#i love the idea of the vision-case-border!!

[yanfei-impact]

[I.D.: a picture of a rainbow tie die backpack with three enamel pins on it: a rainbow pin, a pin of Yanfei inside a Liyue vision case, and a pin of Venti. /end I.D.]

i got these amazing pins for Christmas!!!!!!! @komorebiamaya made the the amazing Yanfei pin and @puffifish the adorable Venti pin!!!!!!!!!

[mothwingwritings]

Doppo, Shibukawa, Motobe, Biscuit, And Yujiro As Your Sugar Daddy 💄💋✨

Hi everyone!!! Sorry I dipped out for a moment, I had an eventful past two weeks (but some of the event has been writing stuff, so that’s something at least lul) and now I come back offering whatever the hell this is lol. The idea of the Baki men being sugar daddies came to me in a vision while I was supposed to be working, so of course as the responsible individual that I am I focused on that and started writing this and here we are now! :D It’s for all my dilf/gilf lovers out there. You are all lovely little treasures and I adore you all. :*

As you can probably tell by the subject matter of this one, 18+ only please!!!

Thank you for reading!!!

Warnings: Sex, sex work/reader is a sex worker, mentions of various sexual acts, possessive/obsessive tendencies from your clients, dubcon, mentions of noncon, Yujiro Hanma being Yujiro Hanma, mentions of threesomes and open relationships, very little editing.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Doppo Orochi˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

·         Doppo would be an exceptional sugar daddy. He’s attentive and kind to you, both when you are out on dates and when you share private time together, and you can always tell he’s truly excited to spend time with you (even when sex isn’t involved). He loves to spoil you and has the money to back it, gifting you whatever your heart desires, all you have to do is say the word.

·         He’s a big family man, and as such he may push the boundaries a bit of what your relationship is. It’s hard to see him as just a benefactor when he’s sending you good morning and good night texts, inviting you over for home cooked dinners, calling you just so he can hear your voice and talk about silly things, checking in on you to make sure you are safe and happy. It may be pushing the line of what is appropriate and what isn’t for your relationship, but you can’t lie and say it isn’t nice feeling so cared for.

·         That being said, you know Doppo has a wife that he loves very much, so there is no confusion of your role as just a sugar baby in this dynamic. In most cases such a strong spousal bond may cause trouble on your end, but luckily for you Natsue is as fond of you as Doppo is. She’s definitely not as into the sexual aspect of your company as Doppo is, but get ready for plenty of passionate threesomes should the three of you find yourselves together and in the mood.

·         Doppo is very open about sharing his life with you. He invites you to all his matches, you have free access to Shinshin Kai dojo, and after a certain level of trust is reached, he’ll even give you a key to his house. At first it felt strange, like you were bordering on something taboo having so much access to his private life, and you worried you were taking advantage of his hospitality. But as time wore on you realized that his fondness for you was just so great that he wanted you to be a part of his life as much as possible, regardless of what the typical sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship was. However, if the familiarity and closeness ever made you uncomfortable he would end it immediately, reverting back to business as usual (though it would make him extremely sad).

·         His main downside is that he’s definitely very ‘dad-like’ and sometimes you feel more like a child he is over protective of then his beloved sugar baby. His fatherly advice and guidance can be a bit overbearing, and it takes all you have not to roll your eyes at his griping over some of your decisions and future plans.

·         If it doesn’t end up working out with Doppo, he has a hot son you can fall back on :)

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˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Gouki Shibukawa˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

·         Shibukawa truly is a wild card. You have no idea what to expect when this man calls on your services. He’s hired you for things as mild as enjoying afternoon tea with him and as raunchy as participating in the most degenerate sexual roleplay you can possibly imagine (consensually, of course).

·         So even though he’s one of your older benefactors, he is certainly far from boring. In fact, you can’t help but get excited whenever he reaches out to you, wondering what he may have in store for your meet up.

·         Shibukawa is one of the less sentimental of the sugar daddies. There is definitely no mistaking that your relationship is strictly for pleasure, and as a side effect of that his private life is a virtual mystery to you. You have your suspicions about what he does with his spare time, but should you pry too much he’ll swiftly and efficiently end the conversation, focusing his attention instead on the sweeter side of your affair.

·         However, he is far from cold. Shibukawa always treats you extremely well and pays you even better, so he quickly becomes one of your favorite clients.

·         Also, he’s extremely interesting. This man could make a story about what he ate for breakfast sound like the most fascinating thing on the world, so even if nothing big or exciting happens in the time you spend with him, at the very least you know you won’t ever be bored.

·         Don’t let his age fool you-he is a beast in bed. With age comes experience, and that has never been truer than with Shibukawa. You don’t think you’ve ever quite felt the thrill you get when you have intimate time with Shibukawa with any other client, let alone actual romantic partners you’ve had.

·         His downside is that his mood towards you is always fluctuating. He will be in constant contact with you for weeks at a time and then fall off the face of the earth, only to pop back up expecting you to prioritize him over your other clients. It’s a bit obnoxious, especially if he is your best paying client and you are relying on him financially, yet he refuses to keep you in the loop of any plans he wants to involve you in or meet ups he may be concocting.

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˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Motobe Izou˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

·         The KING of pet names. I honestly don’t think this man has ever called you your actual name once. Baby, sweetheart, dove, little one-the list goes on. If you called him a pet name back, he would probably have a heart attack brought on by the sheer amount of joy that would bring him.

·         He may not be as wealthy as some of your other clients, but his care and devotion to you are off the charts. Each time he calls on your services he always greets you with flowers or chocolates, and each date he takes you on is to a place you like or recommend, prioritizing your favorites over the stuff he may prefer. He’s at your beck and call; willing to drop everything should your schedule open up and you have the time to spend with him.

·         He’s very protective of you, having legitimate concerns over whether any of your other customers are overly handsy or make you do and participate in things you are uncomfortable with. He tries to play it cool and ask about your health and well-being nonchalantly, but you can tell by the nervous undertone in his voice and the bags under his eyes that his fretting over you and your profession wears heavily upon him, affecting his day to day life.

·         He’s also low-key scared that you prefer other clients over him (even though you have never done anything to make him perpetuate this idea), so he stresses himself out over that as well.

·         Motobe is an incredibly intimate lover. He takes his time with you, committing to memory which of his actions brings you the most pleasure so that he can use them time and time again to drive you wild. Every caress of his hand and kiss of his lips is gentle and loving, he treats you as if you are the most precious being on the planet earth and it never ceases to make you melt.

·         That being said, he has the toughest time distinguishing boundaries in your relationship, constantly blurring the lines between professional and personal. Anyone that interacts with the two of you can see just how head over heels for you he is, and more often than not when out and about people just assume you are spouses based solely on how openly affectionate and lovey dovey he is with you. His doting can be rather heavy-handed, not to mention disconcerting, especially when you work so hard to establish clear boundaries with him.

·         … But still, you can’t find yourself being too upset at Motobe. Even when he takes things too far, Motobe is certainly the most caring client you’ve had, earnestly watching over you and taking the best care of you he can with the limited time he has with you. Even with all his quirks, you have a definite soft spot for the man.

·         And who knows? Maybe someday when you seek another line of work and leave this one behind you can go on an actual date with him? He’ll most certainly be waiting on you, more than ready to make it official. :)

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˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Biscuit Oliva˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

·         If Biscuit is yoursugar daddy, my dear you have it MADE.

·         He is the IDEAL sugar daddy. He’s handsome, sweet, wealthy, and not afraid to lavish you in all of the finer things. It’s not uncommon for you to go out on a date with him only to come home in a new designer outfit of your choice, decked out in a varying level of jewels he let you pick out yourself.

·         And it’s not just material possessions, he loves taking you on all kind of exotic trips and vacations, taking you to places you never dreamed you’d be able to go. It makes his heart swell seeing the excitement in your eyes the moment the plane touches down at each new locale, your unbridled joy spurring him to feel just a thrilled by this adventure as you do (even if it’s to a place he has been countless times before).

·         But even when he’s not whisking you off to fun and foreign places, he always makes every date exciting. Regardless of if it’s small meet up, or a full on whirlwind adventure, there is never a dull moment with Biscuit.

·         Being with him is like an honest to god fairytale, you feel like some kind of royalty whenever you are in his presence. He dotes on you to the extreme, showering you in affection, praise, and gifts. You’ve never felt more beautiful or important than you do when you are with Biscuit.

·         All that being said, this man really makes you earn the title of sugar baby. His sex drive is off the charts and he has an insatiable attraction to you, which means the moment he sees you, he’s on you. Of course he shows decorum out in public, presenting as the perfect gentleman on any dates he escorts you on while out in the public eye. But the moment you two are behind closed doors? Prepare to be absolutely ravished. You probably won’t be able to walk for a few days once he’s done.

·         Like Doppo, you are aware that Biscuit already has a special lady in his life. As such, Biscuit made sure that you were someone that Maria was not just OK with, but someone she genuinely liked. You take that kind of as a badge of honor, as Maria has a tendency to be very picky with the people she surrounds herself with. But the two of you hit it off within minutes of meeting each other, which is a huge relief to both you and Biscuit.

·         You’re not expected to participate in the ‘sugar’ end of the deal with Maria, but should you show interest in Maria in that way, Biscuit would be over the moon. Whether it be a threesome or just the two of you together while he watched, he’ll be absolutely delighted either way (and expect to be handsomely compensated for the good time. ;). Just don’t start liking each other more than him, OK? He would probably pass away from heart break if the two of you left him in the dust. ^^;

·         The biggest down side to having Biscuit as your sugar daddy is that he can be a bit… much. He’s exceptionally clingy, to the point that you have to completely silence or shut off your phone sometimes because he’s always calling or texting you for some reason or another-even when you are with other clients. He also HEAPS on the affection so much that you feel suffocated by it, which is a lot on its own, let alone from a person you aren’t even in a committed relationship with. When you try and ask him to ease up, or even just straight up ignore him for a bit, it only makes his dogged affection worse. :/

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˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Yujiro Hanma˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

·         The fact that you even became the Ogre’s sugar baby is baffling, and honestly a rather scary and precarious situation for you to be stuck in.

·         The thought that he would actually pay for something so many people would willingly supply to him, or that he could simply take from another person, must mean he finds you extremely interesting. Whether that’s a good or bad thing is to be determined.

·         You don’t ever get a heads up for your liaisons with Yujiro-the man just shows up when he desires your company and that’s that. It doesn’t matter if you are sleeping, with another client, or otherwise engaged, Yujiro ALWAYS takes precedence and you better remember that if you want him to keep paying you.

·         That being said, he gets rather territorial of you when he sees you or hears about you with other clients. Not necessarily jealous (what is there to be jealous of? He’s leagues better than those losers and everyone knows it), but definitely disgruntled that despite his patronage you still choose other men to attend to. You should feel honored to have him as a patron, indebted to the point where he is your soul focus. The fact that you aren’t definitely pushes his buttons.

·         As stated, being Yujiro’s sugar baby is definitely a perilous situation to be in. He is interested in you enough to spend time and money on you, but you would never delude yourself into thinking he held any sort of romantic attraction towards you. You are merely a source of pleasure and entertainment, which in and of itself is fine, that is your profession after all.  But once your use to him ended… where does that leave you? With all other clients they simply moved on, but Yujiro is like an untamed beast. If he gets upset with you in anyway, getting extremely hurt by him is a very real possibility.

·         Also- he’s the strongest being on the planet. He could kill you without batting a lash, whether by accident or on purpose. Merely being in his presence is a daunting experience, and while you’ve dealt with strong and/or questionable clients in the past, Yujiro is a breed all his own. Simply put-he scares you, and he is by far the most dangerous person you’ve ever had to interact with.

·         Everything about your relationship is filled with uncertainty. Sometimes your dates are good- he’ll take you out to nice places to do exciting things and may even get you a gift or two. But more often than not his ‘dates’ (if you can even call them that) are chaotic and abrupt, leaving you in pain and out of it for days.

·         He’s EXTREMELY demeaning as well, calling you whore or slut more than your actual name. He especially likes to belittle you during sexual acts, reminding you of what a useless and weak piece of meat you are as he pounds into you mercilessly. The berating gets even worse when/if you start to feel pleasure from the acts. He enjoys it immensely when you put up a resistance to his advances, only to becoming a slavering mess, completely drunk off his cock.

·         Receiving money from Yujiro is very dependent on his mood and how much fun he had while in your company. There are days when you leave your dates loaded with cash with very little effort, and times when you go above and beyond to please home only to receive a small amount of income. Honestly though, the days when you receive more cash can be worse than when he barely pays you-he is apt to lord it over you and expect more unsolicited favors from you in response to his act of benevolence.

·         The worst part of this whole arrangement is that you don’t have a say in any of it. Any person in their right mind would reject Yujiro as a client no matter how attractive or wealthy he may be, but you were never given that luxury. The moment he took an interest in you, you became irrevocably tied to him with no hope of shaking him.  You would be forced to serve him until he grows tired of you- you just hope that when his interest in you wanes it means your freedom and not your untimely demise. :)

[mynamesaplant]

What Lurks in the Dark

Posting here, but also posting here on AO3 in case reading on Tumblr's not your thing!

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Summary:

Dawn finds herself stuck in her mer form. What's worse is that she's been having nightmares.

Content Warnings:

This fic contains blood, violence against children, and PTSD.

Notes:

Thanks once again to all the inspiration from monsoon-of-art on Tumblr and their PLA Mer AU. They are forever a font of knowledge and inspiration.

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Dawn never realized just how dark the ocean got at night. She was usually back on land with man made light banishing the dark back to its dark corners. The sea has no such luxury. Since being stuck as a mer, her dark vision has gotten a lot better so seeing isn’t really the problem. Her swimming and internal navigation was leagues better than before, but neither clan fully trusted her to be on her own just yet. Still so small and inexperienced to what lurks in the ocean. At least one clan member was with her at any given time, trying to prevent her from scratching at the patchy fur.

“Just be patient.”

Calaba’s chiding did not stop Dawn from trying to steal away and dig her sharpening claws into the uncomfortable, and frankly unsightly, adult coat disrupting her previously pristine white fur. She knew everyone was secretly excited, and she was too, she loved to spend time with her mer family… But this felt like one more little taunt from Arceus.

One day with Ingo at the shoreline, he commented that her coat looked longer than usual and a little darker in some spots. Dawn couldn’t say she noticed, but he scooped her up and set her on the rocky outcrop, withdrawing her flute from her bag. The song sounded… wrong though. Even Ingo’s face quirked in confusion, leaning down to look while Dawn twirled the flute in her hands.

“Your flute looks different.”

It looked very different from his. It looked more like a shell and as blue as the sea. He had never seen anything quite like it.

“Why am I not changing back?”

The minor note of panic was not lost on Ingo. Dawn was peering into the holes to see if something was stuck or if it was damaged in some way, but she didn’t see anything that would prevent her from playing and the magic from working to change her back into her human form. He extended his hand out.

“May I see it?”

She placed the flute down and Ingo brought it closer, squinting to look for the same things she had. He picked it up with delicate fingers and turned it over.

“Why don’t we take it to Warden Arezu? I’ve been told she has dexterous hands, so she might be able to do more than I would.”

Dawn had found that agreeable at the time, but they went to the Diamond clan’s settlement the following day and Arezu found nothing amiss. Adaman also took a crack at it but was about as successful as the previous three. Now bordering on hysterics, Dawn went to all the wardens to seek any assistance and the only ones who provided her with any real insight were Calaba and Sabi.

Calaba was a little more straightforward but cynical. The old warden remarked that if the gods that power the flute’s magic did not want her to return to her human form, there was nothing to be done but wait or accept the inevitable. The idea that she would never go back to being human made Dawn shudder. She enjoyed being a mer sometimes, but she preferred having legs and eating cooked food.

Sabi was more cryptic but provided a glimmer of hope. Dawn did her best to wade through what the youngest warden said to get to the crux of the matter, not that Sabi made it remotely easy. What she got from their exchange was that she should go to the drop off and just ask for a straightforward answer. As if Arceus would really just answer her questions without being as cryptic as the Diamond clan warden.

Ingo had planned to accompany her, but Adaman and Irida ended up being her escorts, the area bearing more spiritual significance now since the events of rising tides and the attack of the many-armed serpent.

Unlike all the times she had tried playing to revert back to her human form, the flute played perfectly, and a voice rose from the depths, booming and alien, but somehow also familiar, to the ears of the mers.

You summoned us, chosen?

Dawn felt the clan leaders press closer to each of her sides. Irida’s upper lip curled back to reveal sharp canines and blue eyes hooded by her furrowed brow, ear pressed flat to her head. Adaman’s tail restlessly stirred up the water, his ears twitching which made the scales shimmer and flash in the dim light, and his gills flared and flushed a dark red.

Dawn knew both of these reactions were signs of aggression and warning. The girl took a deep breath and said as loudly as she could into the dark expanse of sea below her.

“Why is my flute not working?”

There was a long pause before the voice responded.

What do you mean? You just played the song to garner our attention.

“You’re right, I did.” Dawn was trying not to sound frantic, trying so hard to be patient to get the answer she needed. “When I play the song that turns me back into normal, it doesn’t work. It sounds wrong.”

Another pause – even longer this time. She half expected the voice to ask her to play, which she was fully willing to do (regardless of the consequences of being so deep and being a poor swimmer).

Observe your coat, chosen, and tell us what you see.

Dawn twisted herself around and looked down at her tail. She took in the little splotches of gray staining the fur. She ran her fingers through it and felt that it was somehow uneven, just as Ingo had observed. The two clan leaders also took a closer look, about as unsure as Dawn as to why a god couldn’t just be forthcoming about an issue for once.

“Oh… Oh Dawn! Your molting!”

