creating life is a pretty big deal. Not even gods are allowed to do that.”

The girl did not listen.

All she did was glare at him, if not at the whole world itself. Though her face was young, her gaze was not one of a small child. Sharp and heavy, it carried a weight for which the bard could not settle on a name at that time ; was it ambition or arrogance? Countless times he had seen both, and yet, neither had fit the mark.

“I want to be great,” she stated. “So I’m gonna be the greatest alchemist of all time.”

Venti just laughed under his nose and Barbatos nodded, her words engraved in his memory.

“Hope I will be there to see it for myself.”

He did, thirty Stjern-Falle Festivals later.

So did everyone else.

[imperiuswrecked]

People seem to do anything to make Namor the villain. I think he’s misunderstood and pretty neat.

The sooner people let go of the "Hero or Villain" mentality when it comes to Namor, the better.

Namor isn't good or bad, he's simply Namor. With all the complexities it comes with being Namor. I've seen many people call him a villain, but they're wrong, he's an anti-hero, but he's also a king. Namor knows sometimes he’s a monster to others but all that matters is the protection of his people. Anti-heros have their own moral code.

Are you a Hero, Namor? Or are you a Monster? I’m a King. So I’m both.

Atlantis Attacks (2020) #1

I am King of Atlantis. I must protect my citizens, whatever the risk! You can spend your days being a “Hero” living in a world of moral absolutes, but when you have a civilization to defend, sometimes there is nothing but gray!

Sub-Mariner (2007) #4

Answering this here because it’s basically the same:

Was Namor being too much in the film? Is going after someones parent worse than one of their subjects? Wdyt???

In Avengers Arena (2013) #15 Namor orders and carries out the execution of of two traitors of Atlantis. He speaks to their daughter whom he had just orphaned.

“I did not summon you here to punish you for your parents treachery. These crimes are theirs alone. Nor am I asking you to forgive me their deaths. You’ve earned your contempt. Keep it. But I do hope you will accept one last gift from your King. A lesson to be learned from this mess. Trust in yourself and no one else. You’ll be less often disappointed.”

Namor doesn’t go after people because he’s a murderer, or some psychopath, or evil. He always has a reason for his actions. There were consequences for the actions others took as well.

To Namor, Ramonda threatened the lives of his subjects, one of her Wakandan Agents, Nakia, killed his people on Ramonda’s orders to do whatever it took to find Riri and Shuri and bring them home (Namor didn’t kidnap her, Shuri asked to go). Why is Ramonda’s life worth more than the lives of two of Namor’s people? Where is the scale to measure lives to see which is more just than the other in this case? I see a lot of people say Namor is wrong but it’s just like how people treat Namor in comic fandom. They view Namor’s actions from the perspective of humans, but Namor was never a human hero. Comic and now MCU fandom always disregards the lives of Atlanteans/Talokanil as canon fodder because they are just another subject, but to Namor each one of them is a person he swore to protect.

I was actually very surprised by Coogler going that far because not only does it stay true to Namor’s core character but it also meant Coogler understood that Namor isn’t going to pull his punches, or soften his actions. Namor will do anything, will take on any burden, will bloody his hands, if it means his people are safe and thriving. For Namor to do anything less would be a great disservice to his character. Yes, it’s terrible what he did, but the way Namor views it, it’s justified. Honestly I see people upset that Namor got into Queen Ramonda’s face but isn’t some innocent bystander in this, she is a POWER, she is a Queen, she commands a Nation, and Namor’s every interaction and response to her was because he understands she is the most powerful person on the surface.

This movie forces people to think, and once again alot of people missed the point completely and didn’t see that Wakanda and Talokan both have a common enemy who pulled the strings/set into motion their clashes. I know the “American/French want Vibranium” wasn’t a flashy part of the movie but it’s their actions of seeking to destabilize and then steal resources from the nations that got this whole thing started.

If people want to come and be annoying in my inbox about me “not caring that Ramonda was murdered by Namor” and that I’m “excusing a murderer because he’s hot”, just don’t bother. I look at things very analytically when it comes to character meta and these are fictional characters. If you can’t understand by now that me understanding the viewpoint of fictional characters motivations doesn’t mean I condone murder, then you really shouldn’t be in fandom.

[constellariums]

FFXIVWrite Day #2: Horizon & Wolchefant Week Day #2: Colors

Rating: G

Pairing: Warrior of Light/Haurchefant Greystone

Description: Haurchefant reflects on what the sight of Ishgard on the horizon has meant to him over the years as he prepares to depart on a new adventure.

Read on AO3!

The Holy See of Ishgard, for all its culture and comforts, was ever a sea of stone and slate. Before the Calamity, it rose over verdant forests and snowcapped mountains like a mythical city in the clouds, shining in the sun's rays like it sat among the heavens themselves, an otherworldly vision. Haurchefant had been amazed the first time he'd left its gates and saw it rising upon the horizon -- a stirring in his breast of deep pride and amazement that his people had built such a marvel, that he'd dwelt there his whole childhood and not known just how truly incredible an achievement it was.

Even after Dalamud had fallen and brought a seemingly eternal winter along with it, the sight of the capital from Central Coerthas still moved him. It may have lost some of its dramatic contrast against the lush, green forests, true; but if anything the Holy See appeared to him like the Heaven of Ice itself, pulled straight from Halonic teachings.

Yet it was simply heavenly in appearance alone -- a convincing guise, yet illusory just the same. As the years passed, Haurchefant found he much preferred to lay his eyes upon the inspiring vision of the city in the sky from a distance, rather than to walk the flagstones laid by the blood of his forebears, to feel the weight of a thousand years of history bearing down upon his shoulders. He didn't dare voice this to anyone, not even himself; he was a knight in service to Ishgard after all, the safety and happiness of his people his sworn duty and truest joy.

