#i really like my designs for the oak twins though i love drawing them so so much

[7cfc00]

And I just want to tell you that you did matter, and... uhm... I'm sorry.

[unfinished/abandoned second page under the cut]

i have decided that light green is the colour of guilt

[mobius-prime]

228. Sonic the Hedgehog #160

Birthday Bash! (Part One): Giving and Receiving

Writer: Ian Flynn Pencils: Tracy Yardley! Colors: Jason Jensen

Welcome to the beginning of Ian Flynn's reign, everyone! As many of you will know, Ian is a fan favorite amongst readers of the comics, and for good reason. Objectively, I'd say he has a much better sense than any previous writer of how to construct dynamic and interesting stories, as well as a great head for writing dialogue. Every character has their own unique voice when speaking, and as someone who takes a particular interest in dialogue in her own writing, it's something I admire a lot, especially given how stilted and unnaturally formal a lot of dialogue by Karl and especially Kenders often sounded, regardless of who was speaking. That said, I think that it took a good year or so for him to fully come into his own as head writer for the series, so some earlier issues are a bit strange and not up to par with a lot of his later work. Some of this, to be fair, is due to him essentially playing clean-up for this first year, untangling a lot of the bizarre leftover plot threads that Karl and Kenders left behind, and generally trying to make the world of the comics conform a little better to that of the games. All that aside, anyone reading the comics will likely notice an immediate and apparent improvement in the overall quality of the work starting with this issue. This is helped along, in addition, by none other than the very talented artist Tracy Yardley! who always (well, almost always) introduces himself in the story credits with an exclamation mark. It's kind of his calling card. Tracy took a while to really improve his art as well, so while his earliest issues sometimes have some strange proportions and poses, later on his style became easily one of the most visually attractive and recognizable ones in the series, simplifying a lot of the inconsistencies that many character designs had as well as doing away with the strange pseudo-human proportions that some artists tended to favor, particularly with the female characters. All this said, I will say that Ian isn't going to be immune to my criticism, as while I do recognize his skill as a writer and the good things he brought to the table, there are definitely some problems I have with the way he handled certain things. We'll cross those bridges when we come to them, however, so for now, let's dive into the new world he's creating and see how he does!

Elias and Sonic are walking on the outskirts of Knothole as Elias explains why his father approved the Metal Sonic troopers from last issue. We don't even really get to hear the explanation, but to be fair, we hardly need one, as the idea was so insane to begin with that the only true explanation is that Kenders needed a plot device. Sonic tries to make Elias promise that "you royals" won't hit him with any more weird surprises, and Elias says they only have one more, leading him to a building next to where the Great Oak Slide into the village ends.

I mean, canonically he's supposed to be turning seventeen here, even though realistically he should be turning eighteen, because remember, for him to have turned sixteen in StH#68, had the Robians be deroboticized in early June in StH#123, and still have managed to spend close to a year in space before turning seventeen, literally everything in between the two aforementioned issues would have had to take place in the span of a few weeks - yes, that's counting the month-and-a-half time span that Sonic was confined to Knothole, as well as major events like Eggman's return and the entire Green Knuckles saga. You can see why this huge discrepancy still bothers me, right? Hmph. Anyway, no sooner has the party begun than an explosion destroys the door, and two new players enter the scene - Bean the Dynamite and Bark the Polar Bear from Sonic the Fighters! Nack's been part of the comic for long enough now, so it's cool to see these two make their first appearance. Bark is totally silent - as far as I remember, he never says a single word during the entirety of the comic - but Bean, in the absence of an obvious personality to draw from in the game, has subsequently been given the personality trait of "criminally insane" in the comics.. He's erratic, he talks to himself, he cracks jokes where jokes really shouldn't be cracked, and most importantly of all, he loves his goddamn bombs. Bean starts chucking said bombs left and right at the various Freedom Fighters in the base, while Sonic tangles with Bark. He seems to think these guys are only after him due to something Evil Sonic did in his place, something which he has by now apparently finally explained to all the women of Knothole, and manages to break away from Bark to stop Bean's bombing spree by pinning him to a wall and asking about Evil Sonic. However, Bean happily insists there's been no mistake and he wasn't even aware of Sonic having an evil twin, nor does he particularly care. Oh, speaking of Evil Sonic…

Huh, it seems that Evil Sonic has actually explained his true identity to Rouge in between their previous failed attempt and now. I'm surprised she hasn't outright abandoned him by now due to Rouge not exactly being evil-aligned to begin with, but I guess the pull of the shiny is just too strong for her to resist. And as it turns out, Bean suffers from a similar insatiable need! Fiona pulls out a ring of keys and shakes them around, completely distracting Bean from his current activity of bashing Sonic's head in, and throws them out the hole he made in the wall, prompting him to immediately abandon everything to chase after them. Fiona then advances on Bark, who by now has gotten himself cornered by every Freedom Fighter in the room, and convinces him to stand down as he's outnumbered. Outside, Bean plays with the keys and talks to them, seemingly convinced that they're a beautiful woman with an "adorable accent" who wants his number, when a suspiciously-Shadow-shaped shadow converges on him, prompting him to try to invite him into smashing Sonic as well. Good luck there, buddy, I don't think Shadow usually runs with crazy…

Geez, Sally, cut Fiona some slack. Not everyone had a squeaky-clean record - hell, just look at Shadow! Back in the Chaos Chamber, Rouge and Evil Sonic begin to battle Locke, who tosses Evil Sonic to the side as he perceives Rouge to be the bigger threat. However, that turns out to be a bit of a bad idea, as with Rouge tied up in the fight, Evil Sonic takes his chance to go after the Master Emerald without her, obviously recognizing it as more than just a shiny trinket.

Back in Knothole, Shadow explains that he's only here to thank Sonic for saving Hope, as he knows he wouldn't have been able to do it on his own, and reminds him that as soon as he leaves this building they're back to being enemies, as Shadow's still aligned with Eggman for now. Sonic, to his credit, seems to recognize that Shadow is only allied with Eggman because he doesn't yet know better, and cheerfully invites him to come back here whenever he cuts out on that deal in the future. It's at this point that everyone realizes Bean has quietly snuck into the brain trust's comms room to casually let Eggman know that he and Bark failed to take Sonic down, and when Fiona ushers him back out of the room, Eggman is only too happy to let Sonic know personally that he wishes him a happy birthday and he's sending him a new, more metallic present. Within seconds a thud outside alerts them to the arrival of this present, and everyone rushes out to see a strange figure emerging from an egg pod - a figure which resolves itself into the combined forms of Crocbot and Octobot, now merged into the singular entity of… Croctobot! (Don't worry, Ian knows just how silly this is and even acknowledges it next issue.) But what of Evil Sonic and Rouge? How is their fight faring against Locke after the former got knocked aside? Well, Evil Sonic takes his chance to dramatically emerge from behind the emerald as the other two get ready to continue their fight…

Plot twist! How many people actually didn't know by now that Evil Sonic and Scourge were the same person? I'm guessing there had to be at least a few of you. You can actually already see Ian's new plans being put into action - it's very telling of his intentions when the very first issue he ever pens immediately makes a point of distinguishing a rather tired and boring character into a new and improved version of himself, with a unique name and new, visually distinct look. Apparently Kenders, who if you recall is the original creator of Evil Sonic, never liked this and continued to insist on referring to him as Evil Sonic, but screw that, Scourge is a much more interesting character and this was a change that sorely needed to be made.

Sonic Rush (Part One of Two)

Writer/Pencils: Tania Del Rio Colors: Ben Hunzeker

So unfortunately, Sonic Adventure 2 isn't the only case in the preboot of a partial adaption of a game being included without any actual ending. Sonic Rush, the game, introduces Blaze, a cat from an alternate dimension that is controlled by the Sol Emeralds rather than the Chaos Emeralds, and most of the plot revolves around the Sol Emeralds ending up in Sonic's dimension and her trying to recollect them to bring back to her own world. However, things are a bit different in the comics universe. In this story, Blaze comes to Sonic's dimension because, apparently, she's been having nonstop dreams about him, dreams which show her visions of Eggman threatening the Sol Emeralds and Sonic helping her protect them. She's frustrated that she would have to rely on anyone else to help her protect the emeralds at all, believing them to be her sole responsibility, but nonetheless she's tracked Sonic to Knothole. However, while deliberating her next move, a squad of swatbots - yes, ordinary ones, it's been a while since we've seen them rather than shadow-bots - happen upon her and decide that they should take her in for interrogation.

