#laruarva

[verseandrhyme]

biting your lover’s lip amidst a kiss (in the same way a cat gives you a little nip when they feel playful)

kissing meme | Not accepting!

It falls midway between an accident and a game. It always is, when the cat decides to play with the mouse.

A sort of unanticipated surprise when lulled into comfort to jump the heart and send blood running again, no matter how gentle the deed in question.

Mitama does not often find her blood racing off of the battlefield. Her little jump puts enough space between them for her to run her tongue over her lips and feel the fading ghost of teeth.

(Too relaxed then? Too comfortable. Noted. A memory for the next time that may or may not be.)

She laughs. The hand that rests on Arval's shoulder moves instead to cup his face. "If you were growing restless, you might have said as much." She says with an innocence that does not match the growing smirk on her face.

Midway between an accident and a game. The cat is always wont to play. Mitama laughs again and leans back in for another kiss. The mouse has teeth of its own to play.

[aubins]

a kiss to make the other stop being stubborn / a kiss from someone who you can't protect this time

a kiss to make the other stop being stubborn & a kiss from someone who you can't protect this time　╱　another kiss prompt

If Yuri believed in fate, he would say this was all just preordained from that very first meeting of theirs, when the archbishop deposited Arval under his watch. He should have known then that nothing good could come from someone so proclaimed as a miracle worker.

Miracles do not come for free— if anyone should know this, it is him. So, it is inevitable that the consequences of it would be nothing but trouble in the end.

And it is nothing but trouble indeed.

“Arval.” It's a stern warning, hand thrown out in front of them lest they do something stupid. (They always do something stupid, no matter how Yuri tries to stop them.) “I seem to remember telling you to stay out of this.”

It's not their business. None of this— or maybe, after Lady Rhea put those silly ideas of them protecting him into their head, to them, all of this— is their concern. Yuri Leclerc is no damsel in distress in need of saving. He had a plan. It would have worked.

But now Aelfric's started having foolish ideas too. Like how the blood of miracles might be enough to succeed in the Rite of Rising, where once before it had failed. And how is he supposed to plan for this kind of insanity?

There are no true miracles in this world, Yuri knows. There will always be a greater cost to pay.

But he will not allow that cost to be Arval's life. One more miracle, one last trick to keep them all safe. Yuri can manage that much for them if the only person they don't want to perform miracles for is themself.

There is a hand on his arm, then. A purr of of his name into his ear as he turns to them with narrowed eyes. A tug downward at his uniform that he obliges with a bend, then Arval's lips on his own, and—

And Yuri, for once, for perhaps the only time in his life, is too stunned to kiss back. Too horrified to do anything but stare wide eyed at Arval when they draw away, looking far too smug for the circumstances. His hand closes around their wrist as they make to start toward the chalice, voice barely above a murmur, “Don't be stupid, Arval. This isn't worth your life.”

One miracle. Give me one more miracle.

But hasn't Yuri known this since the beginning? Hadn't he thought so from the start? Anything between them is just a grand lie, a silly little act two outcasts have put on for show. He is their liege no more than they are actually his retainer.

And they've never really listened to him, have they?

“You must be the biggest fool I know, Arval. This is my last favor to you— I'll make it quick.”

[justices-blade]

"Edward." His name a chime in their voice, unabashedly endeared at the sight of him. "Ah, please refrain from too much movement. I can come to you."

It was a doctor's hands instead of a friend's hands that reached him, gaze sharp and scrutinising each swathe of fabric, each tear and scuff. Fingers hovered above shoulder, spell swirled at poised fingertips and faith soon doused his wounds.

"It is unfortunate you seem to have ended up with wounds that hinder your mobility. Hold as still as you can, please." His shoulder and hip called most strongly to their spell, a flickered light in the dark found by keen focus. Traces of a vicious spell, too, lingered on him though with his need to scuttle from place to place their attention remained on injuries that a move too sharp could worsen.

"Aside from the injuries, how are you feeling? Did you have fun?" A hum in their voice as hands held steady to mend. "No need to shy on the details, we both know I quite like to listen."

“Oh! Hey Arval!!”