It was only when she appeared, eyes weary with grief but shoulders set with determination, softening at his interest in what had brought her here and regaling him with inspiring, thrilling tales of the people and places she'd found joy in and fought to protect, though she no longer remained by their side -- that he began to consider that the way he felt about his homeland might not be wrong, after all.

As he grew closer to her, infatuated, perhaps, as he was wont to become, with this Warrior of Light who fought for his friends and his people though she stood little to gain; he found himself indulging in daydreams of what it might be like to fight by her side in foreign lands. To see new horizons, to know their people -- to devote himself to their happiness as she did, though she was ever an outsider. He was an outsider, too, in his own way, even among his people; not a true highborn nor welcome among the people of the Brume either. What would it be like to belong as an outsider, to be a welcomed traveler, an adventurer whom the people of all places relied upon?

The more he knew her, the more he knew the trials and burdens which that life had brought her -- and the more he wished her to share them with him, so that he may help carry her load. And... and when she finally did, and wished for him to share his burdens with her as well...

It came as little surprise to anyone that the day the Warrior of Light finally left Ishgard behind, Haurchefant departed by her side, leaving its stone and slate behind, dyed in the golden colors of the rising sun.

"Is it sad, to be leaving?" she'd asked, holding his hand as they stood on the Steps of Faith, looking back at the city. "We can visit, you know -- will visit. I know it's not simple, but with all your family has done for me--"

He shook his head, smiling fondly at the gleaming towers, nearly ethereal in the light, feeling a sense of some sort of vastness spread through his chest. "'Tis strange. Ishgard has been my home, it is all I have ever known, and yet... this feels right. We are at peace, and the nation is in excellent hands... and there is nowhere else I would rather be than by your side."

Her small hand gripped his own tightly then, and he tore his eyes away from the horizon to look at her -- the face he'd come to know and love more than any other, who he'd nearly given his very life for, forsaking his duty to his own nation -- she was so beautiful in the dawn's golden light, and looked at him with such true affection it made that vastness in his chest catch alight.

She took both his hands in hers and closed her eyes, breathing in deeply, and he watched, curious. For a moment he nearly leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, thinking she was about to do the same -- but then her eyes opened and she graced him with a smile so radiant that the sight of Ishgard at dawn behind him was all but lost from his memory.

"Then let us call our chocobos and be off," she said, brilliant excitement glimmering in her eyes. "I can't wait to show you all my favorite places beyond these borders -- the beautiful forests of the Black Shroud, the desert sunsets in Thanalan... and, oh, I know you'll just love Costa del Sol! Warm waters, great things to eat, happy faces everywhere you look..."

The places she described did sound truly splendid, and he'd been so excited to finally see all the sights she'd long told him about... but now, standing here with her on the precipice of adventure, he found himself more excited than anything to do so with her.

"Then show me, my love," he replied, taking in a deep lungful of crisp Coerthan air, squeezing her hands in his, "I want to see it all with you."

As they rose into the sky on the pair of black chocobos he'd raised for each of them, quickly leaving the skies of Ishgard far behind them, Haurchefant couldn't help but notice that the new horizon which now stretched out endlessly before them seemed so much more vivid and colorful --full of hope and possibility -- than anything he could have imagined.

[datastate]

chapters 13 & 14!

i love her too much... if she assassinated me w a smile i think i'd just lay down and die. for her. whatever you say, you utterly rambunctious fool

why does raimei always have the best faces... my tortured beast she has ptsd, prosopagnosia, AND is an ibs warrior* atop it all 💔💔💔

*she's completely misunderstood the words. i do, however, know she is lactose intolerant

get these weirdos off my screen (THEY'RE SO FUNNY TOGETHER <3)

;_; her stressors will never end... i know i say this with every reference to death but i Need to know what happens. i need to. although i'm fearful what exactly she intends to do to do this... i imagine she's already accepted that the one in the picture is gone, so the goal is instead on trying to kill araki(?) but... ouuu

okay i know they're suffering and i sympathize (it is 41c right now. despite it being evening), but they're literally so cute here i'm sorry... just utterly miserable tobari & then miharu echoing tobari's complaints is so endlessly amusing to me.

i literally love them more than anything (but i also already miss raimei. weeps)

i'm way too entertained by this... honestly me too. in this weather especially, i could not imagine wearing an all black uniform

AND THE CROWD GOES COMPLETELY SILENT 📣🔥🔥🔥

KOICHI I'M YOUR NO. 1 SUPPORTER!!! GO OUT THERE AND KILL IT!!! (AND ALSO OUR TARGET) (I'M KIDDING. I WOULDN'T FORCE THAT ON YOU) (YET. I DON'T KNOW. YOU SEEM TOO CHEERFUL. I FEEL LIKE SOMETHING TERRIBLE WILL BEFALL YOU IN THE MIDST OF YOUR AUTISTIC MOMENT) (THIS IS JUST MAKING ME THINK OF WHEN I FAINTED DURING THE NATIONAL COMPETITION...)

[raimei's profile] she would be best friends with kai & sara, but unfortunately atsuko would die upon realizing she doesn't enjoy flower arrangements. however, this is also a very specific gripe to have... what happened girl...

augh... i like how miharu's steadily gotten a bit more expressive as time's gone on. moments like these where you can tell it's genuine just from his musing is so nice...