Yeah, I guess Blaze doesn't understand the dangers present in this universe yet, does she? An hour or so later, Rotor sends for Sonic, informing him that they caught the aftermath of Blaze's capture on their video surveillance. Neither of them know who she is, but they decide she can't be from their village, since she left several disabled swatbots behind, while most people in Knothole are noncombatants and those that aren't are accounted for elsewhere. Sonic rushes out to find their trail and tracks them to a nearby facility set up amidst the trees, and while he begins fighting his way in, the scientific robots in the building go about studying their new specimen.

Sorry, but why the hell would Eggman be looking to add some random Mobian to his team? He only likes robots anyway, and tends to either betray or enslave every living being that comes to him. Blaze suddenly awakens and becomes furious - not that she's been captured, mind you, but that they took off her coat while studying her. She must be really goddamn attached to her coat, because she starts absolutely trashing the place, exploding into flames and screaming so loudly that Sonic becomes genuinely worried about her wellbeing, rushing to where he last heard her. The door of the lab she's in is completely blasted off its hinges by the force of Blaze's explosions, but thankfully after this she seems to have found her coat, because the blasts subside and she appears in the doorway wearing it once again, staring down at an utterly shocked Sonic with a look of fiery fury (the literal flames coating her entire body probably help with the "fiery" bit). Uh… good luck dealing with that, buddy boy!

[kzbrandt]

The Shadow

The Shadow

    It will come for us all at one point or another, rejection, doubt, failure… The Darkness is here. This virus is only the beginning, she has many faces. Plague, Influenza, Covid-19, starvation, corruption and so on. She is the faceless, the nameless lurking everywhere and no where, she gave birth to night, leaving only one light to reign under the day.

    The twelve have Gathered, but a Reckoning warms the horizon, a smothering, burning yearning… If you close your eyes and listen for the wind, you can hear the sound of destiny breaking decades of silence. Now, when your eyes peel back the blindness, the long lost mother Earthenia is salivating in divine femininity. Ascending from dirt and sand, the first beasts prowled, still drawing breath in the obscurity of the wild. The shadow has descended and it is but a finger of what lies ahead.

    I think back to simpler times, back at the drafting table, where life began at the mere stroke of my hand. Few know my name and even fewer conscious of its existence, but still, there is one who will come to gain such a power. A true mystery is a rare gift, especially when one knows almost everything. Even as curious as my aching mind grows, I worry for all of you, my creations. How will you fair in such perilous waters?

As the Creator, I am responsible for a great many things. Contrary to popular belief, many divines are not without imperfection. The most pristine landscape is riddled with flaws. Human or god-gifted in the end we rise the same. To rise a mountain, first we must meet the flood.

    I remember every seed I’ve ever grown, teaching this skill to only one other, there is no greater joy than cultivating life. Some I plant, others I mold with clay from the Vale. Murky and Earthen in color, it glows with a bright, white light, powered by the Ancients essence, springing life eternal. Each bloodline has strength, big or small, the past can never be forgotten.

    Of all my memories, the most unforgettable was the maiden queen. Monarch butterflies flock to their beautiful mother, as did I. Alas, a fatal mistake I would come to mourn for centuries. There was a time long ago, when as a young boy was unrestrained and unrefined. I loved and lusted for artistry, power and creation. I got swept away by the pleasure and trivial aspirations. I forgot who I was meant to be.

    In doing so, a small shadow was unleashed from he Abyss, a dominion of emptiness and horror, a universe of nightmares. It only took one time, one mistake, and I opened the door across the realms and invited a single spore of Darkness and she grew.

    After pulling back each grisly layer, I was surprised to find a woman, comely in nature. Cloaked in mystique, she still remained nameless.  How could she elude me so easily? If I recall correctly, she spoke only once.

    “I must find my sister,” and like a vacuum in outer space, all of her opaque shrouds were suctioned back. A sister, a twin? This thought has burdened me for eons. Soon to be a lifelong obsession, I had to know as Creator, what I brought into this verse. If there were answers I needed to find them.

    Falling back to where it all began, I found myself on the Isle of Ness, where there are no beginnings or endings, the story here is ever-flowing. You may have heard of it, many in the past called it Eden. A great crime was committed forcing the retreat of all mortals, but more on that another time. This is the residence of the remaining Elders, the ones who managed to cling to immortality. This floating island could not be seen by human eyes or felt with such fragile hands, it was an impossibility. It is a realm within a world, location of the first sin and lost things.

   Whenever the script gets too cluttered and chaotic, I like to start new and wet my quill with fresh ink. There were thoughts that needed to be satisfied. For starters, what was the Darkness? I deduced that it wasn’t pure malevolence, there was something more. Whoever she may be, a tragic, scarred tale was waiting to unfold.

    Humanity was consummated with greed, selfishness, survivalism and corruption. But, there was also love, compassion, selflessness and a humor that kept you going, even in the darkest of times. As an older man now, I can look back and see the true gift in mortality is the brittleness of it all. In one second everything you hold dear could vanish, this makes life that much more precious. How can one really appreciate this if they’ve never had a shelf-life or expiration date? If death never comes knocking, do we even glance at the door?

   With the modern age comes many magnificent wonders, but it lacks the true knowledge of how things really began. The first beings go by many names, and they are the cosmic designers you’ll never see. The old ways can be both worshiped and abhorred. There was a time when things were very different, well before the age of Síandra. I wish I could tell you what happened, but this is  yet another fabric of history ripped away. For thousands of years, I did nothing but search and study all the way from Taboo to the Abyss. Once the Isle of Ness went missing, things became significantly more complicated.

   It’s a gamble for sure, risking it all to have faith in one unique soul. The Golden one, the key, a wick to light up the dark, if she can learn my name maybe all creation can be saved. To see my children full of such corruption and e useless is a fate worse than death. I am a father first. There was only one other place that might ail my torment.

    The great tree of knowledge, Ymir, husband to Ymira and virility of all barken-folk, was my answer. Constructed from my hand, he was a painting that filled me with such joy. The ingredients were tricky, blood, oak, willow, half of Ymira’s heart, and saliva from my own mouth. A wonder for the ages still written about today. Bonded by blood and bone, out tether couldn't be severed. His story I knew too well.  

    Seeing Ymir was dangerous and a near impossible journey to any who sought the truth. Down the rabbit hold under Lycanthrope Dr. lies a doorway. An old portal leading to the Vale. A land seldom traveled, even rarer still was for anyone to return. Nothing was solid in the realm of spirits, a path you started on may change or cease to be. The Vale will claim us all one day, ever-thirsting , always desiring another soul, mine included. If ever I should fall, my immaculate energy would swim ashore and embrace the afterlife, drinking Valean tree wine with my kin, Ymir. How we would rejoice deep in irrevocable peace.

    Of course, if this ever happened the universe would be thrown too far, unlikely to recover. Apocalypse would rise up, ready to maim and ensnare. What happens to the body once the heart stops beating? The feelings of all flow inside, the suffering and turmoil as well as happiness and determination. Blood pouring from too many, some wielding the knife on themselves. How can I judge them, when I think of it also? So much responsibility, an entire universe weighing down on my shoulders. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. How can I ever discard it when so many continue to cry out?

    I will never give up on mankind, though we wear many faces, we are the same. Put down the hatred and open your eyes. For what comes will destroy everything, unless you care enough to change it. Until we meet again…

            Sincerely, your Creator.

A note from KZ: Like what you see check out my short film of the shadow on my you tube channel (

https://youtu.be/9NVLCajZ3vM

) , maybe go a step further and find The Gathering on Amazon under KZBrandt. Thanks for visiting!

ᔓKZBrandtᔕ

[lubdubsworld]

Losing to You ( Taekook mpreg)

Chapter 1    Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4    Chapter 5

Chapter 6

"Taehyung? Taehyung?"