Their warning was a good idea, because of course he’s going to try and get up to greet them. After taking those hits on the field and also reaggravating them after wrestling with Larcei in the tent like a dunce, though, he’s more than just a little achey. His leg’s gone right back from ‘yay limping time’ to ‘no i’m not doing this anymore. sit down’, too.

“Oh, thanks! Wait, lemme just…” He tries to be a model patient for them, really, but the squirming he’s doing to try and get them better access to his cuts and gashes isn’t really productive, mostly just ripping his shirt at his shoulder a little as he waffles over whether to try and roll his sleeve up more or shrug it off. He does get the memo when they move on to his hip though, now faced with the challenge of staying very, very still…

Agh. Two wars, and it’s still boring as sin. The relief from skin and flesh knitting together is still palpable, and he does stay still, at least for that. He tests his leg by lifting it a bit after Arval steps away, finding it feeling a bit stronger with a grin and a thumbs-up.

“I had a ton of fun! Our group of Deer found a bunch of Lions, and their leader was there too! They were all really strong, and when I tried to go wa-pow, they went bam! And when I—” He mimes a few punches, here, and continues to speak half with his hands and half with his mouth, “They went: Fizzzzz. Boom!”

He nearly falls forward with the squinty-eyed lancing gesture he makes in imitation of Louis, before coming back upright with a laugh. “You know?”

A snicker, before a candlewick lights up in his mind. “Actually, I didn’t see you out there! You a winner, or just on medtent duty?”

[ofdusk]

✧ ⁺ - @laruarva asked:

[ Lucky Charms ] "Ah, yes, you two! The pair of siblings!" The pair of what. If the merchant had not been peering so uncomfortably intense into their eyes, Arval would have simply moved on with their evening without the slightest thought. Except the attention was quite evidently on them. Reds scanned the space around them till the source of the confusion made itself evidence, an individual with inhumanity in her elliptical pupils and the points of her ears, crimson as unsettling as their own. Upon a flicker of their gaze, one could argue their outfits bore resemblances, with the corsets and the billowed sleeves. What a coincidence. What a coincidence that would be such a shame to go to waste. Arval was not a wasteful person. "Is there something you are in need of?" All nonchalance was their question, a subtle confirmation of the false assumption. "These charms would just be a lovely set for two siblings. The colour of the crystals even matches your eyes!" A sale, then. When Arval turned to their dear sister, it was with an impish gleam in their eyes and lips curled catlike. To an outsider, it could almost appear as the playful nature of a younger sibling, to the two of them it was blatant amusement found in the misunderstanding. The ruse was left in her hands, now, whether she wished to stutter out clarifications or slink into the role presented to her.

She expects entirely to turn and be greeted by a giggling Elise, a simpering Camilla.

She sees neither, met instead by the gaze of a stranger, but she understands the resemblance rather quickly. Lips part, take shape to begin a hurried explanation for the poor, confused merchant, but she does not speak.

They are smiling at her, this stranger, and she feels her own creep unbidden across her cheeks. A little game-- a dishonest one, but hardly harmful-- Corrin decides she doesn't mind playing.

"How kind of you to notice!" Comes her chirp of a reply, glittering eyes returning to the offered charms as though they are the most interesting thing she has ever seen. They are quite pretty-- dainty things, likely handcrafted, with crimson centers that shine in the room's candlelight.

"I suppose it is too perfect a chance to pass," she says finally, nodding as a handful of coins is retrieved from her pocket. The exchange is quick, charms deposited into her hastily emptied palms, and the merchant tips their hat before disappearing in pursuit of their next sale.

With a giggle, Corrin extends one of the pair to her newly acquired sibling.

"It would be a shame to forget such a meeting, hm? What better a way to remember it by!" Her own charm, once the other has been taken, is fastened to the linen of her collar. "There. Oh! And you may call me Corrin."

[swiftscion]

"Well, look who fell to magic. Come now and let me heal you to free you from it's traces." It was Larcei, so Arval's words became lined with taunts and teases in place of coos and soft questioning of her wellbeing. Hands were raised as faith was brought forth, surface wounds sealed with little difficulty.

"Though I do have some unfortunate news for you, unless you would like me to take a gamble with fire in a tent that could very easily catch aflame, you are simply bound to bundling up until the frost leaves you." A spell to heal wounds could do little to raise one's body temperature, and so a blanket was soon thrown to her lap with a pointed look of expectance from healer to swordswoman.

