#the horses that PHYSICALLY have no space for them within the city‚ but that's a problem of a different kind that i want to touch upon later

[ofbardsandmen]

nothing ever excites me more than a spontaneous genshin, or more particularly, mondstadt discovery. i sat diluc upon the barbatos statue as a nice spot to go afk on without being interrupted by repetitive idle animations and voicelines (sorry diluc, this is nothing personal). my volume was turned up more than regularly by accident, and my in-game music was off despite how much i like the original game soundtrack. aNYHOW- i was about to go afk when i heard some strange noises that i didn't recall hearing in mondt before. it made me pause and turn my volume up even more. in the video above, it's kind of hard to discern the brief sounds over the noise of the wind up on the statue and in mondstadt in general, but when the wind dies down a little, you can distinctly hear voices of people, and what shocked me the most – neighs of horses. i have no clue whether it is just me discovering this only now, after 4 years of playing this godforsaken game and clearly not having paid enough attention to mondstadt's sfx before, but i still felt the need to share this terribly interesting tidbit in case there's other clueless mondstadt enthusiasts like me.

[l0enelies-t]

𝙂𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙖𝙣/𝙔𝙖𝙣𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

（ 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 + 𝘙𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 ）

－ 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴：𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘦！𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧．

𝘼𝙐𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙍’𝙎 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀: ᴀʟʀɪɢʜᴛ ɴ��ᴡ ɪ’ᴍ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴀsᴛɪɴᴀᴛɪɴɢ. ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴀ ʀᴇᴠᴇʀsᴇ 1999 ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴇᴛɪᴀɴ ɪs ᴀ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛ ᴏᴘᴛɪᴏɴ! ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ sᴛᴀʏ ᴛᴜɴᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢs. GAHHHHHH ɪ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ sᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ!!! ᴇʜᴊsᴊsᴋsʜsᴊᴅʜsɴsᴋᴍᴅᴍx...

[ 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 ]

• It's a surprise you even befriended this feathery guy. He doesn’t budge at anyone at all ever since he left the mountain, so being friends with him is no different than being an acquaintance.

• Often times likes when it’s quiet, even if you exchange a few small words with him. Sometimes you may even go to small towns with him flying in the air above you.

• Another thing he likes to do with you is try some new tea you bring him from places you’ve went, listening to your rambling as he sips the hot liquid you boiled moments ago. He gets to try and learn new things he never knew, even if it means he can’t get too attached to them.

• You don’t see Getian often due to him going place to place. When you ask to go with him, he immediately refuses and turns your request down. He isn’t trying to be mean, he just wants to keep you safe. A tiny bit of him says that you’ll only just slow him down on what he needs to do.

• Showing him new instruments he never seen before. If it’s a blown instrument, double points! Once again, he’s new to the human world and has a lot to learn. Since he sings and carries a blowing instrument, seeing other ones other than his fascinates him.

• Making flower crowns for you two. Getian doesn’t have arms, only wings and since he’s mostly always outside, you two get to indulge things friends do out in nature. Though it’s sweet, it makes him sad for he misses his old friend who had passed when they went into the outside world.

• He often keeps you away from the St. Pavlov Foundation, Pei city due to the striped horse turning incidents. You’re his friend and he wants to keep you away from any danger.

• Likes watching the lanterns float in the river with you. Since you share your interests with him, it seemed to only be fair that he shares his with you.

• Getian allows you to feel his wings, but advises you to wash your hands after touching them since wing powder sheds from them. He swears that he cleans his wings and he really does.

[ 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 ]

• Getian was surprised at himself that he managed to have a relationship with someone. He never viewed himself as the type to win someone’s heart but here he was.

• Getian loved seeing you dance to his music. He enjoyed the fact that you loved it so much to the point where you moved your feet to the beat.

• Whenever you compliment his eyes or his other features, he gets red immediately. Uttering a thank you before complimenting your features back.

“Yanping, I love your eyes! They look so beautiful.”

Getian looked shocked at your compliment, his cheeks suddenly getting warmer. “Thank you [NAME], I think your eyes are pretty too.” He says before going completely silent.

• Since he wants to learn new things, he learns a lot about love from you as well. Kissing and hugging were all foreign to him until you explained it him. Specifically, he likes hugging since he can hear your heartbeat when he does.

• When you kiss him, it’s always intimate and he whispers things he loves about you before you two lock lips. Afterwards though, he’s red in the face and hides behind his wings.

• Any physical interaction you two have— especially kisses—, you need to be the one first to initiate it. It’s also better to be blunt since he isn’t too good at taking hints.

• While he’s usually a meter away from people due to his big wings, if you want to be closer to him, you’ll be within inside of his wings. The space is enough for you both to be comfortable.

• Gets flustered when he sees you kisses his wounds that he thought you wouldn’t even notice. Once you explained to him that lovers to this, he tried to express back the best way he could. Such as a cut to your cheek, he kisses gently like how you once did to him.

• He can get sleepy and so he sleeps while he perches on a branch or anywhere safe for that matter. Very rarely though, he sometimes goes and try to sleep with you on your bed. When he does, he wraps his wings around you. Additionally, any movement you make, hes going to wake up, which is why you need to be very careful and still when sleeping with him. There are also feathers on the bed when he gets up.

• If Getian isn’t close to you, or doesn’t want to be close in your proximity, don’t take it personally. He really doesn’t want to be rude, it’s just due to his long periods of solitude in the mountains, it rendered him to be uncomfortable in the company of others. He would appreciate if you were patient with him, especially if his partner is a very touchy person. Most times he stays far away in his own area just to feel comfortable. Once you understand that, being with him will be easy.

• Will ask a lot of questions since he’s curious about everything in the world. If you don’t want to answer a question he asks, he’ll understand and apologize to asking it.

• Getian has thoughts that one day, you’ll be gone and he would be on his own again. It hurts badly to think about but he accepted that fact and continued eternal life as it was.

• He likes to watch you cook since he’s a curious bird and loves learning new things.

• Often gifts you things he found in the wilderness, it could be gems, loss things thrown away by its former owner, or literal trash. Either way, it’s cute that he does this, so you of course take it.

• Will absolutely tell stories or folktale that he knows or has heard of from other humans, answering any questions you have between the story-telling. He’d appreciate and listen to any stories you tell him.

• A great listener and remembers everything well. He’ll know your dislikes, likes, when your birthday is, what you like about yourself, what you don’t like about yourself, etc.

• Getian sometimes let you wear his head scarf, saying that it looks pretty on you.

• Often hesitantly leans into your touch when try to caress his cheek, or try to pet him. He trusts you enough to know that you wouldn’t hurt him (it took a long time for him to trust you by the way), and he hopes that you’ll feel the same way. (He canonically likes being petted so I think this would fit him well.)

• When he trusts you enough, he lets you rest your head on his chest. Afterall, the sight just makes him melt that you get sleepy hearing his heartbeat.

• Protective since it’ll break his heart to see you injured, especially if he could’ve help you avoid it.

©2024 l0eneliest do not repost, copy, translate, or modify.

[avelera]

On Fanfiction as Genre

Something something... in the world of original fiction, the genre comes first and the story comes second.

For example, "This satirical religious comedy, Good Omens..."

Whereas in fanfiction, the media itself is the genre, and fanfiction writers write within it. The genre becomes the story, the story becomes the genre.

For example, "This coffee shop AU, set in Good Omens..."

Now, here's the thing. In the world of published original fiction, you would never or at least very rarely roll up to your publisher and say, "Hey! You know that really popular coffee shop romance series I was writing? Well, what if I took the two popular main characters and dropped them into a zombie apocalypse for the next book in the series?"

Your publisher would probably look at you like you have two heads. Even if you're their superstar, they might gently and cautiously point out that the audience has a certain expectation that this series is a coffeeshop romance, and you might lose readers if it suddenly, unexpectedly, became a zombie horror story.

But fanfiction writers do this all the time. In fact, it's largely the basis of most fanfic, "I like the original, yes, but I'd like to do my unique spin where instead of Aziraphale and Crowley being in a satirical religious comedy, they're in a grimdark zombie apocalypse and also they're human now."

Fics can range from canon-adjacent all the way out to barely recognizable as based in the same original story, but readers are largely accepting of this because the genre isn't it "coffee shop romance" suddenly becoming "zombie apocalypse horror". The genre remains the same: Good Omens. Just as a fan of science fiction will be accepting of a story that is rigorously scientific and takes place on Mars (eg "The Martian") and enjoy wildly unscientific magical space opera with laser swords, (the original "Star Wars" trilogy). Some might not enjoy the full breadth of the genre and have their preferences, like more or less scientific, but that is much like fanfic readers preferring more or less canon-adjacent takes on the characters.

This gets interesting because as my writing teacher said, you break genre expectations at your own peril as a writer. Note: Most "genre breaking" works are nothing of the sort, they simply break a few unspoken expectations. You don't say something is a Western and then set it in a stock trader's office in New York City. People who pick up your book expecting a Western aren't going to think it's clever, they're going to think it's annoying, most likely.

This is because genres have certain pleasures associated with them, as my teacher said. In Western, Sci-Fi, and Fantasy, the expected pleasures are largely setting or plot-based. We expect a sci-fi story to take place in space, or to otherwise involve technology real or imagined. We expect fantasy to involve magic in some form. We expect a Western to be set in the Old West or have something to do with cowboys and horses, for the most part, though of course in all examples there are exceptions.

Horror and Romance are particularly interesting, because those pleasures are not based in setting but in the expected emotion the reader can expect. Horror readers expect to be scared by the end, no matter how you achieve it, and Romance readers expect to engage physically, mentally, or emotionally in a story about love and lust. Then you get into interesting mixtures like Sci-Fi Horror, which helps narrow things down.

My final point to all of this is that this is one reason why original fiction publishers and fanfiction readers are often speaking at cross-purposes to one another.

I see a lot of predictions for continuations of media that think with a fanfic writer brain. "I want these characters to talk about their feelings next time," except that the genre of "talking about feelings" they're imagining is more aligned with literary or psychological character study, or the romance genre. Whereas the core media is, for example, a satirical religious comedy. Or a workplace romantic comedy set on a pirate ship. Or it's a comic book action movie about a super soldier punching bad guys.

Yes, you will get elements of that in any good script that provides variety, but the story isn't going to switch genres as seen by original fiction publishers and studios, because they would think that's crazy. They see the story as living within a genre and the audience basing their choice to engage with that story as being based in the expectations of that genre. People want to see a pirate comedy. People want to watch a superhero punch bad guys. To have them suddenly pivot to a deep arthouse film style discussion of feelings and unearthing of trauma isn't just weird to them, it's a betrayal of what the audience is ostensibly there to see.

Where you see deviation of this is in stories that are so well-established that they begin to operate like fanfiction. "I want to see a Superman movie that's a deep exploration of trauma and what it's like to grow up feeling like an alien in the American Midwest." Superman, in this case, is the genre so we can range further afield with what about this story we explore and we can switch genre away from it just being about punching bad guys.

Which is why I sometimes praise a film as being really good fanfiction, but it usually requires a media property with broad household name familiarity to make the story itself into a genre that allows further explorations that dip into less expected genres, like arthouse film takes set in a popular scifi franchise universe. And that's why, very often, fanfiction readers aren't going to get what they hope for from a lot of franchises, especially those who don't have the popularity or confidence to treat their story as the genre itself, rather than as residing within the expectations of its genre.

[midmorninggrey]

Character Cuddle Scale

How-to: rate your OC based on how they handle cuddling/being cuddled

Tagged by @dungeons-and-dragon-age Thank you!! With absolutely zero pressure, I'll pass it on to @blarrghe @inquisimer @carnalapples and anybody else who wants to write about their OCs!

Celeste Trevelyan – 4/10. Meh. You’re not a dog.

Celeste was raised to see everyone as a potential threat (great job Arden), so the idea of cuddling doesn’t easily translate into her worldview. She slowly warms to it, and she likes an occasional hug from her dad, but she will almost always find more comfort in petting her dog or undead horse. Leaning on Cole is a close second though.

An elite club in Skyhold exists of those who have received one of Celeste’s super quick blink-and-you’ll-miss-it hugs. Its members include Varric, Cassandra, and Solas.

Arden Trevelyan – 3/10. Rare but Great Dad Hugs.

He has long arms. He’s a dad. If someone manages to crack his cold exterior, they may find that he gives really good hugs. And if someone was brave enough to hug him, they might be surprised that he’s happy to give one back.

Gillian Hawke – 1/10. It’s lonely at the top.

Gill remembers story time with her mother and the twins. They’d all pile into bed together at night and read exactly two stories (or one long one.) Bethany always fell asleep before Leandra closed the book. One evening, Gill decided she was too old to be coddled that way and went to bed on her own.

Gill is all for performative acts of closeness, but letting a friend give her a genuine hug is far too vulnerable. She would say they were being childish.

(She gets a 1 instead of a 0 because Merrill is the sole exception here.)

Cal – 3/10. Handle with Care

He's complicated. Touching Cal too early in any relationship is a sure way to get his super smiley “this is nice” defensive wall up. He won’t set boundaries, in part because he doesn’t know what those are, and partly because touch is a tangible way to measure his worth, even though it makes him uncomfortable.

Also, depending on Cal’s health and how often he is using his force magic, touch can be physically painful.

But if he trusts someone, all he really wants is a hug (although he probably won’t ask for one.)

Magaleth – 5/10. Middle of the Map

Mags spent much of her early life traveling alone by choice, so she’s happy to accept and give touch, but she can go without it. Hugs are typically reserved for greeting close friends. If an acquaintance tried to hug her, she’d go along and laugh, but she would think they were a bit weird.

Loran – 4/10. It may take seven years.

After growing up in a single room with his extended family, Loran values his personal space and does not invite many people inside it. The fear of being outed also keeps him at a distance. However, if he decides he likes someone, he will start showing them city dances and fighting moves. Sometimes Loran does miss the closeness and familiarity of the Alienage, and he lets in fellow elves far faster than dwarfs, humans, or qunari.

Toni - 9/10. No armor around her heart.

Toni will meet someone and have her arm around them within a half-hour. Life is short, so you better be kind, and her kindness comes with a hug. She can overstep people’s boundaries a bit, but she eventually gets better at being patient instead of trying to push her way into everyone's space. The quickest way to Toni's heart is a shoulder or foot massage.

[paullovescomics]

This weekend I went to HeroesCon for the first time in like 10 years. It has grown in attendance and physical space. Got a few things for me, and for some friends. I wonder if the ratio of dealers to artists has changed. It felt like i saw fewer weird little comics that really intrigued me. Although honestly my energy got drained quickly, so i could have missed stuff. It might be that a space that big filled with that many people is just too much for me these days.

I took two comics to get signed: Blue Beetle #1 (1980s) for Paris Cullins, and Madman #1 from the Dark Horse run for Mike and Laura Allred. Unfortunately, i could not find Paris Cullins, and the line for the Allreds was massive. However, i did get an Elfquest issue signed by Wendy and Richard Pini as a surprise for a friend.

IDK, maybe next year i'll try SPX in Bethesda again. That show is also packed, but the one time I went, i was able to walk the whole floor, and double back for second looks at interesting stuff, with a decent amount of my social energy meter still intact. Also, it's all small presses and artists. The comic shop i go to in town is really good, so at a con i wanna find stuff i didn't know i was looking for. That's a more expensive trip, but i can visit people up there, and go to the National Gallery, too. ‪ I took the train this time, which is much better than driving to (and esp.) from Charlotte, but getting from the station to the con means hiring a ride or walking nearly two miles in the June heat. (There are buses and a train that runs within the city, and maybe i could've used those if i'd studied up beforehand.) The guy sitting next to me on the train started reading a Junji Ito comic, and we wound up having a nice conversation about art and music. Some of the buildings around the convention center have changed, and lunch options seemed fewer and farther away. (One sandwich shop across the street was closed on a Saturday?!) Of course it was very hot (90F/32C), but it was less humid than usual.

One artist I talked to told me that attendance this Friday was up 40% from Friday last year. There seemed to be more back issue dealers than a decade ago, and a whole booth devoted to apparently exclusive alternate covers. I say booth, but it was a space you could walk into, made up of 6-7 foot walls filled with pictures of the alternate covers. That's not my thing, so I didn't go in there, but it was pretty. There were definitely more dealers selling game and anime merch, and like ... nerdy homegoods? Neon signs and tea towels and little things to display (what my grandma might've called "play pretties"), and those are all nice additions. One place was selling these flannel shirts with recreations of comic book covers on the back. I kinda wish I'd gotten one of those. I bet i can find them online.

It's a really nice comic convention. Heroes was plenty big when i first went there like twenty years ago, and it's grown a lot. If you do not mind crowds, you will likely have a blast. If you have triple A social batteries like me, make sure to pace yourself.

[xzho-writes]

heard ya like angst so here i am to request some

the boys seeing their so getting badly hurt by someone else

which boys? let's go with your top three ;)

seeing you get hurt

pairings: diluc, zhongli, kaeya x gn!reader (separate)

genre: slight angst/comfort

summary: the scene that plays out before them is enough to send their blood boiling as they rush to save you

wc: ~3k: 1k (diluc), 1k (zhongli) 1k (kaeya)

warnings: physical violence, mentions of blood and injury, angry genshin men, use of the term ‘whore’

a/n: sorry for the wait, nonnie! i made a lil quick prompt idea here to get me started, so i hope this is at least decent enough for you—

you can find my masterlist here

diluc

diluc paces up and down the main floor space with an air of irritation surrounding him.

“adelinde, have you seen them around at all?”

the head-maid in question flits a worried glance to elzer at her master’s question, and elzer shoots a look back not too dissimilar to the one she just gave him.

“…i’m afraid i haven’t, sir,” her voice begins slowly. “perhaps they’re still out collecting ingredients?”

at adelinde’s tentative offer, diluc’s lips purse into a thin, downturned line. travelling to the city only took around half an hour by foot and collecting said ingredients shouldn’t have taken that long- two hours at the latest if something managed to catch your eye. at that point it was nearing four since you’ve left the winery and diluc was growing concerned.

perhaps he was overthinking… after all, what could go wrong from a simple grocery trip? mondstadt was relatively safe, too, and he had specifically cleared the path there last night after you excitedly told him of your plans.

but it was only afternoon, and you were more than capable of looking after yourself. so why, then, did he feel so apprehensive?

the young master didn’t have much longer to dwell on his anxieties when the manor doors suddenly burst open, exposing a breathless knight hunched over with his hands on his knees.

…this wasn’t good.

diluc was already making his way towards him-instincts screaming that something was very wrong; the knights never approached him unless a situation directly concerned his attention.

this wasn’t good at all.

“m-master diluc!” the young man huffs, trying to catch his breath. “it’s urgent! t-theres been a fight at the plaza and,” he sputters, “they’ve been injured! they won’t listen to anyo—”

adelinde had already ushered all the maids to begin preparing any medical supplies that might be needed for your return.

not even a split second after hearing those words tumbling out the knight’s mouth, diluc all but shoves his way past the heavy doors and ran towards where he usually kept his claymore. startled workers jumped at his abrupt appearance and elzer was quick to find his place at his master’s side.

“fetch me a horse!” he demanded.

mondtadt was bustling with the ruckus coming from the crowd gathered at the steps towards the main city. from atop his great steed, diluc could make out the figures of the people at the centre of the drama.

and as he feared, in the midst of it all was you.

he could make out your form laying on the ground with numerous vegetables scattered next to your body- hair askew with bruises on your face. a bloody nose.

standing above you was a man whose face didn’t fair much better, a blackened eye and a cut on his cheek.

and diluc saw red.

the atmosphere took a sharp turn as people were stunned by his drastic change in aura. the crowd, promptly silenced, hurriedly made way for the seething man as he all but jumped off his horse and made a beeline towards you.

those who were close enough to the enraged ragnvindr noticed how his fists were clenched tightly at his sides, shaking at the intensity. some gasped in complete awe at the sight for diluc was always one to keep his composure even in the most trying situations.

everyone within the great walls of mondstadt knew better than to further provoke the uncrowned king.

it appeared that your attacker didn’t get the memo, however, as he audaciously lifted his hand in what seemed like another attempt to hurt you.

you raised your arms in self defence for the blow that was seconds away from striking your body, but no such pain befell you.