Jung Kook heard his mother's frantic shouts and grinned , shaking his head as he slowly fixed the cufflinks on his shirt. He stared at himself in the mirror, satisfied with the clean-cut CEO look he had going . It was the morning of his wedding and objectively, he knew he looked very good. 

His husband-to-be was currently hiding from his mother, locked in the bedroom of his suite with his best friend,  Jung Hoseok. At first Jung Kook had been horrified to find Taehyung outside the door of his dressing room , looking like death. He had been accomapanied by a tall, bright eyed young man with a beautiful smile, who had introduced himself as Jung Hoseok.

Taehyung had begged him to let him use his room to get ready because , quote " Your mother is so scary, she keeps trying to make me wear eyeliner"

Jung kook had agreed , only to be kicked out of his own bedroom with Jung Hoseok warning him not to come in .

" it's bad luck to see the groom before the wedding." He had intoned dully.

Jung kook laughed again and gave his hair one last spritz of spray and grabbed his jacket. He moved to the door of his bedroom and knocked lightly.

"Tae?" He called out.

"Kookie?" Taehyung's voice was muffled through the wood and Jung kook felt a bit of fondness for the other, the nickname making him feel like a schoolboy.

"I'm going to the chapel. I'll see you there, right?" He called out, teasingly.

A little giggle that was probably not Taehyung.

"Uh.. Sure Jung Kook."

Stepping out of the suite, he shrugged into his jacket and found himself smiling. To be perfectly honest, he wasn't upset at ll about marrying Taehyung. Taehyung was one of the nicest people he had ever met , beautiful inside and out. He knew that there was no one else he would rather be doing this with. Sighing, he glanced at the small ring on his finger, the one that Eunha had slipped on, nearly three years ago. He'd never taken it off for the past three years.

He loved Eunha and he cared deeply for Taehyung.

Hopefully he could live out this year of marriage without hurting either of them.

He carefully slipped the ring off his finger and dropped it into his pocket before taking the lift down to the chapel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taehyung stood nervously, hands empty as he fiddled with the hem of his sweater. He knew he looked good: the stylist had left his hair alone, falling in soft attractive bangs on his face, the pale golden shade bringing out the sparkle in his eyes and blending beautifully with the ivory white sweater and the snow white fabric of his silk shirt.

 The White jeans were impossibly comfortable, fitting snug around his waist without digging into the skin. The inside was felt lined and soft as velvet against his skin and Taehyung wanted to sob at how considerate jung Kook had been, pointing out every single feauture to the designer when he'd ordered it. It didn't seem fair somehow, that fate had tossed him Jeon Jung kook, as if to just flaunt the kind of wonderful life he would never  ever have for himself.

He wore sneakers because Jung kook had insisted that he wear comfortable shoes . It was raining lightly and he said that he did not want Taehyung slipping on any puddle of water the guests may have carried in. The huge oak doors of the Chapel were closed and from inside, he could hear the fain tones of the Minister as he spoke about matrimony. Taehyung glanced slowly at the man on his side, eyes wide and happy.

"You look breathtaking , Tae." Hoseok whispered and Taehyung , for once felt good about the compliment. He could do this for Jung kook. He could look beautiful. There wasn't much else of worth in him but he could look beautiful for the man who had helped him so much.

And it seemed he had succeeded.

The moment he stepped in, Jung Kook turned slowly, his smiling face freezing into a look of such blatant wonder that Taehyung almost felt like he's been set on fire. Jung Kook's eyes went wide, lips parting as he let out his breath in a whoosh , as though the sight of Taehyung had punched the air right out of his lungs. Taehyung almost stumbled at the visceral reaction , his steps faltering as Jung Kook licked dry lips, before his teeth sunk into his lower lip , before curling into a wide breathtaking smile.

Taehyung forgot every thing else, just the sight of jung Kook waiting for him drawing him closer and closer to the other , till he reached his side.

"Spectacular." Jung Kook breathed out softly.  " There's really no other word to describe you Kim Taehyung. i’m so lucky. "

And Taehyung's mind short circuited .

He was getting married to this handsome , kind, amazing man and he didn’t know why or how he had managed to end up here. 

He was getting married.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m so sorry.... “ Taehyung kept apologizing, cradling Taemin in his arms, trying to sooth the sobbing boy while Taejoon stood with both arms wrapped around his legs. The added curve of his belly made it hard to carry the toddler and next to them, both Yonngi and Hoseok were trying to calm the twins as well but to no avail. 

Taemin and Taejoon had both been very quiet during the ceremony but now that they realized their hyung was going to go away with the strange man , they had latched themselves to Tae and refused to let go. Taehyung felt miserable, tired and exhausted . He was worried about seeing the kids upset but at the same time, he knew that he was horribly inconveniencing Jung kook and his family, all of whom were standing a dozen or so feet away waiting to drive the newly weds to their new home. 

But Jung Kook ignored the impatient looks on his family’s faces, opting to stand behind Taehyung, just in case the elder lost his balance. He brushed the hair off Taemin’s face and tried to mollify the child as well.

“it’s alright, Tae. Take your time. “ He said firmly and Taehyung sighed. 

it was another hour at least before the twins calmed down and only after Yoongi and Hoseok bought them ice cream and promised to take them to the zoo in the weekend.

“Tae hyung and I will be there too. We can all go have fun.” Jung Kook had chimed in brightly , making Tae blink in surprise.

Later, when they finally managed to say good bye to the rest of them, climbing into the back of Jung kook’s car  Jung kook quickly pushed the seats back and moved to the corner, holding his arms out and prompting Tae to lean on him. Tae turned to him and couldn’t resist the offer , bone weary and aching from the hours of activity. 

He settled back against Jung Kook’s broad chest, sighing when the latter’s hands came around him to rest gently on the curve of his stomach, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin through the fabric of his sweater. 

“You really didn’t have to tell them we’ll go to the zoo..”

“i wanted to. I like the both of them. I’m suprised you didn’t bring them along with us.” Jung kook said curiously.

Taehyung hesitated, not wanting to tell Jung kook that he hadn’t wanted the twins near him. 

“Yoongi and Hoseok love them . They’re probably better equipped to take care of the twins then i’ll ever be.” He said softly.

He hesitated just a bit before continuing.

“They want to formally adopt them. I’ve been thinking about it.” He said with a sigh.

Jung kook hummed.

“It’s not a bad idea. should give them a sense of security as they grow up.”

Taehyung nodded. 

“I know they’ll take really good care of them as well. They’ll teach them the right things. Yoongi and Hoseok... they seem so different at first glance but they really love each other and i think my brothers deserve to grow up... in a house that is filled with love.” 

Jung Kook stayed quiet for a second before lightly grabbing Taehyung’s hand in his. 

“if you want me to help you with it, just let me know. i can speed things up and we can do it really quickly.” He said softly. 

Taehyung hesitated. 

“I don’t want to trouble you...”

“Tae, come on. it’s going to take a couple of phone calls at the most. I just want you to feel at ease. Worrying can’t be good for the baby.” He moved his hand back to Tae’s stomach and as if on cue, his little girl gave a kick. 

Taheyung jolted and Jung Kook whooped in surprised.

“Wow... is that...” He sounded awed , lightly pushing Tae till he was facing him, still in the circle of his embrace and Taehyung laughed.

“The baby ...yes.” 

“wow.” And then without warning Taehyung felt his muscles contract and he winced.

“What... what’s wrong?” Jung kook panicked and Taehyung managed a weak smile, trying to calm him down.

“it’s fine.. i’m just.... I get contractions sometimes. It must be because of how long we stood today.” 

“Fuck... i’m so sorry Tae....”

“Don’t it’s not your fault....”

“Should I... What can i do? to help?” Jung kook looked so serious, so worried that taehyun g felt a piece of him just melt . 

“I... I’ll be fine... Can I lie down though?” He said softly. 

Jung Kook pulled back quickly, wrapping an arm around his waist and helping him lean down and slowly lay on the pillow. Jung Kook lay next to him, spooning him from the back and Taehyung sighed in relief. 

“You’re so good to me.” He whispered.

Jung Kook chuckled.

“go to bed baby. I’ll wake you up in the morning. We have some where special to go.” jung kook’s voice was low and calming, rumbling through Taehyung’s body as he pressed against jung Kook’s chest. 