"Hmm, how did your battle go? Might as well chat a little as someone should be staying put for the time being."

"Y'know, I hope that one day you get a sword through your chest. I'd laugh as I pull it out."

The girl is deadpan as she speaks, clearly not in the mood to have magical salt rubbed in her magical wounds. But that's just Arval for her; their heel against her back is something she's come to expect. In a strange way, it's actually a motivator for her. The moment she feels them looking down on her, she knows it's time to get back up and start swingin'.

Only, no more swingin' for today. She already tried. Knights wouldn't let her set another foot on the field.

"Thanks," she breathes, letting her blood glisten with the keeper's magic and spread healing throughout her system. "I trust you a lot more 'n what those medics have to say. You know me. You've seen me fight."

And so it is with her whole heart that she hears their next words. A nod of affirmation follows, along with the silent resolve in her eyes that says she hears them, loud and clear. She reaches for the blanket on her cot and wraps it around her legs, sort of like a bath towel. It should keep her warm while they converse.

"My battle wasn't all bad, actually. In the end, those cowards beat me, but man... You should've seen 'em run! I scared 'em straight with my sword!" It flies from her hip and stabs the air once, elegantly. Heavy though it may be, Larcei maneuvers her Armorslayer with great finesse.

"I met some cool people, too: one kid I definitely need to fight again, a girl with blood bluer than the sky, and a professor I kind of want to beat with his own quiver. But I like 'em all enough. 'Glad we had the chance to exchange blows."

Now that her mouth has run dry, she faces Arval with a friendly smile. Hands hoist her onto one of the nearby tables, which legs dangle off of. "How 'bout you? You've always got crazy stories to tell."

[yukyunotabibito]

📋[ stick your hand between the bars of my enclosure it's safe don't worry about it [

Name: Arval.

Age: 18? I am not sure in this judgement, they seem wise beyond their years.

Gender: None.

Class: Black Eagles.

Notes:

Mysterious. They give me a weird feeling whenever I observed them, like I am witnessing the life of something that never should have been created. I don't like it. I don't think I want to observe them for any longer than I have to.

[lycianlynx]

When Arval approached Chad, it was done with carefully casual steps and a discreet brand of concern. A teenager that brandished so many thorns and prickles, their presence hardly a deterrence nor a sting for Arval to grow wary of, but a reminder to approach him in slow waves as one tidal that could raise the fear of drowning and send him into a scramble.

“Now that is a gash that would sting in the morning.” A performative wince, gaze sharp on the little singes that decorated their otherwise stable condition. Hands raised, fingers uncurled and open, a simple display of vulnerability.

“Fortunately, I know a spell or two that could send you well on your way. Magic is far more my forte than my ability to swing a blade. Do not recall that, some memories are better left untouched.”

Arval laughed, far from self deprecating but a sharp tease at themself all the way. Talking of themself was not their preferred conversation, but attention on the little lynx agitated so easily was a situation preferable to avoid for the moment.

“Did any of your opponents bring anything…interesting to the fray? One of mine brought these little metal insects that exploded upon impact. Ah, except when they did not. Everyone makes mistakes, after all, concerningly murderous inventions being no exception.” 

As they spoke, fingers curled ever so slight as they let faith bleed into the other’s wound, a gesture that could go unmentioned if the other wished it so.

Brown eyes meet ruby somewhat warily, half poised to defend against a jab to their ego, sourced from observant eyes, but none comes. The offering of healing, though, has their shoulders drop a fraction — He’d let Sophia patch him up for the most part, and she did a good job, but some of his injuries inevitably still lingered. As cleanly as he got taken out, and as much as he thought he would still be able to carry on, a direct and heavy hit from a sword and an enhanced spell back-to-back is hard for anyone to shrug off.

Still, the old guilt from needing healing is always, always there.

“Arval.” They greet, curt but not frosty, an eyebrow raised at their light jab at themself — Looks like Arval has their preferences, just like the thief has their own.