“get your filthy hands off of my partner.”

jumping at the unsuspected sound, both you and the offending man whipped your heads around to face the new voice, and you were about to breathe out something when you caught sight of diluc’s visage.

his face is all but calm; what is usually an unamused stare is replaced by a deep scowl that mars his features, brows screwed and jaw clenched, and the glare he sends the man who dared to lay his hands on you is nothing short of fatal. what's most frightening, however, is the infamous black and red claymore materialising in his hands.

he was livid.

though the man towering above you was visibly shaken at diluc’s appearance, he still had the gal to shakily huff in his direction.

“o-oh yeah? what’cha gonna do, pretty bo—”

diluc left no time for him to finish his question as he thrust the blade of his claymore to the man’s throat, not powerfully enough to deal significant damage but just enough to draw blood from a shallow cut.

…how in the name of the archons did he move so fast?

“don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” was his reply.

and it’s enough to send your attacker reeling back in fear.

“leave,” diluc threatens once more, and everyone knows that he’s not the type of man to pose empty threats.

your jaw hung agape at the scene that just played out before you, and you were ready to scold diluc for being so uncharacteristically violent when he quickly (but carefully) scooped you into his arms and started making his way back to his horse.

“d-diluc! what the hell—”

“we’re going home, and we’re taking care of your injuries.”

“bu—”

the stern look he shoots you tells you that he was not in the mood to listen to your protests. you receded back into his shoulder at this but it only made you acutely aware of how much diluc was shaking, trembling as he clutched you close to his chest.

he was scared, you realised.

you had a lot of explaining to do when you got back home…

zhongli

the breeze is warm as is wafts by liyue harbour and the clouds in the sky help to block out the sheer intensity of the sun, creating a cosy atmosphere for the inhabitants of liyue.

it’s idyllic. beautiful. though zhongli is not a proud man… he would be lying if he said that liyue wasn’t the most gorgeous nation during the summer. but you could always argue that he was biased. after all, he was the very person to father this nation into what it currently was and a creator will always be proud of its creation.

what a shame, he mused, that you weren’t currently by his side to enjoy the lovely summer day together. he could almost feel the ghost of your touch on his arm- the arm that he instinctively holds out for you to wrap your own around. arm in arm is what the two of you should be right now, had it not been for the commission you were taking today.

and it was that very commission that led him to leave your humble abode in search for katheryne, for it had been quite a while since you left his side.

you only had one commission to take care of today for the extra mora- you didn’t even need to take it but you wanted some extra money to save for whatever reason zhongli didn’t know. the man assured you that there was no need for the added work but you had insisted anyway.

and who was he to deny you of anything when you looked up at him in such anticipation, constellations swimming in your irises?

zhongli wished he had been more firm, however, as it was nearing six hours since your departure.

the man was seemingly caught up in his worries when, before he knew it, zhongli’s feet had already guided him to the adventurer’s guild kiosk. he was met with the woman at the desk smiling amiably at him.

“ah! good afternoon, mr. zhongli! how may i help you today?” katheryne greets with a wave.

zhongli gives an easy smile and nods to her before getting straight to the point.

“good afternoon, katheryne. i’m here to ask about y/n, have they turned in yet? i was told that they only had one commission, but it’s been quite a while since they’ve left.”

the lady’s shoulders droop at his question as she shakes her head, a frown growing on her face. “i’m afraid they haven’t… i’ve already sent a few adventurers to search for them, but i can give you their location if you’d like?” she offers.

“please,” is all zhongli replies with before katheryne hands him over your file.

the travel to lingju pass was swift thanks to the help of xiao; zhongli only needed to whisper his name and his loyal adeptus transported them to your nearby location at speeds incomprehensible to human understanding. xiao knelt at zhongli’s side as he nodded to the smaller male, promptly thanking him and dismissing him thereafter.

summoning his vortex vanquisher and securing it onto his back, zhongli silently made his way into the ruins alert for any sound that might draw him to you.

deeper and deeper into the ruins he went until a faint trail of blood caught his attention, causing the man’s face to contort into one of confusion. laying discarded by the red trail was a fatui mask- a sight that wrenched a gasp from his throat, panic taking over his system.

picking up his pace, zhongli followed the trail until it led him to a dimly lit room illuminated only by the sunlight seeping through the cracks of the stone walls.

the view that greets him is enough to make his archaic blood boil- enough to warrant the cracks in the stone where his footsteps used to be.

in the centre of the room was your beaten body being pinned to the floor by a fatui agent’s foot planted on your head. his face was unobscured thanks to the mask laying on the ground and the trail of blood seemed to be caused by the gash on your torso.

you sputtered droplets of red as you struggled to lift the pressure from your head, striking weakly at the agent’s leg when a hum left his throat.

“well, well, well! this a friend of yours, sweetheart?”

with great difficulty, you weakly tilted your face in the direction of the agent’s voice and you were met with none other than your beloved standing by the entrance of the room, familiar pole-arm ready in his clutches.

you’d be overjoyed with his presence if it wasn’t for how utterly vexed he seemed to be.

zhongli looked like the epitome of what it meant to be petrifying; the usual peaceful expression on his face replaced with unadulterated rage. if your head wasn't currently under someone's boot you'd be able to see how his golden pools of amber house slits for pupils, glowing in the dimly lit room.

and was it just you, or did the pressure in the atmosphere become... heavier? more suffocating? it felt as if your lungs were being seized by a pressure so great that they were ready to rupture.

“you never told me you had company with you—” the man starts, but is promptly cut off by the sickening crunch of zhongli’s fist connecting with his jaw.

your attacker is sent staggering to the floor as you sit up and gasp for air, gulping down whatever you could manage.

zhongli is quick to help ease you onto the nearby wall with gentle hands before planting an apologetic kiss to your forehead. he stands, then, and makes his deliberate way to the man still stunned on the stone floor.

in the blink of an eye zhongli grips and hangs the agent by his collar so that his feet are dangling in the air.

tilting his head around enough so that you could hear the words ominously leaving his mouth, but not enough to see his face, he warns,

"look away, dearest. this could become… rather unsightly."

kaeya

“i’m afraid i’m going to have to cut this night short, boys,” kaeya announces as he takes one final swig of the dandelion wine he was nursing.

the tavern erupts into a chorus of disappointed groans coming from the knights who were currently enjoying their friday evening.

a cacophony of “but captain!” and “just another drink!” filled the cosy building and diluc, who unfortunately was manning the bar that night, could only sigh in mild annoyance.

the man who the soldiers call captain chuckles at their obvious despondency as he stands and makes his way towards the tavern’s door.

“got somebody waiting for you, captain?” asks one of the younger knights.

kaeya watches with a small smile on his face as the older knights nudge the younger’s shoulder suggestively, others shaking their head and huffing in lighthearted jealousy.

“you could say something like that,” is all kaeya says before he wades out of the tavern and into the streets of the city.

he makes note of all the people still out enjoying their evening and surmises that he isn’t too late to see you yet. you should be up in your little apartment right about now, reading a book or finishing off paperwork, waiting for him to return home to you.

kaeya’s smile widens at this. it felt so nice, so right, to once again have someone he could come home to. it had been far too long since he’s felt that sense of belonging, and it’s gives him that extra bit of motivation to finish work early so that he’d have more time to spend with you.

on his way, kaeya decides to visit marjorie’s shop to buy you a little gift. there was no special occasion, but kaeya loved to spoil you silly if only to watch emotions paint your face in pretty colours.

he smiles subconsciously at this. what expression would you wear today, he muses as he picks up a little crystal bird attached to a pretty golden chain.

would you be happy? flustered? hit him on the chest and retort that he was spoiling you rotten?

either way, kaeya wanted to see your reaction no matter what it would be.

quickly he payed marjorie a hefty some of mora, leaving the shop before she could even begin to protest that he gave too much, and continued his way home with an extra pep in his step.

the young man began to entertain the idea of running you both a romantic bath when the sudden commotion of people fighting caught his attention.

must be a couple of drunkards, was what he originally thought. after all, it was a friday night which meant that most people would be off their jobs and spending their time at one of the many taverns in mond.

this idea was thrown out the window, however, as soon as he caught sight of a familiar tuft of air in a random lady’s grasp. kaeya’s brows scrunched as he jogged his way over to check what all the fuss was about.

unfortunately, you were not at home reading a book or finishing off paperwork.

you were right in front of him; currently in a heated fist fight with a woman he did not know, trying to fend her off as best as you could. several onlookers fled the scene whilst some others cheered the fight on, and the sight only served to anger the captain.

kaeya ran straight towards your direction in an attempt to save you from whatever situation you were in.

“you ruined everything!” he could hear the woman screeching who was trying beat you to a pulp.

this just confused you further as you tried your best to free your hair from her vice grip.

“what the hell are you talking about—?!” you exclaimed, not knowing where all her rage was coming from.

but this only seemed to edge her on more. “don’t play dumb with me, you little whore!”

and it was at this defilement of your name, coupled with the fact that she was attempting to harm you, did kaeya make a full sprint towards you, jaws clenched and eyes blazing.

as you twisted and turned to free yourself, a flash of blue made it into your peripherals and you let out a sigh of relief seeing the familiar man sprinting towards you.

but something sends a chill straight down your spine.

kaeya wears the same catty smile but his eyes, you barely notice from your position, are sharp as daggers. sharp as the loyal sword strapped to his hip.

if your vision wasn't so blurred from the instinctive tears sitting at your lower lash line, you'd be able to make out the cloud of frost emitting out from kaeya's being.

the air you breathe in feels icy and you can’t tell whether the shiver that just shot through you was due to your fear or the sudden drop in temperature.

it seems that your attacker is just as stunned as you are if the gasp that she just let out meant anything. the pressure from the base of your scalp dissipated as the woman caught sight of none other than kaeya alberich- as if trying to hide the fact that she was just mercilessly beating you.

she stutters immediately, caught red handed.

“s-sir kaeya—!”

a glare fatal enough to kill is cast her way.

"my, my... causing discord within the streets of mondstadt? I'd keep my hands to myself if i were you,” kaeya begins with authority before a threatening lilt finds its way into his tone.

��unless, of course... you have no need for them?”

suffice to say, the woman fled the scene before you could even collect your bearings.

familiar hands tilted your chin up to meet kaeya’s face as he smoothed your hair back in place, inspecting your body for any more signs of injuries.

it was all you could do to slump into his hold like a rag-doll, thoroughly exhausted from the events.

“come,” kaeya coaxes into your hair as he lifts you into his arms, one under your back and one under your knees. he plants several apologetic kisses to your hairline before placing on right in between your brows.

“let’s get back home, okay?”

published on 12/04/22

[v-anserra]

Chaorene quotes/moments that inexplicably give me Gwynriel vibes (pt. 1 maybe??)

It was her eyes that Chaol noticed first. She likely stopped people dead in the street with those eyes, a vibrant golden brown that seemed lit from within. Her hair was a heavy fall of rich browns amid flashes of dark gold, curling slightly at the ends that brushed her narrow waist. She moved with a nimble grace, her feet—clad in practical black slippers—swift and unfaltering as she crossed the room, either not noticing or caring about the ornate furnishings. Young, perhaps a year or two older than twenty. But those eyes… they were far older than that. (CHAPTER 5)

Oh, she certainly had some fight in her, this Yrene Towers from Fenharrow. Chaol held her stare, the challenge in it. Yrene only snorted. (CHAPTER 5)

Yrene laughed, and the sound… Beautiful as the sound was, it was nothing like the smile on her face. The delight. He’d never seen a face so lovely. (CHAPTER 20)

Yet Yrene wrapped her arms around herself and said, “I feel safer here.” Chaol tried not to blink at her. At the words. With him. She felt safer here with him. (CHAPTER 28)

They talked as they dined, Yrene explaining her initial months at the Torre, and how demanding her training had been. Then she’d asked about his training as captain, and he’d balked—balked at talking of Brullo and the others, and yet… He couldn’t refuse her joy, her curiosity. [...] So they talked, and ate, and when they finished, he escorted her to the glowing white walls of the Torre. Yrene herself seemed glowing as she smiled when they stopped within the gates while his horse was readied. (CHAPTER 32)

“Thank you for tonight,” Chaol said, stifling what tried to leap off his tongue: I can’t take my eyes off you. [...] “Good night,” he merely said. And as Chaol rode back to the illuminated palace across the city, he could have sworn that some weight in his chest, on his shoulders, had vanished. As if he’d lived with it his entire life, unaware, and now, even with all that gathered around him, around Adarlan and those he cared for… How strange it felt. That lightness.” (CHAPTER 32)

Nesryn would return tomorrow. And though nothing—nothing—had happened between Yrene and Chaol… Yrene could not stop the sensation of her chest caving in. Couldn’t halt the sense that there was about to be a door very permanently slammed in her face. They hadn’t spoken of Nesryn. Of whatever was between them. And he’d never touched Yrene more than was necessary, never looked at her as he had that night of the party. Because of course—of course he was waiting for Nesryn. The woman he… he was loyal to. Yrene made herself eat another bite, even as the fish turned sour in her mouth. Fool. She was a fool, and— (CHAPTER 36)

Yrene backed away another step. “Please,” he said. But she was heading for the door. And if she left… He had let them all go. Had walked out himself, too, but with Aelin, with Dorian, with Nesryn, he had let them go, and he had not gone after them. But that woman backing toward the door, trying to keep the tears from falling—tears from the hurt he’d caused her, tears of the anger he so rightfully deserved— She reached the handle. Fumbled blindly for it. And if she left, if he let her walk out... Yrene pushed down on the handle. And Chaol took a step toward her. [...] Chaol did not think. There was only Yrene, and her hand on the doorknob, and the tears in her furious, lovely eyes. The most beautiful he’d ever seen. They widened as he took that step toward her. As he lurched and swayed. But he managed another. (CHAPTER 38/39)

Yrene’s eyes were still bright with those tears he’d caused. One still clung to her cheek. Chaol wiped it away. Another one he found down by her jaw. He didn’t understand—how she could be so delicate, so small, when she had overturned his life entirely. Worked miracles with those hands and that soul, this woman who had crossed mountains and seas. She was trembling. Not with fear, not as she looked up at him. And it was only when Yrene settled her hand on his chest, not to push him away but to feel the raging, thunderous heartbeat beneath, that Chaol lowered his head and kissed her. (CHAPTER 39)

His. She was his, and he had never had anything he could call such. Wanted to call such. (CHAPTER 45)

It broke her, and unmade her, and rebirthed her. Sprawled over Chaol’s chest hours later, listening to the thump of his heartbeat, Yrene still did not have words for what had passed between them. Not the physical joining, not the repeated bouts of it, but simply the sense of him. Of belonging. (CHAPTER 46)

Hers. He was hers, Yrene wanted to crow at them. This beautiful, brave, selfless man—he was hers. And she was going home with him. (CHAPTER 60)

“I wanted to heal you,” she breathed. “You did,” he said, smiling. “Yrene, in every way that truly matters… You did.” (CHAPTER 64)

He’d continued, And this bond between us, Yrene… it changes nothing. With you and me. You’ll need your own space; I’ll need mine. So if you think for one moment that you’re going to get away with flimsy excuses for never leaving my side— She’d poked him in the ribs. As if I’ll want to hang around you all day like some lovesick girl! Chaol had laughed, tucking her in tighter. But Yrene had only patted his arm and said, And I think you can take care of yourself just fine. He’d just kissed her brow again. And that had been that. (CHAPTER 64)

[maggicktouched]

@shadowselved

Breaking the barrier spell around the city had been hard. There was a long, ugly residue burn from the backlash of the spell that carved jagged lines from her elbow all the way down to her finger tips along her inner arm, but she’d learned to heal burns like that at a young age. Flesh could heal, but freedom was priceless. Especially as Fenris’ plans for domination grew so wild and reckless. If she didn’t as much space between them as possible before he cemented this insane alliance with the off-worlders, she was afraid she’d never get another chance.

She was alone out in the wilderness; her familiars had managed to evade capture, and even though it caused her physical pain, she was glad they were far off and safe. She had shifted into her horse form for a while, running at an impossible speed on silver-sparking hooves, cutting through the undergrowth, bounding over logs, and it had gotten her a good distance away, but the smell of smoke and burning metal had prompted her to shift back. The change made her injury even worse, and it would have made much more sense to avoid it---to bolt the other way and not look back... But there she was, on the edge of a freshly, violently made clearing, staring through a plume of black machine smoke.

“Hello?” She didn’t know what else to say. The metal of the flying machine was twisted and melting, likely a reaction to the wards that surrounded the planet. Her hair stood on edge as she rounded its broken wing, everything within her telling her to run, but her feet did not obey. She thought she could just barely make out a figure among the wreckage. “Can---can you hear me? Are you ok?”

[corner-stories]

for it isn't a dream (not a dream after all)

Calem. Serena.

Love At First Sight. Origin Stories. Impoverished Patricians.

19th Century Period Drama But Make It Pokemon.

13123 words

(ao3.)

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(in my life)

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Calem Bellamy-Beaufort had been born from diamonds, but raised in the dirt.

At birth he was named Baron Calem Xavier Trevelyan — his middle name representing his paternal grandfather who had earned a war fought generations ago, his surname representing the Galarian Viscount that was his father. Said Viscount had won over Calem’s Baroness mother on an endless wave of charm, promising a life of wealth and prosperity if they started a life together.

Had Calem’s mother knew what the deceitful nobleman truly had in store for her, she would have never let him into her world. Viscount Trevelyan had drained the Bellamy-Beaufort fortune, squandering the riches on horses and wine and women despite the wellbeing of his wife and child being at stake. Nowadays Kalos did not recognize the title of Baroness Bellamy-Beaufort, especially after her husband abandoned her and her four-year-old son to join his lover back in Wyndon. The impact of his actions had been enough to sully the Bellamy-Beaufort name, causing his once affluent wife and child to live in squalor.

As a result, Calem has few memories of his father. He only knows that the peaceful life he used to live in Camphrier Town had suddenly ended when his mother sold all her belongings and moved them to a desolate shack outside of Coumarine City. He was too young to comprehend what exactly his father had done, only that all the shouting matches between his parents had culminated in the man leaving and his mother breaking down in heavy tears.

From the moment Calem could walk, he began to work. Before he could read, he learned to shine shoes, usually cleaning the boots of soldiers and brogues of noblemen. His efforts had earned him enough francs for food as well as the affectionate nickname “Xav” amongst the troopers stationed near Coumarine. He earned coins by selling newspapers to the citizens of the city. He would stand on street corners with a paper in hand, giving out news of Kalosian Lords and Dukes as if he was never one of them in the first place. His mother took up honest work in a manor, where she served those who turned their noses at her and would never even think that the scullery maid ever lived a life amongst the diamonds.

At the age of thirteen, Calem had decided that his future resided in the heart of Kalos. The stories of the great city of Lumiose had clouded his mind and refused to leave. He did not even know exactly what he wanted to do with his life, just that the key to his life resided in the city of lifes. All he needed to do was actually make the move to discover that dream. His mother told him to stay with her, as she believed otherwise and that his future was by her side, but Calem persisted until his mother gave in. All young boys left home eventually, she just didn’t think that it would happen so soon.

To fund his move, he began working harder — selling more papers, shining more shoes, and even taking up work at a nearby Skiddo ranch to earn extra francs.