Taehyung felt the soft press of jung kook’s lips to his forehead and his eyes drooped, lashes brushing the curve of his cheeks as he slowly fell asleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somewhere special turned out to be the Hospice where his father was. 

Taehyung stared in stunned disbelief as he took in the small lawn of the hospice, decorated to look like something out of a fairy tale. There were satin draped chairs, wooden framed trellises with bright pastel flowers in yellows and pinks and whites. up front a small podium rose out of the lawn and Taehyung blinked when he recognized the minister from their wedding.

“Jung kook?”

“i thought it was only fair that your father should be at your wedding....” He whispered, kissing the top of his head and Taehyung felt the tears fall in gratitude.

“Jung Kook...”

“Shush... don’t cry. Father’s getting ready and i’m going to wear my tux. You should let him walk you down the aisle. i’ll be waiting for you Taehyung...”

And as his father came out looking frail but proud in a old wrinkled tux, Taehyung felt a starburst of love for the man he had married. 

The sun was bright in the sky and as Tae took his father’s hand, walking down the small pathway to the podium up front, the rays seemed to light jung kook up from the inside out and he really looked like an angel. 

And Taehyung knew, just then that he fallen completely and utterly in love with Jeon Jung Kook. 

[give-me-humanity]

A Fair Trade

Ahri walks in disguise, but this fortune-teller has her own secret. What are they both hiding?

The market smelled of burning incense and rotting cabbage.

Ahri Ahri wrapped her cloak around her nine tails and fiddled with her twin sunstone tokens to distract herself from the stench, rolling them between her fingers and snapping them together. Each one had the shape of a blazing flame, but they were carved in such a way that their sharper edges fit together, forming a perfectly smooth orb. She had carried the golden stones since before she could remember, though she had no knowledge of their origin.

Though Ahri was in a new environment, she was comforted by the latent magic buzzing all around her. She passed a stand with dozens of woven baskets filled to the brim with polished rocks, shells etched with legends from a seafaring tribe, gambling dice carved from bones, and other curious items. Nothing matched the style of Ahri's sculpted tokens.

"Care for a gem to match the blue of the skies?" asked the gray-bearded merchant. "For you, I'll trade a cerulean bauble for the cost of a single cryraven feather, or perhaps the seed of a jubji tree. I'm flexible."

Ahri smiled at him, but shook her head and continued through the market, sunstones in hand. She passed a stand covered in spiky orange vegetables, a child selling fruit that shifted color with the weather, and at least three peddlers swinging tins of incense, each of whom claimed to have discovered the deepest form of meditation.

"Fortunes! Come get your fortunes told!" called a young woman with lavender eyes and a soft jawline. "Find out who you'll fall in love with, or how to avoid unlucky situations with a pinch of burdock root. Or if you'd prefer your future left to the gods, I'll answer a question about your past. Though I do recommend finding out whether or not you're at risk for death by poisoning." A tall vastaya with feline ears was about to take a bite of a spiced pastry. He froze and stared at the fortune teller in alarm.

"The answer is no, by the way. Yours for free," she said, curtsying at him before turning to Ahri. "Now, you look like you've had a dark and mysterious past. Or at least some tales worth sharing. Any burning questions for me, lady?"

Beneath heavy layers of incense, Ahri paused at the scent of wet fur and spiced leather lingering at the woman's neck.

"Thank you, but no," she replied. "I'm still looking around."

"You won't find any more Ymelo tokens in this market, I'm afraid," the woman said, nodding to Ahri's sunstones. "Like the ones you have."

The back of Ahri's neck prickled and she drew closer to the woman. She would not let her excitement get the better of her. "Do you recognize these? Where do they come from?"

The woman eyed Ahri.

"I think they're Ymelos, anyway," she said. "Never seen a pair in person. He only carved a small number in his time, and many of the sets were separated in the war. Dead rare, those."

Ahri leaned closer with each word.

"I'm Hirin, by the way," the woman said.

"Do you know where I might find this craftsman?" Ahri asked.

Hirin laughed. "No idea. But if you come in, I'll tell you what I know."

Ahri wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and eagerly followed the fortune teller past her booth, and into a caravan decorated wall to wall with animal skins.

"Tea?" Hirin said. "I brewed it this morning."

She poured two cups of liquid the color of plum wine, taking one for herself. The tea tasted of bitter oak bark masked by a cloying dollop of honey. Hirin held out a hand for the stones but Ahri kept them close.

"I'm getting the sense that these are special to you," she said with a wry smile. "Don't worry, I have no interest in peddling stolen sunstones. Bad for a girl's reputation."

"Can you tell me where they come from?" asked Ahri, handing them over gingerly.

Hirin held them up to the light.

"These are beautiful," she said. "I don't know how they fit together so perfectly. I've not seen the like."

Ahri said nothing. She stood frozen with curiosity, and did not take her eyes off the woman.

"Legend says the sculptor known as Ymelo collected fossilized lizard eggs from a thousand thousand years ago that he carved into intricate shapes. These ancient lizards lived long before the Ghetu Sea dried up to a desert, leaving only petrified bones and dust."

Hirin coughed, and Ahri detected a bitter note upon her breath, as if she had been drinking vinegar.

"Ymelo stones are designed as small pieces that fit into a larger sculpture," she continued.

The woman dangled the golden pieces in front of Ahri's face.

"Just as your past has left you with information to be desired, these stones may have many more parts that, when combined, create another shape altogether. Who knows what you'll become when you track down your history. With the missing pieces, you may learn more than you'd like."

"Those are pretty words," Ahri murmured, staring at the woman.

After a moment of silence, Hirin chuckled. "Some threads of truth, threads of my own invention. A fortune teller's weaving must be seamless."

The woman retrieved a hunter's knife from a cabinet.

"I weave in just enough of what you desire to make you stay," she said. "'Til the tea slows your muscles, that is."

A low growl escaped Ahri's lips. She would tear this woman apart. She tried to pounce, but her limbs did not obey. She was rooted in place.

"Oh, there's no need for that, lady. I only need a single tail. Useful for a variety of potions, you see, and extremely valuable. Or so I think. Never seen a vastaya with fox tails before. The tea freezes any pain, along with your... mobility."

Hirin wrapped a bandage around one of Ahri's tails. Ahri tried to resist, but she still could not move.

"You'll wake up tomorrow, good as new!" said the woman. "Well, with one less tail. Do you really use all nine?"

Ahri shut her eyes and reached out to the reservoirs of magic around her. The environment had plenty ripe for the taking, but she was too weakened by the tea to draw them to her. Instead, she reached into Hirin's mind, which was far more malleable, and pushed.

Ahri opened her eyes and stared hard into Hirin's. They deepened from lavender to violet.

"Hirin," she said. "Come closer. I would look into the face of the one who tricked me."

"Of course, lady," Hirin replied, transfixed. The woman's voice sounded hollow, as though it came from the bottom of a well.

She leaned in until her face was only inches away. Ahri inhaled, drawing essences of the woman's life from her breath.

...Hirin was a young girl hiding, hungry and afraid, beneath a market stall. Two men argued above, looking for her. She had nothing but empty coffers to show for her days' work...

Ahri continued to drain Hirin's life, sampling memories of raw emotion. They felt rich in Ahri's mouth, and she relished each unique flavor of emotion.

...Hirin told the fortune of a witch doctor shrouded in veils, receiving a copper for her troubles. She used the coin to buy a piece of bread, which she devoured in seconds...

...In a seedy tavern, a raucous group played cards. A man with eyebrows resembling butterfly wings gambled a golden Ymelo stone while Hirin watched from the shadows...

...Hirin tracked Ahri as she walked through the market. One of her fox tails peeked from beneath her cloak. She drew the vastaya into her caravan---

Enough.

Ahri stopped, her head spinning with renewed vigor. With each memory she stole from Hirin, she felt energy rush back into her weakened muscles, cleansing them of the poison.

Strengthened once more, she slowly shook her limbs awake, and flexed her tails with a shiver. They tingled with pinpricks.

Hirin stood wide-eyed and dazed, still very much alive. It was she that would wake tomorrow, good as new - less a few memories that she would not miss.

With knowledge of the woman's life, Ahri's rage had faded. She brushed her hand against the fortune teller's cheek, then wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders and stepped out into the sunlit market.