Maybe that admission's what has their guard dropping just a fraction further, silently shrugging their cloak askew and holding it out of the way so the other can lay their hands on the boy's injury. If they want to flex their magic that badly, Chad won't—and frankly doesn't have the energy to—refuse them.

Nor do they particularly feel like avoiding conversation, if only to avoid mention of anything else presently happening.

"Metal... Insects...?" They sound remniscent of the firework-like beads Chrom brandished, and their free hand scratches at their chin in thought.

"I don't think I saw anything as weird as that, but one of them did have these... Red beads. I'm pretty sure they're legitimate casting foci... More common than the insects, anyways. Never seen those before."

A pause, almost furtive. "We have these... Firecrackers, we sometimes throw around for festivals. If you throw them at hard ground, they get hot and crackle and pop. But it's nowhere near enough to hurt anyone. Were they like that, but stronger?"

[fiberflxwer]

hc + attachment

[ hc + ... = ??? Still Accepting! ]

[ When it comes to thinking about Faye and "attachment," I feel like the easiest direction is to look at her supports with Alm, her lines related to Alm, just...her and Alm, honestly, and simply go "Wow, she sure is attached!" And yes, she very much is. Media surrounding her goes out of the way to magnify the lengths she goes to get Alm's attention and respect. If anything, it's played off as jokes because otherwise it would just feel uncomfortable or sickening.

Do I want to excuse these actions or pinpoint the reason behind them? Not really. Though one aspect that I find interesting regarding the Alm-specific angle when it comes to SoV is Alm's concern of how the war is impacting Faye. She dances around the purpose of the fighting and just pins it down to Alm's name, which transitions into an A-support of Alm having to formally reject a more realistic, upset Faye.

This might be a bit off-topic and something better for another meta/headcanon, but when it comes to this Alm/Faye support and Faye's comically portrayed attachment, I always think back to Clive/Mathilda's own support that nearly paralles this early on. The couple looks upon battling together and slaying for each other with much joy (Clive asking Mathilda to go out there in the C-level and Mathilda responding in kind in the B-level).

Obviously, Faye isn't taking notes from the noble pair, but the similarity these C and B supports have of fighting for who you love always stood out to me. With one of the main exceptions being Clive and Mathilda remain at least somewhat grounded in the battlefield, while Faye retains her "head in the clouds" mentality and just wants Alm to be happy. Before I start writing in circles, I believe that is an important part of Faye's extreme attachments; they make her truly happy, even when not realistic whatsoever. ]

[enarmor]

Doorways: Decorating each doorway is a sprig of fresh mistletoe. Rumor has it that it's a Chalphy tradition for two people to share a kiss if they are caught under it together. You wouldn't deny the tradition of your hosts, would you?

"Are you aware mistletoe is poisonous?" It was an honest question, their voice lacking the sardonic bite that would edge their words if they were any less than earnest. "I am going to assume you either do not, or attempting to play that rumour into your favour is worth the risk."

They stood a few paces from the doorway, out of the sprig's reach and the behaviour that was invited by it's mere presence.

"Though there is no need to concern. As long as you don't go digesting it." Really, he had no reason to do such a thing so this was little more than an amusing little exchange. At least for Arval it was.

The tradition for the plant was not quite a situation they had much understanding and consequently little desire for, but they saw no reason why they couldn't twist the tradition to suit the pairs more usual topic of botany.

"Mistletoe is parasitic, you know. As well the infestation can trigger Witches Broom in their unfortunate hosts. Nasty little plant when it is not decorating the doorways." Their lips curled, amusement found blatant in the nature of the plant. "I am unsure where the tradition started exactly, but a little ironic the plant that, heh, brings people together is a parasite."

"Then it is just like love, my dear Arval. Just like love."

Sain snaps back with gusto abound, confident he knows his way around this doorway. And you'd think he would, by how much time he's spent by it tonight. He tries to play things off as having an unbroken spirit in the face of so many rejections,

But really, he's just glad to see Arval.

"Does a rose not have its thorn? Does the dazzling daffodil not scorn the hand at its bulb?" His lips spin in turn, corkscrewing in a grin he'd find uncontrollable until it matches that of the Lily's. A symbiotic gesture, it proudly displays how fond he is of their flowery discussions.