“I’m what?”

She barely had time to say as Irida wrenched her around, fingers nimbly working through her uneven fur and producing a tuff of fur between her claws. Adaman scowled and helped Dawn into a more upright position, the suddenness of being jerked around had given her sort of a head rush and she appreciated the Diamond clan leader for righting her.

“You’re getting your adult coat!”

Lady Irida is correct. The flute will not work until you have gone through your molts, chosen.

And thus, it went. Dawn was stuck in her mer form. Her fur slowly – almost painfully so – dappling with dark gray flecks as the snowy fur turned more of a smoky gray with the passage of time.

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Stuck in the water with not a lot of options, she swam up the river that led to Jubilife and hollered at one of the guards to get the professor. Laventon might not be able to help, but he might be able to offer advice.

“My word,” he exclaimed, kneeling by the water as about half of the village was held back by the Security Corp. “Dear girl, why haven’t you played your flute yet?”

She explained morosely what was happening and Laventon’s brow furrowed. He agreed that it was a conundrum but, as predicted, had no solutions for her. His recommendation was that she remain in the water because trying to stay on land would be far too complicated for her in her current condition.

“How am I going to eat? I always ate here.”

“Well, I suppose you could keep swimming back here and someone can fetch you something, but I imagine that might grow wearisome depending on how long this lasts.”

Dawn tried to keep up with it for a while, returning to Jubilife twice a day, but the trip became exhausting within the first few weeks. The clans were coaxing her to stay closer by, she was burning so many calories trying to get back when they could feed her just as well as Galaxy Team could. Eventually, she agreed with them. She did not realize she would be stuck there for the next few months.

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Dawn hadn’t always been afraid of the dark. The key word there being always. She had been afraid of the dark as a little girl. She remembered her mother putting a nightlight in her room, a little rotating light that displayed the stars across the ceiling of her room, but that had mostly subsided when she got older. Now she had entirely different reasons for being afraid.

She didn’t realize it at first – that this fear was gripping her so tightly once again. Not until she was out near dusk and Gaeric had tried to insist they do a little bit of hunting with him and Ingo.

“Gotta pull your own weight you two. Now, come on. You can set up and check yesterday’s traps.”

At first, she wasn’t opposed to the idea. She took it as an opportunity to get used to swimming with low levels of light and to trust the way the water feels against her body, like Iscan and Mai had tried to explain to her.

“You can feel the current. Sometimes it’s warmer or cooler, but they’re like invisible guides. There is so much you can learn just from the feel of the water.”

Although neither warden was too far away and the task at hand wasn’t particularly difficult, as night began to blacken the water, Dawn felt something inside her constrict. Suddenly everything felt harder to see and she froze, muscles screaming in pain because of how immediately they locked up. She didn’t understand! Maybe… Maybe something venomous stung her?

“Dawn!”

It was not Ingo’s voice she heard first, but Gaeric’s. The mer barreling towards her and quickly assessing the situation. All he could tell was that she was struggling for some unknown reason. Maybe not enough air? Her pupils had shrunk to a fraction of their normal size, her head wiping around wildly. Gaeric scooped her up and moved for the surface, Ingo not far behind.

Her body was rigid – cold like a sheet of ice – and Gaeric was surprised when he felt her shaking against his palm. Ingo was trying to talk to her, trying to figure out what happened, but all they could hear was her teeth chattering. She was gingerly pried away, leaving bloodied scratches in Gaeric’s palm, and Ingo took her back to the settlement to let a medic look her over, but nothing was wrong.

“It seems as though she experienced a shock of some sort.”

That was all they could conclude unless Dawn had something to add, which she didn’t. The girl was actually rather embarrassed by the whole affair, her time with Galaxy Team shining through in her assurances that she would not be a burden to the clans. Well, now she felt like a burden. Ingo swiftly silences those worries. These were unusual circumstances and completely out of her control. She had accepted his half scolding, half reassuring speech, and tried to put the incident out of mind. A few weeks later, that’s when the nightmares started.

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Dawn felt the darkness pressing on her eyes, her heart pounding so fast and loud that she was positive that he could hear it from her hiding spot. This area wasn’t even that deep. In the back of her head, she heard an unhelpful Laventon monologue about cephalopod ink and how it was used as a defense mechanism. Not this time though. This time it was meant to confuse and disorientate.

The eerie silence of the water only severed to make her trembling worse, forced to wait until he made a move. Her only defense seemed to be her small size and the flute clutched tightly in her hands. She could not stop the scream that was wrenched from her throat as long, clawed fingers probed the crevasse, and a burning amber eye illuminated her hiding spot.

“Come now, chosen one.”

The words came across bitter, but also a touch playful. He was going to enjoy toying with her for having what he never could – for being the exact thing he mocked, which he craved to be. All his prayers. All his devotion. All his effort. Yet, the Almighty picked this puny, insignificant, blaspheming child? Volo was going to mince her and offer Arceus’ favored up as a sacrifice to the many-armed serpent – Giratina would enjoy that. Volo all but assured her of her inevitable demise.

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Dawn sat bolt upright, swallowing a scream that had been part way out of her throat. The sleeping pups and adults around her were not roused, she was still nestled safely beside Ingo’s flank, and there were a few smoldering fires around the space that provided a warm glow that reminded her of a sunset.

“Red skies in the morning, sailors take warning. Red skies at night, sailors delight.”

Laventon had playfully told her. Dawn pressed herself closer to Ingo, gripping the fabric of his parka tightly in her fingers, and forced her eyes shut.

“Go back to sleep.” She mumbled to herself, trying to keep the shake out of her voice. “Go back to sleep. Just go back to sleep.”

She did eventually, but her mind was still plagued by vague nightmares of sheer cold and oppressive darkness. Thoughts filled with slime and decay, sharp mouthfuls of teeth and suckers hiding deadly hooks cutting into her with ominous laughter filling her dreams.

This fitful sleep did not go unnoticed.

Ingo was a little too direct about it, asking her if she was alright and if she slept well when they both knew she didn’t. He couldn’t help it. It was in his nature to get to the heart of the matter and try to be as helpful as he could. To his surprise and dismay, she lied to his face.

“I slept great! Now, what’s on tap for today?”

At first, it was only occasional. Ingo had trained himself to be attuned to the subtle changes in her sleep and would draw the girl a little closer when her dreams were tipping into nightmares. Even if the knowledge made his skin crawl, he had to accept that Dawn just didn’t feel comfortable divulging her thoughts just yet. He could understand in a way. They were similar in that regard. It was hard for him to place his reliance on others, even if that was against his better judgement. Especially since his clan already found behavior like that weird, as they had always had one another to lean on, Dawn’s experience was entirely unique to her.

All mers had growing pains, he knew he must have even if he couldn’t remember precisely, but she probably did not have the words to describe it. The language was her biggest barrier. Everyone tried to be understanding, but sometimes it did not come across that way. So, Ingo relied on patience and the knowledge that Dawn was a smart girl – impulsive at times, but smart – and she would come to him when she truly needed him.

He wasn’t the only one to notice, however.

Calaba and Palina noticed the dark circles under her eyes, but did not know how to properly address it, especially since Dawn wouldn’t even talk to Ingo about it.

Calaba offered her some remedies. Tinctures and oils that had helped growing pups in the past through their growing pains, those growth spurts often accompanied by sleepless nights.

Palina made an effort to make more food that she liked to help her feel a little better. Who couldn’t have a good night’s sleep with a full stomach of your favorite foods? Dawn accepted them, but the restlessness continued.

Gaeric’s solution was the same as Mai’s, just stuff as many activities into a day to exhaust her and she should sleep soundly. It worked at first, the girl instantly passing out when it was time to rest for the evening, but even though Dawn was thoroughly exhausted, it did not stop.

Lian, Arezu, and Sabi were all of the same mind that what she needed was a good distraction because she was homesick, so the younger wardens spent hours playing with her.

Arezu, always fond of grooming sessions, chattered endlessly as Dawn dozed, half listening to what she had to say but mostly finding brief interludes of sleep between Arezu’s stories. Both methods, like all the previous ones, had been temporary. Adaman personally found all these tactics to be a waste of time.

“Give her to Melli,” he had jokingly told Iscan when he had made a suggestion to have her lay out in the sun. “He can sound like the droning of bees and cicadas, that’s sure to put her to sleep.”

The problem was that nobody knew how to broach the topic, not with Dawn immediately withdrawing into her shell by denying there was a problem anyhow. Irida had learned that firsthand. Dawn flinched at the question and stammered out that she slept just fine. The girl wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

If it was so obvious, then Dawn needed to do something about it. She stole away and returned to Jubilife to ask the professor for his advice. Everyone would scold her later for vanishing without a word, but she needed some time alone to think and seek advice from someone she trusted even more than Ingo.

“Restlessness? Hm, I usually find a nice cup of warm tea usually sends me into a nice sleep. I can try to get you a cannister of tea leaves, a cup… a pot to brew it. Do they have fires at these settlements?”

“Yes, I cook all the fish I catch over them.”

Dawn had to admit though, it was becoming more and more tempting not to wait until she returned to the settlement to have a meal. The idea still grossed her out enough not to, but sometimes she watched Gaeric eating something he had just caught with such vigor, that she had brief moments of morbid curiosity.

“Fascinating! I will have Rei gather up all the necessary supplies. I must ask, are you still filling out your research book?”

She nodded and withdrew a notebook from the standard waterproof bag provided to every Survey corp member. He beamed when she handed it over, thumbing over the worn pages, wrinkled from drips of sea water and bleached almost as thoroughly as her warden friend’s coat. Her illustrations were always exquisite, her notes not nearly as detailed as Rei’s, but Laventon appreciated them anyway.

“Professor, has… Has anyone seen or heard anything about Volo?”

Laventon tore his gaze from the book and looked down at the girl. She was not looking at him, tapping a finger on a rock and taking great interest in her patchy tail, attempting to appear uninterested.

“No, unfortunately. The commander had the team scouring the lands and, per our agreement with the clans, they would keep an eye out for him in the waters.”

“Okay.” Her voice was strange. “Just curious.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

A frigid limb, colder than all the water in icelands, coiled around her. Tighter and tighter until all the air was crushed out of her, a stream of bubbles escaped her and rushed away, showing her the way to go. She could not follow. Sharp teeth dug into her. Cutting her. Making her bleed. She couldn’t even scream.

“Look at me now, chosen one.”

Dawn was jerked through the water, placed eye to eye with a man she had confided in, she had trusted him – how could she not? He had been so kind. She met a sinister grin and two unblinking yellow eyes. A pair of suns filled with nothing but malice as Volo’s grip tightened around her. There was a horrible crunch.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dawn woke abruptly with such a fear and pain gripping her chest that she was completely unable to stop the scream from escaping her. She was still disorientated from her nightmare to realize the hand curling around her was not the one she thought it was. She screamed again, sharp claws slashing into the palm, and, when that didn’t stop it, she lunged forward and sank her teeth into flesh.

“Dawn! Dawn – You must relax. It’s me.”

Although the person cringed, they scooped up her body with her other hand. She could feel the bitter tang of iron on her tongue, a growl reverberating through her throat when she was plunged into darkness. She didn’t want to be in the dark! She needed light! In her utter panic, she did not recognize the familiar scent and the warmth and gentleness in the touch. Just blood and dark and salt and a tension that was more than bone deep, something woven right into every fiber and nerve. She couldn’t even form intelligible words, just sobbing and screaming. The enclosed space smelt so much like blood. When that smell hung so heavy in the air, death was approaching. Nothing could survive without its blood.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her tail has been stained pink, the water swirling with blood that sure to draw sharks. The threat was gone. The many-armed serpent (what had Volo called it? Giratina?) lifted her to the surface as one last act of penance before sinking back into the depths. She wasn’t even sure what happened. She didn’t know what she had done to defeat Volo and the ancient serpent. It was the same for the other gods of the deep. All she knew for sure was that she was alone.

She turned onto her side and coughed up water and blood, the mix burning her throat. Hot tears stung her face as she wailed into the hands, the dim light of her namesake began to stain the inky sky from black to blue… The same colors her bruises were sure to have. Every move hurt. Each breath felt like someone jabbing a knife between her ribs. She lay there, bleeding out and condemning herself for ever trusting him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dawn!”

A deep rumble shattered through her memory. That… That was a familiar voice. She remembered where she was. Who she was with. Her tail was still itching like crazy because she was molting, and she was stuck in this form.

She lowered her shaking hands, red painting the tips of her fingers, a fresh wave of tears coming to her eyes as she realized just who she had hurt.

“Ingo… I didn’t… I’m sorry!” He heard her stifle a sob and gingerly brought her closer, telling her it was okay. It was just a bad dream. “B-But it wasn’t!”

What did that mean? At times, he wished he could be smaller, just to hold her close and tell her everything was alright. Why did she have to be so small? Now that she wasn’t trying to claw her way to freedom, Ingo’s grip loosened a bit and he bowed his head to look down at the poor, distraught child in his hands. She was openly weeping, fumbling at the marks she had made and repeating the same apologies over and over.

He kept his back to his clan mates, trying to give her a bit of privacy. Although he knew their stares and murmurs were not malicious, he could still feel a deep instinct to protect Dawn swelling in his chest, practically hunching over when he felt them pressing against his back and sides. A growl not too dissimilar to Gaeric’s rumbled from his throat, warning them to back off now.

What had gone wrong? The evening had been pleasant enough. Irida had kindly invited the surveyor to join them for an evening chat that had evolved into some pleasant communal time. Grooming, chatting, eating, drinking, and, finally, sleeping – Irida had quietly insisted he and Dawn stay because they could use a little bit of “group time,” as his leader had so delicately put it. It had been relaxing. Even Ingo had to admit it was nice to just rest with his clan mates, knowing everyone was full and safe and at ease.

Now that relaxing atmosphere had turned tense. They all knew she was experiencing her own difficulties, but never had they resulted in such an intense reaction.

“Ingo,” Irida said over his shoulder, a hand coming to rest on his elbow, and he almost jerked his arm away from him. “We’re here to help you… and Dawn. We just want to help.”

The warden swallowed thickly, the growl dying back as he forced a breath. Throwing a glance to his leader from the corner of his eyes and then back to Dawn, who had buried herself in his parka, gripping, ripping, and staining the pale fabric with each fresh wave of sobs. This was not something he was going to be able to resolve on his own. All their attempts separately hadn’t been fruitful – their young friend was not alright. Something had shaken her down to the very core and she didn’t know how to tell them.

Dawn flinched when his thumb flicked over her back, the motion meant to be comforting but her nightmare, her memories, of facing off against Volo and Giratina… She didn’t feel safe here. Not anywhere in the ocean. At least on land she felt like she was in control. She knew her body and mind on solid ground, but not here.

“I-I’m sorry - I hu-hurt you!”

It wasn’t her fault, he tried to assure her. She had been in the throes of a terrible nightmare and terrified out of her wits, so he harbored no resentment or anger toward her, but he did need to know why. He needed to know so he could help her. All this child had ever done and accomplished had been on her own and now, even with a support system ready and able, Dawn did not know how to share her burdens.

“What were you dreaming?”

“Ingo-”

“Dawn – please, what were you dreaming?”

She was sinking lower and lower, trying to avoid his gaze when he raised her up to his eye level. No more beating around the bush. He needed to know. He needed to help her. Dawn flattened herself against his open palms, covering her head and cowering under his scrutiny, a sharp keening sound peeling through the space which made everyone’s hair stand on end. That was what pushed Irida and the other wardens to surge forward, offering comfort and gentle appeals to tell them what had her so petrified.

Lian and Calaba were far too small (by comparison) to get close enough to comfort, but that didn’t stop either of them. The younger warden scrambled up Ingo’s back, not that the orca mer even notice with all this focus on Dawn, and clambered up to his shoulder, balancing there rather precariously before scooching himself down Ingo’s arm to wrap Dawn in a tight hug from behind. He was not usually so touchy-feely, in fact he usually hated to infringe upon other people’s space and vice versa, but there was something so awful about seeing his friend crying.

Calaba barked at Gaeric to pick her up, she could offer some herbs to help settle her nerves, then maybe they could get some answers. Although his palm was crowded, the elderly warden insisted she be put down next to Dawn. Once she was safely situated, she removed her pack and began to rummage through it for a few things for her to chew on. Willow bark and some wolfsbane for pain. Ginkgo leaves for clarity of mind. Lavender and chamomile for anxiety. Lord Ursaluna had been so kind as to gather these things for his warden and her clan to keep them healthy, this would be a good opportunity for Calaba to flex her medical muscles, so to speak.

That left Palina, Gaeric, and Irida; all anxious and keenly aware that they could not solve the problem, at least, not any better than Ingo could. Their speech all overlapped, which ended up being more disorientating than anything else, the largest warden shooting them a withering glare that silenced them all. This was Ingo’s pup.

It took nearly forty minutes to coax and answer out of her and it had only been a single word – a name. Volo. There was a chorus of growls, a collective of hackles raised from the mere mention of the man who tried to ruin everything. Dawn had not spoken a word to anyone in the clans about the incident. The one called Laventon had taken it upon himself to meet the clan leaders and explain that something had happened to Dawn. It hadn’t been his place to get into the nitty gritty, but he warned them about a man, Volo, who had been the source of all the unrest in the region.

“He allied himself with a creature, Dawn thinks its name is Giratina, and riled up your gods. He got an artifact similar to Dawn’s to transform…”

Irida and Adaman glanced at each other, the latter’s scarred eyebrows quirked with concern and the former’s arms crossed tight over her chest. They could tell this was serious since the professor was not asking them such unusual questions. Last time they had come near shore, Laventon had impulsively started asking about diet and social habits, grabbing their fingers to compare and contrast the webbing between their fingers.