Hirin would not remember her or their encounter. But Ahri had left the trade with a name to hunt - Ymelo - and the image of the man with soft-winged eyebrows was burned in her mind.

[oh-my-otome]

Midnight Cinderella Suitor’s Fashions

@aquisces-arts wanted to see what the suitors would look like in modern clothes, so I did my best conceptualizing what each would wear and why.

Let’s start with King Byron:

Byron dresses very monochromatically-- wearing different shades of black head to toe, and choosing gold accents that catch the light. 

If you look at his hair, you can see that his wisps are very controlled. Even his cowlick is styled neatly. He would probably use a light pomade. The details on the jeans give texture without distraction, like his black casual shirt in the game. 

The gold zipper on the knees also satisfies his love of gold hardware. If you notice, Byron does not wear jewelry aside from his earring, which he shares with Nico, so I think a planetary key chain would be a good choice for him, as it combines his star-gazing hobby with an outlet for an accessory.

Of course, a Rolex is a must, and I think he would always give himself a chaste spritz of cologne before stepping out of the door. This scent is unisex and has a dry-down that smells of vanilla, woods and leather.

I don’t think he would shy away from stylish shoes-- he may even be a subtle trend-setter. Because Byron can hold his liquor with the best of them, and because he doesn’t tend to let himself get too casual out in the open, I thought martini glass novelty socks would be a fun twist. It would be his own little secret. While it may not be that wild of a thing for the rest of us, considering Byron’s aloof personality, he may feel that it really is daring indeed.

Let’s keep going with another king, Robert:

Robert’s overcoat may be green, but he actually wears a lot of brown and beige. I feel like Robert would want to keep a low profile-- he’s not into drawing attention to himself.

Robert seems like he would be at home in comfortable clothes that are no-fuss, and extra-comfy. He may purposefully fly coach, but his fancy schmancy luggage would be designer first class-- the better to spot it on the carousel in the airport. 

I think he would splurge on some plush headphones to pass the time on the plane, as he country-hops. Since he likes rather long necklaces, I kept the length, but changed the style, so that it wouldn’t compete with his favorite tee. 

Because he likes to switch up his hair-do, flexible shaping spray is a must; and you just know he’s the type to carry a pocket comb. I also added some scrub because he just seems like the type to exfoliate at least once a week. 

In his bag, he probably has a small journal for jotting down whatever corner bistros catch his fancy. Maybe he even has a small sketch pad and colored pencils, too, for when inspiration strikes.

As for footwear, he would need something super comfortable to carry him from museum to museum. The paint splatter on these are a callback to his profession.

Here’s what I think Nico would wear:

Because Nico’s hair is already dyed pink, I think he wouldn’t try to be too matchy with his clothing. One item that matches and that’s it, so I tied in the color of his locks with a button-down. The pants give him ease of movement, since he does all types of ninja stuff when you’re not looking. Plus it has lots of pocket space; you just know he’s got all types of short swords, poison darts, tea cups and whatever else. As one does.

As Nico is the only suitor who canonically conceal-carries, I thought having him carry a large pocket knife, with other accessories, would suit his tastes. Nico also tends to wear suspenders, both on his butler uniform and his casual clothes, so I gave him a pair here as well. 

He seems, to me, to be the type who just sticks their hand in the closet and puts on whatever comes out, so I gave him items which are both black and brown to maximize his styling options for whatever he throws on that day. 

He has a comfortable pair of shoes for quick escapes. Nico likes wearing scarves and neckties. Here, I’ve given him a bandana instead, which he can wear for fashion or use as a bandage. In keeping up with his big bro, they have the same headphones, only Nico’s are silver.

Here, Nico’s overall look reflects his character: completely unassuming badass.

I feel like Alyn would be a sneaker head:

He tends to make his shoes the focal point. He would be the type to have a whole closet section just for his shoes. He needs style and function-- something that would suit his tastes and also allow him to defend the princess even when off-duty. I feel like he would choose hard-toe boots and sneakers with a lot of cushioning.

Alyn keeps his shirts plain, almost always choosing raglan shirts and henleys in baby soft modal cotton. He goes with a basic feel-good pair of jeans in a deep color, every time.

He almost always chooses to wear red and navy together. Playing up the red in his eyes, and his auburn hair, you can find that color in everything from his tees, to his shoes, to his phone case. 

As he is technically always on duty to guard the princess, Alyn, like Nico, would carry a small knife. Since he wears a necklace with almost every outfit as it is, I chose to give him a ring instead. 

Alyn trains hard everyday as part of his job, so I feel like he would be concerned about smelling like it, too. This exfoliating soap smells of cedar wood and oak moss, and would keep him smelling so fresh and so clean.

Leo, like his twin, also accessorizes with red a lot:

I didn’t want to make them too matchy, though. Unlike Alyn, Leo tends to roll his sleeves up, so I gave him a tee, plus a flannel shirt that has tabs to hold up the sleeves. Leo calls more attention to himself, so he would like louder jeans than Alyn, who doesn’t go in for distressing.

Leo wears a lot of hardware every day, so I simplified it to just a bracelet and a necklace. The dog tag has a cross on it, just like Leo’s brooch. Because he is afraid to sleep, I imagine Leo drinks a lot of coffee to keep himself awake. Since he’s always encouraging the princess, I chose a coffee mug that encouraged him instead.

If you look at his sprites, Leo wears a lot of different materials, so to visualize that, I went with different textures. The stars on his sneakers are raised, the tee is textured jersey for softness, and the jeans have mock rips. To pull in the reds that he goes for, I thought he would like this phone case with a colorful snake.

Let’s do Giles:

I feel like Giles would be the type of person who would be chucking deuces on the way out of the office door, on a Friday, like “lmao, see you suckers!” 

He would be as dressed down as possible. He wears so many hats, so I think he would be the most likely to sleep in. Rather than drinking coffee, he would probably have a hot chocolate overflowing with marshmallows to satisfy his sweet tooth.

I gave him a feather soft twin set with flocking so that he could cozy up with his kitty and get some shut eye. But, should the princess suggest it, Giles would throw on some smart duds and hang out at the local coffee shop, no matter how pooped he felt. Here, he’s drinking a mocha cookie crumble frappacino. His second one that evening. And don’t touch his vanilla scones! Okay, maybe a bite-- a small one.

Albert has no chill, so I think that this is as dressed down as you’ll ever see him:

The jeans are quilted and paneled for a biker inspired look, and they are flexible enough that he can take down any attackers without a wardrobe malfunction. I didn’t give him a knife, because I thought he would probably go for hand-to-hand combat.

If Albert was going to make a statement, I think he would do it with actual words. So you can not only feel his disdain, you can read it, too. He’d definitely have a snarky coffee mug and his phone case reflects his work ethic.

Because Albert canonically works until he drops, his version of casual clothes are simply whatever is under his uniform that day. He just takes his coat off, but it probably feels like heaven to him at the end of the day. It looks so heavy!

While Alyn and Nico would have shoes with traction so they can do knight stuff, Albert would choose oxfords because he is also the king’s adviser. He has to do two jobs at once, so he needs to be able to look the part as he transitions between supporting the crown and actually defending it.

I gave him a sturdy watch and kept his glasses mostly the same. Since this is modern Albert, I imagine that he would wear contacts for the most part and switch to glasses after hours.

Albert often wears ties, but I gave him a dog tag made with black sapphire stones instead.

Louis wears almost all blue, so I added in some brown accents to switch it up:

I gave him some dressy-casual oxfords to take him from the ball room to the chic café in town. He has a patterned scarf since, like Nico, he can’t go without something covering his neck. Instead of gloves, I thought he might like a thick cuff bracelet. Louis looks so delicate, so I wanted to choose different materials and textures. 

I get the feeling that, no matter what, his sense of style is always semi-formal, but he tries to use at least one piece of clothing to make it a little casual. Even though he complains about the formalities of his social rank, he can’t quite bring himself to dress down like a townie, but he doesn’t feel like himself all dolled up in a tux either.

Louis’ hair is always on point-- and it looks so fluffy! But I bet if you touched it, it would be full of hair gunk to keep those tresses right where he wants them.

