Yarne, the Last Taguel

That must be nice, she thinks, a little absently. To have friends. But... Serra likes her privacy! Living alone is great! And never scary, even though she lives in a really bad part of town with bad crime rates! She is totally fine! Totally...

“Oh, don’t give me that look... it’s okay. I get what you mean.” It’s not like she can go all-out, either. It’s mostly a show, after all. Even though she spends most of her money on clothes and cute stuff, it only means other stuff suffers. Mostly her meals. Thank goodness for instant ramen. What would she do without it, really... “We’re still going to get you something good, though. I’m determined!” There’s stars in her eyes. There’s no stopping her now!

“Okay! Let’s meet closer to your place!” she chirps, happily — there’s absolutely nothing good about where she lives. No cute shops or anything. At least, that’s what she thinks, anyway.

He mentions orange apples, and she can’t help but burst out laughing. What an oddball! “I can rock any color!” she agrees, joyfully, but orange is actually one of the colors she thinks she couldn’t pull off that well. He never has to know though. He can totally dream of her rocking it, while she never shows her cards.

Not to mention the cousins who're related to that ancient hero that he counts on as friends.

"It's a... seedier side of town, I know. Only place we could afford. Though it's thankfully further away from some of our families. Not mine, Mom is still somewhat close, which is good, because of all of my friends, I think I'm one of the only ones who had a good relationship with Mom?"

...Mostly because Dad was the issue. Or the lack thereof.

"...I'm rambling. Sorry."

A soft silence lulls. Yarne didn't really know what to make of it, of... any of this, really.

This girl was acting so very very friendly. Panne had warned him about people like this, that they could be incredibly dangerous...

But look at this girl. Is she someone who'd mug him?

...He didn't even have anything worth mugging on him anyways.

"..."

He yawns, his head lolling over to the side, just over her shoulder. Even when tired, he knows better than to touch someone without permission.

"Mmuhwahh. It's... funny. I usually nap on the train. Well, this part. This coach tends to clear on the last bends, so no one is around and I can just get some rare rest... but now you're here. And that's not a bad thing, mind!"

Naga, Yarne, get your hind together.

"Not... at all."

inspired by the infamous "i want the k" meme by deactivated tumblr user tastcful. send 🎲 to generate a kiss! potential suggestive/nsf.w themes may appear

A kiss on the cheek

A kiss on the nose

A kiss on the forehead

A kiss to the top of the head

A firm kiss

A gentle peck

A romantic kiss

A platonic kiss

A kiss to the eyelid

A kiss along the jawline

A kiss to the neck

A kiss along the collar bone

A kiss on the chest

A kiss to the stomach

A kiss along the hips

A kiss in the rain

An upside-down "Spider-Man" kiss

A kiss while laughing

A kiss underwater

A rough kiss

WILDCARD! Dealer's choice :)

A french kiss/kiss with tongue

A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances

A sleepy kiss

A kiss that's an accident

A kiss while one or both parties are crying

A kiss in greeting

A kiss in parting

A kiss to the back of the hand

A kiss to the palm of the hand

A kiss to the inner thigh

A kiss while someone watches

A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking

A kiss after a bite

A kiss against a wall

A kiss to the shoulder

A kiss to the back of the neck

A kiss while one party is carried

A tentative kiss

An impulsive kiss

A kiss out of spite

A clumsy kiss

"Yarne?" Morgan cocked her head in surprise, then her face was covered in absolute confusion. Even for someone as jumpy and overly dramatic as Yarne that was QUITE the reaction. To look so genuinely rattled. To look... so fearful? He was even moving towards the entrance and trying to escape? From her?

Worse, the fear did seem... somewhat familiar. She felt it was a different context from what she had witnessed before... Wait... what exactly had she witnessed before? For the life of her she couldn't remember seeing Yarne so fearful. Just annoyed and angry and frustrated, like a cute little angry bunny. So why did this feel familiar?

She stood up and just followed him with her gaze. Something was... different about Yarne. What was it? Oh! His hands held something that felt... real out of place. And that's when... something pulled at the edge of her mind!

"Oh! That beaststone looks just like your old one! Did you find a way to repair it? I know I couldn't figure out a way to fix it when it broke, so you'll have to teach me for the future." Morgan replied with partial clarity. She was sure Yarne's beaststone had been broken, irreparably so, last time she had seen it... Probably. It felt right at least.

She speaks of impossibilities, events that never occurred, events no one would ever let occur.

She says his name like it belongs on her lips.

But it doesn't.