Calem went from a quiet little boy who shined shoes in street corners to a tall, admirable young man. His hair was black like the night’s inky skies, his face was sharper than the blade of a soldier’s sabre, and his eyes were blue like the water off the Ambrette coast. In another life where the world would acknowledge him as the handsome young Baron of Rivière Walk, he would have made strides within the Kalosian ballrooms and could have attracted many pairs of eyes to his angelically handsome face.

He left at age fifteen and never looked back. He kept his mother in his heart and sent letters to her as often as he could. He promised her that he would send a small percentage of his earnings, praying to Arceus that it would somehow keep her afloat.

Calem was not formally educated, but he could read and write and his arms and legs were as strong from his years of physical labour. He first found work at a shoe shining stand near Lumiose Station, occasionally playing with the napping Skiddo between shines. Six months later, his employer let him go due to the Kalos monarchy’s insistence that its citizens pay even more taxes. That left Calem to find work as a courier, where he would travel the city delivering packages and messages to Lumiose’s countless citizens and visitors.

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A year into his stay in the city of lights, Calem comes across something digging through the garbage in the alley behind his apartment. Despite his muscles aching from a long day of work, his curiosity gets the best of him and he approaches the rummaging stranger.

After getting closer, he discovers that the thing rifling through food scraps and broken furniture is a little creature no taller than his knee. Its body is brown, but the claws on its feet are pale white and the spikes on its head are green. Calem is taken aback, as he has never seen a creature like this before — it differs greatly from the Skiddo and Gogoat he had grown up around.

Eventually, the tiny creature stops rifling through the pile of trash and looks up at Calem — its eyes are black and beady and frightened. It shows fear in the presence of a person who means no harm.

Calem acts on his first instinct.

“Hungry?” he asks. He reaches to his satchel and pulls out a half-eaten loaf of bread, a tip granted to him from a particularly happy client. The bread is unlike the soft and buttery brioche given to the more fortunate, but the few bites Calem has taken has given him enough strength for the day and he no longer needs it.

So Calem kneels to the ground, holding the bun out to the little creature with green spikes on its head.

“There is nothing good in the garbage,” he explains. “That’s for sure.

Curiously, the creature takes a few steps towards Calem and sniffs the bread curiously. Before he knows it, the creature starts nibbling on the loaf. Judging by its reaction, the bread is clearly more desirable than the rotten cheese and veggie scraps in the trash.

An hour later Calem has brought the creature into his minuscule apartment — a living space that only really has room for a cot, a desk, and a stove. He has nothing else of value on him but a few borrowed books, a stack of stationary, the blue overcoat his mother had given him before he left, and a little bit of food to get him through his days. He lets the little creature have some grapes and cheese while he reads his books, attempting some research to better understand the situation. After flipping through enough notes written by men more brilliant than him, Calem finds some information on the creature in his room.

Its official name is Chespin — the green spikes on its head are soft but when flexed grow hard enough to pierce a rock, its curious tendencies get it into trouble, its optimistic nature makes it an uplifting partner creature for anyone to have.

It takes no time before Calem decides to keep it.

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(she has burst like the music of angels, the light of the sun)

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On an autumn’s day, Calem is seventeen. The soles of his well-worn boots slap the cobblestones as he heads towards Jaune Plaza. At his feet is a never-ending ball of energy that refuses to stay down, yet Calem absolutely loves it to pieces. At one point, Chespin climbs up the tails of Calem’s coat and perches on the young man’s shoulders, garnering a soft smile from his master.

“The view must be better from up here, is it?” he says.

The two walk south on Hibernal Avenue, where the whole street is aglow with citizens and creatures. Locals argue with food vendors, tax collectors roam around alongside their fearsome Houndoom for protection, and scholars walk upon the cobblestones with a vacant pondering in their eyes.

Calem passes by the more well-dressed men who walk alongside well-groomed Furfrou and pampered Pyroar. In his heart, he knows that they would never look twice at a young man like him, with his ratty blue overcoat and scuffed boots. Yet somehow, Calem finds himself listening in on their conversation. For all the disdain they may show him, his curiosity persists.

He hears the two men talk of books and writings that are only valuable to those who can afford it. They are too old to be students, so he guesses that they are perhaps professors, maybe of medicine or art or breeding of the creatures that surround them in this world.

Soon enough, the two wealthy men pass him by. Like the young man had suspected, they do not look at him twice.

Calem then hears the sound of splashing.

He glances across the street to see another creature running amok — this one is short, blue, has a cape of bubbles hanging off the back of its neck, and owns a pair of bright yellow eyes that crinkle as it smiles. The creature currently splashes about in a puddle, rolling around as if it were an infant just learning how to move. Calem can’t help but stop and watch it go — he’s never seen a creature like that before.

“Froakie, you silly thing!” says a voice.

The creature rolls out of the puddle and shakes the water off its skin. Using its skinny legs, it hops over to the bottom end of a dress skirt and leaps into the arms of the wearer.

Then Calem sees her.

Her hair is golden blonde and sways in the wind, her eyes grey like steel, and her smile as she holds her creature is absolutely delightful. She wears an immaculate black dress and ornate hat in a scarlet hue, something that could seem so common yet makes her stand out like she’s the only person on the street.

Like a fool, Calem can only stand there and stare. To say that she looks beautiful is an absolute understatement. His heart beats faster than a star falling from the sky, his world feels like it’s spinning around.

Then she looks up.

The stranger’s eyes meet his. They widen slightly just like his as she takes him in from across the street. As she holds her creature in her arms, her mouth is open but still, as if she’s looking for the words but does not know what to say. Calem doesn’t know what parts of him make her look at him that way, but he doesn’t question it.

The two make no sound as the world of Hibernal Avenue moves around them like a clock.

An older man then taps the young woman’s shoulder. Just like her she is very well dressed with a spotless tailored coat and a top hat that makes him look rather tall. She looks to him as one would to a father and he motions for them to go down the street. She nods politely and follows, giving Calem one more longing glance before disappearing into an alleyway.

But as she walks, Calem notices something falling from her person, an item seemingly slipping out of the basket she carries.

Acting indifferent to his own rationale, Calem takes a few steps forward. He arrives at the spot of the dropped item and picks up, soon learning that it is nothing more than a simple white handkerchief. With the little cloth now in his hands, he looks down the alleyway in search of the girl with the golden hair.

But to his despair, she’s gone.

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Calem meets arrives at a Jaune Plaza Cafe, a small establishment that sells things like ale and wine and a stew that is rather palpable as long as one doesn’t question what’s in it. He finds his friends sitting at a table in the corner and takes the empty chair on the right. Chespin then hops off his shoulder and decides to sit on his master’s lap.

His friends do not press as to why he arrived late and continue their conversation like nothing has changed. As Calem orders a meal, he hears one of his more talkative friends tell an amusing tale.

Shauna Jan is a short girl of only fifteen, her eyes are bright green and her hair is deep brown and long enough that it goes to her waist. When she speaks, she always does so with a happy spirit to her high-pitched voice. When she smiles, her eyes get small and crinkle at the corners. She works at an Inn in South Boulevard, an establishment run by her parents that is a far cry from Hotel Richissime, but known to the common-folk as a safe place to stay in such an unpredictable city. Her partner creature is a chipper little thing called a Skitty, which prefers to nap near its master’s feet as opposed to doing anything else. She currently tells a tale of an incident earlier today where she caught a customer trying to pilfer some wine bottles that he did not pay for. Calem listens and learns that Shauna got to chase the man away with a broom, something her father was rather proud of her for doing.

The story garners a laugh from Calem and his other two friends. Sitting beside Shauna is Tierno Todaro, a paunchy seventeen-year-old who loves life as much as he loves a good waltz or schottische. With a grin, he puts an arm around Shauna and congratulates her for a job well done. He then goes on to say that his job — a sanitation position at a shop on Hibernal Avenue — is not remotely as interesting. The most amusing thing he sees is rich merchants and scholars roaming the streets all day, as if their lives are so unfulfilling that they must walk around the common folk to feel alive again. Even his own partner, a clawed creature referred to as a Corphish, gets more out of its own existence than the wealthy.

When Tierno expresses his thoughts on scholars, Calem looks over to the more silent friend of the group, the shy and brainy Trevor Pascal, a young fifteen-year-old who is shorter than Shauna and has a head of bright orange hair. He is the quietest friend of the group, but that is only because he does not speak unless he sees it necessary. He’s a boy who dreams of studying Pokemon and prays that his job selling newspapers will somehow fund it. Knowing that it is Trevor’s goal to become a scholar, Calem wonders if the boy will say anything in the event of Tierno’s comments about them, but upon glancing over he only sees Trevor with his eyes glued to the pages of a book. Even his partner Flabebe seems more interested in reading than paying attention to anything else.

Calem and Trevor’s dreams are awfully similar, the only difference being that Calem simply wants to discover what other creatures the world has to hold, whereas Trevor is content with studying what humanity has already found.

The friends continue to talk about their current lives. As the conversation goes on, Calem feasts on a bowl of stew — or as Shauna likes to call it: brown mush. The taste in question is rather unremarkable, but it’s something Calem looks forward to after a day of work. It’s his usual meal when he doesn’t have any extra coin on him, meaning that he eats it quite often. Despite the dubious origins of the stew’s meat and vegetables, it has kept him alive for this long and his stomach has yet to reject it. Even his Chespin doesn’t refuse it when Calem offers up a spoonful to his partner.

As the friends talk, Calem stirs the brown mush boredly as the sound of his companions and the cafe’s other patrons turns into plain ambiance against his ears.

“Calem?” says Tierno’s voice.

He does not hear him the first time.

“Calem!” Tierno’s voice says once more. He reaches over and taps his friend’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with you today? You’re not usually this silent.”

“Have some wine,” Shauna suggests, motioning to the bottle in the middle of the table. “Tell us what’s going on.”

Calem glances up and meets his friend’s gazes with his own. Even the shy Trevor looks worried for him.

“I had a long day,” he tries. He pats his Chespin on his lap, as the little one has started to nap. “We went all over the city searching for one customer.”

His friends nod along. They understand his job, as it’s a hair more physically more involved than their own. He spends his days running across the streets of Lumiose with packages or messages in his satchel. People call on him to deliver because they know he’s fast and dependable. When they need an object or letter sent inside city lines, the citizens of Lumiose simply call for the boy with the blue coat and the head of dark hair.

Today was no different, as it took Calem and Chespin hours to track down a man named Clemont Charpentier, an apparent inventor who dreams of making mechanisms to improve humanity’s life among the fantastical creatures.

Calem tells the tale and hopes that it will be enough for his friends. His better judgement tells him that they do not need to know of who he saw today, and how in a single moment, his entire world felt as if it had changed.

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Throughout history, the strange creatures that inhabit the world — despite all their differences — had one shared trait: an eagerness to fight. So in the basement of the Jauna Plaza Cafe is an illicit operation, a tournament of sorts where people put their partner creatures against others. What started as a form of entertainment for the commonfolk evolved into a game for people to play in order to show off the strengths of their creatures. Tournaments like this were popular with the more wealthy folk, but are nigh impossible for a working person to spectate, let alone participate.

Despite his young age, Calem has built a reputation for himself in the basement of the cafe. Every week, he and his Chespin will see what opponent they can take on. The first had been a man with a creature called a Litleo, another had been against a winged being called a Noibat, and the most memorable was against a bulky pink beast referred to as an Audino. Those who do not know him as the messenger boy in the blue coat know him as the one commanding the mighty Chespin to victory. Although he gets mere coins for his fights, Calem accepts any winnings in stride and tucks them deep into his pockets.

Tonight is no exception, as after the meal, he and his friends head down to the basement where a world of competitors awaits him. Tonight he and Chespin go against a creature they have never seen before. The opposing creature’s master calls it an Azumarill and despite its stubby legs and floppy blue ears, it proves to pack quite the punch.

But Calem and Chespin persevere. In the cramped walls of the cafe basement with a crowd of people cheering them on, Calem and Chespin ride on a wave to victory. Calem fights as if he is a soldier and keeps up a sense of honour as if his family’s title had never been sullied.

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…

…

Night comes and Calem walks Shauna to her home on South Boulevard. Skitty and Chespin walk in front of them like guards in Parfum Palace. Calem keeps his hands in his coat pockets as Shauna leads the way and proceeds to chat his ears off. They walk down the street and pass a street performer, a young girl no older than ten who sings a wistful song for the citizens of Kalos to drop coins into her tattered brown hat.

Lumiose is always dreary at night, a harsh contrast to the lively city it becomes during the day. What once was a bustling metropolis feels like the depths of the desolate woods once the citizens retreat indoors. The street lamps can only do so much to let the life of the streets survive.

Calem cares for Shauna like one would a little sister. He protects her like a young Pancham that has only been brought into this world. He watches over her like any big brother would.

It helps that she knows of his past, knows why he has come to Lumiose, and knows why a child with a double-barreled surname like his has been taking up work as a lowly courier in a tattered coat. She knows that his mother gave her own name in order to avoid any association with his bastard of a father.

“Calem, what’s wrong with you?” Shauna suddenly asks.

He blinks, then eyes his friend as they continue to walk. “What do you mean?”

“You’re still lost in that haze,” Shauna says and she knows she’s right. “What’s really wrong with you today?”

Calem sighs and digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He knows that Shauna will simply press even more in any attempt to hide. Most people see Shauna’s excitable and impatient nature and assume she is not as bright as her disposition, but those people would be very surprised to discover just how good she is at getting secrets out of a person. The Kalosian Army would make a good spy out of her.

“Promise you won’t tell the others?”

Shauna puts her hand on her heart. “Not a soul.”

“I saw a girl today,” Calem explains. He tries to remain calm as if his words mean nothing at all.

Shauna begins grinning like a fool. “Was she pretty?”

“She was…” Calem starts, but then struggles to continue. “She was a girl I have never seen before.”

He thinks back and tries to remember the face of the girl, from her long flowing hair to the wistful look in her pretty eyes. He tries to recall if he had ever delivered letters to either her or the older man who appeared to be her father. For the life of him, he can’t remember a thing.

“I only saw her for a minute there,” Calem tells Shauna. “And she was gone.”

Shauna lets out a laugh of disbelief. “Good Arceus, is Calem Bellamy-Beaufort in love at last?”

Calem eyes her quizzically. “What do you mean by that?”

“She must have been heavenly to have caught your eye,” Shauna suggests, motioning forward to Chespin and Skitty in front of them. “Tierno says that you carry yourself like you’ve never seen a woman in your life.”

He scoffs and sharply says, “That’s absolutely preposterous, my mother raised me.”

Shauna lets out a laugh and Calem finds himself smiling. He avoids her gaze and looks down to the Lumiose cobblestones. “That girl though, she wore a black dress and a red hat… and I may never see her again.”

“A love story for the ages,” Shauna comments in a playful voice. With a cheeky grin, she strides forward and leads the two on their way down the streets.

When they get to South Boulevard, Shauna asks Calem a simple question.

“Can you tell Tierno I won’t be able to make it next week?”

Calem nods his head. “Are you busy?”

“I have to take some extra shifts,” she says in a tone that’s less bright than her usual voice.

Concerned, Calem begs another question: “Is something wrong?”

Shauna looks down. “My mother has fallen ill. Father needs me to cover more shifts so we can afford medicine.”

To see Shauna looking so downtrodden is strange. She may very well be the most cheerful person that Calem knows, yet even her sunshine demeanor is susceptible to the reality she exists in.

Calem starts to think, which causes eyebrows to knit. As he and Shauna get closer to her family inn, a choice dances in his head. He turns to Shauna and looks her in the eye.

“How much money do you need?”

Shauna blinks. “What?”

“How much does the medicine cost?” Calem tries again. He turns to her and speaks with conviction in his voice. “I can cover it.”

Shauna shakes her head. “Calem, I cannot take anything from you.”

Calem stops walking and begins digging through his pockets. He pulls out some coins and a single banknote. It’s nothing compared to the fortune his father gambled away, but he holds it to Shauna like it’s fit for a king.

“You can pay me back later,” he says. “Shauna, I trust you.”

Shauna looks hesitant as she eyes the money. Eventually, she starts counting in her head, then takes most of the coins that her friend holds. She counts the coins with the same unsure look in her eyes. Once she’s done, she looks up to meet her friend’s gaze. Although she still looks uneasy, she says:

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Calem says, nodding his head.

“I shall pay you back as soon as I can,” Shauna promises. “If there is anything I can do for you now, please tell me.”

For a second, Calem thinks. He then says the first thing on his mind. “Actually… is there someone you can find for me?”

…

…

…

Calem’s apartment is a hole in a wall in the otherwise vast city of Lumiose. For all the city’s talk about beauty, the accommodations for the commonfolk were often dingy and infested with small creatures they referred to as Dedenne. Calem’s place in particular is cramped and constricting, but it’s enough for him and his partner.

When Calem returns to his abode, his Chespin is absolutely exhausted. He removes his coat as his partner creature stumbles through the room and hops onto the bed.

Calem wastes no time in finding the loose floorboard by his bed and lifts it up, revealing his hiding place with all of his valuable belongings, like his life savings and the wedding ring that his mother told him to save for an important occasion. He empties his pockets and places the money that he has next to the rest. He then replaces the floorboard back over his valuables.

As his Chespin naps, Calem goes to his writing desk, procures a piece of paper and a pen and writes a letter to his mother apologizing for not being able to send funds this month.

…

…

…

(tell me child, what is your name?)

…

…

…

Serena Johanssen was born in the dirt, but raised among diamonds. Nowadays she lived a happy life under the loving eyes of Augustine Sycamore, a scholar who had taken under his wing and loved her like they were father and daughter.

Of course, Sycamore wasn’t her actual father. While their eyes were the same shade of grey, her hair was bright like honey, his was dark like a shadow. Her smile was soft and gentle, his was charming and alluring. She spent her days reading stories and reports from lands beyond the city, he spent his days researching and studying. But that did not matter. They might as well have been related by blood because Sycamore raised her like she was his own.

They had met years ago outside of Lumiose, at a time of Serena’s life that was very unlike the way it was now.

For as long as Serena could remember, she was not like the other girls she knew. Instead of having ribbons to tie in her hair, she had shoes so thin that her little toes would turn red in the cold. Instead of having a loving Mama or Papa, she was watched over by the owners of the Dendemille Inn, a husband and wife who had taken her from a children’s home and promised her shelter as long as she did what she was told.

Serena could not remember her life before, even the supposed memory of her living amongst other orphans and street rats felt fuzzy in her head. All she could ever really acknowledge was that despite Kalos being a region of beauty, Dendemille was a city under constant cover of clouds. Even if snow would not descend from the frigid skies, the ground would be cold.

Sometimes Serena asked her caretakers where she had been before she had been placed in the children’s home. What they told her was that they were actually old friends of her Mama, that connection being the reason they were able to adopt her and have her live in the Inn. When Serena asked about her Mama, her caretakers would never answer beyond giving her name, which was Grace.

Serena’s days were often cold, but the nights were even colder — during evenings where she would sweep and scrub every corner of the Inn with her tiny hands, she would huddle near the hearth of the fireplace in a desperate bid to bask in the remaining warmth of the embers. Her meals consisted of a thin gruel that was varying shades of grey and brown but mostly grey.

Sometimes Serena would let herself dream. There was a shop in Dendemille with an open window, and in that window was a doll clad in a pretty pink dress and blue bow. Its hair was tied in a braid and its feet were small, just like hers. She dreamed that maybe one day if she saved enough coins from Inn guests, she would be able to buy the doll for herself. At the very least, she would have a friend with her while she slept at night.