& i'm actually oddly fond of oda trying to get miharu to open up to himself first. her power's extremely dangerous & i dislike how she's hanging it over all of them to force them to 'pull the trigger' for her goal here (even if i'm sympathetic), but it's interesting seeing how, even now, she is actually trying to be encouraging for miharu. it lands off-base, probably more forceful than she thought, and miharu's certainly not ready, but it's interesting... to me... i like her

he is so ominous forever <3 ...also kamatani's really good at drawing mischievous faces. i mean, the expressions in general are really clean, but these are just so fun :D

many thoughts going on in my head right now. okay. hm...

pulling up this scene again for my own reference

the phrasing here is really throwing me off & it's times like these i wish i knew japanese fluently for less serious reasons, to see if it'd be clearer there aegahaha ahhh... it could recontextualize "big brother tobari" to be something of a friendlier term for an older adult you see hanging around; which could be the case if tobari isn't his actual brother(?!) -- which would also make sense for the first-naming 'asahi' & disconnecting it from himself with 'your child' instead. but it could also be a case of him just believing he doesn't have a right to associate with the family after doing that, which is something we've also seen like. raimei believe her brother has completely lost the right to after the murders he committed.

i might be misreading, but tobari seems to be using this moment to resolve himself in the sense of "miharu shouldn't be used as justification for these murders" -- it's a burden he has to carry alone...! or else it's the whole. "his hands are clean, but only because yours are covered in blood" thing, which is an awful sentiment to have miharu carry

so. hmmm. he definitely has the ring. i forgot to take a sc a few chapters ago, but when his hand was on the railing, it was much clearer, which means it's probably a promise/wedding ring (? I FEEL LIKE HIM BEING WED IS LESS LIKELY). which could be from asahi i suppose, but i'm leaning toward it being someone we haven't met yet. but asahi's definitely dead, and things are getting scary <3

i still need to know how miharu's own parents had been manipulated here & had to be killed, but tobari resisted it. WHAT IS HAPPENING...!!! either way it hurts me but AGHHH!!! I NEED TO KNOW

he resolves himself and is just hit with this 😭 the endless sufferer... (also hi yoite)

1 -- do you think fuuma was ever requested to voice bl tapes like kiryu in rgg2. sorry. // 2 -- i'm kind of obsessed with this freak (at a healthy distance)

i doun't feel like taking scs of the fight but it's literally so cool... i always love the angles that they choose + miharu & yoite sharing information over it is a really nice touch. still feigning enemies... it does hurt with yoite outright saying that "it'll even out the playing field" if banten gets this one though ;u; so far behind... understandable w less people, but augh. & also i like koichi overlaying this w reinforcing how the nindo stuff works :3

[amiharana]

Link is peak older brother energy I feel that is essential to his character. But the odd thing is that he's equally likely to be evil to his sister or the Perfect Role Model (he seems to be good with kids in botw too) and I think that entirely depends on how big the age gap between him and his sister is (bc link probably matured way too fast after he pulled the sword, not that he had no morals before but any mischievousness disappeared after that)

But either way can you imagine being links sister whether you're close or not like😭 And your brother is literally the divinely chosen champion of your nation. how do you live up to that i know those family dinners were tense. Links dad is out here like so proud of my son who just bested a swordsman many years his senior to become the sovereign royal princess' head chosen guard. and also my daughter for getting a C+ in her sheikah basic history exam. 🙂

What do you think revalis family situation is like. Because I have no clue but I know that guy must have Issues

anon i'm so sorry it took so long to answer this but i've been excited about this question since i saw it in my inbox. the "my daughter getting a c+ in sheikah history" bit had me rolling like here's my kid who is prophesied to save the world vs. my kid who gets into fights with cuccos. giving very much gay son or thot daughter

you're absolutely correct that link is very much Older Brother, but because pulling the master sword made him mature too fast and bear the burdens of the world as its adolescent savior, he's an Eldest Daughter by default (more under the keep-reading because i failed again in making this short)

i honestly like both ideas of link's little sister either adoring him and looking up to him like a role model, or despising him and spitting at him every time they saw each other, but it would depend a lot on whether or not link's parents splitting was amicable or not. my original headcanon kind of implied that after link's parents split, they never saw each other ever again because link and his dad were at hyrule castle and link's mother and sister stayed in hateno, but it would be cool if link's parents shared custody and had each kid go travel to see their other parent and sibling lol. i think that link would definitely write letters to his mother and sister, even if they resented him.

from here i'm just gonna refer to link's little sister as aryll until i solidify her character (i'm stuck between two names for her right now) and because it's just easier LOL but the idea of aryll being like a teeny baby 5-6 years younger than link who thinks her big brother is so cool and wants to become a knight just like him, carrying around fake wooden swords with her, wearing an oversized soldier's helm, and telling her mother like "i'll protect you, mama!" is so cute. vs. aryll being a year or two younger and resenting link for being better at everything than her and how no one seems to acknowledge her accomplishments when link's cast a tall shadow over hers. aryll, who does everything to prove that she's just as good of a fighter as her brother is, but her father still brushes her aside for link.

i think the reaction that either version of aryll would have if link slowly went quiet and stopped sending letters or coming to see her after pulling the master sword would be devastating. for teeny baby adoring aryll, she would wonder why link hasn't sent any letters recently and rationalizes it as being busy with being the champion now. as time goes by, link doesn't send any more letters at all and he doesn't ever visit despite there being sightings of the hylian champion everywhere but the necluda region and aryll would slowly become heartbroken and distraught that her big brother isn't talking to her anymore, that he seems to have forgotten about her.

but for resentful aryll, it further proves that link never cared about her and her mother at all and that all he cares about is prestige and status and fulfilling his stupid destiny as the wielder of the sword that seals the darkness (she rereads link's old letters in the middle of the night with nothing but a tiny flame, and cries silently wondering if things would be different if their parents never split or if link was never chosen as a champion).