Nothing.

His eyes looked tired, his cheeks particularly pallid and gaunt, like he had not been taking proper care of himself. The humans were still dealing with the ramifications of the flooding, the clans had taken it upon themselves to offer what food aid they could while the water continued to recede from the lands. This was serious.

“He’s dangerous and at large.”

Laventon warned them, his tone grave and his fingers nervously fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve. They were asked to keep an eye out for him, the professor giving a description, practically spitting out like venom.

Ingo wanted to ask her to explain, but he could already predict the results. He wanted desperately to know more, he still held a gut-wrenching pain in him from his inaction when Dawn voluntarily revealed her secret and now, he was finding that Dawn was dealing with some lingering trauma.

“I w-want to go ho-home.”

Her sob echoed through the cavern, her request plaintive and wobbly, and the Pearl clan exchanged looks. Dawn couldn’t go back to Jubilife, not yet anyhow. With no legs, she would find living on land particularly difficult, and the humans would not know how to help her. Ingo would have to deny her request, at least temporarily.

“Not tonight.”

He said, trying to be gentle as he denied her, and everyone flinched when she wailed. She was just a scared pup, she needed reassurance – she needed their presence and comfort. All it took was a quick glance at each of his clanmates and they all wordlessly slumped to the ground.

Gaeric took the base of the pile without hesitation, resting his head on Palina’s flank when Ingo settled to the ground with his hands clasping the three mers carefully. With Palina on one side and Irida, who was draped over Gaeric’s tail, on the other, Ingo leaned back against Lord Avalugg’s warden, just as sturdy as his lord. Setting Calaba, Lian, and Dawn down on his chest, the eldest warden asked to be placed between Gaeric and Palina, Ingo setting her down just as Palina rested her head on Ingo’s tail and Irida on his side.

“Don’t lay on your dorsal fin. It’s already bent.”

Calaba growled, so Ingo manipulated himself in such a way as to not crush the fin in question. Lian refused to budge, holding Dawn tightly, and nobody tried to separate them.

“You’re safe here.” Ingo rumbled, placing a hand over the two kids to keep them from moving around too much. “I promise, you’re safe here.”

The surveyor knew he meant it. With him and Gaeric here, this was by far the safest place in the world, but it was hard to dispel the fear and the tears still dripping from her eyes. She listened to the reassuring beat of Ingo’s heart, so much louder than she thought possible in her ears, but it did help her focus and drown out all the other noises.

“If you have any more bad dreams about Vo- … That guy, I guess I’ll just have to remind you that I’d take on a chump like him any day.” She heard Gaeric’s voice distantly, not catching him say under his breath. “Anything for you, kiddo.”

“We would never let anything happen to you.”

Palina echoed his sentiment, casting her eyes toward the mer she treated like a little brother, and he pointedly wouldn’t look at her. A feeling of pride bubbling in her chest because Gaeric was trying to reach out to an outsider.

“Like Ingo might say, safety is a top priority. Especially for pups.”

Dawn shut her eyes tight when Calaba said that, feeling another sob catch in her chest. Lian was mumbling something into her back, the words might have been muffled, but the sentiment was there.

“You’ll always have a place here, Dawn. We will all do our part to keep you safe.”

With that final assurance from the clan leader herself, Dawn finally felt the panic in her chest loosen and a wave of fatigue roll over her. Slumped against Ingo’s chest, her exhaustion finally catching up to her. Dawn had a blessedly dreamless sleep.

[nightly-ruse]

I had this idea of OneFire hypoparent versions of Squilf and Leaf and couldn’t not do it so here they are!

Pretty much at the start of tnp little Ploverpaw and Squirrelpaw are separated across borders taken by each of their dads, Ploverpool with Onestar and Squirrelcurl with Firestar. To finally stop the constant fights from Windclan as Onestar wanted one of his daughters. Ended up with a whole au for them that I actually really love.

Beware long au explanation of the two

Squirrelcurl

Small curly cat so full of energy it’s like she’s got the wind in her heart. With more of her father Onewhisker’s stripes but a warmer tone and shape like her papa Fireheart she’s very torn with her loyalties. While she does have the spirit for the moor she was very easily divided with her papa because of her coat, height, and stumpy legs. And while she does love Fire a lot she sometimes wishes her and Plover could’ve been raised closer together. Does not get along with her father Onestar much the two butting heads harshly and with differing opinions very quickly getting into fights.

She does not get with Bramble but instead with Crowfeather after they got close over the journey, meeting him more under the guise of visiting her sister. The two were close and said they’d run away together! Find a place where all can love with no borders tearing them apart! Until it all crumpled as Squirrel couldn’t leave all her family and friends behind and Crow started to find he didn’t like the true fire in her heart. They split harshly breaking both cats hearts in a massive fight, running back to their own clans. Except Squirrelcurl was expecting his kittens and she’d have no way to explain them away.

Squirrelcurl makes a plan with her sister who is also expecting and they leave with Mothwing and Nightcloud to have the litters under a guise of a vision. She has Starlingkit and Ravenkit who she knows she cannot keep, they look far too much like their father to ever stay. On the way back she gives the two to Nightcloud who promises to love them for her, deciding to rename them Hollykit and Breezekit for their parentage of the forest and the moors.

Eventually after the secrets revealed by Hollyscratch and Breezecloud she makes amends with both her kittens, and finds she loves Nightcloud with the two becoming mates once she divorces Bramblestep.

Ploverpool

Tall curly and powerful their was no hiding the clear mix of blood in Ploverpool’s pelt she was a very mixed cat. Having Firestar’s pattern, ears, and strong paws but Onestar’s coat, eyes, curl, tail, and height she was clear from her birth where she came from. But with her height and slight fear of shadows she was kept by her father Onewhisker, having to watch her sister walk away. Very early on she found a solution, if she was a healer she could travel across borders and see anyone she wanted! And learn the secrets most cats can’t even touch. As such she was trained under Barkface.

She does find love across borders, right by a little flowing creek. A cat much like her in statue such just beauty it struck her speechless she had to know her. And then at her first moonpool meeting to see just the cat saunter up she fell head over paws. Plover and Moth fall in love, using the excuse of their healer duties to hang out often having Squirrel or Nightcloud tag along with them. They thought nothing bad could come from this as long as no one found out. Until someone did. Plover knew someone had seen them when she found a moth wing and thorn snuck in her nest. Paranoia seeping into her pelt.

Plover realizes she’s expecting just a few nights after her sister came to her telling her similar news. They make a plan to all leave with Mothwing and Nightcloud in case anything were to happen, have the kittens in secret and figure out what to do after. She has three beautiful bundles of fur. Fritillarykit, Jaykit, and Tadpolekit. Sadly as they travel back Tadpole becomes too weak and passes away, buried just between the River and Wind borders by their mothers. Fritillarykit is kept by Mothwing and Jaykit is taken by Squirrelcurl who could easily pass the little pale kitten as her own.

When the secrets revealed Ploverpool finally breaks and moves to Riverclan to be with her mate and eventually raise their second litter of Dandelionkit, Hawkkit, Sparkkit, and Alderkit. Fritillaryblaze ends up also following his moms across the border to be with his new family, Jaydream crossing over often as well.

[textbook-dinner]

so i wrote a fanfiction..

One thousand years into the future, Kasane Teto wants nothing more than to be famous and loved. What better way to achieve that goal than to enrol at Vocaloid Academy and learn how to be an idol? Unfortunately, she’s stuck in run-down Utau Academy, where the most exciting thing that happens is a substitute teacher.

But in her quest to become a Vocaloid, Teto may discover powers far beyond her comprehension, and secrets that shatter the very fabric of her world…

Hiyama Kiyoteru

10 Kotone Road

Otomura

Japan

Tuesday, 28 February 3009

Kasane Teto

401 Akane Street

Otomura

Dear Mx Kasane,

I regret to inform you that your position in

Vocaloid Academy has been reevaluated due to unusual circumstances. We have enrolled you in Utau Academy instead, which is located on 16 Munashi Road. Classes begin at 9:00 am on 1 March.

Yours sincerely,

Hiyama Kiyoteru

Teto folded up the letter and continued walking. She wiped her blood-red eyes with her sleeve.

Rays of spring sunlight reflected off the holomirrors and shone between the buildings of either side of them, illuminating their two long, crimson curls and the patterns on their blue-gray-green outfit. It also illuminated the creases and stains on their military-styled clothes, but she supposed that couldn’t be helped. After all, she’d had to sleep in them for years, which granted her more than the fair share of teasing in primary school. Teto shivered.

She reached the end of the road and pressed the traffic light more times than was strictly necessary. Teto tapped the button in time to a tune that she would forget in a minute.

Hopefully this school will be better.

Teto had never managed to be liked by her classmates or even her parents, but that meant that the only way to go was up.

The colour of the light shifted from a too-bright red to a eye-bleaching green as Teto strode across the purple-blue tarmac. It was speckled with darker patches, which were liquid concrete capsules, designed to solidify and repair the road in case of accidents.

At least, that’s what the book she had stolen from the library as an eight year old said. Her mother had refused to get her a library card, on the grounds that it would fill her mind with irritating ideas and obsessions. Teto didn’t really understand what she meant. Didn’t everyone want to know the technicalities of road works at some point in their lives?

Once, when she was ten, her home economics teacher had asked the class to write a couple of paragraphs about how bread is made. Teto had arrived at school the next day with five pages’ worth of writing about the types of genetically modified wheat and the types of loaf they produced.

She didn’t make that mistake again.

Teto breathed out. She wasn’t at Koyone School anymore. She shouldn’t care.

What’s the point of a new school if I’m just going to drag my past around inside me? Teto pushed the school gates open. They were much lighter than she thought they would be.

She strode across the gravel path that led to the main building. It was bordered with dark green raspberry bushes that looked like emeralds in the early morning light. Every once in a while, the bushes would be broken up by reddish-brown benches scattered around the yard. They were the exact right level for someone to sit while picking berries from the highest branches.

Excitement bubbled up inside her. Every time she’d see something that she liked, no matter how small, Teto would get a little burst of energy. Not enough to run around or jump up and down, but enough to nessecitate flicking a hand or two.

She knew she was early, she knew she there was nobody inside to hear her, yet she tugged on the glass door. It didn’t move; Teto thought as much. It was otrynoxide glass: advertised on the vision as “bullet, grenade, missile and chimera proof.” Why they felt the need to put “chimera” in as a potential hazard Teto could never figure out. Even she knew that the lion-like, anthropomorphic beasts had died out thirty years ago.

Teto rotated on her heels and walked back the way she came. She hadn’t noticed it before, but behind the raspberry bushes there was a plantation of cherry trees, arranged in haphazard ways. She smiled. If even the trees were uneven, then maybe the first few weeks here wouldn’t be that bad. The first few weeks before she got back into Vocaloid Academy, of course.

They half-leaped onto the bench and waited for the other students to show up.

Ate raspberries, and waited.

Watched the clouds race each other across the sky, and waited.

Tried to eat the cherries, and waited.

Spit out the unripe cherries, and waited.

Waited, and waited.

They jumped up suddenly from the bench. They knew, subconsciously that it was still an hour before school began.

She pushed the cyan-tinted bushes aside and returned to the cherry tree. Teto tilted her head back. The branches struck out from the trunk like a perfectly imperfect starburst of leaves and fruits. Maybe if she stepped onto this one here… Her body moved before her mind, like she had climbed this tree before.She gripped the wave-patterned bark as she pulled herself up.

With every inch she got from the ground, it felt as if weights were lifted from her chest that she didn’t even know were there. Teto soon wondered how they ever breathed with all that pressure.

All too soon, the branches thinned and Teto was forced to stop. She could feel the ultramarine sky above her. She wanted to feel the wind rush through her hair, trace the outlines of her face and curve her wings into their fullest shape.

She glanced behind her. Her shoulders were as normal as ever. Is this one of those delusions people get? Oh Crypton, I can’t afford to have more going on with me.

Teto wrapped her body around the reassuringly solid branch around her and forced her eyelids shut.

I am Kasane Teto. I am fourteen years old and I start secondary school today.

Today is the 1st of March, 3009.

They opened their eyes a crack to see the whitewashed walls of Utau Academy about two metres below the ground, shining in the sun.

I am not a failed Vocaloid.

She wrenched her gaze away from the grey-beige shape, and glanced in the opposite direction, towards the fence. The road leading towards the school was completely deserted. The only people around were the ones that popped up now and again on the holomirrors. These were originally designed to focus sunlight down from the tops of the skyscrapers, but now they absorbed so much light they worked more like billboards.

An advertisement for a cafe faded seamlessly into one about headphones, then again into a video about the importance of vaccinating androids against malware, and lastly into 39 News. She had first discovered her idol on that mirrorshow, about five or six years ago- she would have been eight that day.

It had been a typical day for Teto: beginning with Mom and Dad shoving her out of the door, and ending with having to hide from Yukari and her gang.  After taking a detour through a few side streets, where the buildings were only ten metres tall, she had to admit she was lost.

Panic began to creep into her, slowly choking her from the outside. The street looked safe enough now, but what would it be like in two hours’ time? Or more?

Just then, she noticed one of the holomirrors had switched their displays. She looked up.

Maybe they’d show a map of the streets. Teto loved reading maps.

On the screen, two twenty-something girls, probably sisters, had jumped into their plush seats. They both had the same ginger hair and green eyes, the only differences between them were their clothes: one had a white top and the other was wearing black.

“Hello Otomura! I’m Kanon,” the one on the right had exclaimed, the more serious of the two.

“And I’m Anon,” chimed in the one wearing white. “This is 39 News, and today we’ll be interviewing none other than the diva, the icon.”

“The biggest consumer of antigravity bands this side of the Pacific,” Anon had mumbled.

“Hatsune Miku!” Anon cheered, throwing out her limbs and spinning around in her chair. The sleeves of her shirt trailed behind her. Kanon’s expression was unreadable.

Another chair, this one blue instead of the warm orange of the sisters’ seats, had conveniently materialised out of the floor. Anon regained her composure just as another girl strode towards her and shook her hand, which set her off again.

She had flowing, aquamarine hair, the same colour as her eyes, which shined like emeralds in the studio lights. She was only a year or so older than Teto, she realised with a jolt.

“So, Miss Hatsune, you’ve managed to become one of the most beloved singers in Japan,” stated Kanon.

“Miku.”

“Haha, excuse me?”

“Just call me Miku. It feels strange to be called Miss by someone ten years older than you,” she smiled.

She acted like conversation was so natural. Not once did she slip up or forget the word for something or talk so slowly that the other person got distracted halfway through. And the others seemed to really respect her, despite Anon’s fits of giggles and Kanon’s coldness. She was like a magnet for love…

“Speaking of that,” Anon interrupted, leaning over the back of her seat, “how did you manage to get popular at such a young age. That’s exactly what me and my sister have been trying to do for years.”

“That’s what you were trying to do. I was trying to get a girlfriend,” Kanon said dryly.

“Same thing!” Anon spun around, kicking off the carpeted floor. Teto wondered how much it had cost, and who would have to repair it later.

“No, relationships require mutual cooperation and understanding and you don’t get any of that in-“ Kanon sighed, resting her face in her gloved hands. “You can only control yourself, you can only control yourself.”

“Anyway, what is the secret of your success?”

“My success?” She laughed, then sighed deeply, as if mentally preparing herself for what she was about to say. Anon stopped spinning.

“But my real inspiration was always my brother. He was already stressed from having to take care of me after our parents,”- she hiccupped slightly- “died, but he still had the time to pursue what he loved.

He was the one who helped me write the lyrics to my first song.”

Miku’s aquamarine ponytails fell over her face.

Teto gasped. 

If she can be loved by millions without her parents, then maybe there’s still hope for someone like me.

There’s always hope.

 And with that, she set off. Somehow or other, she found her way to here. She may have imagined it a little more poetically, and preferably ending in her getting friends, but still! She would have been going to Chipspeech if it hadn’t been for her efforts, and she’d never met a single famous coder.

“Hey.”

Teto jumped. She spun around and saw two serious-looking eyes looking up at her. One was a fiery red, the other the same shade of deep blue as the streak in the person’s black hair. Well, black wasn’t the right way to describe it.  It was more a mixture of hues ranging from dark grey to indigo to the colour of the sea on a moonlit night.

She leaped off the branch immediately. This person was much taller than her, and probably older, but Teto wasn’t sure. She wasn’t good at judging the ages of teachers.

Why did I have to get in trouble before school even began? I can just imagine what they’d be talking about.

“I’m sorry, Mr- Mr,” she stammered. He had probably mentioned his name already. And of course I had to forget it, like everyone else’s names.

“Mister?” The stranger burst out laughing.

“Oh, if I had a hundred yen every time somebody thought I was in my twenties, I wouldn’t owe Rook any money.” He looked suddenly alarmed. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Teto nodded, still getting rid of the guilt she had began to feel. 

“Ruko’s the name, and coffee’s my game,” They reached out their left hand, the one without a glove.

“I’m Teto,” she replied. Did they just really like drinking coffee, or was there a new sport involving drinking as much coffee as one could in a minute? Did she invent that sport? Are there jobs dedicated to inventing sports? How would I know?

“I don’t really play any competitive sports,” she said, just to be on the safe side.

“Figure of speech. Anyway, what brings you here? It’s not every day I see someone climbing trees in this day and age.”

“Didn’t want to be late,” they mumbled.

Ruko looked at them.

“I mean, I showed up here early so that I wouldn’t be late, and climbed the tree to see if anyone else was coming.” Right after she finished talking, she realised several ways she could have said that better.

“I’m not the kind of weirdo who spies on strangers, by the way. In case you were wondering.” There was a slight pause.

 “Sorry for assuming the subjects of your wonderment.”