On a winter’s evening when Serena was eight, the Inn was exceedingly crowded. Travellers from near and far had gathered in the main tavern to eat the food her caretakers provided, that being a bowl of stew with meat of a questionable origin and a cup of wine diluted with liquid of a questionable origin. Serena walked around the tavern, gathering dirty dishes as the guests around her told tales of adventures from far away. Serena often liked working on nights like this because she could eavesdrop on conversations from the travellers, then later on as she slept on the hay in the stables, she would dream about the stories she heard. The travellers often spoke of creatures she could never even imagine — dragon-like beings that could circle the globe in one second, long serpentine beasts with flesh of stone and steel, large avians that could soar through the sky.

At one point of the evening, Serena’s caretaker pulled her aside, reaching into her dress pockets for extra coins. The wife of the Inn ordered her to get some water from the well, which anyone would have abhorred on a freezing night like this, let alone a small child.

But she couldn’t say no — or risk the firm hand of the husband of the Inn — so barefoot in the snow Serena grasped a bucket in her hand as she headed up north to a place colder than the town, a cavern of frost that not even the locals ventured into.

The world around Serena was cold, yet as she trudged through the snow, she knew she was not alone. The creatures she found up in the woods were not as fantastical or viscous as the ones she heard of from the mouths of travellers, but they were no less sentient and alive. As Serena fished up a bucket of water from the well, a small horde of ice creatures surrounded her. She had seen some of them before — a few little white bears with runny noses, short pink birds with yellow hair and an adorable waddling gait, and the most peculiar of them all, a seemingly sentient chunk of ice with purple around their bright eyes.

Serena called these creatures her friends because she had no one else. Not even the people who were supposed to act like a Mama and Papa to her. She sang sweet soft melodies to them as she did not know any real songs, but they listened and appeared to be enjoying it as they gathered around the little girl by the well.

Then suddenly in the midst of the night, Serena saw a figure walking in the dark. One of the bears with the runny noses alerted her, and when she saw the person walking she gasped, dropped her bucket beside the well, and hid behind the closest tree she could find. Her creature friends fled as well, scattering back into the woods.

“Fear not, I mean no harm!” said the voice of the stranger. He took a few more steps, the moonlight illuminating his face. He wore a clean, fancy coat that reminded Serena of the richer travellers that would stay at the Inn, as well as a pristine top hat that only exuded the idea of wealth. Even if this man was not as rich as he dressed, he could still afford many comforts.

Serena stayed hidden behind the tree, peeking out just in time to see the man removing his hat, a sign of respect if she ever knew one.

“Bonsoir, my name is Augustine Sycamore,” he told her in a soft voice. He knelt down to her, yet kept a good distance away. His eyes were unlike the ones she was used to, soft, gentle, and inviting. “You can call me Gus. Tell me, Child, what is your name?”

“I am called Serena,” she told him.

Augustine smiled, then noticed her bucket on the ground by the well. “That looks very heavy, Serena. Would you like me to help?”

“You do not look very strong, Monsieur,” Serena said, still hiding behind the tree.

The gentleman laughed. “Oh my, what an honest child you are. It’s nothing I cannot handle, though.”

Serena thought for a few seconds, then stepped away from the tree. Together with Augustine, they fetched a bucket of water from the well, then with one hand on the handle and the other around hers, escorted her back to Dendemille Town. Although they were strangers, Augustine was warm — the way he looked at her made Serena think of the Papa or Mama she had been dreaming off her whole life.

When they got back to Dendemille, Serena showed Augustine some of her favourite parts of the place because he would listen — like the street lamp that glows the brightest even in the late of night or the doll in the shop window she would always look at.

Then as they approached the Inn, Augustine looked down to Serena and put on a more serious face. “Now, Serena, listen close to what I have to say. I am an old friend of Grace’s.”

“Of Mama’s?”

A soft, but sad smile crept onto Augustine’s lips. “Yes, of your Mama’s.”

A rush of excitement ran through Serena’s heart. “Is she coming to be with me?”

That was when Augustine’s face got more and more dour. He stopped walking, then kneeled down in front of the little one. “Serena, it breaks my heart to say that your Mama is not with us anymore. She is… she is no more.”

Serena went still. Her arms felt like ice colder than the snow in the city. She did not know what to think now and could only look into the eyes of Augustine, the dark pools that almost glistened in the moonlight.

“But in lieu of death, there is space to make life,” said Augustine. “And I promised her that I would take care of you… but only if you, and your caretakers, will let it be.”

Serena thought for a few seconds, then asked curiously, “So you’ll be my Papa?”

“Of course,” Augustine assured. “Like a Papa and a Mama to you. Is that okay?”

And with his hand in hers, he took Serena to the Inn where she lived to talk to her caretakers. Serena did not hear much of the conversation, only that Augustine had a letter from Grace allowing Serena to be with him. He tended to move around the region for work, but had the means to make sure that the little one could be cared for wherever they went. Serena’s caretakers ignored his main intentions and tried to bring him into the Inn for some gruel or watered-down wine, but Augustine refused. Serena sat by the hearth, taking in the last bit of warmth by the fire as the adults spoke. Eventually, she witnessed Augustine nod sternly and pull out a wad of bills from his pocket. He counted off a rather handsome amount of francs, then handed it over to the husband of the Inn.

Then without waiting another second, he made his way to Serena by the fire. He took off his coat and put it over her. “We are to go now, Serena,” he said, taking her hand.

With a nod, Serena stood up and walked with him to the door of the Inn. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of feigned cries from both her caretakers, something that felt as unreal like the creatures she heard about from faraway lands.

Before they left Dendemille, Augustine made use of the time before their carriage arrived. With Serena’s hand in his, he brought her to the store with the doll in the window, handed the old clerk another fraction of the bills in his pocket, and took the pristine doll in his hands. Then immediately, he knelt down to Serena and held it to her.

Serena could only stare in surprise. So many things had happened, some felt as make believe as a dream, yet others reminded her that this was very much real. She looked at the doll, then up to Augustine’s eyes.

“Take it,” he told her in a voice as gentle as a little fall of rain. “It is a gift from me to you.”

With a small smile, Serena took the doll, holding it like it was made of gold. It was heavier and bigger than it looked in the store window, but she held it tight nonetheless. As they waited for their late-night transportation, Serena held the doll close to her like it was her line between life and death. Augustine asked if she wanted to play with it, but she replied that holding it tight to her was playing.

Once the carriage arrived, Augustine carried her on board. His plan was for them to stay at a place in Couriway Town, a settlement known for the gorgeous waterfalls that cascaded off the cliffs. With her new doll in her grasp, Serena leaned her head on Augustine, closing her eyes as she let the gentle lull of the carriage’s wheels put her to sleep.

Her heart felt warm and full of light, the world around her was cold yet somehow she could feel the chill slowly seeping away as she entered her new life. All at once in the midst of the night, Serena finally understood what it was like to be loved.

…

…

…

Years later and Serena is fourteen, yet there is only an echo of the lonely frigid girl she used to be. She proves to be rather tall for her age, rapidly growing from a small underfed child to a young girl rapidly on the path to womanhood. Augustine even jokes that at the current rate she just might become taller than him.

Augustine is not of noble birth, but he is from considerable wealth. His great-grandfather had concocted a formula for a pristine tonic that would bring life to even the baldest of heads and a wax that could tame even the wildest of hairs. After charming a horde of Kalosian nobility with the product’s effectiveness, the Sycamore family had amassed enough wealth to allow Augustine to spend his life travelling throughout Kalos and researching the creatures that live in the region. And of course, his wealth allowed him to keep Serena as safe and as loved as he could. Although Serena is not a Sycamore by name, Augustine makes plans to change her name legally to guarantee her inheritance in the wake of his death.

When Serena is not travelling around with Uncle Gus, she’s being taught by various tutors in as many subjects as possible — literature, latin, arithmetic, calligraphy, history, art, science, and music.

Ever since she learned to read, she had been absorbing the words in the books that Augustine uses for his studies. Each one is full of wonders and sketches of creatures around the Kalos region and beyond. There’s something called a Bunnelby with floppy ears and a coat of short grey hair and there’s another called Dedenne that’s so small that one could fit it in the pocket of their coat.

She cannot help it, there is something exceedingly alluring and fascinating about the creatures. In particular, she comes across a page in a book regarding a trio of green and red and blue. According to the notes scribbled in the margins, the creatures hold abilities connected to grass, fire, and water. The tiny fire fox-like one is said to spout fire from its mouth, the blue frog can leap dozens of feet into the air and generate bubbles at a whim, and the one with the green head can shoot spikes of wood. It’s fascinating to think that creatures like this can live all around the world, but it’s even more fascinating for Serena to acknowledge that they very well may live outside of her window.

One day when Serena and Augustine are staying in Lumiose City in an apartment connected to a gated green garden amongst the sea of cobblestones. After a calligraphy lesson with her tutor, the young girl heads to a lab on South Boulevard where she had planned to meet her Uncle for an afternoon stroll. Upon entering a building made with white marble beams, Serena discovers an unusual sight for such a well-structured place — shards of glass are scattered upon the floor in the foyer. There are a handful of maids cleaning up the mess and they urge her to be careful or risk pricking herself upon the sharp edges.

A confused Serena holds onto the hem of her dress as she dashes through the building, searching around the rooms in a fervent haste. She heads to the second floor and soon finds who she is looking for at a room at the end of the hallway.

It appears to be a library of sorts, as various thick books line the walls. Augustine is standing with a group of other well-dressed men, no doubt the scholars he spent his days studying with. On the ground are more shards of glass, all culminating in a broken window above the highest shelf.

“Uncle! What happened?!” Serena asks with the utmost worrying in her voice. “Were you robbed?”

Augustine takes his eyes away from his notes and looks at his ward. A similar look of fear slips into his gaze. He walks to her, setting his hand on her shoulder and quickly guiding her out of the library.

“Let us speak outside,” he suggests in a soft voice. He takes her out into the hall, where things are more quiet.

Once they are out of the room of scholars, Augustine tells her what he can.

“You can rest assured that we have not been robbed,” he starts. “We simply had an accident, nothing more.”

His words do little to quell Serena’s fear. “What in Yvetal’s hellscape happened in there?”

“I can assure you that no one was harmed,” Augustine continues. His gaze upon her is plagued with intensity, such a vast change from the warm way he usually looks upon her. “We brought some specimens into the lab and they may have… escaped.”

“Exactly what specimens did you bring?” Serena asks, her fear now changing into curiosity.

“Ones in the books that you read so much,” Augustine says. “A Chespin, a Fennekin, as well as a Froakie — fine specimens, they are, such a shame we could not keep them under control.” He places a hand on her shoulder again and plants a kiss upon her forehead, something he had been doing since she was a young girl. “I know I promised you a stroll by the tower, but I must tend to this matter. Perhaps we can meet in an hour?”

Serena shakes her head, then leans in to give him a hug “Do not fret, Uncle. Take as much time as you need. What exactly made the specimens run?”

“I do not remember that well,” Augustine admits. “But you know how some creatures like to fight — we believe that they have taken things a bit too far. The Chespin apparently took some food from the Fennekin and they got a bit… rowdy.” He pats her on the shoulder again, “But this should not bother you, please head home and I shall meet you there.”

Serena nods her head. After Augustine gives her another forehead kiss, he walks back into the messy library to rejoin his colleagues.

Serena leaves the lab with much calmer steps. As she passes by another broken window by the front of the building, she begins to wonder just how far a small trio of tiny creatures could go in a city so vast.

She had read in her favourite books that Chespin liked to live in forests underneath trees, but the closest forest to Lumiose is outside of the city lines. Fennekin enjoyed living in fields, but Lumiose had no such things. Froakie would often make their homes in rivers and lakes and ponds, but the river that ran through the city seemed too touched by man to let nature thrive.

With her bonnet over her head, Serena makes her way back to her and Augustine’s home, an apartment north of Autumnal Avenue. She makes her way through the city streets, passing by merchants and street performers and students. Even under the current circumstances, she appreciates the liveliness of the city. Lumiose had its own heartbeat, very much like a human body made of flesh and blood and bone. Even the imaginary stories she read often spoke about how Lumiose could hold the key to one’s heart.

Serena walks with the wind blowing through the ends of her hair and the hem of her dress. She comes through Bleu Plaza, one of the least crowded plazas of the city. Unusual for the place, there is a group of people huddled around a fountain in the middle of the street. In no time her curiosity gets the best of her and she walks towards the horde, her heart practically begging to find out what’s going on.

In the fountain that has garnered such attention is something that surprises her — playing in the water is a creature with blue skin and large yellow eyes. It is rather small, but its legs are strong and bendy, allowing it to jump in and out of the water with ease. Its hands are white and on the back of its neck are a small collection of white bubbles reminiscent of seafoam.

Serena knows for sure that it is a Froakie. It is much more lively than it could ever be in writing or sketches — it breathes the same air that she does, it lives in the same place she does, and it is made of flesh and blood and bone like she is.

Her gut instinct tells her that the Froakie currently frolicking in the Blue Plaza fountain is one in the same as the one that had escaped a building filled to the brim with scholars. Serena reaches into her satchel and pulls out a slice of pound cake wrapped in old newspaper, something she had bought for her and Augustine but would give to a friend if they really needed it. She breaks off a piece of the sweet treat and holds it out towards the creature in the fountain, ignoring the prying eyes of the Lumiosians around her.

When the Froakie notices her, it is quick to stop hopping about in the water. Its large eyes settle on her with pure intrigue.

“You look like you’ve come a long way, little one,” she greets, giving the adorable creature a smile. “Why don’t you come along with me?”

…

…

…

The rest of the day is filled with Serena dashing through Lumiose City like an explorer on an adventure with a Froakie perched upon her shoulder. She tries to think of where a Fennekin and a Chespin could end up in such a place. She searches through a street lined with vendors, wondering if a little hungry creature would try to steal a bite of food from an unsuspecting merchant.

The little Froakie proves its skill when it hops off Serena’s shoulder, urging her to follow as it heads down South Boulevard. In no time the two come across a Fennekin basking under one of the trees in front of Lumiose Station, bits of bitten twigs scattered around it as it sleeps.

Happily, Serena rewards Froakie with a few more bites of cake and gently scoops the napping Fennekin into her arms. The creature proves to be a heavy sleeper and does not protest.

Serena and Froakie look around even more, wondering if the third missing creature will make itself known. But despite all their efforts to find a wandering Chespin in the city of lights, the two are unable to find a single clue. Serena ends up heading back to the marble building of scholars with only a Froakie on her shoulder and a Fennekin in her arms.

When Serena comes back to the second floor library with a broken window, she is greeted by Uncle Gus and a gaggle of his very surprised colleagues. They thank her dearly for her help, one older scholar in particular smiling like a fool and planting a kiss on her cheek. Uncle Gus pulls her into a hug, smiling at the wit and talent of his young ward.

One bespectacled scholar takes the sleeping Fennekin out of her arms and returns it to its large roomy cage. When another scholar comes back to take the Froakie perched on her shoulder, Serena feels the creature suddenly tightening its grip on her. Its tiny hands grasp onto the material of her dress and bonnet, clearly resisting any intention to drag it away from her.

Augustine is quick to notice the phenomenon in front of him. With an honest smile, he places a hand on his ward’s shoulder and looks his colleague in the eye.

“It’s no use, Marceau,” he says. “I believe Froakie won’t be able to help our research after all — this little one has found its match.”

Marceau looks unsure. “But what are we to do then? Find another water creature in the middle of Lumiose?”

“I shall figure it out,” Augustine assures. He looks at his ward with pride, then gently pets the top of Froakie’s head. “It would break many hearts to know I had to separate two friends.”

Marceau can only sigh, but without further questions he nods his head and leaves Augustine and Serena be. When Augustine looks at his ward, he is quick to see the look of confusion in Serena’s eyes.

“Uncle… I’m not sure what you’re implying,” she says. She reaches up and pulls Froakie off her shoulder to hold the creature in her arms, where it is very happy to be. “Do you want me to take care of this little one for a few days?”

“You can if you want. However, I was implying that you take care of it for a lot longer.”

Serena’s eyes widened in surprise.

“That is, if you want to,” Augustine clarifies. “You would be caring for this one under me, my dear — I can help if you need it.”

With a bright grin on her pretty face, Serena looks at the Froakie in her arms with glee, then looks up to meet her beloved Uncle Gus’s gaze with hopeful eyes and a nod of her head.

…

…

…

(and my life seems to stop as if something is over and something has scarcely begun)

…

…

…

The citizens of the city are caught in a buzz as news regarding King Lysandre V has reached the streets. The beloved leader of the country would be leaving his home in Parfum Palace to spend a week in the city of lights, apparently to learn more about the people he rules over.

Calem believes it to be a load of Skiddo droppings, seeing as that same King lived in luxury as the working-class of Kalos slave for a meger wage, only for said wage to disappear once the tax collectors come around. It is moments like these that make Calem rethink the life he could have had, the one where he would have been so wrapped in a world of opulence that he was blind to the suffering of the people. Sometimes he thinks his family name becoming disgraced is a blessing in disguise.

At the end of a day of delivering gossip-filled letters and fortune-filled packages Calem and Chespin get challenged to a battle in an alleyway. There’s an old Sot from the Jaune Plaza Cafe claiming to have seen Calem in one of the basement battles — the Sot is tall and gaunt, his face tinted light pink after one too many glasses of wine. He approaches Calem with a wobbling gait and a creature that he has never seen before. Its body is pill-like and on its back is a pair of bright pink wings. The Sot calls it a Vivillon and Calem thinks it’s one of the most fascinating creatures he’s ever laid eyes on.

His fascination with a new creature aside, Calem and Chespin accept the challenge and engage in a battle. It becomes quickly evident that some of Chespin’s attacks do not work on the Vivillon. The spikes of green that shoot out of Chespin’s head are nearly worthless against the winged creature. Vivillon releases a shower of sparkling purple powder down onto Chespin, when it graces the bipedal creature’s arm, the poor little one cries out in pain, causing a sudden rush of fear to pulse through Calem’s veins.

The two are forced to find other ways to fight. Chespin proves to have a fighting spirit stronger than a thousand hussars. The creature rolls itself into a ball and bounces off the walls of the alleyway, using its speed to dodge its enemy’s wind and powder attacks. Building momentum, it manages to ram its spinning body directly into Vivillon, sending the two tumbling to the ground with the winged creature taking most of the impact.

With a lively grin on his face, Calem sings the praises of Chespin as the creature rolls back towards its partner and hops onto its feet.

The Sot is left aghast, falling to his knees next to his Vivillon. Calem picks up his Chespin and approaches the drunkard, reaching a hand out to end the battle peacefully. To his surprise, the Sot swats Calem’s hand away. With a look of disgust on his wrinkly face, he throws a handful of coins at Calem and soon leaves the alleyway, picking up his fainted Vivillon as he goes. He bitterly mutters words about challenging Calem to a rematch, vowing to beat him that time, then disappears from sight.

Without a battle to continue, Calem shrugs his shoulders and gathers up the fallen coins. Although battles between creatures is something only done in dark alleyways and basements, a certain kind of etiquette has developed in place — it is expected for the losing person to give the winner some kind of reward, whether it be an extra flagon of frothy ale or a handful of coins or a stomach full of food.

As Calem slips the coins into his pockets, he notices that something is wrong with Chespin. He looks to the little one and cradles it in his arms, asking what may be wrong and checking its every limb for any abnormalities. Soon enough he spots a collection of purple powder sticking to Chespin’s left paw, most definitely a remnant from Vivillon’s attack.

Without hesitation, Calem immediately cancels his plans to meet his friends at the Jaune Plaza Cafe. With Chespin in his arms he rushes directly to his apartment, knowing that time is of the essence if he wants to keep his partner alive.

…

…

…

Between the walls of his small apartment, Calem tends to Chespin. The poor thing’s breathing is laboured and uneasy, its energy sapping away as the moments pass. Calem’s books tell him that his partner has been poisoned, so Calem rifles through his collection of berries until he finds the one that can act as an antidote. After feeding his Chespin a handful of pink fruit, the little one starts to feel better. Its breathing evening out as its strength returns. Calem lets his partner sleep on his bed, covering Chespin with a blanket and patting its head with the gentlest touch.