"Poison is a vital part of love," he is all too ready to point out, "it comes with all the slaps and rejections a knight must endure!" Of which he has endured many. To say they haven't made him the man he is today would be to deny that the sea does not shape the land around it.

"You say the mistletoe is parasitic? Then let it be a reminder: our affections, too, are parasites. When we are cursed to loneliness, we don't just want another... We need them. Sometimes that need drives us to madness." His voice rings with a vast wealth of experience, again in being both lonely and too engorged for his own good. Sain has had his ups and downs. He's experienced flings, let his heart soar above the clouds, said things he never meant. He knows both the good and the bad of the heart, in spite of his recent inability to attract the pulse of someone else's.

He holds the spring beneath his fingers, allowing torchlight to glisten against the skin of its berries. They look like red gems--each worth more than their weight in gold--but his friend's knowledge hasn't been lost on him. They are a plague to humankind, like beauty as human sin.

"But still... Love finds a way. Just you wait, my friend! I'll be licking the venom from a lady's lips by the end of the night! And if I'm not, I'll have you to speak with, right? Right?"

[amiterum]

‧ ₊˚ @laruarva asked:

Admittedly, Arval had seen rather little of her. Glimpses whilst they circled on their wyvern beside, they’d spent most of their time submerged and swatting at those rancid little creatures. Still, they’d caught sight of her staff and she certainly could fit the descriptor of saint. “Healing duty, hmm? Try not to take any of our demises too much to heart, they’re hardly permanent.” Whilst yes it was incredibly unpleasant, there was no residue in their lungs and no physical lasting consequences. They did not know her enough to tell if she was the self critical type, but they knew it was never pleasant to have the weight of someone’s life in one’s hands.  “Anyway, I believe we’ve never crossed paths before. You may call me Arval. What do you like to be called?”

It is nice to see them somewhere other than the sky or sea, to be able to discern the white of their hair from the porcelain of their skin. Priscilla offers a small smile in greeting.

"Oh, yes. It is the one I am most fond of. Violence and fighting are..." She shakes her head once. They are not something she has known anyone to enjoy, really, but herself least of all. "But thank you. It is not an easy thing to remember."

A quiet sigh. She knows she could have done precious little to better their odds, but even still...

"My name is Priscilla," a welcome distraction, her smile returns, "it is a pleasure to call myself your ally."

[berglietz]

Arval contemplated the action for a good minute before committing. They’d seen their partner do this countless times to faces they couldn’t quite place, but the importance of it was it was friendly and Caspar had always seemed the physical type. If he wasn’t, he had a voice and he could use it to let them know.

They were grateful for Caspar’s lack of height, as it made the soft knock on the back of his head much easier.

“Hello you.” Arval’s smile had bled into their voice, at some point in their shared fabricated experiences they’d grown fond of him, a little. It had also not slipped their notice that the two times he came to their aid had been connected to water, first granting them relief with refreshments after hours of pacing through sand and heat, to saving them from the oceans depths. They were not sure how to feel about this pattern, both the repeated rescues and the trend of water.

“The horrors of drowning and those nasty little biters aside, this little arena with its monsters and fighting seems like something you’d been keen on. With the weapons we do not usually own and the lack of consequences of our actions. Ah, forgive my musing, I suppose that’s a long winded way of asking how are you finding it so far.”

"Hey-" The indignant furrow of Caspar's brow at the sudden touch is automatic, though it relaxes at the familiarity of the voice behind him. At this point he's shared far more than just a class with Arval. Their misadventures may not have ended well (to put it lightly), but there's an undeniable comfort to being accompanied by a friend. By the time he's turned to face them he's reflecting their smile back and then some with a wide grin of his own. "Oh, hey!" "Yeah, I definitely wasn't gonna pass up an opportunity for this kind of combat practice. Going all-out with no risk of anybody dying is just about the best training you can get in my book." His pride in his own battle prowess is dampened by the watery grave he'd been tossed into along with the rest during the last round, but he pushes through the feeling with an awkward chuckle. "Not that the fake-dying feels so great either, but I mean…at least we get another chance to prove ourselves in the next round, right?"