Teto screamed internally. Who even says wonderment nowadays? He’s going to hate me, and pretend to be my friend, and I won’t be able to tell anyone’s motives apart.

“No, no, you’re cool. I’ve never had my wonderment assumed before.” She smiled, and they were gripped by an urge to smile back at her. All too briefly, it was gone.

“You seem organised. Maybe you could convince my brother to act normal for once.” They sighed in an over-exaggerated way, putting one hand on their chest, as the other clenched into a fist.

“Wait, what’s wrong with him?” Teto asked, suddenly animated. It’s probably impossible. But maybe- maybe he’s like me.

Ruko lazily opened an eye. “Always late,” he said, with an expression of misery. “He has to leave half an hour early to every event he goes to, and even then he’s ten minutes late.”

“Not true,” chimed a deep voice in the distance. Teto spun around. A person was ambling across the grass. This was clearly Ruko’s brother: few other people would measure up to his height. He strolled up to his sibling and turned to Teto.

“Don’t listen to Ruko,” he whispered. “The only reason I’m late is that I have to spend forty minutes waking her up each morning.”

They both had the same brown skin and dark hair: one of the only differences between them was that both of his eyes were red. His short, messy hair shone with ruby hues, instead of Ruko’s cyan shades.

“It’s not my fault I need my beauty sleep,” sniffed Ruko. “Clearly you wouldn’t know anything about that, Rook.”

“It’s true, I don’t.” Rook looked down at his oil-coloured shoes. “Only because I don’t have any siblings who are actually beautiful!” He jumped up, narrowly missing Ruko’s blows.

“You take that back!” his sibling laughed, pushing him onto the grass. Rook grabbed one of Ruko’s purple-coat tails and pulled them down unexpectedly. They yelped, startled into a feminine voice.

“You idiot! It’s going to take me all day to switch back now,” he grumbled in an unfamiliar pitch.

Teto had heard of people who could speak with different voices before, but she’d never actually met one of them before. The most popular hypothesis was that after years of training their voice, singers eventually passed their abilities down though genetics. It was a pretty shoddy theory, but the only other option was that it was an artificially created mutation, and nobody wanted to think about that.

Teto watched the siblings wrestle on the ground, and sighed. The chasm in her heart that she tried to hide opened up once again. She was on the outside.

When they were younger, they would walk past sisters and brothers on the way to school, always talking or bickering or hugging. None of them ignored each other the way Teto’s parents ignored them, and even if they did, they always made it up afterwards.  When she was six, she tried to get her friend’s moms to adopt her.

“Oh, Teto,” they laughed, after ruffling her hair, “your family love you deep down, don’t you know that? Now, chin up.”

If only that was true.

Creak.

The school gates were pushed open. Teto winced. It was still a mystery as to why the school never bothered to replace its analogue gates. Maybe they couldn’t afford to, or maybe they wanted to seem unique. Either way, the sound made her want to claw out her ears.

Two people entered the yard and stopped at the bench opposite her. They both had blue hair and oddly formal clothing, but the similarities ended there. The girl was looking around like she had never seen the sky in her life, while the boy was focused on cleaning his monocle.

The dapper duo’s arrival was just the beginning of a tidal wave of people that swept towards the school. Students of all shapes, colours and sizes soon began to fill up the yard. A boy with translucent hair chatted to someone whose eyes were covered with a caracal-styled helmet, while a girl tried and failed to stuff a blue balloon into her bag.

The sound of their talking burned. It was like someone was sprinkling pepper inside her skull. She could feel their voices pressing in on her, and it made her acutely aware of the sweat running down her forehead.

Is this how I die? Teto thought feverishly.

No, I can’t die. I have to become a Vocaloid. I have to show them that I’m worth loving.

They pulled their hands over their ears. She pushed her way through the crowd, dodging the hoverskaters and jumping over ponytails.

 “And then I said, “import your own oranges!””  gossiped someone. She ducked to avoid being hit by an arm. A small green creature darted towards her, sending her flying into someone. Heads turned towards her.

“Watch where you’re going, airhead!”

“Sorry!” Teto yelled, skipping around a gaggle of robots. They glared at her. “Sorry!” she said again, not stopping to look behind. She had to get away, to a place where she could think.

After what seemed like forever, the view cleared and cool shadows covered her.  There were fewer people here. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

They stepped over a snoozing girl, and made her way across the lawn. Instead of raspberries, the bushes here bloomed with fuschias and carnations, more naturally coloured than Teto was used to.

With every step away from the crowd, a wave of calm washed over her, sweeping away the dizzy warmth. She wished she could stay here forever, where she didn’t have to wait for something to be said that made her want to cry or scream or faint so that she couldn’t feel anything anymore. Here, they didn’t have to monitor every word they said and how they said it, in case the other person would use it against them.

It was a bit lonely, but that was alright by her. After all, nobody could mock what she was saying in her head.

A flash of silver.

They blinked.

The sun shone through the trees, reflecting off a metal structure in the distance. As Teto got closer, they could see droplets of water were spurting out of the centre, arcing into the air and cascading back down into the pool.

A fountain.

She rushed towards it. Inside the stainless steel basin, shimmers of sunlight and reflections of the sky competed for area. The bottom was devoid of leaves and the other dirt one would expect to find in a fountain surrounded by leaves.

Leaning in closer, she angled her head. She had filed her fangs yesterday, but it was better to be sure.

“Oh, are you crying?”

Teto whirled around. Luckily, the person wasn’t talking to them. He was facing a girl whose long white hair spilled over onto the ground where she was sitting.

The girl sniffed, leaning back into the tree. Black sleeves trailed down over her hands. She pulled some of her snow-coloured hair over her face, looking away.

“Weak.”

The girl inhaled sharply. Even from a distance, Teto could see her eyes beginning to shine.

“Weak, that’s what you are,” the guy continued. “I thought that here would be the one place where I wouldn’t have to deal with all these whiny humans”- the way he said it made it seem like a swear – “but you proved me wrong.”

She scowled, as if this happened to her on a regular basis. “Crypton, I wish I wasn’t on stealth.”

Something flashed in the girl’s eyes. “Ritsu-“

“You don’t know my name!” she yelled. “I would never tell it to someone like you!”

He looked around angrily, and his gaze caught Teto’s.

“And what are you staring at, weirdo, with your shiny cat eyes? I swear, if this is a new human fashion-“

They blinked. Were their slit pupils really that noticeable?  At least they wouldn’t have to look Ritsu- if that was her name- in the eyes, which was always a plus. Teto’s gaze scanned their opponent.

Ritsu was a little shorter than her, but much more commanding. His deep mauve-brown dress was layered with painstakingly sewn golden frills, the same colour as the hat that was attached to his headphones. The white portion of her top fanned out in a triangle shape and was edged with delicate black stripes, the same colour as her choker. Ritsu’s long, straight hair was the colour of heated copper and sweet wrappers on a sunny day.

He stared her down with eyes that made her think of jewel beetles.

“We have the same kind of belt,” Teto observed. Wait, I wasn’t supposed to say that!

“I like it,” she followed up quickly. Hopefully a compliment would defuse the situation. But then again, Ritsu seemed like the kind of girl who got compliments almost daily.

Her expression was unreadable. Perhaps she was trying to smile, or maybe she had remembered that there was a piece of mould on the bread she had earlier.

At least she’s not actively trying to make my life harder. Hooray! I guess. It’s better than what I’ve had to endure over the winter break.

Teto motioned to the girl, who was watching the two from beside the tree. Go! Run! Hide! Run and hide! It was a shame telepathy only worked for robots.

“Oh no you won’t!” said Ritsu. “I’m not letting her go until she tells me how she knows me.”

He glared down at the girl. “You’re not one of them, are you?”

“Them? I don’t know who you’re talking about!” she half-sobbed. “Besides, you were the one who started this conversation.”

“I saw you writing notes about me in your diary.”

“I don’t have a diary!”

Ritsu reached into the girl’s bag, which was lying a small distance away. “Then what do you call this?” He brandished a drab-looking dark blue notebook in front of her. It was covered in stickers of hearts and cupcakes.

“That’s- that’s my home economics journal.”

She started flicking through it. “Dear Diary,” Ritsu read out. “I can’t believe it. Today I didn’t get into Vocaloid Academy.”

Tears ran down the girl’s cheeks.

“Mother said that I never had any hopes of getting into it in the first place, and that I should just get a job without any qualifications.”

She was sobbing at this point, and her hair was completely covering her face.

Ritsu looked at her for a second, as if he almost felt bad about what he was doing, then continued.

“I haven’t told her about uncle Dell. He says that my training begins tomorro-“

He glared at her. “Dell? Who Dell?”

“I don’t know his surname. Yowane, probably, same as my mother. But I could be wrong,” she added hastily.

Ritsu paused. “This is too suspicious to be a coincidence, but he never mentioned anything about family…” She stood up, and walked straight into Teto.

“What on earth are you still doing here?”

The white-haired girl looked up at Teto. Her blood-red eyes were filled with tears.

“You think you’re so tough, and yet you’ve been standing here the whole time, not even lifting a finger,” snarled Ritsu.

“I- I know what it’s like-“ they turned towards the girl. Why can’t I just speak?

“Don’t tell me you’ve been kicked out of Vocaloid Academy too!” Ritsu exclaimed. “Wait until the rest of first year find out. I heard that the school paper has been running low on news lately.”

It felt like Teto was being consumed by rage. She scowled, fighting the instinct.  “You can’t just throw out someone’s secrets to be ripped apart by strangers!” she half-screamed, as her hands clenched into fists uncontrollably.

“Who’s going to stop me?” She smirked. “Grow up, drill hair. At least my actions have a purpose.”

At least my actions have a purpose.

They roared, springing off the ground and knocking into Ritsu. She flinched at the  unexpected cold, but that made her even angrier. Everything was a blur of red and grey and purple and green.

Whatever she could find, she pushed away from her, ripping out rows upon rows of gold just so that he could feel what it was like to want to roar out.  Teto grabbed hold of the back his piano-key top, pulling it towards her, then letting go with force.

Ritsu turned towards her with a vengeful expression. Teto ducked as a series of bright flashes lit up. In a swift movement, she grabbed Ritsu around the waist and shoved him as hard as she could.

All the anger seeped out of her as quickly as it appeared.

Teto watched, panting, as Ritsu stepped out of the crater in the fountain. She looked around. A crowd had gathered around them. One of the nearby trees had somehow caught fire.

“Thanks for saving me,” whispered the girl. “but I wouldn’t get into fights with him again, if I

were you.”

Teto was about to ask why, but then she looked towards Ritsu. He had taken off his sleeves to dry them in the sunlight. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the

Metallic joints and seams running along his arms. What she had belived to be freckles on his face were in fact screws.

Teto’s newest enemy was a battle android.

[winglesswriter]

Character interaction tag

I was tagged by @willtheweaver. Thank you so much! I'm so excited about this one, you have no idea!

Will's OC: Opal has served as the village chief of Fernstan for most of her life. A white fox with red eyes, her appearance is striking and instantly recognizable. Knowledgable, good natured, and always on hand with advice, she is well loved by the community. Much of her wisdom was learned through experience, some of it the hard way. Growing up fast and having had to rely on herself at a young age made Opal aware of how disadvantaged some are. Most of her tenure has been dedicated to the welfare of the village. Though considered by many to be a sweet and gentle soul, beneath is a firmness and strong will that borders on stubbornness. Those who push their luck be reminded of their mistake for days. But she also has quite a large capacity to forgive, even tolerating children when they commit antics that would drive their parents crazy.

My OC: Yarren was born into a world where his people are oppressed - their way of life, religion and language were all suppressed and made illegal under foreign rule. But even though his parents were killed for keeping the Istritu traditions, Yarren stubbornly hangs onto the old customs and fights the oppression with all he has. He got his face tattoos and wears his braids proudly. Since a young age he showed signs of being touched by a god - he has the power to manipulate plants. As for his personality, there's a lot of anger in his short body and it doesn't take much for it to bubble to the surface. He's arrogant and prickly and doesn't trust easily, all to the point of self-sabotage. He cares deeply, though, about his friends and all of his oppressed nation. He is good with words and quite charming when he wants to be and people naturally follow him. Secretly he dreams about a big romantic love, but it's the kind of love that is also forbidden.

How would they interact: When an Istritu boy turns into a man, he undergoes a ritual that involves a vision of an animal that he then gets tattooed on his body (in Yarren's case his chest). Guess what Yarren's animal is? Yes, it's a fox! So he would be absolutely delighted to meet Opal and he would take it as a sign from gods. He wouldn't be surprised by a talking fox at all. He's also in desperate need of a parent figure and they have a lot in common, so he would gladly soak in any and all advice she could give him about being a good leader.

No pressure tag for: @sunset-a-story, @rachaellawrites, @vinniehorrible, @annotated-catastrophe, @steh-lar-uh-nuhs

@dyrewrites, @satohqbanana, @frostedlemonwriter, @illarian-rambling, @theeccentricraven

@words-after-midnight, @sarandipitywrites, @sleepyowlwrites, @oh-no-another-idea, @did-i-do-this-write,

[kakairuficfinder]

Personal Favorites

These are the KKIR fics that really resonated with me. I hope you love them as much as I have.

The Last Mission by Flailinginlove [M, 69K]

When a badly burnt body wearing Iruka's dog tags is found just inside Fire Country's borders, Tsunade demands answers. Kakashi's tags are a heavy weight against Iruka's chest as he tells her about the relationship they've kept hidden for years, the one he'll have to start referring to in the past tense. It isn't until he gets home that he notices something engraved on the charred metal of his tags: a coded, one-word message meant just for him. It's the only clue he has, not much to go on, but that won't stop him from doing everything he can to bring Kakashi safely home.

Icha Icha Nights by Adelaida, anniemaar, flailinginlove [E, 50K]

A foolish bet is going to get Iruka and his friends killed if he can't find a way to save them from the ruthless king who has imprisoned them. Each night he tells the king stories to buy them more time, but in between the lewd tales he spins, he discovers that not all of his friends are what they seem and neither is the king.

Anata by TumblingTroublesomeTumbleweeds [E, 55k]

Kakashi has decided to stealth date his way into Iruka’s future. … Snapshots of Kakashi and Iruka being totally married even though Iruka doesn’t exactly realize that they’re totally married. Neither does the rest of Konoha. But Kakashi does.

My Yakuza Boyfriend by decaf_kitty [E, 55k]

Kakashi Hatake is a disgraced cop with no options left. So he joins the local yakuza family. His boss, Iruka Umino, is beautiful and dangerous. Of course, Kakashi falls in love with him the instant they meet.

The Shinobi Bachelor by PerfectNezumi [T, 66K]

The Elders want Kakashi to produce a heir to his bloodline, so Tsunade sets up a competition for him to find his soulmate.

Uncomplicated by wizardinblack [E, 63K]

After a rough break up Iruka turns to the world of online dating in a desperate attempt to get laid. He meets Kakashi and things are totally great and not complicated at all!

(Run) Far Away from Home by chuchisushi [T, 31K]

A Princess Mononoke AU: It's a long journey west for a cursed former-prince, and he finds nothing for his troubles except a bloody war, a beautiful man raised by wolves, and a new beginning.

Love, Karate, and the Things We Lose to Find Ourselves by nbdweeb [M, 49K]

After years of working as a child and family social worker, Iruka Umino decided he was ready to start a family of his own, and his college sweetheart turned husband Mizuki Touji was cautiously along for the ride. When an emergency case came across his desk one day, Iruka knew he'd met his son. That's how two year old Naruto found his way into their lives, and for a brief moment, Iruka held everything he'd ever wanted in the palm of his hand. Or so he thought. Before he knows it, Iruka has a rambunctious 7 year old on his hands. Parenthood isn't easy, neither is his marriage, but he always manages to maintain his carefully constructed life. But when Naruto starts acting out at school and at home, Mizuki's already thinning patience runs out and things take a turn for the worst. Caught between an angry spouse and a distressed child, Iruka is at a loss for what to do until he stumbles across a newspaper ad for karate classes. He thinks he's found the perfect solution; an outlet for Naruto and a reprieve from the trouble at home. When they enter Konoha Martial Arts Studio for the first time, Iruka has no idea how the handsome and kindhearted instructor Kakashi Hatake would change their lives forever.

Take Me Home by masc_malfunction [M, 44K]

Ask around, and anyone would tell you the same: Kakashi Hatake is bad news. He's cocky, he's brazen, and his gang is infamous for being impossible to take down. Rumors are always flying around town, about his age, his looks, his more unsavory behaviors…frequently, about if there was anyone who could be a match for him.

Tunnel Vision by demonofabove [NR, 24K]

Kakashi is asked to look after Iruka, who has amnesia. It would ordinarily be an easy mission; but things are much more complex than he expects… Because apparently, Iruka thinks they're dating.

Perfect Storm by aoiandplayer3 [E, 38K]

Stuck together because of a storm, two teachers fall for each other. Kind of fluffy.

Strange by decaf_kitty [E, 86K]

Iruka Umino is a lone werewolf without a pack; he spends most of his time working downtown cleaning hotel rooms and taking care of Naruto, a youkai fox. But he's recently started to notice a soft strange scent in the city, and he wants to know its source. After hunting it down, Iruka finds a silver-haired man with a scar on his face, and he unpredictably loses himself in lust.

You Are by OneSaltyLeo [E, 11K]

Iruka hasn't felt well in a long time, not since the scar was applied to his face. What he's contemplating has been building for years, but just when it all reaches its climax, just when he's ready to hit delete on everything, something strange shows up in his Inbox.