His heart is beating fast as unknown anxiety pulses through him. Even though Chespin appears to be making some semblance of a recovery, Calem cannot help but fear the worst. He ends up opening a cheap bottle of watered-down wine to calm his nerves, something that stings and burns on the way down but manages to keep him sane. To satiate his own hunger he digs into a bag of apples he has on hand — it had been a gift from a happy client he had met on a delivery job, while Calem decided to use it as food for Chespin it ends up becoming his dinner for the night.

The night drags and Calem keeps himself huddled in his own corner of Lumiose. As Chespin rests, the building’s landlord comes up to the apartment to deliver a letter that had arrived earlier that day. Calem sits on a chair by the open window as he reads the latest update from his mother, his hair a disheveled mess and the upper buttons of his collared shirt remaining undone. Her loopy handwriting tells him of a recent interaction from his father — Viscount Trevelyan had sent a letter all the way from Wyndon asking how his son was. Calem is used to sporadic updates from the man who disgraced the Bellamy-Beaufort name, he no longer has the energy to get emotional over them. His interest is piqued when his mother’s message tells him of an invite to travel to Galar, as the Viscount is curious to know if the young man would like to meet his little half-brother — the honourable Victor Trevelyan.

Before Calem can contemplate a theoretical trip up north, he hears a familiar voice calling from the city streets below.

“Calem! Calem! Are you in there?”

He puts down his letter and glances out his window, leaning on the ledge as he looks around. On the cobblestones is a large woolen overcoat with Shauna standing inside, she looks exhausted enough to make him wonder if she had sprinted all the way here.

“Calem! You weren’t at the cafe tonight!” Shauna calls up, ignoring the various Lumiosians walking around her.

“I could not,” Calem explains, looking down at her from three floors up. “Chespin was hurt, did something happen?”

“I shall explain inside!” Shauna declares. “I am coming up now!”

After a few moments Shauna arrives at the apartment, evidently having run up the stairs. She catches her breath and he offers her a seat at the chair at his desk, wondering if he should get her some water or wine. She refuses his attempts at hospitality and once her breathing evens out, she says:

“Calem, I found her.”

“Who?”

“The girl,” Shauna elaborates. She walks to him and gestures wildly with her hands. “The one you asked me to find, the one with the red hat and the black dress that was so divine to have made you fall head over heels with her! That girl, you fool!”

There is a beat of silence between the two friends, then Calem replies dryly, “Well… you certainly make me sound daft when you put it like that.”

“That’s not my point,” Shauna prods. “The point is that I found the girl you ran into. Or at least… I think it’s her.”

Calem eyes her suspiciously. He usually trusts the information Shauna can overhear from her family Inn, but he cannot help but inquire just a little further. “How do you know for sure?”

“There’s no way to truly tell,” Shauna explains. She reaches into the pocket of her ratty overcoat and hands her friend a piece of parchment crumpled and compressed beyond all measure. “I wasn’t able to find her name, but I have this.”

When Calem slowly unravels the paper, he finds a hastily written name of a garden written on the page.

“Autumnal Gardens,” Shauna says. “It’s just north of Rouge Plaza. Rumour has that a girl with golden hair visits on some nights to watch the stars. By day she dons a black dress and a red hat, just like your description, but at night she is said to be clad in white. It’s not much, but if you come there tonight then perhaps you may find out the truth.”

Calem is unsure what to do. For the briefest moment he paces across his apartment, running his hand through his dark hair as he thinks and further rumpling it. He begins to contemplate the logistics of such an act — wondering what it will be at best or at worst. To quell his raging thoughts, he walks over to his desk and searches through the drawers — what he finds tucked away is a simple white handkerchief, the unspotted square of cloth that he kept in his pocket for a week, then finally hid away thinking he would never find the owner again.

“The least I can do is return this to her,” he says as he eyes Shauna.

She gives him a nod as Calem puts on his coat. Once the garment is on, he steps towards his friend and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you.”

Shauna seems more amused than anything else. “It was nothing, really.”

Calem glances to his bed, where his Chespin now sits awake with a curious glow in its beady brown eyes. He walks over and kneels down to the little one.

“Mon amie, want to go on an adventure?”

…

…

…

(so many questions and answers that somehow seem wrong)

…

…

…

After dinner Serena finds herself in the apartment drawing room. She is dressed down for the evening, free of her stays and clad in the linen fibers of her chemise. On the floor by her bare feet is Froakie, currently napping on the rug without a care in the world. In her left hand is an embroidery hoop and in her right is a needle — with the use of the two she attempts to guide a piece of scarlet thread through the stiff canvas. When she pricks her finger and draws blood for the third time, she lets out an utterly loathsome groan. Frustrated by a piece of thread and canvas, she stands up and goes to the nearest drawer to dispose of the damn thing. She shall deal with needlework tomorrow.

In the moment she slams the drawer shut, Augustine enters from his study. To come out of hours of work to see his ward so fraught has caught him off guard in a rather entertaining way.

With a lively grin on his face, he asks: “What’s gotten into you?”

Serena puts her ring finger in her mouth to stop the bleeding. “Needlework,” she tells him bitterly.

Augustine lets out a laugh. “Nice to see that you have taken to it well.”

Serena seems unconvinced. However, she spares shooting him the glare she’s tempted to give in favour of looking at the open door of his study. “Mind if I take a book?” she asks, quickly slipping in.

Like always, Augustine nods his head. “Of course.”

Inside the walls of the study, Serena moves past the various notes of her Uncle’s research in favour of perusing his collection of books. She has always found that he has good taste in tomes, specifically the ones about old Kalosian legends. She ends up picking one that depicts the tales of Kalos’s past, a saga of a raging war between life and death that could only be quelled by a creature of order.

When she returns to the drawing room with a book under her arm, she finds Augustine rifling through the cushions of the couch, possibly on the look for something.

“What are you doing?” she asks curiously.

“Have you seen my white handkerchief anywhere?” Augustine questions. “I have not been able to find it for weeks.”

Serena can only shake her head. “I will be on the look for it, Uncle.”

With that said, Serena heads to her bedroom and Augustine keeps looking around the apartment. He soon gets to the drawer housing the cause of Serena’s previous ire, promptly fishing up Serena’s less-than-stellar embroidery project. When Serena gets a second look at her dreadful work, she notes that it looks worse than before and sighs like a dour ogre.

On the other hand, her beloved Uncle thinks differently. “Do not fret,” he assures in a voice soft like the sun. “You will get better with practice.”

Serena can only stare at the floor with a bitterness in her eyes. “I do not see why you think I would be good at it.” Her voice is low.

Now Augustine is the one who was unconvinced, yet he still gives her that same cheery smile and says, “Your mother was good at it.”

“Or so you say,” Serena retorts sharply. When her eyes meet his, she is less downtrodden and more… curious, as the mere mention of her mother has a habit of awakening this side of her.

The truth remains that she still does not know much of the woman who brought her into this world. She knows that her name was Grace, she knows that Augustine had befriended her back in their youth, she knows that Grace had been shunned for becoming with child while unwed, she knows that needlepoint was a favoured hobby of hers, and she knows that she loved her to her last breath, having begged Augustine to promise to care for her flesh and blood before she left for another world.

But Serena knows not much else, such as her mother’s favourite colour or how she wears her hair or how she likes her tea. She doesn’t even know who her father might be, only that he spent a summer by Grace’s side but was gone when autumn came.

So standing in front of Augustine now, Serena looks her uncle in the eye and asks:

“Why won’t you tell me anything else about her?”

The scholar looks uneasy as he glances away from her. “Serena, you are too young to know,” he tries. He faces her again, taking a few steps closer. “It will make you sad and pensive, something you should not be.”

“But I know so little about her,” Serena reiterates. “Give me something, Uncle, something more to dream of.”

Hesitence hangs across Augustine’s face. But yet he shakes his head. “Not tonight,” he decides in an affirmative voice. He then presses a kiss to her forehead like he always did at night when she was young. “You should sleep.”

Without another word, he retreats off into his bedroom and shuts the door.

In her loneliness, Serena can only languish for more. Her grip on her book tightens as she mutters, “So many questions… yet not enough answers.”

She considers for a moment staying in her room to submerge her mind in tales from the past, but a look outside at the clear Lumiosian night makes her think otherwise. She ends up walking over to her napping Froakie, gently nudging her partner awake.

“Come,” she says. “I need some air.”

…

…

…

(i’m doing everything all wrong)

…

…

…

The city is dark as Calem rushes across the cobblestones. He fears nothing with Chespin on his shoulder, yet as he gets closer and closer to Autumnal Avenue, he feels the knot in his stomach growing tighter and tighter. His breathing tightens as he goes more and more north, a fear that he is not used to feeling. In his coat pocket is the handkerchief that he has been holding onto for weeks, his hand grasped around it so firmly that it may permanently warp the garment. With his nerves getting dangerously close to taking control of him, he starts to regret not taking in another goblet of watered down wine as good luck.

Soon enough he arrives at the Avenue. As he walks down the streets, the buildings around him change from shops and offices to homes — some eons more lavish than the ones in his own neighbourhood and some dreadfully uncared for. As Calem wonders if he is lost, he suddenly comes across a large metal gate taller than two men, on the other side of it are the overgrown greens of a lush garden, an oasis of nature amongst the city’s stones.

And in the depths of the flora on this clear Lumiosian night sits a girl with golden hair amongst the daisies and lilies and violets. Her shape is cloaked in a spotless white dress and protecting her from the chill of the night is a large woolen coat that looks a few sizes too big for her.

Shauna’s words prove to be true.

The knot in Calem’s stomach gets bigger.

…

…

…

(for it isn’t a dream, not a dream after all)

…

…

…

In the garden between buildings are vines that cling to the sides of the apartments and flowers of many colours (Serena fancies the red ones the most). In the center of the flora is a bench made of stone, a place often occupied by the tenants of the connected buildings. But at night it is empty, leaving Serena to enjoy all the space to herself. She sits on the bench with her book in her lap, alternating between reading some of Kalos’s folklore or staring up at the twinkling stars.

There is also a bird bath near the bench, something meant for the Fletchling that visit the garden during the day, but is often used by Serena’s faithful Froakie for a midnight soak. As Serena reads in peace, she can hear the sound of her companion splashing around. She looks up to see Froakie clinging to the rim of the bird bath, happily basking in the water and giving her a smile.

“I guess the water needed changing anyway,” she says, feeling joyful like a fool. She gestures for her beloved partner to come to her and Froakie obeys, hopping off the bath and skittering over. The creature climbs up her nightgown and perches itself on her shoulder, as if to read along with her.

With a grin, she playfully strokes her Froakie’s chin. In her mind she cherishes moments like this, times where she could feel close to someone who knows her for who she is. Not to say that Uncle Gus doesn’t know her at all — he knows as much as any good guardian would. But there’s some kind of unspoken understanding between her and Froakie, an acknowledgement of her unmasked self — a self that dislikes needlepoint and dreams of adventures beyond her own existence.

Sometimes the way Uncle Gus looks at her makes Serena think that he still sees her as the helpless little girl he had met on a winter’s night. Sometimes he tells her that one day she’ll grow up and become a woman, perhaps finding a successful, suitable husband and settling down with a family.

But part of her knows that it’s not her — in her heart all she wants is someone who sees her for who she is, whether it be a friend or a lover. Not even her beloved Uncle seems capable of that.

Suddenly Froakie leaps off Serena’s shoulder. The creature hops across the grass of the garden with startling speed. It takes mere seconds for it to arrive at the gate of the garden, where apparently something is so interesting it warrants startling Serena.

“Froakie!” Serena yells. She closes the book and drops it on the bench, dashing after her partner with haste. “Froakie! Come back!”

When she gets to the gate, she sees Froakie situated at the bottom of the structure, down there it looks through the metal bars to greet another creature. Said creature is small, roughly a foot tall, and has a brown body and face with pointed ears tipped with green. The creature looks rather familiar to Serena, as memories of her Uncle’s research books start to jog in her memory.

Dumbfounded, she says, “It can’t be, is that-”

“Chespin!”

Startled, Serena looks up and sees someone running towards the gate of the garden. His features are illuminated by the lights of the street lamps, proving him to be a sharp set of eyes upon a youthfully charming face and a head of dark hair pushed back and barely combed. Despite the elegance of his features, he looks just about her age and stands just a bit above her. He dons a blue coat with signs of wear over a corduroy vest that has seen better days.

The young man looks at her and he looks just as stunned as she is. The mere look of the awe in his eyes is enough to make Serena remember. There’s just something about the boy behind the gate that looks familiar.

Serena grasps onto the metal bars as if to steady herself in the storm she’s become trapped in, and then he speaks —

“Bonsoir, uh… forgive me, dear Mademoiselle,” he greets, giving a polite — albeit nervous — bow. He then lets out an unsteady laugh, as if to alleviate the situation. Had he a hat on then perhaps he would have tipped it towards her. “I cannot control the little one sometimes.”

“It’s not a problem,” Serena tells him. Her grip on the bar tightens, but she doesn’t know why.

The two then look down to the pair of creatures — Chespin and Froakie appear to be getting along fine. Judging by the little croaks and squeaks the two make at one another, it is fair to say that they are getting along.

“Curious,” Serena says.

The stranger looks up. “What is?”

“They seem to know each other,” she explains, meeting her eyes with his. “Or they just get along well.”

The stranger nods in agreement. “Connections can work like that sometimes.”

Serena’s grip on the bar of the gates loosens, as with every word she can feel her initial fear fading away. “Forgive me, Monsieur, but what is your name?” she decides to ask, feeling somewhat brave in such a moment.

“I am called Calem,” says the stranger. “And you are?”

“Serena.” Subconsciously, she moves just a bit closer to the gap in the gate, her forehead barely an inch away from the iron rods. “You…” she starts, but finds herself stuttering. How unladylike of her. “You… uh, you look rather familiar.”

“I would say the same to you,” Calem says. Suddenly he reaches into the pocket of his coat, digging around for moments before pulling out a white handkerchief. “Perhaps you will recognize this.”

Serena is surprised, but smiles widely. “Uncle’s handkerchief!” she exclaims. “He’s been looking for that for weeks!”

Calem seems caught off guard. “Uncle?”

“I borrowed it for a day,” she explains fervently. “It broke my heart to tell him I had lost it — I’m glad that it managed to turn up somewhere.” Moments pass and her mind finally slows down enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together. “That means…” she begins, then a look of enlightenment takes her eyes. “You were the boy I saw at Jaune Plaza! That’s where I know you from!”

Calem nods his head, a small simper forming onto his pretty face. “It is good to hear that you remember.” He holds the white handkerchief up and through the gap in the gate. “I suppose you would want this back.”

A rush of hesitance surges through Serena’s every nerve, an abrupt sensation that surprises even her. Coyly, she eyes the handkerchief, then looks up to meet his gaze. She reaches over slowly, taking the cloth in her fingers. Their hands graze when they pull away from each other, something that makes Serena’s skin twinge in a way she cannot quite understand.

“Thank you for returning this,” she eventually manages to say. She looks down at the fabric, feeling the soft material in her palm. “Gentlemen like you are a difficult find nowadays.”

Calem looks amused, then lets out another laugh. “How brave of you to think that I am anything near a gentleman.”

“You are much too modest,” Serena remarks, unconvinced of his words.

After another honest chuckle, Calem absentmindedly places his hand on the bars of the gate. When his fingers graze hers, both Serena and Calem pull away from the cold iron. It is a quick event that is over as soon as it starts and Calem quickly thrusts his tingling hand into his coat pocket. Serena avoids his gaze, her hand touching the gate again but only to slide down to where the metal is forged into a spade-like shape.

“Perhaps I should go,” Calem suggests. His voice is shaky, nervous.

When Serena finally glances up, she is quick to see that he is avoiding her gaze too. A part of her begins to wish that she had not looked away.

He speaks once more, “Have a nice night, Mademoiselle.” With his last word stated, he turns around and begins walking away, the soles of his boots tapping against the street and his loyal Chespin following at his feet.

Serena is quick to call out —

“Wait!”

Calem halts his strides and turns to eye the girl behind the gate.

Serena is uneasy as she speaks, every nervous pang in her body fighting to get the better of her. “You came all this way to return my Uncle’s handkerchief,” she starts, fighting back her own fears. “There has to be something I can do to repay you. Would you perhaps… like to come up for some tea?” she suggests. Then restlessly, she begins to retract her offer very slightly. “If you drink tea, that is.”

Calem’s unease fades into a smile. “I drink tea,” he answers, relieved. He turns around to face her. Even in the dark of night, the look on his face is astronomically bright, something that highlights his angelic face even more. “Something warm does sound heavenly right now.”

Excitement pounds in Serena’s chest as she goes to undo the lock of the gate. Once the barricade has swung open, Chespin runs back to Froakie and embraces the creature into a hug like they are old friends. Serena motions for Calem to follow and trailing behind her, the two young Kalosians escape the cold of the city to head upwards to a beacon of warmth. In her heart Serena thinks not of her future or her life or even any thoughts of her mother — but instead she thinks of the moment she is trapped in now and how curious she is to learn more about the young man by the name of Calem.

[a-dragons-journal]

My Experiences of Nonhumanity

I get asked about “what makes you/people in general feel you’re/they’re otherkin” a lot, and while the answer is far from simple and my experiences are anything but universal, I figure it deserves a write-up once in a while. A friend asked about it a couple nights ago, so I wrote up a huge long message on Discord, and decided to rewrite it into a Tumblr post for posterity. This’ll be a long one, folks; hit J on desktop to skip.

It’s worth noting ahead of time: none of these things are required to be otherkin, and none of them automatically mean you’re otherkin. In fact, most of them are little more than mildly “weird” quirks when they occur in isolation, and only start to push outside the range of “normal human experiences” when many of them occur together. You can’t look at someone (including yourself) and say “they like collecting things, they must be dragonkin!” It’s not that simple. You have to take the individual as a whole even as you examine each specific experience in more detail - don’t lose the forest while you’re studying the trees. This is just a description of my personal experiences.

Shifts

- Phantom shifts/supernumerary phantom limbs: Probably the most obvious thing and the hardest to brush off, although I still managed to do so for years. Phantom shifts, aka supernumerary phantom limbs, are the experience of feeling limbs or body parts that do not and never have physically existed. In my case, the most common phantom limbs to show up are my wings and tail; other body parts, such as digitigrade legs, horns, snout, and paws/talons, also make appearances less frequently. While my phantom limbs almost never attempt to replicate tactile sensations/interactions with the physical world, they’re often defined by very vivid proprioception (ability to tell where your body is in space, mainly via muscle stretch receptors), and I can tell where each part of the limb is at any given time - it’s not just a shapeless sense of “weight,” or it wouldn’t be phantom limbs. I can also move them at will, typically. My phantom shifts are typically spontaneous and involuntary, but they’ve been induced artificially a couple different ways as well, though I can’t typically do it at will.

- Sensory shifts: Still not something I’m totally sure I experience, but there are definitely times my sense of smell becomes insanely strong compared to usual even for me, which fits the definition of a sensory shift.

- Astral shifts: While I’m far from an adept astral traveler, when visualizing “traveling” within my own mindscape, I shift form fluidly between human and dragon - although I almost always have wings at the very least.

- Cameo shifts: Mentioned only because it’s relevant to my phantom shifts. I realized at some point that the reason I get cameo shifts of canine/feline ears sometimes is because they usually show up when they’re pricking/flattening to express emotion, and the muscles that move to do that action are basically the same as the ones that do those actions with the crest that runs down my neck, and because of my obsession with cats/dogs/horses as a young child and because that’s not a particularly strong phantom shift for me usually, I connected the dots a little wrong and created a false association.