sorry i made it sad LMAO but yes it would be funny if they still had family dinners with their father being like "today, link bested five men in hand-to-hand combat all at once, fought off ten monster hordes alone, and deflected a guardian beam with a pot lid saving someone's life! how did your day fare, aryll?" and aryll is just like. i fell off my horse shooting 20 bullseyes during practice. their father is just like Hm. That's nice. Your brother can do 50 while standing on Epona's back. cue aryll staring murderously at link, meanwhile link does not give a single shit about this conversation, he's busy shoving his face full of the food that aryll cooked because aryll is a good cook :)

it's would be such a funny perspective, aryll plotting to murder link in his sleep vs. link who is oblivious to aryll's resentment and still thinks that's his little sister who fights well and cooks a great meal. now i'm thinking about link and aryll who used to cook dinners together and learned how to cook from their mother... :(

now revali, my poor dear sweet revali... i've seen a couple fics here and there that mention revali's family situation, but i personally am in favor of the idea that revali was either abandoned or orphaned as a fledgling, and was raised by the elder and the whole of rito village in general. since nintendo gives us no indication of revali's family but implies that revali is around the same age as link, zelda, and mipha as per urbosa's diary, there's a lot of potential and flexibility with this idea.

if revali was abandoned, i think the rito would shun his parents because i like the idea that family and bonds are very important in their culture, and what kind of parents would abandon their baby like that? who even knows why revali's parents would do that but i think there are still no indications of revali's family in age of calamity, so perhaps they fled the village when revali was born and abandoned his egg in the nest. fuck them fr! this could be a good explanation for his motivation as to why he pushes himself so hard to be better as per the DLC champion revali's song memory. his parents didn't want him enough to keep him and even fled the entire village so that they wouldn't be held responsible to care for him anymore, and that stings. it would be a deep-seated insecurity for revali, a sense of betrayal, loss, and desperation to be loved, to be wanted by someone. so he trains to be better, he pushes himself until he collapses, because if his parents didn't want him as he was, then maybe no one else will.

now if revali was orphaned, i would assume that both his parents were revered, formidable warriors who died in battle but most importantly, that they did love and want revali. revali might have already been hatched at this time and present at his parents' funerals, which is actually the saddest thing ever. a tiny orphaned little hatchling who being the one to send his parents off, to honor them for dying a warrior's death. it might be a good origin story and another really good motivation behind revali's character, why he pushes himself so hard to be better. do you think baby revali thought it was his fault that his parents died in battle, that he wasn't strong enough to protect them and that's why he needs to be the strongest warrior there ever was among the rito to make sure he can protect the people he cares and loves for the most? now imagine this version of revali cradling a dying link in his arms lmao

both are good backgrounds for revali but i think at the moment i'm leaning towards the orphaned storyline. it's only thing to be unloved and unwanted, but to know you were loved and wanted but to lose those people so soon is incredibly tragic. to know those people for a short window of time and lose them so soon must tear revali apart everyday. do you think he sits alone in the flight range in the quiet of the night after hours of training, trying desperately to remember his father and mother's faces, how they must have felt to see their son hatch, how they thought they would return home safely to him that day? he's loved and respected by the village and the elder treats him as their own, but it's not the same as knowing you had a mother and father who wanted you as their own too. he's honestly also the village's biggest tragedy. i'm imagining him as a fledgling, fresh out of the funeral, walking past some rito mothers cooking meals for their kids or some shit, openly talking about how tragic it was to lose some of their best warriors and to leave behind a son in their wake. it's too much for baby revali and he runs down the platforms of rito village and hides in a tree in one of the island spires connecting the village to the mainland, crying his eyes out.

my poor blorbo revali, please treat him and link kindly everyone. they're always going through some shit whether it's family trauma or their weird gay courting 😔

[bloodofthefates]

in the darkness they’d come to make their own, he bows. to time, to ache, to loss and forgotten love. his head is heavy. please; may they, may someone … hold it. “ —- i can’t do this anymore. ” forgive his failure. the fallen high lord of night. “ i am tired. ” — ( for either twin while utm, or both, should he find them together. )

The burden he bears is the insurmountable weight of a nation; their beloved city and every precious life kept hidden safely from the pretend Queen’s putrid claws solely by the sake of his sacrifice. It’s too much to ask of him, she sees it in the shadows beneath his eyes and through the sleepless nights as his sentry to ward off the return of nightmares coming to claim him like the creature that comes calling at his door. She fears failure above all else, above her own well being and even her own safety apart from ensuring her sister’s; Nuala fears she isn’t enough to serve her High Lord in the manner he needs, in all the ways he deserves but she’s willing to risk everything for him just as he’s done for them all decade after decade. “You can rest, My Lord, I will carry you through this. But you must do it; for all of us.” Her words travel along the hum of a whisper, for a second she wonders if they even need to be made audible in order for him to hear the promise and understand her mind. He’s so exhausted; so hopeless that the shields and barriers once respected and built up between them have corroded away. She has offered him sanctuary there, unbidden and without ceremony of invitation whenever his need for respite is too overwhelming that it might consume and swallow him whole. The least she can do is offer him the solace of that peace when he can get it nowhere else. The constant strain of the facade, the version of High Lord he must be and perform Under this Forsaken Mountain and in Amarantha’s presence as just one of her many playthings in this farce of a Court. Her heart aches for Rhys; for Velaris and their entire Court of Dreams to see him brought to his knees in desperate pleas and to see such strength so depleted. Black eyes search for the comfort of their beloved shadows that no longer exist here, focusing and lingering on the marked peaks of Ramiel just above his knees. “But she isn’t strong enough.” These words are spoken aloud for him to hear and feel with a strength of conviction she musters in spite of her own emptiness. “I will only ask one more thing of you… to help make her forget. Or else I fear she’ll never make it out of here when we do…”

[firefighterrojas]

BASIC INFORMATION.

full name: angel rojas

age: twenty nine

birth date: june 17th

birth place: aurora bay

nationality: american

gender: cis male

pronouns: he / him

orientation: bisexual

neighbourhood: seabrook quarter

occupation: firefighter

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

face claim: sean teale

hair colour: black

eye colour: dark brown

height: 6"1’

weight: 185 lbs

build: athletic

scars: a four inch scar on his left calf he got when he was a probie, various minor burns from his years as a firefighter and another scar behind his ear he got when growing up

tattoos: angel has a tattoo of an orchid for his mother on the back of his left upper arm

piercings: several piercings on his right ear including his lobe, helix, rook and snug that he only wears when he isn’t on shift at the firehouse

FAMILY.

mother: catalina rojas

father: javier rojas

siblings: two younger brothers

PERSONALITY TRAITS.