There You Are, There You Are by CountingNothings [M, 94K]

Sometimes, when you don't believe you deserve the good thing that’s coming for you, you spend a lot of time trying to jump out of the way. Kakashi and Iruka are shinobi. Evasion is almost second nature. (It begins with a long weekend onsen meet-cute, and then, as is only right for two people who love romance novels as much as they do, it takes ten years for them to figure out that they're in one.)

A Liar in Babel by surveycorpsjean [E, 35K]

Iruka narrows his eyes and crosses his arms. “Tell me why I’m here.” “You need the money,” Kakashi says, brunt and cruel. “And I need a sugar baby.”

I'll Fall, If You Do by ladyxdaydream [M, 89K]

College was rapidly coming to an end and Iruka had his whole future planned out. Or, well, at least he thought he did. But how could he account for the stranger who would veer him so desperately off course?

One More Light by tmo

How time traveler Kakashi met the love of his life. Romance Trope 5: A character is constantly misplaced in time, but still attempts to lead some semblance of a normal life with their loved one (source: The Time-Traveler's Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger)

The Bijozakura Seal by megyal [M, 38K]

Kakashi and Iruka are bonded together, entirely against their wishes. While Iruka begins to deal with it, Kakashi still has… doubts.

I Kissed a Boy (And I Liked It) by My_private_tsukuyomi [T, 15K]

Kakashi Hatake was sixteen and never been kissed, a fact that, according to some of his friends, was a travesty. However, girls just never appealed to him, and he didn't know why. He finds out when an everyday act suddenly causes his entire world to tilt on its axis.

The culprit? A tube of cherry chapstick.

Catch A Falling Star by My_private_tsukuyomi [E, 44K]

After the things he's suffered, Kakashi was convinced that, outside of the dance that had always been his solace, feelings were something best left to others. Feelings, especially love, were dangerous and only brought pain. Then a chance encounter and a single dance with a handsome stranger threatened to tear all of his carefully constructed walls to shreds. Was it even possible to allow himself to trust after all this time? What is it about Iruka Umino that makes him want to try?

[dasozelotvonnebenan]

Hey so a bird came to me and whispered in my ear... it says I *really* want to know more about your magic headcanons! Strange coincidence isn't it?

No but for real, your worldbuilding ideas are always so thorough and well thought-through, I'd love to hear more!

I have not slept yet so this might not be readable idk. This is half developed from a rp angle and half from a "how do I make x ingame skill work in this system" angle, which is why I both talk about how ingame classes don't really apply but also quote specific skills. Enjoy your read.

Okay so cast spells you need three things: Aptitude, Association and A Focus. You can work with one of them missing but the other two have to work overtime to compensate.

Aptitude

Aptitude defines what kind of magic naturally comes easy for you. This is not always easy to determine, and it is not unusual to find one kind of magic you are decent at and never find out there's others that are even easier for you. Many cases of of people who "Just don't have a talent for magic" just never happened to try out the kind they would be good at. Maybe because they wanted to practice a specific kind of magic and found out they suck at it, maybe because their Aptitude lies in an area that is rarely practiced by their culture.

Aptitude lies on a spectrum, kind of like light but with several axes and doubling back on itself. See elementalists and necromancers both using ice, teleportation, etc.. The classes focus around one particular area of this spectrum but overlap in many areas and are thus mostly arbitrary distinctions (as proven by many of the elite specs mixing things up).

There is also some variation in how specific one's Aptitude is. Some people only have a very small range, while for others it might be a more gradual decrease.

Some examples from my characters: Aerana is a excellent air elementalist, she can wield air magic effortlessly enough that she regularly skips using a focus entirely (we will get to that part) however anything else, even just other elemental magic, requires significantly more effort and concentration for her. Ruck on the other hand is also in game terms an elementalist, but can easily work with all of the elements, and even occasionally dips into areas more closely associated with mesmer and thieves. (again those assosiations are no hard borders)

Foci and Association Chains

Having a natural predisposition only brings you so far. What really distinguishes a powerful mage is the training.

Casting spells requires concentration and a clear vision of what you wish to achieve. For this purpose there are two tools the tyrian mage has access to.

The association chain helps visualise what you want your spells to do. You start with something physical in your surrounding, ideally an object your are very familiar with (a focus) and find images, emotions or similar you associate with the object, and then you go from that image in small steps to the effect your spell is going to have.

For example: You are pursuing someone and want them to stop running away. You grab your trusty knife and concentrate. The knife is a precise instrument, you only want to exert a small force where it is necessary. You remember using this knife to cut up a hare for dinner. You remember cutting through tendons and muscles. You imagine yourself cutting through your targets tendons and hold onto that image as you let the magic flow through your focus. Congratulations, you've just cast Necro Dagger 3

As I have mentioned foci play an important role in starting your association chain. A focus can be any kind of physical object, but there some classics such as the staff (easy to visualise range) or scepter (power or control).

Proper foci and association chains help with precision and speed, but most importantly greatly reduce fatigue.

Association chains can be taught, memorised and practiced, but the most powerful ones are deeply connected to personal experience. Similarly any object can be a focus, but one you have spent time familiarizing yourself with will work better.

Additionally your surroundings obviously impact your ability to follow these association chains as well, especially if you are not following a chain you have memorised by heart. An elementalist might find it harder to conjure flames in a frozen cave, while a guardian might find it easier to project a barrier while manning the walls of a fortress.

Some more examples from my characters: Reevus doesn't usually use his pistol as a focus for his magic. He uses it as a pistol. However, if he for whatever reason doesn't want to injure his target he has learned to knock people unconscious with magic. He had knocked someone out with the handle of his gun once, and he project this memory onto his target. (yes this is pistol 5)

On Ritual Magic

In many ways complex rituals are mostly just more elaborate foci and pre written associations. The difficulty here is to have every participant to concentrate on the same result, thus the complexity.

Coincidentally this is why Grawl worship "any odd statue". Group worship is an easy way to handle this problem. And we see the grawl perform some pretty powerful rituals. They don't worship random things because they're stupid, they worship then because it's a tool.

[spartanguard]

most wanted (11/11) [CSSNS21]

Summary: Killian Jones has been tracking Emma Swan, notorious cat burglar, across the realm as she’s wanted for murder. The sooner he finds her, the faster he gets back to his daughter. But meeting an enchanting lass in a small village—along with Miss Swan’s feline familiar (perhaps too familiar)—definitely affects his plans; this case might not be as open-and-shut as he’d like.

A/N: Ahhh we're finally here! The last chapter! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this adventure and for all your lovely comments!! Hope you enjoy this final part! Forever thanks to the best beta ever @optomisticgirl​​​​​ and to @cssns​​​​​ for putting on the event each year, even if I am so far behind here.

rated T | 5.8k words | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | AO3

“And then I’m all yours,” Emma purred, putting her arms around Neal’s neck even though her wrists were still cuffed. “I love you, baby.”

“Aww, I love you too,” Neal replied, though it was clear his heart wasn’t fully in it—he just loved that he was getting his way. 

Emma, though—for all that Killian had learned to read her, her skills in deceit were expert and he’d obviously been wrong about her before, even when he had all his faculties (which he didn’t have at the moment, pain still blurring his vision). 

So he wasn’t sure who she was lying to: Neal…or him. 

And the way she was pressing her body against Neal suggested the latter. 

But he couldn’t do anything about it kneeling in the dust. However, when he shifted to stand, a couple of Neal’s thugs were immediately on him, grabbing his biceps and forcing him to stay down. 

That drew Neal’s attention, even though Emma’s lips had been suspiciously close to his. “So, got any ideas on what to do with him?”

Emma shrugged. “Whatever you want; I don’t care.” She was looking straight at him with a look bordering on contempt. It hurt more than he cared to admit. 

Neal stepped back from Emma and guided her shackled wrists over his head—though he held them a moment and pressed a kiss to the back of a hand, to which Emma gave a girlish giggle. It was easy to see how he’d charmed her in the first place, even if it was somewhat performative. (Killian would know; he’d done that move a million times—including to her.) 

“We'll have you out of those things soon,” Neal told her, nodding at the cuffs. “But hold onto this in the meantime.” And handed her the gun, which she didn’t hesitate to take, quickly moving her finger to the trigger. Either Neal was an idiot, or Killian had been well and truly duped. 

Neal turned his attention back to Killian, pulling out a pocketknife from his trousers before kneeling in front of him. “Who knew I’d get the satisfaction of killing the man who ruined my family twice?” he taunted, making a show of flipping the switchblade open. “I should have known I was off; the other guy went down too easily—had no idea what I was talking about. Figured he just forgot. But you—you look like you’d put up more of a fight. Like you took her as some sort of trophy, I bet; is that it? You just love to tear families apart?”

“No,” Killian snapped back. “I told you—I loved her.”

Neal ignored him. “That guy was pretty, but you’re prettier…I can see why my mom was taken in. It’d be a shame if something happened to that face.” He struck out with the blade at Killian’s cheek, slicing a thin but deep line that made Killian hiss in pain; he could feel warm blood running down his face almost immediately. 

“But you probably need your neck more, huh?” Neal went on, pressing the knife against Killian’s jugular. It wasn’t the first time Killian had been in that position, but it had been a while, and the determination in Neal’s eyes made him think he was most likely to actually do it. 

“Let me guess—you thought you were gonna take Emma, too? Some knight in shining armor deal?”

“Why would I want someone I was trying to arrest?” he said, feigning disinterest. 

“Same reason you took the wife of a man you’d later arrest,” Neal countered, putting more pressure on the blade; Killian tried to move his neck away, but only had so much room to move. “Do you get off on the power or something? And then just toss them aside when you’re done?”

“Is that what your father told you?”

“He said you charmed her away from us, and then let her die when you got bored with her.”

“He lied,” Killian insisted, hoping an emotional plea might get Neal to stand down. “We fell in love, and we ran off together. Your father was too much of a coward to tell you the truth. And she didn’t just die—he killed her. He tore out her heart and crushed it in front of me. I did vow revenge for that, and I achieved it when I arrested him. But believe me, I was just as heartbroken at losing her as you.”

An array of emotions played across Neal’s face at what was apparently a revelation. It was to be expected, really, and the look that finally settled in place was a familiar one—one he’d worn so often as a scared, lonely boy.

“She abandoned me?” he said in a small voice, and for a moment, the scared young boy that he must have been once showed through.

“Not a single day went past where your mother didn't regret leaving you. But you have to understand just how unhappy she was.”

“No!” Neal shouted back, looking away. “You’re still lying! None of this is true! She loved us and you took her!” To emphasize his denial, he pressed even harder with the knife, and Killian could feel the sharp edge start to cut into his skin.

“A person’s not an object, mate; and I’m a bounty hunter, not a kidnapper. Trust me, I have no need to engage in any such deception to get a woman in my bed. Perhaps your father should have taken better care of his partners; perhaps you should, too.”

“Or what—you’ll steal her away, too?” Neal scoffed. “Didn’t you hear, though? She still loves me.”

Killian didn’t have a retort for that. That was beside the point right now, though. He would get over Emma’s double crossing; it might take some time, but he would. But he couldn’t let whatever heartache he was feeling prevent him from fighting to get back to Alice. 

However—the blade was still cutting into his neck, blood likely staining his collar by now, and any move he could make to free him from his captors’ hold would only increase his chance at mortal injury. 

“Not anymore, asshole.” 

Emma’s voice drew the attention of both him and Neal, and before either could truly acknowledge her presence, she took the butt end of the pistol and, with the full force of both hands, smacked it down on Neal’s temple. 

He swayed for a moment, dropping his knife, and then collapsed on the ground, unconscious. 

Killian stared agape, too stunned to even appreciate the fact that Neal’s cronies had loosened their grip on him, likely equally surprised by the turn of events. 

“Sorry,” Emma said, staring right at him. “I just couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

Killian blinked a moment. “Sorry for what? I’m not the one who’ll be waking with a splitting headache,” he replied, nodding at Neal and trying (and failing) to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Oh, Killian—no,” she insisted—though what she meant, he wasn’t sure. She stepped over Neal’s comatose body and dropped to her knees in front of him. “I meant—all of it,” she explained. “I was just doing whatever I could to make sure he didn’t hurt you. Though I guess I didn’t do the best job,” she lamented, then grabbed her skirt and tried to dab the blood off his face. 

But that didn’t concern him at the moment, so he stilled her hands with his. “So—you were playing him? About all of that?”

She almost looked angry. “Of course I was! You really think I’d go running back to that dick? Especially after everything that’s happened between us—-after this morning?” she added quietly. 

“Given our history, can you blame me for being uncertain?”

“No,” she conceded, and blotted up some of the blood on his neck. “Gods, these are gonna leave scars.”

“It’s alright, love,” he assured her. “I’m fine—and I’m so glad you were lying.”

She grinned at him, but it quickly switched to a look of alarm as another voice interrupted. “And I’m glad he was telling the truth—at least, I presume so.”

Killian’s midsection was still incredibly sore, particularly on one side near his ribs, but he managed to sit and turn around to face the newcomer—and smiled. “Nemo.”

The older man wore an equally warm expression as he approached, which was also when Killian realized no one else was with them—Neal’s goons had ran off, clearly showing the (lack of) loyalty their boss inspired. 

“Are you alright, my friend?” Nemo asked when he reached them, gingerly placing a hand of comfort on Killian’s shoulder. 

“I’ve had worse days,” he replied, attempting to keep things light, even if the ache was settling in more as adrenaline faded. 

Nemo patted his shoulder in a paternal move that seemed to say “we’ll talk later” before looking over at Emma. “And this must be the elusive Miss Swan?”

Emma looked somewhat panicked at being identified. “Aye, that she is,” Killian confirmed, reaching over to grab her hand and give a comforting squeeze. “Emma, this is Nemo, my boss.”

“I didn’t kill anyone, I swear,” she quickly blurted out, only to be met with a chuckle from Nemo. 

“So I heard,” he answered. “And you can pin this fellow on other crimes?”

“Oh yeah,” Emma confirmed. “If you’re still looking for whoever robbed the bank in Franklintown last year, that’s him right there. Well, and me,” she confessed, “but I don’t care; I’ll tell you everything, even if it’s self-incriminating. I just didn’t do that.”

“In that case, I just might know a sympathetic judge who’ll be receptive to your story,” Nemo replied with a wink. 

“You heard that, too?” Killian asked, impressed.

“Aye, almost all of it. I saw what happened outside the office, and followed as quickly as I could. This isn’t the most solid building; there were plenty of spots to spy from.”

“Yeah, Neal’s never been great at picking the best hideouts,” Emma added.

“Nor very original, I gather; we make at least one bust a month here. We knew where you were headed right away.”

Before either of them could ask who “we” was, an officer Killian had worked with on occasion—Billy, he thought was his name—popped his head in the open door. “We’ve got these guys, boss; want help with that one?” he asked, nodding at Neal.

“Yes, please,” Nemo replied, both polite and commanding in a way only he could manage. “I don’t think Jones here is going to be much help. We’d best get you to a surgeon,” he added in a quieter voice.

“Gods, I’m really so sorry, Killian,” Emma said again, trying in vain to staunch the sluggish flow of blood from the cut on his cheek.

“It’s done, love; we’ll both live to fight another day. But could you help me up?”

She nodded and smiled, though tears were brimming at her eyes. It was awkward, with the way her hands were still tied, but she managed to support his left arm enough that he could rise without jostling his painful right side too much. That also gave room for Billy and another officer (Jack, maybe?) to come in for Neal, who roused slightly, but only enough to get his feet under him.

Emma let him continue to lean on her and helped him shuffle outside, where the door was slamming on one prisoner wagon, but another waited, empty; Nemo stood beside the open back end. 

“I guess that’s my ride,” she tried to joke, but its presence was anything but a laughing matter. This was it. 

“Thank you for believing me,” she continued, turning to face him, “and for everything you’ve done. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to repay you—”

“You don’t have to, love,” he interjected, reaching up to wipe a tear that was starting to track down her cheek. “‘Twas my pleasure—all of it. And thank you for trusting me.”

Emma sniffed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, so—”

“You will.”

“I hope so,” she agreed, more optimistic than he’d yet heard from her. “Send my love to Alice and Belle.”

“I’ll do that.”

“And…gods,” she stammered. Her head fell, but then she stepped closer, closing what little space had remained between them and placing her hands on his chest before looking back up. “I'm not a tearful goodbye kiss person. But maybe just this once.”

Then she rose up on her toes and placed a deep kiss against his lips, one which he didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, despite his injuries. It was bittersweet—filled with the tenderness and sweetness of a new relationship but aching with an air of finality. 

He held her as tight against him as he dared, even when they eventually broke apart for air. If this was the last moment they’d have for an unknown amount of time, they were going to savor it. 

At least—until she shifted and hit his sore spot, making him suck in a breath in pain. 

“Dammit—sorry,” she cursed, and stepped back a bit. 

“With any luck, that will be all healed up next time you see me,” he promised her (through strained breaths). 

He could see a quip on the edge of her tongue, but she bit it back. “Will you write?” she settled on. 

“Absolutely.”

“Although—I don’t know where I’ll end up.”

“Nemo will.”

“Okay.” She glanced over her shoulder at the man in question. “I suppose I shouldn’t keep him waiting any more. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, Emma. See you soon.”

She gave him another sad smile, a quick peck on the cheek, and then walked away from him, toward her fate.

Nemo, ever the gentleman, helped her get up into the back of the wagon, closed (and locked) the door, and hit the side of the wagon to let the officers know they were free to drive away. 

The wagons started slow, but then began their amble down the dusty alley to the jail a few blocks away. He watched as long as he could, until they turned the corner back to the high street. 

He still needed to wrap up his paperwork back at the office, get examined by the local surgeon (and likely get some stitches), and find out if his preferred inn had a bed available; he didn’t have the energy for half the things on that list, let alone the ride back to Meryton. 