- Self-image: This isn’t technically a shift, but it’s going here anyway because it doesn’t really fit in any other section either. My body image/self-image is weird. I know, consciously, what I physically look like. However, my instinctive self-image is... hmm. What I “expect” to see doesn’t always match up with what’s actually there when I look in the mirror. Teeth are a huge point of fixation for me for some reason; I always expect them to be larger, sharper, stronger. I expect my neck to be longer, my face to be... different. I expect scales in places. I expect claws. Even knowing consciously that of course it won’t be there, it’s still strange sometimes that it’s not. There’s sometimes some mild disconnect when I see myself. (Sometimes not. But sometimes.)

Homesickness

(Or, the sense of missing something you’ve never had - not of “I want/want to be [x], and it makes me sad/upset that I don’t have/am not that,” but of “I should have/be [x], and it is fundamentally wrong that I do/am not.”)

- Flight: I have always wanted to fly, and for a long time I thought everyone ached for the sky the same way I did. Most people don’t, as it turns out. Yes, everyone’s fantasized about flying, but most people don’t feel bones-deep, crushing, physical pain in their chest thinking about it. Most people don’t lift up onto their toes instinctively straining for the sky. I’ve felt that aching longing for it for as long as I can remember.

- Connection to dragons: For as long as I can remember knowing about dragons, I loved the idea of them and even when I was very young, when I’d only really been exposed to media where they were the great evil for the hero to defeat and received no more character development than “evil, destructive, fire-breathing beast,” I was always on the dragon’s side and wanted to learn more about them. That hasn’t faded. I’ll watch an absolutely terrible movie or TV show that I otherwise loathe if it has good enough animation and sound design on the dragons. (Looking at you, Game of Thrones.*) I would commit arson to see one of those Isle-style dragon survival games actually go through and finish production. (Holding out hope for the Dragon Game Project on YouTube; go check them out if you haven’t already.) I’ve also used dragons to represent myself for pretty much as long as I’ve had an online presence - years before I ever heard of otherkin, I was calling myself Dragonheart.

- Dragon-like creatures: Snakes, crocodilians, and dinosaurs all fall into this category - all of them give me a similar heart-and-breathing-pick-up, aching familiarity to dragons. They’re not perfect, but in a snake’s scales and a crocodile’s bellows and a dinosaur’s spectacular reptilian size I see echoes of us and I have always loved them with a passion, even before I quite knew why.

- Dragon/”monster” noises: Sound generators, creature sound design, real animal noises, etc. that are meant to be monstrous and that most people find unsettling or even frightening, I find comforting and relaxing. Alligator bellows, “monster noise” soundscapes, etc. all apply here.

* No shade on anyone who likes Game of Thrones, I’m just not a fan. :P

Behaviors/Instincts/Urges

- Hoarding: I’m still not sure how much of the crystal thing is "monkey brain say Shiney Colorful," how much is a witch thing, and how much is a dragon thing, but some of it is a dragon thing.

- Territorial/possessive nature: I can get... extremely territorial over my stuff and my home. This can extend right into being ridiculously protective of my people too, although I do try to rein that in to a reasonable amount. This also extends into games like Capture the Flag, because put me on defending the border during middle and high school and I got frighteningly territorial. (Fun fact, this extends to spiritual protection stuff and it has almost gotten me in trouble a few times on that front.) The other main side effect is my brain trying to claim completely inappropriate things as “mine,” like every piano I have ever touched or, that one time, the entire city of Portland.

- Prey drive: Going on a walk in the woods with me will always be an exercise in stopping every twenty seconds because I heard a small animal move in the brush and froze instinctively to track it. Prey drive ranges from "okay I can indulge this enough to track-stalk-chase without actually intending to catch-kill-eat" to "this is entirely inappropriate and needs to Stop Right Now" depending on the day and the situation - sometimes it’s fairly low-key and innocent, but sometimes it's also being confronted with the sudden and completely serious/genuine thought of grabbing someone or something by the neck/around the body with your jaws and hunt-prey-kill-devour when it's completely inappropriate and kind of disturbing or even sickening. It’s one of the more annoying things, although it’s not like it’s severe enough that I’m an actual danger to anyone - it’s just a gut thought that gets filtered out at the conscious level without significant problems. This also bleeds into games (I get... maybe a little overenthusiastic during tag) and even watching TV shows or gaming videos - most of the time at least part of me is rooting for the hunter because I relate to them as a fellow predator, even if the audience is supposed to be rooting for the prey - I mean, protagonists.

- Basking/heat-seeking: Probably only partially a dragon thing, but despite the fact that I hate heat in general, radiant/sun heat and heat from a heated surface are both fantastic feelings provided the ambient air temperature isn't too high. I'm guessing this is at least partially a reptile brain thing.

- Height-seeking: Give me a chance to climb up on top of something - a rock, a cliff, a chair, a table, a bunk bed - and look out over everything else, and I'll take it in an instant. Getting to climb up on the roof is the best thing that's happened to me this entire quarantine.

- Flight instinct: Being mildly leery of cliffs not because I am afraid of falling, because I'm really not, but because there's always some part of my brain that goes "jump, fly, this is a perfect takeoff spot" and I have to squash that before I do something particularly stupid. This manifests in other ways, but that's the most dramatic (and annoying) one. This is also one of the things I noticed as definitively not normal long before my awakening. (The Grand Canyon was fun.)  Similarly to the prey drive thing, it's not like I'm actually in danger of throwing myself off cliffs, it’s just - there's a not-insignificant part of my brain that thinks "hey we should go run and jump off and take a quick flight," in the same way I might also casually think "hey I should stroll across to the corner store for a bag of chips" before I consciously decide whether or not to do that. It’s the exact same type of thought process, despite the fact that one of those things is something I might do on any given school day, and the other is, you know, physically impossible.

- Combat instincts: I get in a fight and my pure instinct is to bite or claw, not kick or punch or whatever it is humans do instinctively. I have those reflexes now courtesy of Krav, but I had to train them in - if you’d thrown me into a fight before, I absolutely would have resorted to claws/nails and teeth immediately (and I still will, when pressed into a corner). Sometimes, unfortunately, this goes off completely unwarranted, either in an anger situation that does not deserve a physical response, or for no apparent reason whatsoever. It's one of the more problematic things, but once again - it’s not like it’s a compulsion, just a gut-emotion thought that gets filtered out at the conscious level.

- Scent focus: Who knows how much of this is environmental influence and how much is instinctive, but I always have and still do focus on scent more than most humans seem to. I can identify people by scent, I seem to pay more attention to it than most people do. I also seem less bothered by natural body smells than most people do, but considering the responses when I asked around in the otherkin community once about that, unclear whether or not that's connected.

- Nonhuman noises: I make just a bunch of weird nonhuman noises, and always have. Growls, hisses, croons, hurrs, throat-clicks, chirps, etc. I've never met any human who does them instinctively like I do except my half-sister (whom I didn’t meet until a couple years ago), and she was just as surprised to hear me do it as I was surprised to hear her do it.

- Affection: Face-rubbing, light head-bonking against someone’s shoulder/body/head, and love nips/bites are all perfectly acceptable ways to show platonic affection, to dragon brain. Human society disagrees. The instinct to do these things is so strong that I definitely do give into the first two with people I’m close with, and I have physically had to catch and restrain myself when I was about to unthinkingly bite/nip someone’s skin because I wasn’t paying enough attention.

- Movement: Moving on all fours just feels better than moving on two legs, even though it’s objectively physically uncomfortable because humans aren’t built for that. I also have the instinctive want to be a lot more flexible than I’m capable of being, in ways I’m not capable of being - curling all the way around something or someone to squeeze them tight in the coil of my body, turning my head a hundred eighty degrees because my neck Should Be Longer.

- Expression: Baring one’s teeth when frustrated, irritated, or angry is not a particularly human instinct. I realize it’s something a lot of primates do do, but. *gestures at society* Humans ain’t one of them, at least not anymore. Even in Krav Maga, which is a self-defense style that focuses on being vicious and “dirty fighting” to survive a real street fight, every single time I have a new partner (and most times I have a partner I’ve worked with before) and I get tired enough to get snarly, they respond with some variation of “god that’s scary”. See also: gesturing at things with my nose because it should be long enough to make that a much more dramatic gesture than it ends up being.

- Den/lair/small spaces: I never feel safer than when curled up in a tiny alcove just big enough to comfortably fit my body curled up into it. The only position I’ll prioritize over it is getting up onto a high space.

Past Life Work

Unlike every other bullet point on this list, most of these didn’t apply until I started actively seeking them out, because, you know. Past life memories are like that.

- Past life regressions: I’ve got a tag for these, but tl;dr I take anything I learn from a past life regression or similar meditation/visualization with a whole spoonful of salt, forget “a grain,” because I know for a fact my brain is very good at making stuff up with these types of exercises. Unfortunately, they’re the only way to get information on certain things, like appearance.

- Tarot: Got a tag for that too. I use tarot to ask questions and confirm or reject suspicions.

- Spontaneous memories: I don’t have many, but they’re clear as day when they do appear. I don’t count something as a “true” memory unless it includes senses I can’t reproduce through imagination - smell and touch, mainly. Mostly these are quick flashbulbs, nothing cinematic or anything like that.

- Noemata: Again, I don’t have much in the way of noemata, but what I do have is persistent and consistent. I know things about my wing shape and flight style despite not having really experienced that in detail during past life regressions. That particular set of noemata has been confirmed to fit with real-world physics and bat wing shapes (the closest wing type to mine that exists or has existed on Earth).

[shmowlwrites]

(LATE) NaNoWriMo Day 4

Daminette pls. But going off the “Wonder Woman’s mother was a Ladybug” thing. Sister/mentor/(personal favorite) treating Marinette like her mom. Whatever you like.

Okay so this turned out as a general “found family” kind of thing and Daminette doesn’t happen until later. Adrien is a decent human being in this because I’m so tired of writing and reading salt that I’m just going to leave the readers to assume Adrien actually had character growth in the show and stopped being a pushy, petty, sacrificial child. 

Anyway, this thing was 2340 words so buckle in babes!

Diana Prince perhaps should have been aware of the Hawkmoth problem, seeing as she was an employee of the Louvre. But do not blame her, she would have known the problem her city was going through if she hadn’t been on leave to deal with the other side of the world’s problems. 

It was a year before she finally got to return. A year that had so much happen within it. She finally learned of the Hawkmoth issue when Hal was complaining about this reoccurring video about “Miraculous” that also managed to delete itself. If he got to watch it as soon as it appeared, he could only get halfway through before it disappeared again. He couldn’t trace it to the city it came from. Ladybug and Chat Noir never said where they were from before the video deleted itself. But he was also complaining about the Miraculous. What were they? What did they do? Ladybug and Chat Noir only said they held those Miraculous.

Diana knew. Diana nearly threw a fit at the knowledge that the miraculi were active again, somewhere in the world, and she never knew.

On her first day back at the Louvre, her boss filled her in on everything that had happened and she wanted to strangle this “Hawkmoth” and “Mayura.”

Representing the Justice League, Diana, as Wonder Woman, managed to find Ladybug and Chat Noir while they were out on a patrol. Ladybug was stiffly polite and Chat Noir was acting like a puppy getting adopted. Several meetings later, Diana learned that Ladybug didn’t know how to respond to the daughter of a previous holder. 

In her meetings with them, Diana could only keep thinking of one thing: whoever their previous mentor was, they sucked. Ladybug and Chat Noir didn’t know much about their powers. They didn’t know the history of their Miraculous. They didn’t know how to properly fight and had been winging their battles since day 1. 

Diana found herself connecting to the two strongly. Ladybug was like the little sister she never had. Chat Noir was like a son who melted in any show of affection - which strangely also included compliments on growth. 

“I think what you two need is to get out of the city and learn how to fight from someone who has taught kids how to protect themselves quickly,” Diana found herself saying during a break in a training session. 

“But what if Hawkmoth sends out an Akuma while we’re gone?” Ladybug fretted.

“You have the horse miraculous, yes?” Diana nodded to the egg box. 

“Oh… you want me to take that with us?” Ladybug’s brow furrowed even more.

“Of course! Right now, I’d say nowhere is safer for the miraculous than with you. The temple is still regrowing, they won’t know what to do with your box while it is still incomplete. But, if you are so anxious about leaving Paris, I might be able to convince my friend and one of his sons to come here instead.”

“Really?” Chat Noir perked.

Diana gave him an easy smile. “I’m sure he’d be happy to.”

“For us?” Ladybug asked.

“You two are like my family by now,” Diana held out her hands. “And my friend will do anything for family.”

Bruce and Damian Wayne were in Paris by the end of the week. 16-year-old Damian was still a brat, but he was still a growing teenage boy forgetting old customs and learning about the real world. Bruce thought getting him around other young superheroes might help- he was horrendous at socializing with civilians due to still believing he was superior. 

That was a horrible mistake, Robin’s first act was to insult everything about Ladybug and Chat Noir. After a good long lecture from both Bruce and Diana, Robin apologized to both… in a way that left them more confused than accepting of him. 

A week later, Bruce tried the “let’s have a civilian day” card. Ladybug nearly threw a fit.

“We aren’t supposed to know each other’s identities!” She recited.

“Why not?” Robin scrunched his face. “I know all of-”

“You’re Gotham’s superheroes,” Chat sighed. “You don’t deal with a magical emotional terrorist. Ladybug and I are not immune to Akumas, we aren’t immune to strong emotions. What if one of us gets Akumatized and we know the other’s identity? We could tell Hawkmoth. We could succeed in taking the other’s Miraculous. And then what? He wins. We have to stay secret until Hawkmoth is gone.” He said it with practice, the concept having been drilled into his mind by Ladybug during their earlier days. 

“I’m sorry, Batman and Robin, we would like to, but please understand that for the safety of Paris, we literally cannot,” Ladybug gave a sad smile. 

They were there for another week before Robin, after pinning Ladybug with the end of his katana, suggested just hacking CTV cameras to track Akumas.

“It might work,” Chat grinned, before getting a light punch to the stomach and a “constant vigilance!” from Batman. 

“I surrender,” Ladybug told Robin before pushing Robin’s katana away and pushing herself into a sitting position. “It might. But I don’t have high hopes- kwami can’t even be seen on camera. What’s to say the effects of a Miraculous can’t either?”

“But,” Chat was buzzing, “you’re Cure always does! We’ve seen it on the news enough times.”

Ladybug pursed her lips. “I don’t know the first thing about hacking.”

“Good thing we do,” Robin cracked a grin.

“Do you normally find such joy in illegal activities?”

“Are you kidding me?” Chat’s voice was shrill and Ladybug had turned to Diana with wide eyes.

“Is it true?”

“We didn’t tamper with the footage besides getting it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Robin shrugged.

“But- but-” Chat sputtered, his cat pupils in fearful slits and tears glossing his eyes.

“Chat?” Ladybug softly called.

“That’s,” Chat’s bottom lip trembled and he looked between Ladybug and Diana. “That’s my house. Hawkmoth can’t be my dad- he can’t be!” Chat shook his head in denial. 

Ladybug paused in trying to comfort Chat, now realizing the boy before her was Adrien, the boy that used to be her crush. She was unsure on how to continue.

“Chat,” Diana spoke, moving forward to slowly place her hands on his shoulders. “Whether or not your father is Hawkmoth, somebody is sending out Akumas from your house. Since this is personal now, do you want to go with us? We’ll understand if you don’t.”

Chat blinked several times and looked between each person in his company. “I- I’ll go. You’ll need my help to get inside anyway.”

And so, in the middle of the next almost harmless Akuma attack, Adrien stayed in his room rather than go out. He popped open his window. Batman, Robin, Wonder Woman, and Ladybug swung inside and they began their journey through the house. Adrien led them to Gabriel’s study and faced the portrait of his mother. 

“There’s a safe behind the portrait. It’s where I found the grimoire. And now that I think about it, the peacock miraculous was in there too. I didn’t think much about it at the time,” Adrien rubbed his arms. Wonder Woman reached out and he grabbed her fingers in comfort.

“What’s done is done, do you think the portrait could also lead to where Hawkmoth is?” Batman asked.

“I think?” Adrien scrunched his face.

Robin walked up to the portrait, running his fingers around it. “There certainly are buttons on this, under the guise of being mosaic pieces.”

Adrien stepped up to it, fitting his fingers onto the supposed buttons, and before anyone could protest, he pressed them. The floor below them opened up and the elevator began to descend. They quickly fitted themselves into the tiny space.

Gabriel was standing in the middle of a garden, before something brightly white.

“Father?” Adrien’s voice was hardly audible but Gabriel Agreste still whipped around and saw the group of five. 

“Adrien!” He barked, unsure of who to call. “My son…”

“Father, no,” Adrien moaned, backing away. “How could you!”

“Adrien, I’ve been doing this for us! I’m bringing Emilie back. Don’t you want to see your mother again?” Gabriel stepped aside, tilting his head towards the coffin. 

“I would, but not this way,” Adrien shook his head, looking away from his father and the coffin. “I’ve grieved and moved on. Mom is dead and you shouldn’t be trying to change that!”

Gabriel frowned and narrowed his eyes. “Fine then. Nooroo, Dark Wings, Rise!”

 He called his Akuma back and sent another one, to whom they didn’t know. But what they were trying to do was get the brooch back. Gabriel, Hawkmoth, had almost lost from the shock of seeing his son transform into one of his own enemies, Chat Noir. 

Mayura joined, but Robin was quick to bring her down when she had doubled over from the sickness her Miraculous was causing her. Volpina made another return, hindering a good portion of the entire operation. Chat Noir had accidentally cataclysm-ed the entire platform, sending everyone down. There, in the dark and in the knee-high water, they continued the battle. Hawkmoth’s cane was shattered and he hid behind Volpina and her illusions. 

Volpina held up a good fight, but her mistake was physically attacking Ladybug. That had cemented her as the real Volpina.

“Finally,” Volpina screeched, hands on Ladybug’s earrings. “Finally! You little bug will finally be gone!”

She had gotten one earring out before Robin had sent a flying kick towards her, and the two of them began wrestling in the water. Ladybug was slowly disappearing, and the familiar form of Marinette was coming out of the suit. 

“Tikki, Spots off! Where’s my other earring?” The two of them began hunting the earring.

Chat Noir’s timer was finally up, and he returned into Adrien and was kicked away by his own father. “Plagg!” 

Diana finally managed to shove Hawkmoth’s face under the water and rip the brooch off and left Gabriel to find Marinette. Batman held the struggling Gabriel by his arms.

“What’s her Akuma?” Robin called, having learned the same trick.

“It should be her necklace! Don’t destroy it, we need Ladybug to purify it!” Adrien responded, finally finding Plagg and giving him a soggy slice of cheese. His night vision back, he dove under and plucked the earring from the ground and pushed it into Marinette’s hand. 

“Tikki, spots on!” Marinette called and Ladybug shot at Volpina and ripped the necklace off of her. The familiar sound of the Akuma’s wings managed to be heard over the infuriated screeches of Lila and the struggling grunts of Gabriel. Ladybug caught and released the Akuma. 

Emilie’s coffin was found in perfect condition after the Cure was cast. Gabriel and Lila were given to the police. Afterward, Adrien and Marinette were standing in front of it. 

“Do you think perhaps she isn't actually dead?” Adrien asked, reaching out to touch the coffin while Diana came walking up behind them.

“A misused Miraculous can be damaged, and a damaged Miraculous will injure anyone who uses it,” Diana explained, taking her circlet off. 

“I had thought Nathalie was sick with the same thing as Mom, they both started coughing before it began to actually start crippling them. I wonder why she was using the Peacock, then,” Adrien trembled.

“The temple might be able to help,” Marinette suggested. “They are the ones who know everything about the Miraculous. And, now we finally have the whole box.”