+ forthright, compassionate, ambitious, sincere - overcritical, blunt, resentful, judgemental

HISTORY.

angel was the first born son to catalina and javier rojas, a respected paediatrician and trauma surgeon amongst their peers at aurora bay hospital and their community around town. despite what his name might have suggested, angel proved to be a handful for his parents in his childhood, growing up to be quite driven and stubborn once he had set his mind to something.

when he was eight years old he ended up in the ER for attempting to perform a back flip from a tree in his families back yard onto their trampoline and bounced straight off and broke his arm — leaving angel wearing a cast for the next eight weeks and on supervised house arrest with his grandparents so that he didn't attempt another dangerous stunt.

although his grades remained consistently good throughout elementary school all the way to high school, angel's teachers all had the same thing to say about him; he could be capable of so much more if he just applied that drive of his into his academics and not just sports and reckless behaviour

when angel was fifteen years old he was pulled out of class by a dishelved and puffy-eyed catalina after his father had suffered an unexpected stroke while on shift at the hospital. his mother reassured him that everything would be alright, that his father would good better and be healthier than ever.

angel believed her of course, he looked to his mother like she held all the answers to the universe — she never, of course. angel learned this the hard way as javier suffered several more strokes over the remainder of angel's teenage years. some minor, others major but all ultimately lead to his father developing early onset dementia.

angel's once loving and doting father soon became paranoid, confused and apathetic. as hard as angel and his brothers tried to rally around his parents, offering to help with the bills by any means necessary and take care of javier while catalina was at work — the responsibility fell mostly on angel's shoulders and he was happy to carry that burden if it meant his brothers were able to scrape together a slice of a normal childhood.

when angel graduated high school he decided to remain at home with his family instead of leaving town with a football scholarship to any college of his choice to help catalina with his ailing father and younger brothers. catalina had been furious, javier too, reminding angel that he shouldn't put his life on pause for him but angel's mind was already made, no matter how hard they pleaded with him or how furious they got his mind wouldn't change — angel didn't want to leave his family behind in case the worst happened with javier and he didn't get to say goodbye.

true to his word, angel has remained in aurora bay ever since — even joining the aurora bay fire department at twenty five after javier finally passed away after suffering another stroke that lead to a heart attack in the middle of the night. angel has worked at the fire house for the three years, was recently turned down for a lieutenant position due to his lack of experience and age but hasn't let that deter him.

TIDBITS.

his ambition, drive and stubbornness can sometimes be his biggest flaws as they can cloud his judgement and make him callous and apathetic towards anybody standing in between him and his goals.

although it's been three years since his father passed away, he's never really dealt with his death and grieved him — instead choosing to throw himself into his career.

he's a big dog lover and has fostered several dogs before they went on to find their forever home, except for two that he ended up having a bigger soft spot for than most and was unable to let them go — one black american pitbull named luna and a blue nose pitbull named

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

ex boyfriend of @nomadjones. now they work together. it's complicated

neighbours and surf buddies with @heyits-asher

childhood family friends with @lemielewis and @luckylewis

if @willxmeyers only has one hater then that hater is angel

firehouse fam @nomadjones, @hcnter and @atticuscortes

wingman / drinking buddies with @rominacortez

high school bros with @maverick-liu

platonic soulmates with @noralevin everyone thinks they're dating or have dated because of this

went on several dates with @leomlarson but it didn't lead anywhere

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

PLATONIC

childhood friends / seabrook quarter neighbours / ex-classmates from high school / firehouse fam / friends he’s made from rescuing dogs from the animal shelter / people he has helped while on shift / drinking buddies / etc

ROMANTIC

first kiss / unrequited love / tinder matches / exes / one night stands / flirtationships / situationships / bad dates / friends with benefits / enemies to lovers / high school exes / first love / etc

OTHER

somebody angel has pissed off when responding to a call / exes that ended badly / petty neighbours / professional rivals / etc @aurorabayaesthetic

EXTRA

pinterest

[kunstpause]

Another Ascian!Hyth/Emet-Selch wip

"Why do you suddenly act like you are too good for taking some comfort when you so obviously need it, Emet-Selch?" Hythlodaeus' voice has turned harder, giving an unusual sharpness to his title. "Don't tell me sitting on a throne for all these years has finally gone to your head."

The mere insinuation is preposterous, and he can't keep himself from snarling, but before he can give an actual reply, something in Hythlodaeus' eyes shifts, and he is suddenly close, a hand clasping his cheek.

"Oh, but that is exactly what is happening, isn't it?" he murmurs, searching for something in Emet-Selch's face. "Only not at all in the way I speculated." He closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a soft sigh as he pulls Hades closer until their foreheads gently touch. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown, weighed down by an even heavier heart more and more as time goes on."

"Hardly," Hades gets out with a scoff. "I have not the slightest idea what you are even talking about."

Like usual, Hythloadeus cares not for how harsh his voice gets. Nor does he put much stock in his insistence that his assumptions are utterly wrong. He knows better, and with gleaming eyes, he leans back a little to catch Hades' gaze.