[knighteclipsed]

There he was, the man who got them drowned by the waves. Twice. The first time they had brushed it off, who would have known the beast would react like that when struck. The second time? He didn't grant them no warning and seemed to possess a lack of awareness, or care if Arval were to be cynical, for the rest of them.

"You certainly had a little stalemate with that beast going. Shame how it turned out though. Watery graves and all." Their tone was somewhere between genuine and sarcastic, not outright hostile but lacking a slither of comfort. “Unless you’d like a nickname derived from that, what do you like to be called?”

Did Arval think he’d respond to screamed complaints with his name in? If they were honest, no, they did not. But if he had the intent to go from dubious presence to thorn in their side in the next rounds of the gauntlets, they’d quite like to know which name they get to scorn. If not, well Arval could get creative in the moniker department regardless.

He breathes.

Chest up, then down—again. (Again.) Slowly, he grows reaccustomed to living (though it scarcely does anything to calm his racing heart). He flexes his fingers, focuses on specs of dirt. (Feel your senses return to you once more.)

Such was the function of these arenas—fight to the death, then rise for the next. There was downtime, however brief, to reorient oneself in between, but with enough bloodshed, death becomes nothing. (He’d even lost count now—how often has he fallen?)

The little wyvern rider from before approaches him and eyes rise (not far, of course) to meet them.

“ Indeed, ” he sighs, feigning some sort of remorse. “ If we were all going to die, I’d have hoped it would’ve joined us. ” Shoulders rise, then fall in the form of shrug. “ Alas, there is always next time. ”

So that was their aim—the child desired from him a name. Under normal circumstances, he would be truthful—after all, Valter was nothing if not honest—but a different thought creeps into his mind, a cackle tempered into a sharp smile.

“ You may call me your lord. ”

A pause, timed just long enough to gauge a response.

“ That, of course, was a joke; I am most oft called the Mad Dog—you can certainly imagine why. ”

That, too, was dishonesty, but the Moonstone had no doubt that it would seem more reasonable than his original statement. (Further, his true strength was not so restored to be deserving of the title ‘Moonstone.’) It was also a safeguard of sorts—if he performed well, he could reveal to them his true name, and if not? Pass the blame to that fool, and perhaps figure out his name in the process.

Which is to say, Valter saw no fault with this.

“ And what of your name, hm? ”

[aubins]

"Yuri." A call for their name, for their brief, undivided attention.

Arval placed themself on the cot beside him, enough sheet between them for Arval to be unable to feel the warmth from human skin and for Yuri to miss the chill of what was artificial. Scrutiny fell upon mockingbird in an instant, wounds torn down with clinical precision.

"Proving how valuable your time is once again, are you?" A hum lined with a tease. "Some congratulations of your prowess is in order, I suppose. The spell that lingers on you is still quite poignant so you must have made it through quite the number of battles to only now leave the battlefield."

Much alike their first meeting in glass strewn roads and toppled homes, hands raised to mend all that ailed him.

"Now, let me take care of you for a moment."

“Arval,” the mockingbird sings back, attention readily offered as his gaze flicks toward them.

He does not squirm under their inspection, merely leans back on his less injured arm with a charmed smile. Teasing and banter is much easier for him to digest than pity and worry, but he need not fret— such has been their most fluent shared language since they first met. “Mm, yes— and proved it right, too. Some of my opponents seemed quite enamored by me.” A helpless shrug, free hand gesturing toward himself. “To the point of excess, even.”

As they have turned their gaze upon him, so too do lilacs drift across their pale figure to ascertain their condition. But if they are here to offer their aid as he presumes, then they are surely in well enough health to provide it. Arval is no senseless creature. “And you?” Though he harbors a guess as his gaze raises to meet theirs. “Is it congratulations or consolations that are in order?”

Their next words are met by an expectant hum. There are medics and healers aplenty to tend to the mock battle's wounded and, always, Yuri has preferred the often less experienced but more familiar healing touch of one of the wolves. He trusts them implicitly with his life, as theirs have been unknowingly entrusted to him in turn. But they are not here, and should he wait until their return to the monastery to be tended to, some wounds will surely scar.

He is not that stubborn. If the choice is between a stranger or Arval, then the answer as to who he trusts more to see to his injuries is quite simple. They have already done so once before, their spell having greeted him before even their name. It is not yet his full trust that they have earned, but it is indeed something.