He also needed to collect the bounty on Emma, which was going to feel like a hollow prize now, considering he’d much rather have her. 

But the biggest thing on his mind as he watched the wagon slip out of sight was wondering how much he would regret not telling her he loved her. 

Alas. It would have to wait. At least he was a patient man. 

He limped over to Roger and mounted him, then headed off to take care of business. And to distract himself from the growing heartache in his chest. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Eleven months later

Killian checked his pocketwatch for the umpteenth time and impatiently shifted his weight from side to side. He was on time—he always was—but would his mark be?

To say he’d thrown himself into work to fill the void Emma had left in his life wouldn’t exactly be accurate, but it wasn’t wholly untrue, either. Once he got home after the events in Longbourn, he spent a few months laying low and recuperating from what ended up being a couple cracked ribs, in addition to the lacerations. It was some much-needed down time with Alice that he hadn’t had in far too long, and they began to plot their big vacation.

They hadn’t gone just yet, though, as work had come calling again, not to mention his own restlessness. To be fair, he only took short assignments that never took him too far from home, but they were more frequent than they had been in the past, though generally simpler (and safer).

That was probably Nemo’s doing as much as anything; the man’s paternal instincts ran deep and he’d fretted about Killian nearly as much as Belle and Alice had, though obviously from afar. 

But this—this was his biggest task yet, and he didn’t dare mess it up. Not that he often did, of course, but he was extra careful about being taken by surprise nowadays.

The street was fairly empty, thankfully, so no one paid much notice to him and Roger, waiting by the hitching post and staring at the building across the street. It was one of the quieter corners of town, on the far edge of Longbourn, but he knew his intel was good. He just felt like he’d already been waiting enough, though yet another check of his watch told him that only another minute had passed. 

The door of the building he was watching swung open and he stood at attention—but the young man who walked out wasn’t who he was after; not even close. 

What was the holdup? He went digging in his bag for the telegram Nemo had sent with the details, wanting to check again that he had the correct hour—that he hadn’t misread—even though he probably had the note memorized by now. 

Of course, it said the present time, just like he knew it did. He sighed and shoved it back in the hidden pocket within the saddle bag, next to some other letters. 

He turned back towards the street, leaned against Roger, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. He was being irrational. He was too mature to act like this; everything would happen when it was supposed to. 

Which was apparently now. 

“Killian?”

Slowly, he opened his eyes and tilted his head forward. In the back of his mind, he hoped it was a move that looked casual and confident, even though his heart rate suddenly ticked up. 

Because Emma stood just across the dirt lane from him, at the bottom of the steps coming from the kingdom’s womens’ prison. 

The first thing he noticed was her shocked expression—perhaps not the reaction he’d hoped for, but not entirely unexpected. Otherwise, she looked—well, a bit tired, a bit wan, and her cream dress hung a bit loose on her frame. She’d also cut her hair to about chin length, and it was back to its natural blonde. 

But she’d always look beautiful to him, and he couldn’t help but grin.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, taking a tentative step toward him. “Are…are you on a case?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he replied casually (though in tone only; he was actually restraining himself). “I thought you might prefer a ride, versus whatever other transportation plans you may have had upon release.”

She checked both ways before crossing the empty street, but still stopped several feet away from him. “How did you know I was getting out today? I didn’t even know until a few days ago; there’s no way you could have gotten my letter that fast.”

True to his word, he’d kept up communication with her as much as he was able; her replies were infrequent but cherished, and currently stashed in his saddle bag. “Nemo wired me,” he explained. 

“That was kind of him,” she replied politely, though she seemed unsure at what that meant. Hopefully she realized that Nemo was the one who kept Killian in the loop and even made it possible for him to contact her while locked up; prisoner locations weren’t generally public knowledge and she certainly didn’t have his home address. 

(Nemo had also gently teased Killian any time they met in person about his crush, which Killian took as a stamp of approval.)

“Well, you helped bring down a wanted killer. It was the least he could do.”

Emma blushed and looked down, but it was true: her testimony not only sent Neal away on the aforementioned murder charges, but also a string of other unsolved robberies that she was able to pin on him, and a few other accomplices. 

She began to wring her hand around her wrist, which was when he noticed: the magic-blocking cuff was still there. “Oh, love—let me get that,” he said, then held out his hand to her, hoping she’d take it. 

She did, albeit hesitantly, and he had to make a point to ignore the spark at contact. He gently guided her hand onto his hook and slipped the cuff off; the skin beneath was even paler than she was and slightly calloused, but she sighed in relief as soon as it was off. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry that it took so long to come off. It’s a clever, albeit cruel, trick of the thing that only the person who puts it on can remove it.”

“And they definitely wouldn’t have let you take it off before I was taken in.”

“Alas, no.”

A slightly awkward silence settled over them as she rolled her newly freed wrist; he tried not to wince at the audible pop it made.

“Oh, I have something that might make that feel better,” he said, and turned back to the saddle bag, digging through for a well-hidden bundle. “This is yours.” He presented the small, but important, package to her. 

She untied the string holding it together, and then her eyes went wide when the fabric fell open “What…hold on, is this…?” 

“Half of your bounty,” he confirmed. 

“No, Killian—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted. “Half is more than enough for me, but I can hardly leave you penniless and fresh out of jail.”

“I’d get by,” she said defiantly. 

“I know. I have no doubt you would thrive. But I wanted to help ensure it.”

She worried her bottom lip. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I like the hair,” he went on, hoping to somewhat change the subject from the past to at least the present. “It’s nice to see your natural coloring.”

“Thanks,” she replied, still shyly, and tucked a bit behind her ear. “The brown was looking weird as it grew out, so one of the girls in there just cut it off for me. I’m still getting used to it being so short, though.”

“It frames your face nicely,” he couldn’t help but add. 

She smiled up at him through her lashes, but her face suddenly fell and she practically jumped into his space.

“Oh gods—your cheek,” she lamented, reaching up to brush the new scar that crossed his face. “I didn’t realize that cut was so deep; I’m so—”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he told her. “It wasn’t your fault. And it’s all healed now. Frankly, I think it makes me look rather dashing,” he only half joked, with a terrible wink. 

She giggled and rolled her eyes, but continued to cup his face. “I missed you,” she admitted. 

He knew she was taking a risk with that confession—showing her hand, baring part of her heart to him. And he appreciated it more than he knew how to express. 

He hoped the fact that he had made the effort to be here expressed how he felt, but in case she hadn’t picked up on that, “I missed you too, love. Quite a lot.”

They were very close—close enough that he could easily pull her into his embrace, find her lips with his, but he didn’t want to push her too far too fast. 

She seemed to be thinking about it too, though, if the way her eyes darted back up to his from the vicinity of his mouth was anything to go by. But then her stomach growled exceptionally loud, breaking the moment. 

“Come on,” he chuckled. “I’m sure you could use a real meal.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I know a good diner not far from here. It’s not Granny’s, but it’s better than average.”

“Sounds amazing. Do you have to head out after that?”

It was obvious what she was doing: testing the waters to see if he was really there for her or not.

“Depends. Where do you want to go?”

“Well, I was given the address to a halfway house in town, so I had planned on heading there,” she started, and he hoped his face didn’t fall as quickly as his heart descended into his stomach.

“I can take you there, if you wish,” he offered. 

“See…my plan, though, was to write and let you know where I was, then see what kind of response I got from you before making any other decisions. So you kind of made me skip that step,” she said with a teasing smirk. 

“Are you complaining?”

“No, of course not. You saved me the postage.” Her winks were a lot better than his—but more, it was fun to banter with her again. 

“And what kind of response were you hoping for?”

“Something like this,” she shrugged. “Westley coming for Buttercup and stealing her away. Unless…you didn’t…”

“I did,” he confirmed, then swallowed, suddenly nervous again. “It’s just…been a while,” he said, scratching behind his ear. “And I wanted to make sure that’s what you wanted, too. I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, then stepped closer to him again and put her hands on his shoulders. “And that’s what I love about you.”

Killian blinked for a moment; he hadn’t expected that. But then he realized she was watching his reaction, and a grin quickly and involuntarily spread across his face. “I love you, too, Emma. I’ve regretted not telling you since the day we parted.”

“Jail cannot stop true love; all it can do is delay it for a while,” she paraphrased. (He may have read their new favorite book with Alice several times over the past year.)

He could probably have come up with a responding quip, but there’d be time for that later; right now, he just really, desperately needed to kiss her—and did so, wrapping his arms around her tightly and pressing his lips against hers firmly. 

It somehow felt both new and familiar at the same time, which was probably appropriate—even if he knew Emma and his feelings for her, they actually had a chance now to give things a shot; to take a step forward together. 

Eventually, they broke apart to take a breath, but stayed close—as they walked to the diner, while they ate, and as they mounted Roger and headed out; he intentionally took a route out of town that avoided the warehouse where they’d last been together. 

“So where are we going?” she asked as they started to leave Longbourn.

He simply answered, “Home.”  

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

That night, they stopped in Meryton to rest. He made a point to find a nicer inn than the first time they had been there—but they did continue their train of thought from that night, so perhaps not a lot of rest was had. At least no one seemed to judge their late exit the following morning, or the shy, but knowing grins they continued to exchange through breakfast.

The day’s ride saw them enjoying the late summer sun as well as each other’s presence, Emma almost constantly leaning back against him with a relaxed smile on her face. 

At some point, though, she noticed the difference in the amount of time they’d spent on the road versus their last trip, and most likely the difference in surroundings. “Where are we really going?” she asked as they stopped for dinner by another of the many roadside firepits he was familiar with. 

“I told you—home.”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, but any further concerns fell silent in lieu of kissing (among other things). (This particular fire pit was imbued with a cloaking spell that made it invisible if it was occupied; they definitely took advantage of that fact.)

And after another long day of riding, they approached some familiar surroundings late in the afternoon the following day. When Emma realized where they were, she turned around and grinned at him. 

Much like when they left last year, the residents of Storybrooke gaped at them as they rode into town. Killian could only imagine what tall tales the rumor mill had spun after their unceremonious departure—and wondered how much of it Granny and Ruby set to rights. 

And he was sure they’d find out shortly; they’d hardly even reached the hitching post outside the inn before Emma was halfway off the horse. It was midafternoon, so thankfully they’d arrived in between meal rushes and had a chance at a proper reunion.

She at least waited for him to tie up Roger before running through the saloon doors ahead of him, and sudden screams and squeals of laughter and joy greeted him once he followed her inside.

Emma and Ruby were wrapped in a tight embrace next to the bar, which looked just the same as it had the last time he was here, though maybe bearing a few more scuffs. And Granny was on her way out of the kitchen to join the group hug, so Killian continued to hang back, not wanting to intrude—and knowing full well that the both of them were likely to fawn and dote on him in a matter of minutes.

He also had a question for them: did—?

“Papa! You’re here!!”

The question couldn’t even finish in his mind before Alice was tackling him about the midsection. He huffed a bit—his ribs were fully healed but still had their tender spots—but didn’t hesitate to return the hug. 

“So are you, starfish; I was worried I may have beaten you here.” She’d been growing like a weed the last year and was nearly up to his shoulder now. 

“Never! I did all the navigation—all by myself!”

“Is that so?”

“Well…Aunt Belle helped a little.”

“I see.”

“Only a little though,” the woman in question added, coming from the direction of the stairs to the boarding rooms. 

“Alice? Belle?” Emma had stepped away from Ruby and was looking at the other reunion. “What are you…?”

“We’re here to see you!” Alice exclaimed, and promptly threw herself at Emma, then started to talk her ear off about…oh, everything. 

Granny quickly prepared a feast in a way only she could, and they all sat down to catch up with one another; it turned out Ruby was now engaged and she was quick to announce that Granny had taken a paramour as well—a fact which made the older woman scold her salacious granddaughter…while blushing. 

Alice was exceptionally taken with Emma’s natural hair color, especially because “It looks just like mine!” A fact she emphasized with a knowing look in Killian’s direction. Though she’d obviously never lacked for parental figures, the fact that her hair color was so dramatically different from his and Belle’s dark hues he knew occasionally bothered her. So he was pointedly ignoring her implication that she should have someone around she resembled in that department, even if it was far more likely to happen then she realized. 

And after several days spent in town, actually on vacation this time, they settled into something resembling a life. There was a cottage for sale just a short walk outside of Storybrooke—right on the water, like the one Alice grew up in—and Emma immediately purchased it with her share of the reward money and insisted they stay any time they wanted. Which ended up being all the time. 

Storybrooke wasn’t the most convenient town as far as staying connected with Killian���s office in Longbourn, but there was a village just to the south that was on the telegraph network, so it wasn’t uncommon for he and whichever lady in his life felt like it to take Roger for a bit of a ride to check messages. 

Killian also continued to take fewer jobs, so he could spend more time with Alice—who flourished in their new town, attending the local school and making friends. More even than adventure, that was all he wanted for her, so he ended up turning over much of his part of the reward to Belle so she could go on a solo trip. (She tried to refuse, but he wouldn’t hear it; and the postcards she sent back were incredibly gorgeous.)

Emma became Killian’s partner in crime, so to speak—or rather, the opposite of it. Her feline side proved invaluable at times in conducting reconnaissance, and she just had a knack for finding people, to the point that she received the occasional solo assignment; Killian had been correct in his assessment of Nemo’s positive view towards her. (And then he teased Killian for not proposing yet. He did get there, though—in the middlemist meadow, on a date that closely resembled their first.)

Roughly a year after they returned to Storybrooke, they were attending Ruby’s wedding to Dorothy—Emma was the maid of honor, and Alice was the flower girl. It was a raucous party like the town hadn’t seen in ages, but exhilarating, and the best part was the shared looks of pure joy on the newlyweds’ faces. 

“Guess that’ll be us next, huh?” Emma asked as they sat on a bench along the wall of Granny’s, catching their breaths after dancing. 

“I would assume so,” he replied, taking her left hand in his right and observing the way his mother’s ring sat perfectly upon her finger. “Unless you’re having second thoughts; then I might have to see what Granny’s up to.”

“Don’t even joke—you know she’d take you up on it.” (Doubtful, with the way the old wolf currently was resting her head on her beau’s shoulder.) “You’re stuck with me, Captain.”

“Damn,” he said dryly, clearly not complaining. 

They took advantage of the quiet moment to share a cuddle of their own, and he took in his surroundings: Alice was playing with her friends, Belle was dancing with the fellow she’d been seeing, and the woman he loved—despite their strange and almost impossible start—was in his arms. 

Though it didn’t follow any path he’d ever expected, he seemed to be living out his own sort of fairy tale adventure, and even if it was unconventional, it was perfect in its own way. 

Emma let out a happy sigh and rested her head on his shoulder. “What?” he had to ask. 

“I'm just... happy,” she explained. “It still surprises me sometimes.” 

“Aye, love. Me, too.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “And that’ll be us soon enough,” he added, nodding at the newlyweds, “and we can spend all our days living out our happy ending.”

Emma hummed and smiled. “I can’t wait. But I’m not sure about that term—happy ending. It’s not really an ending, is it?”

“I suppose not,” he had to agree. “What should we call it then?”

“How about…a happy beginning?”

“As you wish.”

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

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[winterlovesong1]

Winter Rewatches Nancy Drew

Welcome to my first rewatch of my current favorite comfort show ❤️ Under the cut are my thoughts and a few insights I hope you enjoy - I’ll be going through each episode and posting these periodically with the tag winter rewatched Nancy Drew.

3x05- The Vision of the Birchwood Prisoner

I know it’s been a long while but I got inspired to do one of these today and well, I hope you enjoy the return of this series!

Overall MVP

This episode was interesting to rewatch because all the characters were in some sort of conflict relationship vignette. And they all didn’t necessarily resolve their conflicts, but just sort of settled in the end and returned together despite the non-resolution. So it’s hard to pick an MVP – but maybe – I’ll pick the connections between the group – and how even though they went through their respective struggles, because of those connections, they returned to each other in the end – and not necessarily in a joyous triumphant way because again, no one won their respective turmoil, but returning to each other almost in a reluctant, “well, this is better than where I was” kind of way. And I like that notion of having a safe place to land. I like that idea of home.

Most Heartfelt Moment

“I wish you would have trusted me with that beforehand.”

I should change this category to heartbreaking in this instance. It’s so heartbreaking to see the struggles that Fanson endure this episode, the rust that eventually erodes what was such a great, supportive relationship. The fast track of wanting to live life to its fullest, to resolve past issues for a sense of peace and serenity in order to move forward, to carry forward, within the confined timeline George is now sentenced with, puts an unbearable strain on their dynamic.

Both George and Nick like to have time, space to think and talk through the important topics, and with that taken away, they feel pressure to deal with problems as quickly and efficiently as possible – and that sometimes means alone, that sometimes means without disclosing it to the other.

And thus, the falling apart, thus the eroding.

Best Overall Line

“I think you’re disappointing.”

Leah does a fantastic job delivering such a great performance this episode – but this line, this particular delivery, is heart-wrenching. So much so I give it best overall line.

Best Comedic Moment

This episode sprinkles in a lot of humor to lift the severity of all the characters “conflict vignettes” as I’m referring to them. But these are my top three:

“But you know good news…very few customers.”

Nick commenting to an empty dining room on what the audience finds amusing already – how The Claw even stays in operation with the limited customer base?

“You think Ryan is outsourcing his duties on the chore wheel?”

Probably one of the most iconic lines of the season - the utter distain and disbelief that is in Carson’s tone when he asks it is priceless.

“Just got to uh…recycling.”

If there’s anything Ace hates, it’s being on the border of an awkward conflict situation. And so, the moment he finds an escape route with Bess opening the door, he takes it. Him fumbling out the door with this excuse is so endearing.