“You might be right, sister,” Diana placed a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “But don’t put all your faith in them. They might not be able to bring her back.”

“If-” Adrien began, his voice trembling. “If they don’t, where am I going to go?”

Diana offered her hand again and he squeezed her fingers. “If you want, I would take you.”

“You would?” Adrien raised his eyebrows.

“Of course,” Diana grinned. “Marinette is like the little sister I never had. You, you are like a son to me. Marinette has her family and has grown with guidance. You… when I came, you were like what I imagine Bruce feels when he found his sons. Someone who needed guidance. Someone who needed an adult there who cared.”

Adrien looked on the verge of tears.

Emilie truly was dead, when they gave her to the temple. Adrien changed his last name to Prince and stayed with Diana. Marinette let him keep Plagg, but changed Tikki for a zodiac, taking Mullo. She didn’t want both the black cat and the ladybug active at the same time anymore. 

Diana stayed around in the bakery while not on Justice League business or at the Louvre, and got to know Tom and Sabine quite well. Marinette and her relationship strengthened, and Marinette quite liked to tease Adrien at school by calling him “her nephew.” Nobody really knew why. 

As they grew older, Adrien and Marinette kept in touch in their civilian lives and stayed as partners in the superhero world. But, Adrien never re-entered Marinette’s love life. No, he got his kicks out of returning Marinette’s teasing here. 

Damian Wayne and Marinette had gotten to know each other in the month he and Bruce had been in Paris. Marinette had a delivery to them, and then continued having deliveries. That was on Bruce’s part and him trying to set Damian up. Well, it worked, and the two fell into an awkward “I like you” stage after the downfall of Hawkmoth. When Marinette graduated, she had gone to Gotham University so she could be closer to Damian and they really did start dating then.

Adrien got his kicks from this. Whenever Diana came for a visit, Adrien was with her and always asked how Damian was treating his aunt. There were normally angry, muttered snide remarks in Cantonese from Marinette and smug replies in Mandarin from Adrien. 

Life was as peaceful as the life of a superhero could be for our young, found family.

[apprentice-liuyin]

Liuyin Mei

“Uneasy are souls that awaken in smoke”

General information

Known as

Sima Liuyin: Birth name

Leonie Mei: Alias

Occupation

Shop Keeper

Magician

Spirit medium

Medical apprentice

Favorites

Favorite meal: Lamb skewers

Favorite drink: Chrysanthemum tea

Favorite flower: Tea rose

Personality traits

Birthday: January 23rd

Age: 26

Zodiac sign: Aquarius

MBTI: ISFJ-T

Pronouns: They/them only

Main(s): Asra (primarily), occasionally Julian as well

Patron Arcana: Death, Page of Pentacles

Relatives

Note that their family back in Langya would still utilize the traditional naming format of <surname, given name>, unless they have specific titles.

Liya Zheng: Paternal aunt, their father’s elder sister who left Langya and settled in Vesuvia. Liuyin inherited her magic shop.

Lieutenant Zheng: Father, subordinate to General Sima. A harsh and temperamental man, from whom Liuyin became estranged.

Sima Yu: Mother, daughter of General Sima. A healer and free spirit who became fettered by the expectations of family.

Sima Xiaoping: Younger brother, five years Liuyin’s junior, born when Liuyin was still living with their grandparents.

Sima Qianren: Younger brother, eight years Liuyin’s junior, born when Liuyin was still living with their grandparents.

General Sima: Maternal grandfather and patriarch of the Sima family.

Madam Sima: Maternal grandmother, wife to General Sima, owned a teashop in her youth.

Zheng Xuan: Paternal grandfather and guardian, a countryside farmer with an affinity for magic, though no abilities of his own.

Sarnai: Paternal grandmother and guardian, wife of Zheng Xuan, a Kokhuri-descended magician who was Liuyin’s first teacher.v

Physical description

Gender: Nonbinary

Height: 5′6′’

Eye color: Plum-purple

Hair color: Black-brown with orange and red undertones

Appearance

Liuyin is a youth with a compact frame, plum-colored eyes, a long and pointed nose, and dark hair that shines copper in sunlight. Their bearing is collected and serene, with a slight smile to their lips. Their customary outfit consists of an inner blouse that resembles an ao, or Chinese upright-collared blouse popularized in the Ming Dynasty that was usually worn outside the tucking of a skirt, as well as an outer cross-collared robe, and any other clothing they may wear would come in shades of blue, grey, and white. They often wear clothing with butterfly motifs on it, as a silver butterfly was their familiar before their death. Their hair is usually left half-up in buns decorated with butterfly pins, and half-down, with sideswept bangs and locks of hair looped over their ears before being pulled back into a bun.

Personality

Liuyin is a person who is serene and demure on their exterior, almost to the point of seeming withdrawn, aloof, or distant from others. However, they bear a naturally warm aura, with a high-spirited but practical-minded personality with a quick wit, being able to banter easily. They have a sincere and well-meaning heart, as well as loyalty to those they care for, to the point they may act recklessly, going against their usual analytical approaches wherein they slice every action down to its bits and pieces, to save those they love. Thus, they rarely get angry unless someone they love is at risk. They hate boredom and insincerity.

History

Family background

Liuyin Sima was a member of the House of Sima, a noble clan of the nation of Langya, a kingdom to the south of Vesuvia which was located east of the Shining Steppe and west of the Strait of Seals.

Their grandfather was General Sima, a powerful military official overseeing the command of the cavalry of the nation, as well as the current patriarch of the House of Sima.

Their mother was the daughter of General Sima and his wife, and an adept healer.

Their father was a lieutenant under General Sima who was arranged by Madam Sima to marry the general’s daughter.

Childhood

They were pretty unplanned as far as children goes-- their mother had to put their studies to become a healer on hold to carry Liuyin to term, and once they were born, they were sent to live in the countryside with Liuyin’s paternal grandparents, since there’s really no place for a baby either in the barracks or in a healer’s academy.

Their paternal grandmother, Sarnai, when she was young, was a Kokhuri shaman and magician, before marrying her husband and settling down as a farmer in the countryside. Liuyin had gained some degree of healing magic ability from their mother, and Sarnai helped hone Liuyin’s paternal magical capabilities, in communicating the restless dead as well as creating an entrance and space within the spiritual plane akin to magicians’ gates and Asra’s oasis, respectively.

Adolescence

When Liuyin was ten years old, they moved back to the General’s manor to live with their father and mother, and their two younger brothers, one of whom was already 5, and one who was 2 at the time. Due to the strict disciplinarian method of parenting their parents and maternal grandparents enforced, Liuyin, who was raised in a more casual and relaxed environments found themselves miserable and often butted heads with their parents, which was then duly punished.

They, at this point, practically lived only for summer visits to their grandparents, where their magical growth increased by leaps and bounds. When they were 16, their father forbade them from seeing their grandparents, and Liuyin had run away from home in retaliation, first stopping by their grandparents’ house, who then sent them on their way to Vesuvia, where their father’s elder sister, Liya, had opened a magic shop.

Arriving in Vesuvia

Liuyin arrived in Vesuvia on the eve of the Masquerade, where they were received by their aunt. They found Asra reading fortunes behind the shop, and they befriended him under the pseudonym of Leonie Mei-- over the course of the next half year or so, Liya had taught Liuyin all she knew about magic, after which Liya had received an offer of professorship at a prestigious academy in Zadith, leaving the shop to be tended to by Liuyin and Asra.

The Red Plague

By the time the Red Plague struck, Liuyin had shed the name of Leonie Mei and went by Liuyin Mei instead, eschewing their family name completely. When the plague broke, Liuyin and Asra had argued over whether to leave the city or stay and help-- Liuyin stayed, Asra left. Liuyin initially tried to ease the pain of the deceased’s families through her divination abilities, trying to allow the spirits to move on.

Somewhere along the line, realized that wasn’t enough and apprenticed themselves to Julian as a medic. It was there in the palace, researching for a cure, that Liuyin succumbed to the disease, dying alone, and being sent to the Lazaret, where they were eventually cremated.

The Masquerade

Broken by their death, Asra resolved to resurrect them. Meanwhile, Count Lucio, failing rapidly from their battle with the Red Plague, hosted a feast on the night of the masquerade designed to gift him a new body, a ritual that Asra sabotaged, stealing the body to resurrect Liuyin. And the rest, from that point, is history...

Powers

Smoke divination: Liuyin has the ability to use a special blend of incense smoke to induce within themselves a hallucination or dreamscape, in which they would be presented with a series of seemingly-disjointed visions, from which they had to determine a storyline or solution to their question. They can also inhale this in the presence of a corpse or scene of crime, and it would show them things that, if interpreted correctly, would show them the cause of death or how a crime was committed. They can also contact more recently-deceased spirits when inhaling this smoke, and thus can use this in a manner similar to an exorcism, laying a spirit to rest.

Potion making: Liuyin is talented at potion-making as well as cooking, as well as a hobby in

Personal gate: Liuyin’s gate to the Arcana realm, taught to them by their grandmother. Later, with Asra’s help, they rediscover and unlock their gate.

Trivia

Liuyin’s inspiration draws from both Chinese folklore as well as popular culture.

Liuyin’s initial inspiration was from Lan Caihe, a nonbinary Taoist immortal said to be patron to florists and gardeners. They traveled the kingdoms wearing a single shoe and ragged blue robes, singing improvised songs about the impermanence of youth.

Other inspirations for Liuyin come from Mei Changsu, Guo Deyou, Kuang Lu, Xiaolongnu, and Lan Wangji

Their name, Liuyin, means “shadow of the willow”. Their birth surname, Sima, means “master of the horse”, and their given surname, Mei, means “plum”.

Their favorite season is winter

Their voice is mid-tone, and a bit husky.

They speak three languages-- the common tongue of Vesuvia, the common tongue of Langya, and the common tongue of the Steppes.

Template credit: apprentice-liuyin

[crossoverworldtree]

Amazon (Variable Quality)

The Amazons of Mythology are different from the Amazons of the Crossover Universe, enough that they have different qualities to express that background. 

Amazon (Mythological) (10-Point Quality)

Amazons are known best as a race of proud warrior women who lived around the Black Sea. The culture has since become extinct in this world.  But not in the realms of Faerie.  

Furthermore, cults developed around the amazons in both Greece and Rome. They were relatively minor, but persisted.  The true Amazons (who called themselves Sarmatians, after their original homeland) who had fled into the Fairy Realms in the distant past (said to be after several defeats given to them by the Greeks) reached out to these new would-be Amazons to bolster their ranks (aside from the other way, of course).  Now, the roam the fields of Faerie, living the steppe-nomad lifestyle they specialized in the past, just with a bit more magic behind it.  Amazons receive an additional +1 to all of their physical attributes as well as a +1 to Armed Mayhem, Riding, and Fisticuffs. They gain 3 levels of Hard to Kill, but may have up to 5 levels.  They may choose either Situational Awareness or Fast Reaction Time.  

On the negative side, they have Severe Delusions (the use of men is twofold: as an opponent or as a breeding aid). Because of their strong martial tradition, they also carry the Honorable (minimal) drawback. In the setting of Ghosts of Albion, all Amazons are women, and thus have a further 2 point Minority drawback from it, reducing the overall quality down to 8-Points.  

Amazons are accomplished mounted warriors, focusing on archery for the most part. Their steeds are usually fairy horses (magical horses of intelligence and vigor), or even a Primordial Horse (the proper name for what Pegasus was.)  Those are usually reserved for their captains and generals.  

Because of their time within the Fae realms, many of them are Faerie touched as well, but this is purchased separately.  

Scholarship of the Victorian era and up until the 1950s would tell a researcher that their name Amazon comes from Ha-Mazos, meaning "without breast", referring to a practice of removing a breast through branding to better pull a bow. This is entirely fictional. The actual name origin is Iranian, Ha-Mazan, meaning only "Warriors". Amazons are "Fully Intact" as it were. Amazons are just human enough to still purchase occupational qualities.  

For the Crossover Universe versions of the Amazons, see below the cut, just beware -- they’re from space!

Amazon (Crossover Universe) (8-Point Quality) Everyone has at least some idea of what an Amazon is, and they have had a lot of time to come to terms with what they actually are. Originally from the steppes near the black sea, they have become something else through outside interference.  

Altered and nearly perfected as a warrior race by a Goa’uld, specifically to replace his Jaffa and act as a personal harem on top of that, what happened is a mater of perspective. The Goa’uld say they were abandond as unruly, while the Amazons themselves say they drove out the pretender gods with the aid of the true spirits they often pose as.  Today, they continue to pray to the patrons who aided them in their time of need. 

The Amazons live in several city-states centered around a ‘private’ stargate that links back to earth on a similar nature. These cities include the capital city (Themyscira), Banah-Midgal (which took to worshiping the Egyptian gods as well), Femizonia, and Celestine.  

Thanks to a combination of their altered genetics, and the use of a healing device known as the “Purple Ray”, they are extremely long-lived. Usually, they use the remaining technology from the Goa’uld to artificially create children of their own, but every now and then they seek to refresh the gene pool with imports. Sometimes, it’s women they rescue from horrible lives. Other times, it’s lost men that meet their exacting standards to a visit to ‘paradise’ for a time.

Those that abuse their hospitality are either forced to leave or are summarily dealt with. Though that was the old way. These days, they mostly do not go in for killing as a punishment as often. Not since the 1950s at least. They still rarely venture off-world, but do so only to learn about the world(s) and how it has changed since their enslavement. When the Stargate Program was activated, they were among the first allies garnered with the earth. The Amazons have a secure address connection to a cloaked Stargate on Earth which remains a closely guarded secret. This helps a lot. Culturally, they practice a very free and open democracy, with the remnants of a largely ceremonial Queen/royal family acting as advisors at times. Their ruling body consists of a bicameral legislature.  Amazons gain a +2 to their Physical Attributes and +1 to Perception. They may raise their physical attributes to superhuman levels. Through their intense training, they have +1 to Getting Medieval/Armed Mayhem and Kung-Fu/Fisticuffs. They have Natural Toughness and recover at a rate equal to their Constitution every hour. They also gain either Fast Reaction Time or Situational Awareness. Finally, they have the Ancient Gene as well as Naquadah Blood, which allows them to access Ancient and Goa’uld Technology with ease.   On the negative side, they culturally feel obligated to protect their culture and planet from threats and give their lives for it. They live in a post-scarcity society but are also a very martial culture. This manifests as a total obligation to protect their home. Their enemies count as Adversary 3 (Goa’uld and Demons). Part of this is because Themyscira has a Hellmouth or two of its own to worry about. Because of the violence inherent in their society, and being numb to certain levels of injury due to their natural healing, toughness, and healing technology.  What seems an impolite level of violence is perfectly normal for an Amazon. This manifests as Anti-Social Impulses to both Cruelty and Violence, but both at level 1. Thankfully, they are ruled by the Law of Love, which means they are an overall peaceful people. This manifests as Honorable (Serious) on top of all that. The Law of Love, in this context, roughly translates through this proverb: “Don't kill if you can wound, don't wound if you can subdue, don't subdue if you can pacify, and don't raise your hand at all until you've first extended it.” Amazons don’t hate men; they just refuse to be seen as lesser by anyone just because of their gender.

Art by Nicola Scott Amazonian Slayer (13-Point Quality)  Prerequisite: Amazon.  Perhaps it’s because of the genetic engineering, or mystical influence of the gods, or the Hellmouth(s). No one knows the reason, but there are Slayers on Themyscira. Amazonian Slayers are extremely potent beings, even compared to experienced earth-born Slayers. They have all the benefits and drawbacks of being an Amazon, which must be purchased before this. Amazon Slayers gain a +2 to their physical Attributes and Willpower, combining with the stat bonuses from Amazon (total +4 Physical attributes, +1 Perception, and +2 Willpower). They may raise these attributes to superhuman levels, and they are required to have at least a 4 in Willpower and a 5 in their physical attributes.  They also gain Nerves of Steel and recover their Constitution every Minute. The Obligation changes its scope a little but otherwise goes unchanged. They also gain 2 levels of Adversary from Demons and other dark forces. There are only a few Amazon Slayers and they tend to hold prominent positions in their society. Often as Queens.  The most famous of the Amazons, Diana of Themyscira, is one such Amazonian Slayer. 

As far as has been deduced, Amazonian Slayers can access the shared Slayer Dream Space others have, but choose not to most of the time (that quality must be purchased separately).  

[dolce-peach]

Can you do a Loki x reader where they are from a parallel universe and somehow end up in the marvel one. Loki and their alt self used to date until they were killed. Usual stuff they and Loki hit it off. But they are scared Loki only likes them because they look like their alternative self. Hope that makes sense?

unconditionally

pairing: loki x au!reader

warnings: angst?, fluff

a/n: haha i think i got it, anon!  thanks for being patient!  hope you guys like it! 💗

permanent taglist: @kaitlynmalikisnotonfire

** TO MAKE A REQUEST -- please check the status in my bio **

masterlist

----

You needed to get away.  Something about following the responsibilities in life: getting married and bearing children.  You knew your village wanted the best for you, but you couldn’t see yourself settling down for the rest of your life.  

There were still parts of the world you wanted to see and experience.  

You rode out into the woods on one of the many horses you cared for.  The air was cool as you moved swiftly through the trees, riding as fast as you could.  The sunlight that came through the foliage was blinding until you came to a grassy clearing, leading to the ocean.

Your horse came to a stop towards the edge, pawing at the dirt as you gazed out at the horizon.

You spread your arms out, taking in as much of it as possible.

If only you could grow a pair of wings and just fly away.

“You there!”

You turned around to see someone ride towards you.  Your horse shook its head nervously as he approached.

He was someone you’ve never seen before, with eyes like the shallow ocean and hair as black as night.  He wore a playful smile, until he got a good look at you.

“Y/N?”

You narrowed your eyes.  “How do you know my name?” you asked.  “Who are you?  A soldier?”

He pursed his lips.  “We know each other, Y/N,” he said, his eyes pleading.  “You know me.”

Feeling uneasy, you started your horse towards the woods again.  

“I’m sorry.  I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” you said.

He reached out, grasping onto your reins.  His eyes gazed deeply into yours, as if he were searching your soul for some sort of sign.

“You’re not the Y/N I knew at all, are you?” he said softly.

“I’m not,” you said, grabbing your reins back.  “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sir?” he mused.  “I’m Loki.”  He turned his horse alongside yours.  “At least allow me to ride back with you, my lady.”

You smiled and nodded, giving your horse a gentle kick.  

“I’ve never seen you before.  Are you new here?” you said as the two of you trotted along in the trees.

“I’ve been here for thousands of years,” he chuckled.  “I’m hardly new at all.”

“Then you’re a god,” you concluded.

He shrugged.  “Yes.”

As you emerged from the forest, your eyes were met with a fantastic golden city.  Your kingdom’s village was nowhere to be found.  You wanted to panic, but the architecture was smooth and soothing.

“Where am I?” you whispered.

Loki glanced at you.  “Asgard.”  He furrowed his brow.  “You’re not from here, are you?”

You shook your head.  

Was this the life’s sick way of granting your wish?

--

“I’ve heard of universes colliding, but never like this,” Queen Frigga said, slowly pacing in thought.  

“Do you know how I can get back?” you asked.  “It’s just...I love it here, but I don’t belong.”

Loki frowned as he played with an apple before making it vanish within his fingers.  

“Perhaps brother’s friends on Earth can help her.”

Frigga shook her head.  “They’ve only barely scratched the surface to space and time,” she said.  “Dealing with dimensions is a bit trickier.”

You looked down helplessly at your hands.  There had to be a way.  Of course you eventually wanted to leave your village, but you never expected it to be like this.  

Frigga sent you a sad smile.  “I’m sorry, my dear.  I’m sure this is a lot to handle.”