"Quit it. Now."

His hand clenches at his side as he tries to stay calm, in his place, in anything close to a proper state.

But the time of that has long passed.

He came down here knowing he wasn't good in the head, to try and clear it.

And he lost that window.

"Quit... acting like you witnessed stories that never happened."

The Shepherds were tight-knit. They had to be. They only survived with one another's aid - and Yarne knew his place. Rescue. Secure those who were harmed, and return them to the healers. He could fight, but his speed when transformed was his role. That, and protection, cocoons of stone when ambushes draw any sleep hours away, holding against the horde as his allies restored themselves.

"Stop acting like you're one of them. I know my family."

There isn't room to transform without ruining everything.

Without cutting off worship for all who live down here, shorn of worship of Fodlan's goddess.

This was a place for all.

And this imposter sought to... ruin it.

"This isn't a shrine to Naga. It's a shrine to all who aren't the goddess worshipped in the cathedral."

He glares down, fingers hovering centimeters over the center of his beaststone. One press, one little bit of pressure... and he could lay this imposter to rest.

Secure Morgan's legacy, bereft of the fraudulent menace ahead.

But... he hesitates. Some distant, unplaceable part of him tells him to hold. Just for a bit.

He doesn't know why he does.

But he does.

"Explain... yourself. All of this."

His height was a tool for survival - let him keep vigil when trees blocked the fliers, or when they were incapacitated.

She wasn't a Risen.

But the size difference could intimidate all the same.

"And... why..."

He breathes in slowly, running his hand along the scar beneath his uniform, wincing. He took it recovering everyone following an assault no one was prepared for.

And... whoever this was wasn't one of the ones he carried on his back as he stumbled through the river, blood matting his transformed fur.

She didn't know WHY is was cringe but it just felt that way. Maybe she could go give Naga a nice little mustache while she visited the shrine. Actually... if someone was maintaining a shrine to Naga that means POTENTIALLY someone from her world was down here!

With paintbrush and paint tucked away in one of her many secret pouches and pockets in her robe, she trotted over to where the shrine was. She heard someone praying as she got closer and hid behind some rubbed. She carefully looked out and saw... A BUNNY! A REALLY TALL BUNNY! IT HAD TO BE HER REALLY TALL BUNNY!

"BUNNY! IT'S BEEN SO LONG!" Morgan trots over and takes one of his long ears in her hands and begins petting it... and examining it... and petting it more.

They don't know him.

They can't know him.

He forgets names, forgets faces.

Forgets the look of the father who betrayed him, left him hollow and alone.

But Yarne never, never forgets a voice.

And this wasn't a voice he knew.

He pushes whoever clings to him off, scurrying away, hands clinging his beaststone, red eyes, bloodshot from tears, glaring down at...

The person dressed in his tactician's garb.

But it wasn't Morgan.

Not his Morgan.

The voice was different, the actions were different.

This wasn't his.

This could never be his.

"Don't call me that. Don't."

The walls are closing in, close, closer, yet closer. His breaths grow ragged, cutting deeply into him as he tries to stand his ground.

This had happened before.

Ambushes when he was emotionally compromised.

When he was grieving fallen allies, preparing the next mass grave.

Witnessing an ally rotten inside out from an infection that Brady couldn't fix, or any of his herbal fixes.

He had fought when he wasn't supposed to be able to.

He would have to again, it seemed.

"Don't get close. Don't you... don't you dare."

He tries to work his way to the entrance of the room, clinging to the wall as he does.

This was not Morgan.

Was it a body double, trying to put what little scraps of his Shepherds made it overseas to work their way into his good graces? He doubted someone who could copy someone else's look existed in Fodlan, but... he couldn't be too sure.

Not that he didn't properly believe in Naga, mind. She was the reason he was allowed back into the past, the reason an apocalypse was survived, if only barely.

But every night he spent clutching at himself on the field, away from everyone he cared for, or deep underground, in a shrine meant for all, wasting away...

They were never good nights.

And this one began similarly, with paws racing down to meet dark stones, torch in hand, each cavernous path ahead an unknown, one he didn't understand, and didn't trust.

Whatever, whoever lived down here, apart from a select few he knew (well. Libra, mostly) did not matter in this moment.

All that did was another fervent night of... whatever could be called worship, to him.

"...Hey, Naga..."

Eventually, he makes his way to the shrine, tucked away in a lightless corner below the monastery.

He had been a couple occasions - thank everything there was a place for it, without being a 'heretic' in the church's eyes.