"Our most eminent Emet-Selch, wearing the mantle of duty so immaculately. And yet, underneath, there still lives the same bleeding heart that was always such a charming surprise when getting to know you, Hades."

Hythlodaeus smiles, his every word making Hades more and more uncomfortable with the direction this conversation has taken.

"I think you would be hard-pressed to find anyone agreeing with you about me having a bleeding heart," he says with a huff, but it only manages to make the other man laugh softly.

"Oh, but they never know you quite the way I do, Hades," he murmurs, his eyes piercing, looking far beyond the limitations of flesh and blood now. "You could have chosen any nation for this plan of yours, but you decided on the poor and destitute sorry little creatures that no one welcomed, the ones without a home to return to that would have tragically died out were it not for you." Hythlodaeus' thumb brushes over Hades' cheek as he holds him captive with a look alone. "You just couldn't help yourself, could you? Always drawn to those in need, even if your words claim otherwise. And look at what you've achieved!"

He finally lets go, turning around and gesturing at the elaborately decorated walls, pulling his attention to the decadent furnishings of the palace.

"You've elevated them from noting into a thriving empire. A force to be reckoned with. Like children, you taught them how to walk, and now they are ready to fly." Just as quickly as he had turned away, Hythlodaeus is suddenly back right in front of him, cupping Hades' face in both hands as he gently drags him close. "You sit on your throne each and every day, knowing that they will never soar, that their gruesome end is all part of your greater plan, and every day getting up and putting on that crown gets just a little bit more difficult, doesn't it?"

His first impulse is to twist himself out of Hyth's grasp, to turn away and spat out an angry rebuttal, but the other man's grip is firm and uncompromising.

"If you are implying that I would ever hesitate to do what is necessary," he starts with an angry growl, and immediately, Hythlodaeus shakes his head.

"Emet-Selch never hesitates to do his duty, but you, Hades, sometimes forget that I can see each facet of your soul, know every hidden part you'd never show to the outside world. You cannot hide from me." His piercing gaze turns softer, as does his touch, as he leans in for a deceptively soft kiss. "Hades, my dear, wonderful Hades," he whispers softly against his lips. "I can neither share your burden nor carry it for you, but you know I can always chase it away for a while. Burn that pesky conscience out of you until all you can feel and remember is me. Doesn't that sound like something you want?"

It does.

It comes as no surprise. Hythlodaeus is right, he does know Hades inside and out, and his promise is more than a little enticing. When Hades simply nods once, a promising smile spreads over Hythlodaeus' face.

"Excellent." He gives him a thoughtful look before pulling at the red sash on his clothes. "Better lock those doors and put up some magic to keep what happens in here private, your Radiance," Hythlodaeus says, smile turning into a smirk. "And once you've gotten rid of all these ridiculous layers of clothes, I want you on your knees for the rest of the night."

[helianskies]

63 for spuk?

ohohoho,, with pleasure...

Remedy

"You're in pain," Arthur says, and Antonio, who stands at a window and stares out at a foreign land, arms crossed and fingernails dancing between his lips, does not respond.

His pain is obvious, nevertheless. He holds himself because he feels that there is no one else in the world who could hold him and make him feel better. His eyes look sore and his cheeks damp because he was crying not two minutes ago (and rejected Arthur’s offer of a handkerchief). He looks out of a window because it is easier than having to look someone else in the face—someone he doesn’t quite trust, perhaps—and admitting that yes, he is in pain.

The trouble is, Arthur has a knack for reading people, and especially someone like Antonio. He knows what a pain like the one that Antonio harbours feels like. And he understands, in turn, why it is something that Antonio would not want to talk about.

Yet, he does not stand down. Because unlike him, Antonio is not the sort who recovers and finds peace in solitude; he needs someone, and Arthur, well, truth be told, he was quite surprised when the other turned up on his doorstep. But then, where Francis is involved, perhaps no one should ever really be too surprised…

“Do you ever feel,” Antonio starts to say, eyes still fixed on the outside world, “that you don’t really know someone? Even if you have known them for as long as you can remember?”

Arthur does, and says as much. “Why?” he then asks. “Is that how you feel…?”

And once more, Antonio does not respond. Instead, he finally turns away from the window and moves, walking over to where Arthur sits on a divan and joining him. Arthur does not mind. In fact, he welcomes the other to sit next to him, and does his best to contain himself and the emotions that have, ever since Antonio stepped into his home, been swirling around in his stomach. 

It is difficult to do that, though, he has to admit. Arthur has been harbouring a pain of his own for some time—a pain that he, too, does not want to discuss—and he fears that pain escaping, or worsening in the presence of—

“I thought he loved me,” Antonio says, and he gives a soft, half-hearted laugh. “I thought I loved him, but…”

“…feelings pass,” Arthur tries to placate. He sets his hand down on top of Antonio’s—an action that he is surprised he’s even taken, an instinct rather than an active decision. “They come and go in that funny way, sometimes. And for us, it’s even more complicated; commitment like this is difficult to maintain for long periods of time.”

Antonio sighs. He does not move his hand away. “Sometimes,” he remarks instead, “I wish we did not have to carry this burden of nationhood. I feel so… inhuman. As if we asked for this life, as if we don’t deserve to feel the things our people do…”

“But we do—you do,” Arthur assures him, trying not to tut too loudly. “You aren’t inhuman, Antonio. If anything, you’re one of the most human, considerate, and kind nations I know.”

“Well, now you’re just being polite.”

“No, no, I mean it,” the Brit insists, however. He sits up and looks the other in the face, and this time, Antonio’s gaze does not shy away. “It may sound selfish or vain to say so, but… if anyone deserves love, I think it is us, as nations. Because if we aren’t allowed something so simple yet precious, then what else is there for us? What else will sustain us?"

The other feebly smiles. “War,” he replies, “and bloodshed. Right up until the day we finally die.”