I wanted to give Sid something he could run to the store or hang out in:

I think Sid is very meticulous about his skincare and always buys the full product line. He would always have a pair of sunglasses in his pocket. His faux leather jacket has an attached hoodie, providing not only warmth-- but he can also use it to disguise himself.

I think this look will help him blend in, since he tends to go to more casual places to do his work. Similar to the hood, the sunglasses also give him an incognito look. Since Sid works all over in different countries, he would listen to music during his commute.  

I didn’t pair Sid with any fragrance, because I thought that would make him stand out more-- which is bad for the type of work that he does. He doesn’t need people remembering specific details about him, and the sense of smell is the strongest.

I don’t know much about Rayvis, but I wanted to style him anyway. He’s another one that wears a lot of one color, so I pulled out his accent color here:

He looks like a rather stiff person at first, so I imagined him as someone who has a really cute secret weakness, like indulging in decadent desserts at the end of the day. Chocolate strawberry cheesecake seems like it would do the trick, and it fit with the colors of his formal clothes.

For texture and mixed materials, his wool coat has leather sleeves, the maroon sneakers have plush velvet and the cable knit cap provides interest. 

I added a color-blocked button down and his black skinny jeans have distressing that you’d have to get up close and personal to see. 

His sunglasses also have a subtle hint of color. I don’t know what it is with MidCin guys and scarves, but I couldn’t let Rayvis be chilly, so I added something for him to cover himself with.

@astridapples, @widzzicles

[droewyn]

Intervention, Part 2

Part 1 here.

Cold.  He was lying on his back.  It was cold and dark and a heavy weight was pinning him to the ground. He tried to groan and wound up with a mouthful of hair, Victor’s favorite styling gel bitter on his tongue. “Vitya?”  No response.  Yuuri forced his eyes open, and found himself staring up into the night sky.  It had been the middle of the afternoon just moments before.  His husband was lying on top of him, unmoving.  “Victor?”

“Tell Yakov I’m dead,” It was a drowsy mumble, and he let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  Whatever the hell had just happened, Victor was okay and Yuuri wasn’t alone.

“Victor, you’re crushing my kidneys!”  

He felt Victor’s breath hitch an instant before his head snapped up to look at him.  “Yuuri?”  The word was laced with confusion and worry.

He tried for a reassuring smile.  “I’m fine, love.  Just… get off me?”

Victor blinked, then swore and rolled quickly off of Yuuri.  The two men helped one another to their feet, clinging tightly to each other’s hands for comfort as they looked around them.  

They were in an alley somewhere in a city center, though the buildings were all wrong for it to be St. Petersburg.  Skyscrapers that Yuuri recognized as being in the American “art deco” style stood next to shorter, slightly more modern structures of glass and concrete.  The juxtaposition was oddly familiar.  He found himself staring at one building in particular, a rusty brick and sandstone tower.  Spotlights illuminated the upper floors, which were decorated with a mosaic of patterned tiles, and a flag waved from the spire.  

“Yuuri, I think we’re in the past—” “Victor, I think we’re in Detroit—” The words made no sense, all jumbled together as they talked over one another.  The words made no sense, period.  To go from day to night, halfway around the world, in the span of a kiss?  It wasn’t possible.

Victor was staring at his phone as though he expected it to bite him.  Yuuri peered at it and blinked.  The display didn’t change.  Wordlessly, he reached into his back pocket for his own phone, thumbing the home button automatically to wake it up.

Their lock screens were identical.  Twin images of Victor lifting a radiant Yuuri during their Stammi Vicino gala skate. Status bars showing cell reception (LTE? Downtown?  Was America(?!) really so backwards in updating their infrastructure that their metropolitan areas still had 4G?), battery life, and various app notifications.  Clocks showing 9:37 pm.  Dates?

Friday, January 15.

The year wasn’t displayed, and Yuuri bit down on a laugh that would have been more than slightly hysterical if he’d let it escape.  Why would anyone need to know what year it was, it wasn’t like, it wasn’t like people could just--

“Time skips aren’t real,” he whispered, willing the words to be true.

“What else could this be?” came Victor’s hushed reply.

Time skips were an urban legend -- a joke -- and the only people who took the idea at all seriously hung out in the tinfoil-hat parts of the internet that also believed in chemtrails and people with Rh- blood being descended from alien lizard people.  The History Channel ran programs on time skips, for pity’s sake!  Faux documentaries where people with overactive imaginations talked about being instantly transported through space and time in order to meet up with their past selves and prevent them from making some kind of terrible mistake…

But he and Victor were standing in the heart of downtown Detroit.  The air was chill but not quite freezing and carried the normal city smells of food, car exhaust, and garbage.  The sidewalks were clear, with the ghost of an old snowfall in the corners where people didn’t walk.  A half-moon hung low in the west.  The least romantic moon possible for a night like this, he remembered suddenly, the bitter satisfaction of the thought echoing forward through the years, except it wasn’t a memory because it was this moon and it was happening now and Yuuri felt the blood drain from his face because he knew why he needed to be there.  Yuuri knew.

“Fuck.”  He was moving, sprinting, ignoring Victor’s startled cry.  His love was just going to have to catch up and keep up on his own because it was 2016, it was after Vicchan, it was after Sochi, it was after Nationals, it was after setting Celestino loose, and he needed to get to the river right now and there wasn’t enough time.  His phone was still in his hand, and he breathed a prayer to the gods of wireless technology that the network would recognize the same international carrier and the same phone number and that it wouldn’t notice the oddity of two phones with the same credentials and that Phichit would be there and pick up and—

“Yuuri?” Oh, thank you.  Thank you.

“Yes,” he gasped into the phone.  “No! Sort of.” He couldn’t allow himself to slow down for an instant, and his voice was harsh with exertion.  “He needs you.  Yuuri needs you.  At Hart Plaza.  It’s an emergency.”

“Yuuri’s on a date,” Phichit said slowly.  “He met someone and they’re going out to dinner in Royal Oak.”

“And you believed that horseshit?”

There was a pause, and then Phichit swore explosively in Thai.  “Who is this?” he demanded.

“Just hurry,” Yuuri said. “And bring his skates!” He ended the call and kept running.

                                              ~            ~            ~

 Hart Plaza wasn’t much to look at, particularly lying in the shadow of the Renaissance Center’s gleaming silver towers.  It was a park with no green space, a huge concrete and stone terrace designed for hosting outdoor festivals, and judging by the crumbling or outright missing paver bricks it hadn’t been properly maintained in years.  Yuuri ignored scattered works of abstract art and a truly hideous aluminum fountain, intent on not breaking an ankle on the uneven footing.  A cluster of bronze statues with some unknown historical significance guarded the stairs that led down to the riverwalk. Many of the decorative lampposts lining the water were dark, either through neglect or vandalism, but it still only took a glance to spot the lone figure who was staring into the icy water of the Detroit River from the wrong side of the guardrail.

Yuuri knew exactly what worked to pull himself out of various states of mental crisis; after existing in his own head for a lifetime, how could he not?  A physical stimulus could ground his anxiety and help stave off a panic attack, but once an attack happened he could only bear to be touched in certain very specific ways and needed words to focus on.  On days when he lacked the energy to move or care for himself, it was skin-to-skin contact that kept him from spiraling into something darker. When anxiety and depression started tag-teaming him, only solitude allowed him to weep without shame. Thanks to years of therapy and the love of friends, family, and Victor, Yuuri had an arsenal of tried and true coping mechanisms at his disposable.  

Unfortunately, his plan had pretty much evaporated after get there and the frantic half-mile run hadn’t burned off anywhere near enough adrenaline to allow for rationality, much less empathy.  Five years ago, Katsuki Yuuri had done the unthinkable. The unforgiveable.  He’d given up.  And in doing so, he’d apparently fucked up so badly that the gods, or aliens, or the universe itself had needed to rewrite causality just to fix it.  Now, five years later, five years ago, right this minute, Japan’s Ace was within shouting distance of Japan’s Shame.  And now that he was done being scared, Yuuri was pissed.

Unloading on himself like a teenaged Yuri Plisetsky who had just witnessed someone literally pee in his Cheerios was a perfectly reasonable response, given the circumstances.