But... the murk and grime that still remained only added to his wallowing.

"I... you know why I'm here tonight. I won't even try to act like it's ok."

He brings himself down, pulling his knees tight. He doesn't care that his uniform is speckled with the filth. It's what he deserves.

"Just... more of the same."

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He softly sighs, going down onto his knees, uniform pants beginning to get coated, but he doesn't care.

"I was using the night sky to try and make sure they would reach her. You can stay, I don't mind. I'm... usually pretty quiet when praying, anyhow."

It muffles the tears.

"And I could use some familiar religious company. All of my new friends here are from so distant lands, most of them don't even have a uniform figure of worship, and if they did... it would probably be the one being showed off by the church here, right?"

A nervous chuckle leaves him as he assumes his knelt pose, hands clasped in his lap, head bowed low, red eyes shut tight. He had never known if this was the proper one to take, but... no one in the future ever corrected him, so it stuck.

"..."

It was almost routine at this point to get the first part of it out of the way.

"Hey... Naga. I... know you probably aren't listening, or if you are, you have someone else closer to home to answer the prayers of..."

This song and dance was one Yarne had sung and danced far too often.

It was the place he ended up on his darkest nights - far too frequent a place, at times.

Which... was part of why he was down here.

"But... could you please, just... please... take the burdens off me and Mother's shoulders. I..."

He sucks in a breath, trying his damnedest not to quiver, to fall and curl up and cry, like he had so many times.

This was a place of establishment religion, even if it wasn't as pristine as aboveground.

Not some training field where no one would be disrupted.

Where no one would be missing him.

"Make... someone else taguel, at least. I don't care who anymore. Someone. Just one. Just one. Just... please. Make the pain stop. Make it stop."

Tears are torn from his eyes, landing on his conjoined hands as he tries to hold himself together, just for a little bit longer.

"I... I've tried to seek out a way to handle it, I've tried it all. I just..."

He sighs, pushing his head down onto his hands.

Omigosh. You know, the more he talks, and he looks around, and interacts with her, and stuff the cuter he’s starting to come off. And to call her adorable on top of all of that? Heh... her heart picks up its pace a little bit...!

He rubs his neck, looking down and away.

"I live with a... pretty large group of friends. We split rent on an old place, out on the fringes of Ylisstol. It saves rent, since most of us came from..."

Rough home situations.

"Not the best paths. Plus, some of us can't work, for one reason or another. I'm one of the ones who consistently can, even if the pay isn't the best, so... my budget is usually on the more enclosed side. Sorry if that means I can't exactly splurge on it..."

...Why did he feel so bad in letting her down in that way, even if it was probably so minor?

"Oh, and as for my work, I'm just helping do carts at the nearby Walmarth in the evenings after classes some days. Thankfully, today's one of the days off, at any rate."

He smiles, gaze returning to Serra as she got so into it.

She almost reminded him of one of the people he was living with.

In a good way.

"Yeah, don't think apples come in any more colors, anyhow..."

"Orange, I guess? I remember reading something about a species of apple that is orange... not that I'd call you orange, definitely not your color scheme right now..."

She was definitely moreso pink.

In... more than one way.

Was she blushing?

"A-and not to say you couldn't pull it off either, mind! I think you could probably rock something orange."

That's never been a mystery to him.

What little he can recall from what little his mother could recall painted taguel and manspawn culture around things such as family, nature, and the needs of the many compared to the few as very different structures.

And then, his time at Garreg Mach had taught him that manspawn culture varies even more than he had expected prior.

This, though...

This, though...

"What."

His hand instantly reaches for his beaststone as the festivities hit their fever pitch, eyes wide as chaos unfolds around him.

His first thought is its an ambush. That there was someone who wanted the two separated. Permanently.

But then, he recalls what he was told about their practices with weddings, and...

This hurts.

This hurts so much.

Marriage doesn't need to be everything and a bundle of carrots.

To him, marriage is just a proof of connection, that close to nothing could separate them.

Which, in a way, makes this make sense.

But that isn't something that needs to be tested!

"..."

He can see his classmates chuckling as they try to take one of the partners away from the area, and he can feel his face twitch.

But... he can't move, despite his legs begging him to rescue, his beaststone urging in his mind to become the one-rabbit army needed to bring them together.

He could probably secure it in a heartbeat.

But...

But was he right to? This was another culture, and Yarne was already poor enough at social cues.

He could end up ruining everything.

He...

He can feel the gaze of one of the members of their motley group burning into him. He knows he needs to act.

So why can't he?