It’s morbid. It’s far too morbid for someone like Antonio, who, as far as Arthur is concerned, normally goes out of his way to avoid talk of such things. Is this the effect of a messy break-up? The argument that has seen Antonio flee and throw himself down at Arthur’s feet, when the Brit can think of a handful of other people he could have gone to…?

Still, what is it they say? About not looking a gift horse in the mouth?

So, he goes on, irrespective of Antonio’s previous comment: 

“Look,” he begins, body turning towards Antonio, who, like a reflection in a mirror, does the same thing; “you’re allowed to be upset. You are allowed to hate him, to feel betrayed, to want nothing to do with him.”

Antonio is not entirely convinced, and says, “So why does it feel like I’m the one in the wrong?”

“Because,” Arthur responds, “you’re simply too nice for your own good.”

“In this day and age, perhaps,” the Spaniard concedes. “Thank you, though. I… suppose I will take that as a compliment of sorts.”

Arthur cracks a smile. “You should,” he firmly believes. 

“So you are complimenting me, then?” 

Arthur’s smile falters; he realises that perhaps he has made himself too obvious and frets, worrying that his own pain may start seeping out, but before he can do or say anything, Antonio has taken the reins. His hand comes now to sit on top of Arthur’s, reversing their positions almost, his fingers so gentle and soft as the brush over the Brit’s skin. 

This is an unexpected turn. Arthur swallows a lump in his throat as he stares at their two hands, and then, when he lifts his gaze, he finds that Antonio appears closer to him than he was moments before. When he moved, he can’t be sure, but— but he is definitely closer, and, if he isn’t mistaken, he is still getting closer, closer, and closer still, until—

"You know, sometimes I miss what you and I used to have, Arthur."

He is stunned, flabbergasted, taken back. "You—" Words lodge in his throat so suddenly he coughs and splutters. "You, uh— Y-You do?"

Antonio's smile returns and his hand creeps up to Arthur's shoulder, before snaking itself slowly around the back of his neck. "I do," he confirms all the while. "We may have our differences here and there, but you… always seemed to understand me, and how to make me happy."

Arthur is glad to hear it. It makes his heart swell, his blood rush, his pain ebb and flow like a waning tide.

"I still could," he finds himself proposing without a second thought, "if you wanted me to."

"Well, I… I mean, I am not looking for something too permanent, you understand," Antonio slowly says, fingers toying with the wisps of Arthur's hair at the nape of his neck just as skillfully as they play his heartstrings. 

"I know," he assures him, nonetheless. "Just tell me what you want—what you need—and I will do my best."

The other gains some colour back to his cheeks, a glint in his eye. "You mean that? For me?"

"Of course. Anything to make you happy," Arthur promises, "and take away your pain."

And maybe at the same time, Arthur can cure his own ailment, even if only temporarily.

[ final wordcount, 1187 words; prompt list here! ]

[dream-meister-translations]

MAIN STORY : CHAPTER 2 PART 12

━

EMMA : (Sion where are you? I thought I saw him heading this way, but…)

????? : How about this? Do you like that?

EMMA : (That voice just now…)

ANGE : Meow~!

SION : Here kitty, what's this…

EMMA : (Is that Sion's light magic? Whoa, so soft…)

SION : Alright, good kitty, that's it, over here, just a little more…

SION : Just a liiiittle more…

ANGE : Hssssssssssttt!

SION : …!? Ange!?

SION : …….

EMMA : …Hey, Sion? Can we talk?

SION : What the-!? How long have you been standing there!?

EMMA : I wasn't trying to spy! I've been looking everywhere for you, I--…

SION : …Just don't tell anyone what you saw, got it?

EMMA : You got it.

EMMA : So… Do you like animals in general, or is it JUST cats?

SION : I don't have to answer to you.

EMMA : Well, when you put it that way, you're right… I can't force you to tell me.

SION : …………….

SION : …Cats are cute… Right?

EMMA : Uh, yeah, I think so! Especially Ange here, she's a beauty.

SION : …So… What do you want from me?

EMMA : You ran out… I was worried about you…

EMMA : You've got Est, Kai and Gui all worried sick, too. You know that, right?

SION : …No, I didn't know that…

EMMA : Hey, Sion… Can I ask you something?

EMMA : Why do you look so sad all the time?

SION : I haven't given you permission to ask me anything yet…

EMMA : Oh, I'm sorry!

Sion throws a glance my way, assessing me for all I'm worth.

Seemingly making his decision, he takes a short breath.

SION : …I didn't come to Magia Seminar to make friends or be some kind of model student.

SION : I came here to hone my skills as a magician. And that's what I intend to do.

SION : I don't have time to deal with them…

EMMA : I don't understand… Aren't Kai and Gui are working just as hard for the same reason?

SION : They are, but it's just not the same.

SION : The burden I carry… It's different…

EMMA : And what burden is that?

SION : ……..

SION : Fine… You're just gonna read my file anyway…

SION : I'm from Secundati, the land of spirits.

EMMA : Spirits…

SION : Yeah. The definition varies from place to place. In Secundati, it's what we call the higher beings that control nature itself.

SION : Earth, Wind, Water, Fire, Ice, Light, and Darkness. For each Spirit a nation. And for each nation a clan blessed with the power of said Spirit.

SION : I was born into the clan of Darkness. And there isn't a single person in the world who hasn't heard our name.

EMMA : Darkness? But you're… A Light Magician, right?

SION : I'm a heretic...

SION : I was supposed to be chosen by the Spirit of Darkness to master the Anima arts… But instead… I was chosen by the Spirit of Light…

SION : Even still, my family took care of me and treated me as their own… But they were the only ones…

Why would the venerable Clan of Darkness give birth to a Child of Light? What did his family do to deserve this? How filthy. He's a blight on the family name…

EMMA : …….