“You pathetic little coward.”  Rapid-fire Japanese spilled from Yuuri’s mouth almost unbidden as he stormed over to his younger self, who visibly stiffened at the intrusion.  “Phichit and Celestino care about you, not that they don’t deserve better; how do you think they’ll feel when your stinking corpse gets dredged out of the river?”  The other Yuuri’s head snapped up at the familiar names, and he gaped as he met his own eyes and recognized them.  “And don’t forget Kaasan and Tousan; do you think they’ll be pleased when they’re called to pick up their son’s coffin from the airport?  Especially when it’ll be the first time they’ve seen you since you were seventeen. Maybe Minako-sensei will make a special banner for your homecoming.”  He was spitting the words like the poison they were, forcing them past a lump in his throat that was threatening to choke him.

“Yuuri—”

The stupid, selfish boy in front of him was a watery blur now.  “And it’s not like Mari-nee is already blaming herself for letting Vicchan get out into the street, so what’s another layer of guilt?  And, oh god, Yurio, he’ll probably—”  Yuuri’s voice cracked.

“Yuuri!”  Strong arms wrapped around him from behind, steadying him, and Victor’s breath was warm in his ear.  “Enough, lyubov moy.  This isn’t helping.”

“But he’s – I’m – going to ruin everything,” he wailed.  Hot tears spilled down his cheeks, clearing his vision, and he glared at his younger self.  

The other Yuuri was clutching the guardrail as if it was the only thing keeping him standing upright, shocked eyes darting back and forth between his face and Victor’s.  “Y-you,” he stammered.  “V-vi—”  He closed his mouth with a snap, clearly giving up.  

“Nobody’s ruining anything.” Victor’s embrace was tender, but his voice was artificially cheerful.  Yuuri could tell from the tone that if he turned to look at his husband, he’d be flashing one of his celebrity smiles.  “Yuuri-chan isn’t going to be taking a cold bath tonight,” Victor declared brightly, drawing the name out in emphasis, “because he knows that if he does, you won’t be going in after him.”

The younger Yuuri emitted a strangled squeak, whether from the idea of his idol and future self watching him drown in the Detroit River or from being referred to as ‘Yuuri-chan’ by Victor Nikiforov, it was hard to tell. Yuuri would have felt sorry for him in a different circumstance; he’d heard that edge in Victor’s voice before, though it hadn’t been turned on him in a long time.  This was the Victor who’d so innocently wondered how Yuuri could be eating katsudon all the time when he hadn’t stood on a podium in half a year, and who had called Yuri Plisetsky a mediocre kitten shortly before sending him off to be slapped around by a temple priest.  The man who had sweetly ripped a journalist to weeping shreds when she’d tried to manufacture a scandal by suggesting in an interview that Victor’s continued friendship with Christophe Giacometti might be a sign of marital infidelity.

Knowing that his husband was struggling with his own temper was oddly calming.

“No,” Victor continued as though the other Yuuri’s noise had been a polite request for more information, “I’m afraid that I’ll have to jump into that freezing river if Yuuri-chan does.”  One of his arms changed positions against Yuuri’s shoulder, and he imagined Victor bringing his index finger to his lips in studied contemplation.  “Or, if Yuuri-chan already has so little regard for himself, perhaps he is unmoved by the thought of others risking their lives on his behalf.”

Red bloomed across the younger Yuuri’s cheeks, and he shook his head wildly.  “N-no!” he gasped, “I don’t w-want you putting yourself in danger f-for me.”  He glanced at Yuuri.  “Either of you.”

“Excellent.”  Victor clapped his hands together as though the three men had just decided on a restaurant for dinner together.  “Since we’re agreed that no one will be suffering from hypothermia or contracting any diseases from swimming in disgusting water tonight, now it’s time to come back over here where the people belong, yes?”

The other Yuuri – Yuuri-chan?  Might as well use it if Victor was going to, Yuuri decided – hesitated, his gaze flickering between the two time skippers again.  “Please?”  Yuuri found himself begging.  “I’m – I’m really happy.  You have no idea how much.”

After another long moment, Yuuri-chan finally nodded.  Yuuri and Victor helped him climb over the railing, sharing a sigh of relief once he was safely back on the ground.  Yuuri-chan looked at their joined hands, Victor’s in his right and Yuuri’s in his left, making no move to let go.  “This isn’t a dream, is it?” he asked wonderingly.  “You’re really V-Victor, and,” he turned to Yuuri, “you’re me.”

In answer, Yuuri tugged up the sleeve of his sweater.  There was a blue-gray mark on the underside of his forearm, an artifact of a childhood accident that had left a pencil point lodged permanently in his skin.  “Takeshi used to tease me about this all the time,” he said almost fondly.  “Remember? He called it my blue freckle.”

Yuuri-chan looked at the mark – and burst into tears.  Dropping Victor’s hand, he flung himself at Yuuri, who curled his arms protectively around his younger self and let him cry.  Victor moved close behind him, and Yuuri knew that he was rubbing comforting little circles on the small of Yuuri-chan’s back.  It had been a long time since sudden tears had made Victor panic.  “Shh,” Yuuri whispered into thick black hair.  “It’s okay now.  You’re safe, and I’m safe, and everything’s going to be okay.  I promise.”

“I’m sorry!” Yuuri-chan sobbed into Yuuri’s shoulder.  “I’m s-so, so s-sorry!”

“Phichit incoming,” Victor murmured, and Yuuri could hear the stomping footsteps that took the riverwalk stairs two at a time.  Yuuri-chan stiffened, dreading the encounter.  “Go on, solnyshko,” Victor told him, not unkindly.  “You two need each other.”

He looked like he was being sent to face a firing squad, but allowed himself to be peeled off of Yuuri and pushed toward his best friend and roommate, who dropped the skate bag he’d been carrying and shrieked his name, ignoring the two time skippers entirely. Yuuri-chan broke into a run and the two crashed into each other, Yuuri-chan babbling tearful apologies while Phichit alternated cursing him out in a garbled blend of English and Thai and peppering his face with frantic kisses.

Feeling like he was intruding on a private moment, Yuuri looked away from the two oblivious roommates. Victor had turned toward him at the same moment and they shared a small smile, in tune as always.  His husband opened his arms in invitation, and Yuuri sank gratefully into his embrace.

Victor felt like home.

“Are you all right?”

Yuuri huffed a laugh. “I don’t feel like I’m disappearing from reality, if that’s what you mean,” he said.  “Not that I’d know what that would even feel like.  If you’re asking about my emotional state, let’s go with a point somewhere between ‘nope’ and ‘probably going to be’.  What about you?”

He shrugged.  “Slightly less terrified out of my mind than I was. So what happens next?  Are we done here?”

“Hell if I know.  This night is a total blur for me.  I remember looking down into the water, and then I’m waking up tomorrow with Phichit and it’s almost six o’clock at night.  Phichit missed practice and Celestino was livid. I knew I hadn’t gotten drunk, so I always assumed I’d had some kind of breakdown.”

Victor hummed thoughtfully. “That’s a time skip thing, isn’t it? The people who claimed to have done it always said they didn’t remember being there until they were sent back.”

“Those are weird internet people.  Not exactly sources you can cite on Wikipedia.”

“That includes us now,” Victor pointed out.  “Figure skating legends, soon-to-be world’s greatest coaches, and weird internet people.”

Yuuri sniffed.  “Only if we decide to be, and I’m not planning to jump on Reddit with my life story anytime soon.”  He sighed.  “We’re getting off topic, though.  How do we know that we’ve done what we were sent here to do?”  He glanced over at Yuuri-chan.  The other Yuuri and Phichit were laughing more than crying now, Phichit’s kisses were starting to linger, and Yuuri-chan was starting to kiss back.  He found himself smiling wistfully.

“You miss him.”

“Always.  But I’ll get to see him in a couple weeks when he comes to stay with us.  And anyway, that isn’t my Phichit.  He’s Yurio’s age.”

Victor chuckled.  “I’m not suggesting that you drag him off into the nearest bathroom stall,” he teased.  “But no matter how old he is or isn’t at the moment, he’s still your best friend and you don’t spend nearly enough time together in person.  You’ve been given an opportunity; why not make the most of it? Besides, aren’t you just dying to see the look on his face when he realizes who we are?”