Scare Rating

That scene with Nancy, Temperance, and Trott is so disturbing. 8.

Nace Slow Burn

What I love about Nace this episode is that illustration of gravity that myself, and other fans, have loved about their dynamic. How they drift away and then toward each other in a beautiful dance, moving apart, but not for too long, before flitting back to their center, to their safe place to land.

To home.

“Be careful around your mystical relatives.”

Spoken in their first scene together, feeling that gravity of wanting to stay connected as Nancy works through the case, and Ace with his, both of them needing (wanting) the other’s help but alas, their own respective conflicts, alas, their first step before they drift apart…

And then when they do come back together, it’s steps of affirmation from Ace that bring him closer to her…as if he’s trying to say sorry for not being there today…as if sorry wasn’t enough and he had to use as many words as he could.

“You had plenty to deal with already.”

“Nancy, I highly doubt that.”

“You were just doing what you thought was best.”

And then he embraces her, not fully, but with a gentle touch of his hand at her back and sweeps her in one final dance move across the hallway.

Landing in the center. Their safe place to land.

Home.

Favorite Fashion Moment

I’m giving the fashion nod to Ace and Nancy this episode. The blue and red complimenting colors – we love to see it.

Missing Moment

Special mention to this drabble I previously wrote about Ace dishwashing

But here’s a new one about Nancy leaving the loft for the night…

“I better get back home.” It was already late when she arrived at Nick’s loft and despite the adrenaline of the day propelling her forward in conversation with the group, her eyelids were now weighing her down.

(she was tired when she arrived and now she’s just exhausted)

“I’ll walk you out.”

Before she might have dismissed the offer, the idea of help. But today, she really missed it. His help.

(she really missed him)

The door clicks shut right as he’s offering up another testimonial, “don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ll figure things out…”

She really didn’t deserve all these affirmations. She hadn’t even asked about…

Turning around in her realization, she finds his eyes to safely get swept up in, “speaking of figuring things out, I’m sorry about your parents…”

He stays with her and nods, “thanks.”

She wished she had this today. This security. This feeling rising in her gut now that is calm and certain and…

Knows which direction to go.

Instead, she was unmoored today and made all the wrong turns.

A wrong way day for the books, she longs to rewrite it with him in it. He would have had clever lines to sprinkle in between her lamenting. He would have had astute observations and would have been willing to challenge her hypotheses without being condescending, but by being warm and supportive and…

He would have offered his smile and she would have appreciated the gesture as she mulled over his analysis.

She would have had her smile too.

It would have been a day for the books. But the good kind. The kind that included him.

(the best kind)

So she offers what she can at the end of the day, knowing it won’t fix things in the past, but at least she can try to fix the narrative of the now. “Let me know if you need anything…ok?”

“Nancy, you don’t…”

But she does - she need too - and interrupts, “let me know.”

He nods again before falling away from her.

“I will.”

She wished she had him today.

But this will have to do.

(it’s what gets her through)

[ferlost]

I am now very very curious about this Blueprints AU. Could you share some more about it, please? 🥺

oh boy oh boy

sure i can elaborate a little bit. it's not fully concrete yet but i can give some info.

for the sake of linking it if i ever write anything else, there's a prologue + chapter 1 readable on wattpad or fanfic/net.

the Blueprints AU is a tale focused around Henry's origins and the journey he takes with his Crew to uncover his past. It's a 'Henry Goes Foreign' story that takes place outside of Sodor for a large majority. It was inspired by a wiki article I read where Henry was decidedly a defective prototype, whose blueprints were stolen by an unknown assailant and was built and sold to The Controller on Sodor in a shady deal to pawn off an engine.

the general synopsis is - ever since arriving on Sodor, Henry has never felt like he knew who he really was, and had a periodically reoccurring dream of phantasmagorical nature. It's never very clear, but he always recalls a few very specific items. two silhouettes, a piece of parchment, a loaded gun, and a lavish red brooch. these objects and their correlation to each other don't make much sense until the mystery unfolds.

the premiere crux of the story is that this dream Henry is having isn't actually a dream, but rather a memory - the last memory his Designer ever had before they were murdered in cold blood and their unfinished blueprints stolen. this is the reason why his first design was faulty, it was never a complete design to begin with, but the thief had the engine built anyway. Henry is unsure of how he has retained these unknown memories, but it persuades him to ask The Controller for an audience and requests to see his original blueprints.

to the shock and horror of them all, his blueprints appear bloodstained. in a loose sense, his Designer's memories remain attached to them and have been trying to speak to him all this time, warning him that the murderer is still out there and has yet to receive righteous judgement for the unforgivable crime they have committed.

wanting to finally put an end to his questions and unease, Henry and his Crew are started on their long journey far abroad from the borders of Sodor to follow a breadcrumb trail of clues, guided by Henry's strange visions (and sometimes, pure happenstance...). It grows into an international scandal much larger than any of them anticipated, but, i don't want to spoil too much there.

it's a love letter to mystery thriller novels, and also the rws in a way. if you've ever read Sherlock Holmes or Agatha Christie, it's somewhere in that vein. there is a large focus on the relationship between Henry and his Driver and Fireman, who are essential characters - as well as a few new and familiar faces they meet along the way. Flying Scotsman serves as a primary confidant for his extensive experience abroad already, along with some original guests.

there's an engine he meets who I've nicknamed Canary that's also a pivotal character: the first, and only engine to have ever been tried in the human court system and accused of a human crime (along with his crew). they were later acquitted of these accusations, but this event paved the way for human-engine political interaction like never before. this case set an essential and controversial precedent that has since been dubbed The Canary Clause: which dictates that if a human may take and try an engine in court, engines vice versa have the right to take advantage of the court system as well; including but not limited to pressing charges, seeking damages, etc.

Henry and his crew take full advantage of this benefit while on their journey.

hopefully that's the sort of info you were looking for. im glad you enjoy the idea.

[spumonibones]

Chasing Wings: Memoria 03

Pairing: Xiao x Venti First Chapter (Ao3) ; First Chapter (Tumblr) Lore/Story Notes Chapter CW: None | Update Schedule: Every Wednesday Canon Divergence AU; Other Four Yaksha Still Live; Zhongli already retired but Osial hasn't happened; Canon Typical Violence

Note: I am slowly uploading (to mitigate spamming) this fic to be on Tumblr in addition to Ao3 - patience is appreciated!

Summary: "To Err is Human, to Forget is Godly."

Almost 500 years ago, the Cataclysm happened. As the fires and monsters dwindled, most of the Seven had fallen. One, Barbatos, simply disappeared - and in his absence, the mourning songs of Dvalin would serenade the land of wind each yearly anniversary. The surviving Archons presumed him dead, and Monstadt presumed he simply never was.

Then one day, before a Traveler will fish Teyvat's Best Guide from its waters, a young man named Venti is rescued by the Vigilant Yaksha. Without memory a face as familiar as it is foreign, the question then becomes... What path can one take, when new memories meet old?

***

Wangshu Inn was a welcome sight. Venti had assumed that it would be a small building, likely closer to wherever the border was between Liyue and Monstadt. Probably another building of wood and stone, each corner cut straight with no hint of deviation. The same rigidity of Liyue Harbor.

Instead, it was a glorified tree house and he was ecstatic at the idea of sleeping in a bed several stories in the air. At how each night would be spent being rocked to sleep by boughs swaying in the wind, a lullaby in the rustling leaves. Having been built inside a tree, the design was focused exclusively on maximizing space without sacrificing safety. Which meant the sides weren't identical in the slightest! If Venti let his imagination go too wild, he'd almost think Zhongli knew him well enough that he'd prefer this. That was ridiculous, of course. The two couldn't have known each other before today.

Could they?

Getting settled into the inn was relatively lax, as most of the staff seemed aware he was an expected guest. No one asked questions, but he did note a fair bit of smiles his way. Venti matched them easily, and simply allowed them to show him around. The elevator was a blessing, as he knew there was no way he could walk all the way to the top where they were putting him. "What instrument do you play?" One of the employees asked. "We received your items from Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, but found no instruments. If you would permit it, I would love to find a replacement for you."

These people really loved their adepti, didn't they? Offering a stranger a room and instrument. All over a silly song that Venti still doubted did anything of real help. Perhaps Barbatos wasn't dead. Perhaps he was just gallivanting around Liyue, saw what was happening, and intervened.

"If you're really okay with it, I'd love that!" Venti beamed up at them, once more missing Hu Tao. Thus far, she had been one of the few people he interacted with that didn't require craning his head backwards just to see their face. "I play most everything, so whatever is easiest for you." It was the one talent that didn't leave his memory, unlike everything else. The notes were on the back of his lids, sheets and scores dancing through his vision every time he closed his eyes. String or wind, percussion or brass… His fingers and lips could never forget how to bring the best sound out of each.

"Really? I have this flute in that case! Please wait in your room, I'll be right back with it and some dinner!" They said, leaving in a rush. Yawning, Venti looked around the space as he waited. The door remained open to allow the lights from the hall to illuminate his temporary room. There was a single, full size bed. Ample room for one person, but space for a second if those two people were really close.

The sheets were made, covering the one pillow by the headboard. A blanket was folded at its bottom, an offering in case a cool enough breeze wafted through the open window. Approaching it, Venti ran his hand across the wooden framing of that window. If he wanted to, he could climb up and just jump out of it. Green eyes looked down, gauging how high up he was.

Far too high up to just jump out a window.

Stretching both arms out, he gave a pleased hum finding fingertips couldn't reach the width of the frame. This was much more homely than where he had first woken up. A shiver went through him, and he chose to blame the night chill in spite of how warm the air actually was. Moving away from the window, he found a nightstand. Rustled through the drawers, and was pleased to find his clothes were in there. While far from fancy, it was the only thing that was his. The first gift he was given since waking in this world, without any expectation of the kindness being returned.

"You're the symbol of freedom, and it's wrong to keep you trapped." The knight had said. Letting out a sigh, Venti returned to the window and let his eyes wander. Much information as he was collecting, things still didn't quite make sense. People wanting a puppet tried to summon a deity, an Archon, and instead got him. The idea that he had some kind of power didn't add up, but the more he thought on it the more he wondered if those people did something to him. After all, he looked just different enough now that he couldn't completely dismiss the idea. His face shape was just different enough to look uncanny in the mirror, and the tattoos he had now weren’t there before.

No longer thinking about it, he moved on.There was no point in changing out of his borrowed pajamas, not with the sun now set. There was a growl from his stomach, and he ignored the pangs that started to follow. With how much he ate earlier, how was there room for more?

Settling on the sill, Venti waited. Let his eyes take in the scenery, his nostrils get their fill of the air. In time, the gentleman returned with a plate in tow.

"My apologies for taking so long." The man said, setting the plate down on the nightstand. The flute was in a box, and placed far more delicately on the bed. "I have other guests I need to check on, but please, if you need anything go to the front desk." Offering a smile, he was just as quickly gone.

The food didn't last much longer than the gentleman's visit did.

However, the flute was given a great deal more attention and time. The instrument needed to be cleaned, and Venti did need to make a trip to the front desk to gather what supplies he could for it. Once he got it as close to pristine as he could, he started tuning it up. There wasn't any damage, and no pieces needed to be replaced. Each note he would test, eyes closed with ears hearing only each sound.

When he started to play, that was when he felt most at home. Back against the window frame, one leg stretched in front of him on the sill while the other dangled off the side. Notes were sharp, then soft, following the song on the breeze. If he wasn't concerned about other guests, Venti would have played the whole night. Unfortunately, there were. While he didn't know exactly how long he played, eventually he forced himself to stop. The moon was high in the sky, and Venti hoped he wouldn't get in trouble if it was especially late at night. No one came to request he stop, at least.

With a yawn, Venti slid from the windowsill back inside the room. A flash caught the corner of his eyes, the bard immediately whipping his attention towards it. Initially, there wasn't much that he could see. Just the view of the surrounding marsh, illuminated by the moonlight. Poking his head back out the window, he craned his neck and tried directing his attention up this time. There, at the the top of the tree… Venti saw a silhouette. His memory of their first meeting was disorienting, there had been far too much panic to recall much clearly. But that flash was familiar, and Venti smiled up at the figure. Gave a friendly wave that wasn't returned. The bard didn't let that bother him too much. It was possible that it was just someone who worked at the inn. Or simply didn’t notice, as the bard couldn’t be certain the silhouette was facing him. Irregardless, he felt better at having attempted the hello.

With that, he went back inside to go to sleep.

On top of the Wangshu Inn the wave had not, in fact, gone unnoticed by the silhouette. Crouched down on the branch, a long, shaky breath left the man whose youthful face betrayed his millenia of years. He had just returned to the inn, though he had been there earlier. Been there since before the bard began to experiment with the flute, tests of songs that blended into one another. Had watched the carriage arrive with Venti, hiding away as he often did. A cry had pulled Xiao away over an hour ago, and it was with discomfort that he had been caught upon his return.

Xiao wasn't sure what to make of the bard. Only knew that Rex La… Zhongli had made a request of him.

Yesterday should have been Xiao's final dawn. He had felt it, the karmic debt he carried was full and weighted. Was dragging him down, further then he had been pulled before. Refused efforts until then to be saved. If he were to be honest, he had become too tired to want to be saved. Was ready to sleep, finally, after over two-thousand years of this. Xiao had enough loss, both seen and caused enough death. Heard a frightened call. Believed it to be the last one he answered, especially when he saw the Riftwolves.

Xiao hadn't seen the creatures in some time, but the times he had seen them were when people were… Doing things they shouldn't, messing with things nothing should mess with. There was a danger to the creatures, the void they carried a poison to elemental beings. All living creatures in Teyvat have a certain amount of elements to them, and Xiao took extra precautions to ensure he dispatched all the hounds that were tracking the poor fool from Monstadt.

That was all Xiao thought the man was.

The roar of the debt was loud, ready to collect from him with a steep interest. Xiao just needed to hold out a little longer, give the mortal a little extra time to get away… To escape so that in his final moments, this time, Xiao could trust the only person he would hurt was himself. The snarls of his karma started to quiet, shifting from primal to melodic. A song. A voice he hadn't heard in centuries, cradling his soul and gently putting the fury of that debt into a peaceful sleep. As easily as the sun behind them rose.

For the first time, Xiao looked at the person he rescued. At the person that rescued him, in return. Black hair with braids by his cheeks, the tips glowing the same turquoise of his eyes. The rest of his hair was short and wild, leaves poking out of it. His clothes were a mess, a white, frilled blouse that was soaked and covered in mud. Most of the shirt was no longer tucked into green shorts, just as dirty as the top was. There were cuts and scrapes on him, all the signs of someone who had been pursued through underbrush and more.

“You're… Barbatos?” Xiao whispered, eyes wide in disbelief. The man's eyes slid closed, collapsing forward. Wasting no time, the yaksha dashed forward to catch the other. Stunned and confused, holding someone that had been missing for five centuries. Leaning in, faces close enough he could feel that the bard was still breathing. That was good. Looked the face over, a face he had only actually seen with his own eyes once. Xiao trusted his memory, but there was one memory he trusted more. Especially in the matter of recognizing Barbatos. Scooping the unconscious body into his arms with a grunt, Xiao tilted the bard backward so that his head could rest on the yaksha's shoulders in order to protect the neck.

There was too much about this that didn't make sense. If this was Barbatos, why didn't the Archon use his Anemo to deal with the Riftwolves? With the Gnosis, Barbatos far exceeded what Xiao could do. Had heard the stories of Barbatos leveling mountains, entirely because his foolish humans kept trying to climb and then die on those peaks. A weird way to coddle humans, Xiao thought, but it wasn't his place to comment.

Verbally, at any rate.

So if this was Barbatos, why didn't he? Letting the energy surround them, Xiao teleported both himself and the bard away from the more quiet riverfront. If this wasn't Barbatos… Had a new Anemo Archon finally appeared? If they had, why did he look almost identical to the previous one? True, there were only finite characteristics in life, and inevitably two creatures would share enough features to appear identical. It was a hard truth of being a long-lived being in a world of very mortal humans. There would come a day you would see someone, and just for a moment, believe they were alive again…

It was never that person.

But having the same features as the previous Archon? The chances were nigh impossible.

The two appeared in a dark space, and Xiao lightly rapped at the bottom of the door with his foot. Didn't want to risk hurting his charge anymore then what he was risking right then. The karmic debt hadn't been fully cleansed, and would begin its trickle of tainting Xiao and the air around him soon enough. If this was a normal human with a unique gift, the yaksha needed him away before the debt made him ill on top of his injuries. Within seconds, the door was open and a worried Zhongli stood before Xiao on the other side.

A worry that shifted immediately to shock. Without a word, Xiao shoved the body into Zhongli's arms. The consultant had been ready to receive the form, well-aware that if the yaksha brought him a body he wanted it to be safe.

Knew that something was very wrong, but amber eyes noted there was also a pleasant surprise amidst all this.

The karmic debt around Xiao was drastically lighter. If the situation wasn't what it was, he would have smiled at the sight. “...This looks like…” Zhongli murmured, pausing when he finally looked at the face. Let the head loll to the side as recognition flickered past his visage. Given the likeness of the face, Zhongli opted a less gentle manner of holding. If this was Barbatos, he would be fine.

It was also deserved.

Now that the bard was secured in Zhongli's arms, Xiao took a step back into the dark space the pair arrived in. It was a closet, with minimal items stored inside. This was by design. Rex Lapis had died, but he also could not bear to leave the yaksha to suffer without support. The neighboring areas could not offer the yaksha the help they needed with the burden each carried, and thus Zhongli made sure each was aware his home was open to them.