SION : That's why I left my home, my country. To hone my skills, become famous and make a name for myself.

SION : To get back at those who slandered my family.

SION : And become a Grand Meister so I could finally make my dreams of mastering the Anima Arts a reality…

EMMA : …Sion?

SION : …You talk too much.

SION : But since you're already here… Give those guys a message for me.

SION : I'm leaving the guild.

EMMA : What, why now all of a sudden!?

SION : I've been preparing for this from the start. I've done a lot of research on my own.

SION : I only came here because I thought it would make it easier for me to become a Grand Meister.

SION : I put my faith in that so called 'genius', but it's not enough to just be like everybody else…

SION : I'm only falling further behind.

EMMA : But…

SION : Leave me alone. I'll do whatever it takes to make my dreams come true.

EMMA : …..SION!!!

SION : …………..

EMMA : You're not the only one with a dream, Sion… I have one, too. So even if you leave this guild, I still want to help you.

SION : …………

SION : …Tsk. So you're a single-celled organism, too…

━

JOE : Ughh! They got in our way again.. But they won't get in our way next time. In fact, next time it'll be an all-out stomp!!

ACE : You're right, bro! I mean, c'mon, those guys don't know how to work together at all!

JOE : Ha-ha-ha! Right? How pathetic! Meanwhile lil bro and I are in perfect sync!

ACE : Exactly! All for one and one for all!!

JOE / ACE : Who will become the biggest, baddest, evilest villainest villains of all time? We will! The Dark Night Duo, that's who!

NANASHI : Being so lively and upbeat at a time like this is a talent all its own, I suppose…

NANASHI : Well now, what exactly do we do next? Any ideas, Mateo?

MATEO : Uuwwwaaa…. AWWOOOOOOO!!!

NANASHI : Hmmm, yes. I was thinking that exact same thing. He did look rather lonely after all…

NANASHI : Mateo… Would you like to make a new friend?

[attano]

#1 — envoy.

trigger warnings: gore, emetophobia

There was a certain pride in being chosen to deliver a package to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. After all the world-saving and war-ending and nation-liberating and surely other heroic deeds that simply haven't yet passed N'teya's ears, they'd garnered a certain reputation. Sure, being a delivery girl isn't exactly glamorous or lifesaving work, but nonetheless being the hands to carry a package onto the Scions' doorstep was something to be excited about.

Strange, then, that when Villenoix hands the ostentatious box to her, he seems all too glad to be rid of it.

"Gods above, please." The passion is out of place for a man usually so nonchalant about his work. "I can't stand the smell any longer."

"The smell?" N'teya dares to sound incredulous, but then it hits her. Decay. Rot. Rancid meat, like when she and her siblings accidentally let some dodo go bad before preserving it. It's all she can do to not double over and throw up her lunch. She slaps a hand over her mouth on instinct, and she must look truly ill, because Villenoix looks pained.

"I do not envy you and your Miqo'te nose."

"What on Hydaelyn is—," she turns the box over, inspecting it. It's much too pretty for its horrid stench, with deep red wood, gold inlays, and shining black stone. Attached is a little red ribbon and a note. When she checks it, all it says is, 'To my friend.' "For the Scions? Are you sure? Did they order rotting steaks?"

All Villenoix can offer is a shrug. "Fuck if I know. I don't think anyone does. No one could even answer when I asked who sent the thing."

Well, N'teya doesn't like that. But she has a job to do.

The trip from the Black Shroud to Mor Dhona is mercifully short, so if nothing else she does not have to suffer this burden for long. She keeps it as far back on her chocobo as physically possible, but even still the fetid scent wafts towards her accursed sensitive nose—and digs its claws deeper in her curiosity in the process.

No. Gods above, no! Opening packages that aren't hers can get her fired, not to mention opening the Rotting Flesh Box is, by all accounts, a horrible idea.

But...

She turns to look at the ornate package.

What kind of person wraps up something that smells dead like that? Almost like a gift. The dissonance makes her head spin. There are flowers that smell like corpses, right...? But even then, why send those as a gift? There are better-smelling and probably looking flowers. Maybe they're someone's favorite?

...Who sends flowers to their friend?

The mystery eats at her. With each languid step of her chocobo, the urge to crack open the box and take a peek at its contents grows ever stronger as her sense-making inner voice grows quieter. She has to know. She simply has to know.

As she dismounts to prepare for the trek across the Coerthas Central Highlands, donning her fur-lined coat and wrapping her seasons-old scarf 'round her neck, she keeps peering at the box sitting pretty in its secure traveling crate.

Just a peek. Just a little peek.

Looking around to ensure not a soul can see her, N'teya buries her nose deep in her scarf and approaches. It hardly does a thing. Still, she persists—the box's latch is clean and opens easily, as if its sender wanted no obstacles to stand in the way of its proper delivery.

The hinges are smooth and silent as she pulls it upwards. She leans in close to peer inside, and...

The box is lined with a rich purple velvet, cushioning what seems to be a neatly folded letter, upon which is... something. Something that seems fragile and withered, and from which that stench is definitely emanating—N'teya once again has to swallow the compulsion to retch.

But what is it? She squints, looks closer—then stumbles quickly backwards when she realizes, retreating to a safety that does not exist.

It's a finger. One long, rotting finger, drained of blood and severed at the knuckle. Pale blue, skin taut, desperate to disintegrate and reveal dehydrated muscle, allow the flies and maggots to feast and swarm and gorge on the body, on the human body, on a living person that used to be alive and no longer is and now has their body parts dismembered and mailed like petty trinkets to all corners of Eorzea—

N'teya yanks her scarf down and vomits into the bushes. When she rights herself, she mounts her chocobo and rides it full tilt into Coerthas.