You shook your head.  “Thank you for your hospitality,” you said.  “If you are in need of any assistance, please allow me to help.”

“I appreciate your gesture.”

Loki rose from the chair he was lounging on.  

“I’ll go see if brother has any bright ideas,” he said.  “He may be a dimwit sometimes, but he is intelligent.”

Frigga laughed as Loki left the room.  

“Those two are always bickering, but they love each other,” she said fondly.

“His brother...”

“Thor,” she said.  “They’re extreme opposites actually.  Thor’s always been focused on solving problems physically, while Loki pulls strings discreetly, but they’re both good for each other.”

“I see,” you said, nodding.

She smiled as she touched your arm.  “I’m surprised Loki is mostly unfazed.  You look just like her.”

“Like her...”

The queen sat down beside you.  “She was a fierce warrior and a passionate person.  She was the only person in the world who saw Loki for who he was and accepted him.  My poor boy.”  

She shook her head.  

“She died in battle,” she continued.  “I’ve never seen Loki so destroyed...”

“I’m so sorry.”

It seemed like a silly thing to say, but what else could you offer?  You were in an unfamiliar world with unfamiliar people.  Nothing about you could even think about empathizing with her or Loki.  

Frigga shook her head.  “It’s not your fault,” she said.  “I’m actually glad you’re here.  Loki’s never looked so happy.”

You tried your best to smile.  

Maybe you were placed on this world for a reason.

--

Throughout your time in the palace, you often escaped to the stables, mostly to sneak apples for the horses.  You’d care for the steeds when no one was watching.  Although it was your job in your universe, it was the only think you could do to truly relax.

As you brushed a mare’s mane, you became aware of a presence leaning against the door frame behind you.

“So this is where you spend your days,” Loki said.

You quickly bowed.  “I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to --”

He poked your forehead as you came back up.  

“Why are you bowing?” he laughed.  “And there’s no need to apologize.  You’re free to roam about.”

You blinked, looking down at your dress.  “Well, you are a prince,” you said.  “I’m nothing but a stable girl where I come from, but I’m not ashamed.  It’s just who I am.”

Seeing his concerned expression, you covered your mouth.  

“I mean, I’m not a princess or anything,” you said.

“You don’t need to be,” he said.  “Since when does status matter?”

You frowned.  “That’s how people make a living nowadays, Loki.  Through leverage.”

“It shouldn’t be like that,” he said softly, approaching you.

You felt breathless as he leaned over you.  His breath ghosted lightly over your lips.

“What are you doing?” you whispered.

“What I should’ve done the moment I met you,” he said before closing the gap between you.

Your eyes were wide as you felt his lips on yours.  Part of you wanted to push him away, but the other part of you felt like you were soaring.  For the first time in your life, you felt happiness swell within you.  It slowly turned bitter when you realized the probable truth.

He pulled away, cradling your face.  “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, stepping back.  

“I’m sorry,” you started.  “I love you, Loki.  I truly do, but I know the only reason why you’re doing this is because I look like her.  I look like your Y/N.”

He shook his head.  “That’s not true.”

“Don’t hurt yourself any further than you already have, and don’t pity me,” you said.  “I’m sorry, Loki.”

“Y/N...”

You hiked up your skirts before running out of the stables back to the main part of the castle.

You ran down the empty hall, your dress trailing behind.  Somehow you kicked your shoes off in the process, feeling the cold floor beneath your feet.  Your face felt hot as you realized you confessed to him in your confused state.

You truly did love him, but you couldn’t yourself through torment any longer.

Once you got back to your chambers, you closed the door behind you, slowly sinking to your knees breathlessly.

Why does it have to be him?

A small knock sounded.

“Y/N?”

You got up, starting for the window Loki opened the door.

You kept your gaze on Asgard below, watching the streets streaked in the late afternoon sun.  You played with your hair, hiding your face from his view.

“Y/N,” Loki sighed.  “Please look at me.”

You shook your head.  “I can’t,” you said.  “If I look, then I won’t be able to look away.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” he said.  “Because I don’t have eyes for anyone but you.”

You turned, unsure as you met his eyes.  They were just as calm as the first time you saw them, with hints of blue and green.  As he gave you a small smile, you felt warm.

“I love you, Y/N, and I don’t care what universe you’re from,” he said.  “I love seeing your smile when you come back from riding in the woods.  I love picking bits of hay out of your hair, and I love that you let me braid it after.  You’re fiercely kind, and my family loves your company.”  

Your mouth parted, letting the tiniest gasp sound.  You smiled back, watching his grin grow wider.  Massive amounts of self control kept you from losing control as he stepped closer, and you leaned back against the window.

You gazed at his lips, then again at his eyes.  “Do you mean that?”

“Every word,” he whispered, brushing your hair back.

You couldn’t help but smile as he pressed his lips against your forehead.  

“What do you say we go for a ride?” he suggested.  “Maybe by the ocean?”

You nodded.  “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

[blissfulalchemist]

“You can share my jacket with me, since you’re shivering.” + dealer's choice!

Thank you Kate! Look at me posting some writing with Hypatia without formal introduction. I hope you enjoy it. X

Cities were never much my thing. Even as a kid I always felt this need to get away to find open space, so much so my mom used to joke about putting me on a rocket to the stars, then I could have all the space I wanted. So while St. Louis was no New York or Los Angeles it was still a city and so it felt like a prison, a feeling that didn’t get better by being cooped up inside a building near twenty four seven. Those of us that were recruited were only allowed outside, fully equipped with fresh air, with supervision at specific times of the day, and then confined to our rooms once night came. Those were the rules and for me….rules were made to be broken. After a few failed attempts I managed to find the one way I could always, one hundred percent guaranteed, have access to the roof in the dead of night. My small haven on nights I couldn’t sleep, the moments of peace I could cling too. 

Two years, I had spent two years with the Alchemists readying myself for whatever they had in mind for me. Though they never said much about what they wanted from me specifically but it seemed so far that I was to stay at one of their biggest facilities, never to be transferred out. I had seen other witches come through the doors, get some training or teach some class, and then leave just like that. Some of the women giddy with excitement about where they were being sent too, others rolling their eyes about how their job was probably going to be desk work, but I never left. Little orphan Annie, I stayed where I was, mastering my craft and being put through so much physical training I almost wanted to ask if I was to become an assassin. Not that they’d tell me, it was a need to know and I wasn’t in the loop that needed to know. Soon though, I hoped that it would be soon I would have a chance at my first field run to show them I was more than ready to help them in their cause. 

For now I’m left sitting on the edge of this building looking up to the few stars I can make out and the cityscape sounds below me. I can hear footsteps as they approach the door on the far end of the roof, panic surging in my body for only a moment. I swing my legs back over from the edge, ducking down behind some electrical boxes, peeking just over the edge, heart pounding. The door opens and a figure steps out into the low lighting, male and tall, with a medium build. His clothing is a white collared shirt and beige blazer with matching pants, typical stiff Alchemist fashion. His features become more detailed as he leaves the shadow of the door, his auburn hair is falling into his grey eyes, hands in his pockets walking in my direction. The smile he wears almost hides the golden lily on his cheek from this angle as I stand, meeting his smile with a small eye roll, “No unauthorized personnel allowed up here Caro.” I cross my arms, shifting my weight onto my left leg, “Last I checked you’re not authorized.”

I smirk cocking an eyebrow, “And last I checked, neither are you, Conner,” he chuckles pushing his hair back, the pieces falling back to where they were, “Thought you left for the day already?”

He jumps up on the electric box crossing his legs beneath him, “Went to go and check on you and the recruits.”

My eyes widened, biting my lower lip, looking to the ground, “And you didn’t find me where I was supposed to be.”

Conner taps his nose twice, “Third time this month, T,” my mouth falls open and my heart races, “Don’t worry. I haven’t told and don’t plan too.” I let out a sigh taking a seat next to him. 

“Not like they could do much about it if you did,” I shrug flipping my hair behind my shoulder. It seems I need to make the illusion spell stronger. 

“I don’t even get a thank you,” he shakes his head playfully, “Typical Caro move,” he turns to me, face serious, “They could punish you still if they did find out though.”

I snort, “How? By transferring me out of this place,” I bring my knees to my chest, “I’d be glad for it. I’m starting to hate everything about this place.”

“You can’t hate everything about this place,” he says softly leaning his arms on his knees, “Can you?”

I glance over to him frowning as I see his solemn face, “No. Not everything.” I nudge his shoulder gently with mine, “Don’t hate you Conner. You’re about the only best thing about this place.”

The smile returns, “I could say the same about you, Tia,” I feel the corner of my lips start to pull into a smile, “If I felt that you were the best thing about this place, but the cappuccino machine takes that spot.” I groan rolling my eyes, of course he’d never admit to it, if he did it could be seen as getting too close to the “impure” witches. The Alchemists couldn't have that, nope, not while we still used our unnatural magic. All of us that joined made a vow to forgo our magic once the mission was over allowing ourselves to be pure once more. We both look to the city below us, the passing of headlights on the freeway grabbing our attention the most, “I always loved to see cities from above like this. Highways always reminded me of a river.” I scoff, rolling my eyes, “What was that for,” he asks, a smile evident.

“What was what,” I mock looking away from him to my right, nose pointing up.

He mimics my scoffing, “That. What was that for,” Conner pokes my shoulder a few times. “You got a problem with my views on the city?”

The longer I hold back any kind of response his teasing gets worse, until I groan, pushing his hand away, “I don’t have problems with them,” he rests his chin on his hand, eyes tired fixated on me, Conner doesn’t believe me. “I don’t honestly,” my hands are held up in defense, crossing my legs like him, “Just seems typical of a city boy to say something like that.”

Conner laughs, “Oh I see how it is now,” he shakes his head, “I didn’t live in anything close to a city until I was sixteen and even then it was only a small town.”

“What did you live on a farm before that,” I clear my throat, readying a terrible southern accent, “Hey y’all, my name’s Conner and this here is ma horse.”

I laugh as he rolls his eyes, “You think you’re real cute with your antics don’t you?”

“I think I’m down right adorable.”

“You’re far from adorable.”

“You got a better word to describe me farm boy?” I lean towards him resting my chin on his shoulder, my lips near brushing his slowly reddening cheek.

“I do,” he faces me, lips close to mine, whispering, “Annoying.”

I clutch my chest pulling away from him, “You wound me, Smallville,” the back of my hand makes contact with my forehead, leaning back, “I shall never recover from such an insult.”

“You insult me all the time.”

“I do not,” I lie, mouth falling open, “How can you accuse me of such a thing, cornhusker?”

“Just this morning you said the coffee had better taste than me for hair styles,” he starts to count on his fingers, “Then there was the other day where you said I was so stiff that even a stick wouldn’t fit up my ass. Or the time you said I don’t even shop at a thrift store for my clothing but the knock off of thrift stores.” 

“Those are facts not insults,” I correct.

Conner gives a smirk, the only way his dimples show, shaking his head, “Guess it’s just tomato, tomato with you isn’t it. Also are you going to keep going with the farm related nicknames now?”

“Just until something sticks, Kansas.”

He runs a hand down his face, “I didn’t even grow up on a farm you know that right? You just assumed that.”

“So you just grew up in a house in the middle of nowhere?”

“Not really,” he leans back on his hands, eyes looking to the sky, “It was a single street with some houses scattered around it. The school I went to was next to the store, which was next to the bed and breakfast, and so on.” I stare as his eyes become a little glassy with the memories, “Our house was on a few acres of land, still within walking distance, and we had a garden.”

I almost want to laugh at the idea of him tending to different flowers, hands and hair filled with the blossoms, I don’t though, not with the look of happiness in his eyes, “Your mom a florist?” 

He smiles, “Yeah. I guess so when you really think about it.” His head rolls to look at me lazily, “Guess we end up craving what we never got in the end.”

I tilt my head, “What do you mean?”

“You grew up in a city your whole life and yet when we found you, you were traveling the open road,” my heart aches at the mention of my life before here and how I may never have that again, “Always seemed to stick to the big open spaces of the desert.”

I flinch, “How do you know it's the desert that I spend the most time in?” Were they watching me for a lot longer than they told me originally? If they were, the question became why? 

“Whenever I ask you about your favorite places you always respond with places in the southwest,” he says matter of factly. I should have guessed, Conner’s smart and the only person I have real conversations with in this place. He looks me up and down, the wind has started to blow harder sending a chill through my body, “Your clothing also says a lot about your weather preference.” I look down to the dark purple tank top, with jean cutoff shorts, fishnet stockings, and black boots, my eyes narrowing.

He laughs as I give a light punch to his arm, “It does not. I just like dressing this way.”

“Tell me this then: Do you own anything heavier than a jean jacket?” I look away grumbling, crossing my arms, the goosebumps prominent, “Thought so. You never see yourself as needing one since you’ll never go as far north as Utah.” I hate that he’s right, even in the summers I never go much farther and the forests somehow feel just as packed as the city. I always keep saying one day, but it never came, an excuse always coming up as to why I couldn’t and shouldn’t go. I shiver again, rubbing my arms, Conner already shrugging off his blazer, “Here,” he places it on my shoulders, “You can share my jacket with me, since you’re shivering.” 

I push my arms though the sleeves, the warmth spreading through me as I inhale the spearmint and fresh cut pine lingering from his aftershave. “Thanks,” I smile, my dark hair blowing in the wind hiding the small blush I can feel on my cheeks, “Don’t think that I’ll be nice to you after this though.”

Conner laughs, lying back on the box, letting his legs hang off the edge, “Wouldn’t expect anything else from you Patia.” I shoot him a glare at the near use of my full name, “It’s not your full name, so I can get away with it.”

I sigh, stretching myself next to him, “For now, but you're on thin ice buddy.” My eyes search the stars picking out the different constellations hoping to see the one on my pendant.

“Why do you like the open spaces of the desert so much, T,” I hum, my mental star map lost for a moment, “The one thing I never really understood. I mean it’s pretty but there’s always something more with you to places.”

My hands reach for the silver pendant resting at the hollow of my collar bone, tracing the black engraved stars in the connecting parallelograms of Orion, “The stars. You can see all the stars at night.”

“That why you come up here?” I can feel his grey eyes on me as he shift slightly to get a better look, “To take in the ten stars that are visible?”

My brow knits, frowning as I turn to face him, “There’s more than ten stars to be seen here.”

He shakes his head, “I have counted many times over and I only get about ten, sometimes twenty on a really good night.”

I scoot closer to him, grabbing his hand, pointer finger out, “Let me show you. I can point out three constellations and the other stars I can see.” As I make invisible lines he keeps shaking his head, the lights hard to see or not there at all he claims. “I think you need to get your eyes checked, C-man,” I declare, shaking my head sadly, “cause you might be going blind and I can’t have that happen.”

“And why is that?”

“Because your life will fall to shambles if you can’t be graced with my beauty, that's why.”

He groans covering his face, “God what am I going to do with you?”

“You should be asking what you would do without me,” I tease, laughing at his features getting more tired with each word coming out of my mouth.

“I think it’s time to send you back into your cage for the night now,” he says, sitting up.

I whine, I know he’s doing it more for my safety, I’ve already spent too much time out here and the next checks would be coming soon. “Few more minutes,” I place my hand over his, Conner’s eyes glancing between his hand and my face a few times, “Please. You get to have me all to yourself for a little while longer.”

He stiffens, silent for a few moments before he swallows, nodding, “Okay. Just a few more minutes Caro.” Conner settles next to me, gaze avoiding me, keeping to the sky. The heat from his coat vanishing, the warmth of him that replaces it is enough to make the night wind more bearable, and I just know that the smell of spearmint will linger in my hair for the rest of the night. He really needs a new aftershave, he was never going to get a date with the scent of spearmint. That’s something for me to tell him tomorrow, because for now I just want to enjoy this moment of peace I’ll cling on to.

[demons-incorrect-alw]

Cats as WTNV quotes

Grizabella: There is a monster under your bed. A monster at your window. A monster any place you imagine one. You project your monsters on the world.

-

Old Deuteronomy: The City Council voted this week to make death a meritocracy.

-

Mr. Mistoffelees: See? You never needed that wand or that cape. The power to feel unfocused shame and anxiety was within you this whole time.

-

The Rum Tum Tugger: On this day in history: mundanity, and terror, and food, and love, and trees.

-

Coricopat: The laws of physics? What are you, a narc?

-

Tantomile: If at first you don't succeed, look around and find out who is trying to sabotage you with telepathic interference. It is someone you know.

-

Macavity: If at first you don't succeed, then you will have alerted them to your presence. It is important that you at first succeed.

-

Demeter: If you love someone, set them free. Set them free now. This is the police, and we have you surrounded.

-

Bombalurina: The past is gone, and cannot harm you any more. And while the future is fast coming for you, it always flinches first, and settles in as the gentle present.

-

Rumpleteazer: The present tense of regret is indecision. The future tense of fear is either comedy or tragedy. And the past tense of toast is toasted.

-

Mungojerrie: Bananas are hardly that slippery. But watch your step anyway.

-

Munkustrap: I don’t get how people can find inaccurate jokes funny.

Like, OK, so a horse walks into a bar, and says “I feel used. As a species, even, I feel used.” And so then the bartender, who is also a horse, ‘cause, you know, this is the Horse District where the horses live when they’re not being used by the humans, and the horse bartender says, “Don’t I know it, buddy!” and the first horse says “I’m not your buddy!” And then he says, “Man, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That was awful of me. It’s the anger.”

So, that’s another example of a scientifically accurate joke.

-

Bustopher Jones: You take the good. You take the bad. You take them both, and there you have spiders crawling out of a red velvet cupcake.

-

Victoria: You are fragile, and blind, and wanting, and stepping alone into the great darkness of the future.

-

Alonzo: If I said you had a beautiful body, would it even matter because we are so insignificant in this vast incomprehensible universe?

-

Cassandra: As long as I’m reminding myself things, I’m a good person, worthy of love – both from myself and others.

-

Gus: We all want to live forever right? Wrong. Think about watching your family die as you selfishly carry on, your children aging and passing, your grandchildren and so on. Think of all the friends you’ll make, and eventually lose. You don’t want that. No! You know the earth is eventually going to be swallowed by the sun right?

-

Admetus:  A rose by any other name is called something else.

-

Jellylorum: When we talk about teenagers, we adults often talk with an air of scorn, of expectation for disappointment. And this can make people who are presently teenagers feel very defensive. But what everyone should understand is that none of us are talking to the teenagers that exist now, but talking back to the teenager we ourselves once were – all stupid mistakes and lack of fear, and bodies that hadn’t yet begun to slump into a lasting nothing. Any teenager who exists now is incidental to the potent mix of nostalgia and shame with which we speak to our younger selves.

-

Jemima: Be proud of your place in the cosmos. It is small, and yet it is.

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Jennyanydots: Whisper a dangerous secret to someone you care about. Now they have the power to destroy you, but they won’t. That’s what love is.

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Skimbleshanks: I had a dream in which cow-sized pugs existed. I was on a train, and one loped along outside my window. I'm sorry your dreams aren't as good.

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Tumblebrutus: The cardinal emotions are wild abandon, guarded affection, directionless jealousy, and irritation.

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Pouncival: Children are also taught this simple memory device so we can remember when running and screaming is useful. The memory device goes like this: KNIFE.

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Electra: I like all music. Accept rap and country.

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Etcetera: Pick your battles. Choose your lifetimes. Decide carefully on your universe.

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Plato: An unknown person did something that no one else saw, the nature and extent of which is impossible to determine, and the result of which will be lost in the chaotic chain of causation and consequence that is history.

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Asparagus, Jr.: There is power in being unremembered, in being overlooked. You should remember that power. People who aren't seen can see and hear all.

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George: Sad is not the town that has no hero. Sad is the town that needs a hero.

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Baby Griz: Time is weird.  So is space.  I hope ours match again someday.