Until now, none had accepted his offer. All of them insisted that as Rex Lapis was dead, and Zhongli was a human, they would no more intrude upon him than they would any other citizen of Liyue. The respect they had for his needs was equal parts endearing as it was heart-breaking. Lesser Lord Kusanali was too inexperienced to save the yaksha, and there was no more Barbatos to save them. Until this moment, Zhongli feared before his mind left him, he would suffer watching the minds leaving his loyal yaksha. The medicine he made and sent to his loyal children, ignored next to their graves.

A possible solution was now in his arms, neck at an angle most unfortunate. A sore neck never killed someone, so the bard remained dangling.

“Is it him?” Xiao asked, voice tinged with hints of curiosity.

“...I'm not sure.” Zhongli admitted. The differences were subtle, but living long as he had and suffered as many interactions with the Anemo Archon as he did Zhongli saw them. Each and every tiny deviation that made his brows furrow. The Geo within him could feel it, the brush of Anemo that wafted from the body like an invisible odor. Even more convincing, was holding the body was comparable to holding a bird. Lighter than one would expect, as if the bones were actually feathers. At the bird comparison, amber eyes glanced over at the yaksha.

“Is he an imposter?” Xiao pressed. This is troubling him, Zhongli noted.

“Tell me what happened.” The consultant requested, stepping aside to invite Xiao to actually come into the house. The yaksha didn't need to hide in his closet, not when he was always a welcome guest. Xiao didn't move. Remained where he was, and relayed the events of the morning. It was almost surreal, the sensation of Xiao delivering a report to the man of Geo. If the adeptus let himself, he could even pretend nothing had changed. That Rex Lapis was still at the yaksha's side, the one thing unchanging.

But even mountains wore down as time passed. There was a bitter irony to it. When was the last anyone heard or saw Time? Yet even now, she warped and altered and eroded them all.

“I do agree that if this is Barbatos, he would not have been in need of your help.” Zhongli agreed, frowning slightly. The annoyance at the familiar face had faded. In its place was a sadness. A sorrow that only silence could bring, when the concert had ended and those songs would play no more. With care, Zhongli adjusted the body so the bard would be more comfortable. Barbatos was equal parts menace and friend, and there was an unsavory, coppery taste in Zhongli's mouth at the past tense that came with the name, Barbatos. “Would you be willing to keep an eye on him for me, Adeptus Xiao? If nothing else, it sounds as though he has abilities he knows not how to use. All Archons so far have known they were, because they claimed that power or inherited it. I do not see how one could become an Archon without knowing it… But often strange things happen when people attempt to circumvent the Laws, so I dare not dismiss the possibility.”

“I will.” Xiao agreed, no hesitation. No matter the face he wore, Xiao would always follow him, would always follow the god that saved him. There was no Xiao without Rex Lapis, a name the yaksha treasured from the moment it was his to be called.

“I will see if I can ask him to cleanse you of your karmic debt,” Zhongli was speaking, and at his words Xiao was trying to refuse. The consultant continued, pretending he couldn't hear the protests. “In exchange for being taught Anemo by Liyue's Diligent Yaksha. It would put me at ease, Xiao. I can no more force you than I can your siblings, but please. I can rest better if I know you'll have peace again, even if only for a short while.”

How could Xiao deny his god a request so earnest? Standing stiff, the adeptus nodded his head slightly. No matter who the bard was or wasn't, if he was going to be in Xiao's care it didn't feel right asking anything from him. Dealing with the curse and anger of gods who could not die, that refused to move on from their resentment, was the yaksha's purpose. That was his contract, and he would honor that contract.

Teaching was not his strong suit. It sounded like Ganyu's claims that he was, in fact, quite good at it had reached Zhongli's ears. Because of her silly fantasies, Xiao was going to have to deal with trying to train someone again. If this was combat, that would have been logical. The yaksha had few days in which he didn't have to fight. Anemo was entirely different. The Vision embedded into his glove was quiet, and he wasn't sure when he last made use of it. The Vision served a single purpose: to mitigate humans asking too many questions. The fewer who realized a yaksha saved them, the less hassle he had to deal with.

By the time most mortals pieced it together, Xiao was gone.

“Thank you, Alatus.” Zhongli's voice cut into his thoughts, his misgivings interrupted. The man was smiling down at Xiao, those amber eyes the same ones that always looked into the yaksha's golden ones. The warmth in them was familiar and reassuring, the guilt ebbing away. “Would you like to stay for breakfast? I have brewed a delightful white tea. Should be cool enough for us, if you would like.”

Xiao's eyes pulled down, gazing at the frame of the closet he was in. It felt almost symbolic. Xiao in the darkness, pulling away from humanity. Zhongli in the warmth of humanity, always trying to invite the adeptus back into it. Shoulders tightened, and when he couldn't speak Xiao opted to shake his head. The gentle smile remained on Zhongli's face, but fleks of sadness appeared in his eyes. Little, tiny pieces of pale yellows, taken from a sunset.

“I understand. Should you change your mind, please know I've always tea at the ready and seats at the table.” Zhongli promised. He did not close the door, not until Xiao had teleported away.

[writer59january13]

Oh Mondseer: the muck cob brie muenster saga...,

crafted when Wallace and Gromit returned from their trip to the moon, which I can prov-olone huck curd (within Trump con feta ration) – as cheesy poem crafted whey back when the following Gouda eye idea occurred while milking the cows.

Yea of course writing ideas unstoppably

burst asunder at the most inconvenient

opportunities such as driving Miss Daisy,

taking a shower, or using the bathroom.

Accursed ambition becoming a prolific

wordsmith (case in point Stephen King)

Woolworth riding, oddly lumbering

lackadaisical shoehorning out this

being from a self made gully. The jury

yet to decree if attempting to extricate

muss elf from tangled web of decades

old setbacks via literary output successful.

Every morning, noon and night, this chap

blunders, flounders, (like a phish out of water),

yet plod his shipshape reclusive quiet-natured

person along the boulevard of broken dreams.

Oft times, huff hind aye muss elf entering The

Dead Zone (bordering a Pet Sematary). Earlier,

a previous saunter found me surmounting

The Green Mile. Attendant in regard to these

Bag Of Bones, and Desperation to acquire

telephone contact with Cell phone quickens

pace despite Insomnia. No matter unexpected

Sleeping Beauties warrant kisses, my determination,

motivation, and slight trepidation occasionally breeds

(The Dark Half), doomsday facet deftly jackknifing lust.

Occasionally, a feeble goading simply under minds

any corporeal aim to restore endeavor to experience

Joyland. IT (creative juices within) spur meeting Rose

Red and her restorative powers. Onward atheistic

soldier goes this chap. No matter tipping point (vis

a vis hungry fatigued body clamors for Needful Things.

Revival (for food and sleep) frequently appears grim.

Downcast state of body, mind and spirit reinforced

by mirage. The Dark Tower looms ahead! Adjacent

to ominous evil looking structure silhouette casted

of a Black House. The initial ambition to ward off

abysmal results summon forth creative literary juices.

Simultaneously a migraine headache pounding pitted courtesy spluttering, nauseating, and foaming LIX spittle.

They hammer horrifically, ferociously, and diabolically.

Shades of shad rock Under The Dome. Ma noggin

Aches like The Tommyknockers! Every attempt to locate

a royal crowning coeval counterpart jinxed with laborious

ill luck. Hell in a handbasket plight usually generates

nostalgia for destiny to Carrie be back to Old Virginny.

Sage advice from Christine, Delores Claiborne, or The

Colorado Kid, yours truly blithely heeded. As a result

(The Outsider within this paperback writer wannabe)

sports defeat written all over face. Concomitant figurative

futility gussies and kickstarts leaving invisible pockmarks.

Ordinary Dreamcatcher fate invariably finds aptly named

Writer Errs Block. Need to back track arises (figuratively)

along vista. The roads have no name. They command

stubborn respect. Near impossible mission manifested

To transcend mental hindrance. This more difficult than

playing Gerald's Game. Hence sigh embrace The Shining

opportunity to avoid Misery. Doctor Sleep would undoubtedly

encourage braving, challenging self confronting The Eyes

Of The Dragon. Such a risky pursuit could force facing pitbull

Cujo. No matter gamble foisted prospect fraught frightfully

being burned at the stake by a Firestarter. Voluntary action

brings small hairs to tingle. Hunchback, sans severely curved

spine straightens. This (The Stand) ding pose offered supreme

vision as promised by The Talisman. Tidbits by me alias

Mr. Mercedes carefully just in case The Girl Who Loved

Tom Gordon chanced to stumble upon this redoubt versus

her hours spent staring at a blinking cursor. Metaphorical

po' wet tick feet took me where they would into the Shining and happy place called Willoughby located within the outer

limits of the twilight zone.

[charlotteswebbbbb]

What's the vibe? #62

In the news!

In transport entities collaborating with brands: Made.com are collaborating with TfL similar to what Burberry are doing..."The furniture installations are at Kings Cross St. Pancras, Green Park, Piccadilly and Baker Street Underground stations." but also this ad is CGI.....

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Ice Spice is a currently the face of NYC metro cards right now, solidifying her star New Yorker status.

Multibrand retailers this week....

MyTheresa is hopefully getting a new buyer this week or next week?

New Charli XCX video - I know I talk about her a lot but she's an interesting case. Seems more authentic than Dua Lipa in her inspirations and her music videos are obviously guided with a lot of vision. Plus she’s playing arenas in the UK for the first time this year. The latest features "various hot girls" - Julia Fox, Gabriette, Chloe Cherry etc etccccc

Also in music the boys of Fontaine D.C are back - wearing Simone Rocha on US tv....

From hot girls > hot boys > what does ugly mean today > you are unique

How are hot boys defined??? They're more likely to be talent whereas the girls can be....influencers/models/talent. Beloved for their movie of the moment, the boys are now fashion forward (see: Josh O'Connor for Loewe, Jacob Elordi and his bags/Prada vibes, Troye Sivan for Miu Miu). This never includes K-Pop boys as that's it's own kind of stan/fandom (with it's own rules) which is separate from this more American/Anglosphere fame. See also: "White boy of the month" The whole picking this talented person for our moment of lusty fan-dom is more an expansion on who gets to be popular which relates to the (fluctuating) democratic idea of the internet.

There are obviously cultural differences between the UK and USA - UK where we're searching for....

Ugly being terrible to a majority of people is undebatable but we’re definitely a nation who embraces imperfection which is something to embrace. Looking unique is what we're known for on the world stage. Ugly may be a trend at the moment but I think as we move into this era of “uniqueness” people will embrace strong personality and unique face...

See: any popular actor from the UK

(Drag culture having it's mainstream moment could be a part of this but it's more like hyper-femininity on display and that and queer culture in gen has changed how sexuality is displayed in beauty and beyond over the past 20 years)

Alongside the idea that "ugliness" might become the norm in just every day fashion due to people digging more into the idea of vintage more and more - and how to learn how to define one's style. Or something that's out of today's cycle because newness will always exist but it's possible that people are more in search of the one-of-a-kind for special events.

See also:

I think this is happening but also the opposite of what Lou is arguing where sharp suits are in on one side and on the other side.....

from 2018:

Instead of gorpcore being seen as ugly, it's now like being seen as out of the time...fashion will be time melting possibly. A mix and match of things.

The portal between New York and Dublin is a new way of random human connection.

“Founded by Lithuanian artist and entrepreneur Benediktas Gylys, Portals are an invitation to meet fellow humans above borders and differences and to experience our world as it really is – united and one. The livestream of Portals provides a window between distant locations, allowing people to meet outside of their social circles and cultures.”

Also Primavera Pro this year is focusing on new ways of communication, "from how to use new platforms such as TikTok, to understanding who the new music curators are, given the changes and evolution taking place in the specialised media, thanks to the participation of influencers Anthony Fantano and Margeaux."

New ways of communication are important as how we communicate with each other is extremely important, especially in a loneliness crisis and the complex dating/socializing matrix we live within.

[lindajenni]

oct 23

getting ready to move

"for we know that if our earthly house, this tent, is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." 2 cor 5:1

the owner of the tenement which i have occupied for many years has given notice that he will furnish but little or nothing more for repairs. i am advised to be ready to move.

at first this was not a very welcome notice. the surroundings here are in many respects very pleasant, and were it not for the evidence of decay, i should consider the house good enough. but even a light wind causes it to tremble and totter, and all the braces are not sufficient to make it secure. so i am getting ready to move.

it is strange how quickly one’s interest is transferred to the prospective home. i have been consulting maps of the new country and reading descriptions of its inhabitants. one who visited it has returned, and from him i learn that it is beautiful beyond description; language breaks down in attempting to tell of what he heard while there.

he says that, in order to make an investment there, he has suffered the loss of all things that he owned here, and even rejoices in what others would call making a sacrifice. another, whose love to me has been proven by the greatest possible test, is now there. he has sent me several clusters of the most delicious fruits. after tasting them, all food here seems insipid.

two or three times i have been down by the border of the river that forms the boundary, and have wished myself among the company of those who were singing praises to the King on the other side. many of my friends have moved there. before leaving they spoke of my coming later. i have seen the smile upon their faces as they passed out of sight. often i am asked to make some new investments here, but my answer in every case is, "i am getting ready to move."

"the words often on Jesus’ lips in His last days express vividly the idea, 'going to the Father.' we, too, who are Christ’s people, have vision of something beyond the difficulties and disappointments of this life. we are journeying towards fulfillment, completion, expansion of life. we, too, are 'going to the Father.'

much is dim concerning our home-country, but two things are clear. it is home, 'the Father’s House.' it is the nearer presence of the Lord. we are all wayfarers, but the believer knows it and accepts it. he is a traveler, not a settler." — r.c. gillie

the little birds trust God, for they go singing from northern woods where autumn winds have blown, With joyous faith their trackless pathway winging to summer-lands of song, afar, unknown.

let us go singing, then, and not go sighing: since we are sure our times are in His hand, why should we weep, and fear, and call it dying? ’tis only flitting to a summer-land.

we are all on a journey, destination to be determined. we have a clear road map but still, many venture off the trodden trail as detours and distractions avert one's goal. "enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it." matt 7:13-14

Lord, make me a better me. may i never hear you speak these words, "I never knew you." know me, Lord, even as i seek to know you more.

i look around and continue to see many mighty saints shedding their earthly tents. we know it is to reach a better destination (our true home) and yet, we feel somehow "left behind," perhaps with a purposed yet unfilled. tom horn was such a one who reached home in recent days and we pray for those he left behind. he will receive his crown to toss at the master's feet.

it is said "the moment we are born, we begin to die." i would argue the fact that the moment we die, we begin to live. this facade of time is merely an illusion obstructing one's clear view of reality.

we who know the saving grace of our Lord view our reality with the eyes of faith and we are persuaded our Lord's parting prayer will be granted by the Father. "Father, I desire that they also whom You gave Me may be with Me where I am, that they may behold My glory which You have given Me; for You loved Me before the foundation of the world." john 17:24

[notplatamium]

Overthinking far too much about random aspects the Wanderer's outfit

There's so many cool details that I just feel the need to talk about in his outfit.

First of all would be the color choice. I love the specific choice of blue here. It's a much cooler tone of blue, one that's vibrant and the perfect choice for a bright, arguably cartoony, sky. It's like a phthalo blue. This is nowhere close to a color like ultramarine which is a more warmer toned blue, bordering on purple. In fact, he's lacking in any warm shades in his outfit. This could symbolize the fact that he is a lot more chill than his previous incarnation. Whereas ultramarine is more commonly used as a color for realistic paintings, phthalo blue is used to focus less on realism and instead making the painting more vibrant and full of life. This change might not be from him personally, but it could be from his experiences in Sumeru. Compared to Inazuma, everything in his life in Sumeru is so much more vibrant and his time with Nahida has seemingly improved his ideas on what's "realistic".

Phthalo blue is also as far as a blue can be from purple, while reaching a color that is one that can be compared to the skies. Considering that Raiden Ei, Kabukimono, the Balladeer, and the electro element as a whole all have purple in their color palletes, it's interesting that Wanderer no longer has that color that has defined such a big part of his life. He's no longer physically shackled to his past, as it no longer technically exists.

However, that does not mean that he's completely free and that's another great part of his design. The his character description is, "He dresses like a mountain ascetic, but certainly does not act the part." His outfit is meant to be both a part of his character, but also technically not because he's regained the memories of the previous incarnation that he was meant to forget. It's like the scene where he gets his vision. He accepts that he is both the Balladeer, but also the Irminsul back-up now known as the Wanderer.

I also just love the physical attributes of the outfit. While I really liked the veil of his Balladeer outfit, the tassels on his new one is a decision I found to be better for his silhouette, especially for his play style in game. Because of his quick, airy movements when he fights, it's important that his silhouette exemplifies his movements. With the tassels also going in the swirly movement along with his sleeves, it shows movement better and makes him feel more like he's flying.

This is further emphasized by his splash art.

There's definitely cultural meaning to his bell motif (daka's bell, Tulaytullah's Remembrance, etc), but I'm not qualified to talk about that so I will point out how it's interesting that bells are known to be sounds in wind. Considering that his Balladeer outfit had bells to his outfit, I'd like to think that was another, more subtle foreshadowing of his future anemo vision.

I know this has been talked about before, but I love how his vision and the golden feather is placed where his heart should be. Both are from gods, entities he has shown to resent yet he's still shown to treasure their gifts.

Going back to Nahida's influence, or in this case Sumeru overall, it's interesting to point out how the outfit is now Inazuman with a dash of Sumeru added to it. This is probably due to the Irminsul creating a back up to replace the Balladeer. It technically wasn't a Fatui Harbinger anymore, and Irminsul is in Sumeru, so this was the result: He's now a part of Sumeru and is not a part of his past anymore.

I'll probably add more thoughts about his design when I think of more. For now that's what I've got.