“I still owe you from the first time, you know.” But it is a faint protest, scarcely meant to hold much water. Yuri offers himself to Arval freely, uncovering wounds hidden beneath cloth and aches not quite obvious to the naked eye. “Perhaps,” he prompts idly as they work, “you will finally let me in on how to make it up to you.” A flicker of a grin. “Or maybe I'll just surprise you one of these days.”

[ladyleonster]

@laruarva @genrali

I'm going to answer these together! It just makes sense to me I think!

Anyway, I consulted with Annie because first I needed to think about what exactly a fight between Quan and Ethlyn would even look like. What we came up with was not really very fighty at all! They don't really fight in an argument type of way where they are trying to convince the other that they're wrong or push their viewpoints onto the other. They do disagree though and both of them are willing to voice their opinions. The thing that makes it less of a fight is how willing both Quan and Ethlyn are to see each other's side.

We get to look at one of their disagreements in game when Quan tells Ethlyn to go home in chapter 5. Ethlyn keeps pushing back and Quan keeps trying to stand his ground until he relents. But like never during this does it feel like a fight. Ultimately, he understands where she's coming from and is willing to hear her out.

I think this is how a lot of their disagreements go though with far less disastrous results :crunchy:.

Annie summed it up pretty well ISHSISHDJ.

Oh but forgiveness also! I don't think it's ever a thought in Ethlyn's mind to not forgive Quan simply because they understand each other so well. Their squabbles are never big enough or ugly enough that they don't almost immediately hug it out and laugh about it.

[gentlenekomata]

♡ June activity check ♡

Skill points

activity

Activity Check – any +1

TOA Summer Arena 2024 – any +1

total — [ 45 + 2 = 47 ]

Points allocation

given to Faith [ B -> B* ]

given to Riding [ C -> C+ ]

Claims

Summer Arena reward à Valaura [pending!]

On going thread

waiting for you;

A mistery in monochrome – Katarina | sword +1 @ephemeralove

Famous last words – Hilda | axe +1 @delicatevalentine

blackthorne forest - Lindhart | axe +1 @pridelessdaydreamer

animals lovers - Céline | riding +1 @firelles (for the ending post ^^)

Is that fucking mothman? – Raven | axe +1 @peerlessscowl

a name for the baby! - Azama | flying +1 @carefreemonk

Girl I’m on fire (again) - Arval | reason +1 @laruarva

have to reply;

a flower to make a dream come true – Pelleas @pirrhyc

Mikoto ask @vallamaiden

Mitama ask @verseandrhyme

Riding back to our long-forgotten memories – Ryoma + ask @raijintosworn

foodie lovers - Zihark @swordsmanoftranquility

[justices-blade]

☆ thread housekeeping

// hi! if you've been tagged: this is mostly me tallying threads across all my guys and checking in that things are in fact the way i have them tracked since i've been half dead bar event activity the past few months (oopsie). so i'm also somewhat guilty of thread limbo— apologies for that! if our thread is in the wrong section, please correct me as needed.

// some of these have been asleep for a while, if you feel the need to drop any of these, please tell me. i also don't mind waiting so long as i know for sure the thread is still continuing!

EDWARD ☆ this ones a doozy

WAITING ON PARTNER: ☆ hug all your friends // micaiah @frauleindermorgen ☆ any happy little thought // micaiah ☆ red riding hood's basket // maria @princessmacedon ☆ solace in abyss // maria ☆ howling at the moon // laslow @laslow ☆ babygirl, what's your name? // elincia @amitieos ☆ lanthorn-y situation // caspar @berglietz ☆ n..nya... // tau dead gang @loveevangelist, @starrook

WAITING ON ME: ☆ no (tea)leaf unturned // lyon @sacretic ☆ a 'perfect' fit (CLOSER) // pelleas @pirrhyc ☆ we all lift together // pelleas ☆ so, you wanna explain that skillset? // lloyd @fangedjustice ☆ blockheads // ares @lionscion ☆ and they were both sword guys // kris @unsungblade ☆ the tumpet. bwaaa // nasir @yukyunotabibito ☆ this is not the ideal tanning location // arval @laruarva