“You make a compelling argument,” Yuuri grinned.  Then he turned thoughtful.  “Actually, it might not be a bad idea to show baby-me how great the future is rather than just telling him.  We don’t seem to be going anywhere at the moment, at any rate.  And I do want to make sure.”

“I like it.  I think we have a plan.  Bet you a thousand yen that Chulanont is too shocked to take a picture?”

“You’re on, sucker.”

[patrick--hockstetter]

Ahri

Innately connected to the latent power of Runeterra, Ahri is a vastaya who can reshape magic into orbs of raw energy. She revels in toying with her prey by manipulating their emotions before devouring their life essence. Despite her predatory nature, Ahri retains a sense of empathy as she receives flashes of memory from each soul she consumes.

Lore

Abandoned in the snowy woods of northern Ionia, Ahri knew nothing of her original family save the token they left her: a pair of matching gemstones. She joined a pack of icefoxes as they stalked prey on their morning hunt, and before long they adopted her as one of their own. With no one to teach her the magic of her kind, Ahri instinctively learned to draw it from the world around her, shaping destructive spheres and quickening her reflexes to take down prey. If she was close enough, she could even soothe a deer into a state of tranquility, so much that it remained serene even as she sank her teeth into its flesh.

Ahri first encountered humans when a troop of foreign soldiers camped near her den. Their behaviors were strange to Ahri and, curious to learn more, she watched them from afar. She was especially drawn to a hunter who, unlike his wasteful companions, used every part of the animals he killed, reminding her of her fox family.

When the hunter was wounded by an arrow, Ahri felt his life seeping away. She instinctively devoured the essence leaving his body, and gained brief flashes of his memories - the lover he had lost in battle, his children from a strange land of iron and stone. She found she could push his emotions from fear to sorrow to joy, and charmed him with visions of a sun-soaked meadow as he died.

Euphoric at the rush of absorbing the hunter's life, Ahri felt more alive than ever, and traveled Ionia in search of more victims. She relished toying with her prey, shifting their emotions before consuming their life essence. She alternated between dazzling them with visions of beauty, hallucinations of deep longing, and occasionally dreams colored by raw sorrow.

She grew drunk with memories that were not her own, and exhilarated in the lives of others. Through stolen visions, Ahri watched through their eyes as they pledged fealty to a temple of shadow, sacrificed offerings to a deity of the sun incarnate, encountered an avian tribe of vastaya that spoke only in song, and glimpsed mountainous landscapes unlike any she had seen. She experienced heartbreak and elation in tantalizing flashes that left her craving more, and wept at the massacres of Ionian villagers at the hands of Noxian invaders.

Ahri was surprised when the memories led her to discover the tale of an unearthly fox demon. As she absorbed more life essence, she grew to identify more and more with her victims, and felt guilty at ending so many lives. She feared that the myths about her were true - she was no more than a cruel monster. But whenever too much time passed between feedings, she sensed her own power fade, and could not help but partake once more.

Ahri tested her self-control by consuming small quantities of life essence, enough to absorb a memory or two but not enough to kill. She was successful, for a time, but was tortured by her unending hunger and soon succumbed to temptation, indulging in the dreams of an entire coastal village.

Tormented by her mistake, Ahri could not forgive herself and felt a deep sorrow that forced her to question her own existence. She withdrew to the forest caves, isolating herself in hopes of controlling her relentless desire. Years later she emerged, determined to experience every facet of life through her own eyes. Though she might indulge in occasional essence, she resisted consuming entire lives. With the twin gemstones as the only clue to her origin, Ahri set out in search of others like her. No more would she rely on borrowed memories and unfamiliar dreams.

A Fair Trade

Ahri walks in disguise, but this fortune-teller has her own secret. What are they both hiding?

The market smelled of burning incense and rotting cabbage.

Ahri wrapped her cloak around her nine tails and fiddled with her twin sunstone tokens to distract herself from the stench, rolling them between her fingers and snapping them together. Each one had the shape of a blazing flame, but they were carved in such a way that their sharper edges fit together, forming a perfectly smooth orb. She had carried the golden stones since before she could remember, though she had no knowledge of their origin.

Though Ahri was in a new environment, she was comforted by the latent magic buzzing all around her. She passed a stand with dozens of woven baskets filled to the brim with polished rocks, shells etched with legends from a seafaring tribe, gambling dice carved from bones, and other curious items. Nothing matched the style of Ahri's sculpted tokens.

"Care for a gem to match the blue of the skies?" asked the gray-bearded merchant. "For you, I'll trade a cerulean bauble for the cost of a single cryraven feather, or perhaps the seed of a jubji tree. I'm flexible."

Ahri smiled at him, but shook her head and continued through the market, sunstones in hand. She passed a stand covered in spiky orange vegetables, a child selling fruit that shifted color with the weather, and at least three peddlers swinging tins of incense, each of whom claimed to have discovered the deepest form of meditation.

"Fortunes! Come get your fortunes told!" called a young woman with lavender eyes and a soft jawline. "Find out who you'll fall in love with, or how to avoid unlucky situations with a pinch of burdock root. Or if you'd prefer your future left to the gods, I'll answer a question about your past. Though I do recommend finding out whether or not you're at risk for death by poisoning."

A tall vastaya with feline ears was about to take a bite of a spiced pastry. He froze and stared at the fortune teller in alarm.

"The answer is no, by the way. Yours for free," she said, curtsying at him before turning to Ahri. "Now, you look like you've had a dark and mysterious past. Or at least some tales worth sharing. Any burning questions for me, lady?"

Beneath heavy layers of incense, Ahri paused at the scent of wet fur and spiced leather lingering at the woman's neck.

"Thank you, but no," she replied. "I'm still looking around."

"You won't find any more Ymelo tokens in this market, I'm afraid," the woman said, nodding to Ahri's sunstones. "Like the ones you have."

The back of Ahri's neck prickled and she drew closer to the woman. She would not let her excitement get the better of her. "Do you recognize these? Where do they come from?"

The woman eyed Ahri.

"I think they're Ymelos, anyway," she said. "Never seen a pair in person. He only carved a small number in his time, and many of the sets were separated in the war. Dead rare, those."

Ahri leaned closer with each word.

"I'm Hirin, by the way," the woman said.

"Do you know where I might find this craftsman?" Ahri asked.

Hirin laughed. "No idea. But if you come in, I'll tell you what I know."

Ahri wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and eagerly followed the fortune teller past her booth, and into a caravan decorated wall to wall with animal skins.

"Tea?" Hirin said. "I brewed it this morning."

She poured two cups of liquid the color of plum wine, taking one for herself. The tea tasted of bitter oak bark masked by a cloying dollop of honey. Hirin held out a hand for the stones but Ahri kept them close.

"I'm getting the sense that these are special to you," she said with a wry smile. "Don't worry, I have no interest in peddling stolen sunstones. Bad for a girl's reputation."

"Can you tell me where they come from?" asked Ahri, handing them over gingerly.

Hirin held them up to the light.

"These are beautiful," she said. "I don't know how they fit together so perfectly. I've not seen the like."

Ahri said nothing. She stood frozen with curiosity, and did not take her eyes off the woman.

"Legend says the sculptor known as Ymelo collected fossilized lizard eggs from a thousand thousand years ago that he carved into intricate shapes. These ancient lizards lived long before the Ghetu Sea dried up to a desert, leaving only petrified bones and dust."

Hirin coughed, and Ahri detected a bitter note upon her breath, as if she had been drinking vinegar.

"Ymelo stones are designed as small pieces that fit into a larger sculpture," she continued.

The woman dangled the golden pieces in front of Ahri's face.

"Just as your past has left you with information to be desired, these stones may have many more parts that, when combined, create another shape altogether. Who knows what you'll become when you track down your history. With the missing pieces, you may learn more than you'd like."

"Those are pretty words," Ahri murmured, staring at the woman.

After a moment of silence, Hirin chuckled. "Some threads of truth, threads of my own invention. A fortune teller's weaving must be seamless."

The woman retrieved a hunter's knife from a cabinet.

"I weave in just enough of what you desire to make you stay," she said. "'Til the tea slows your muscles, that is."

A low growl escaped Ahri's lips. She would tear this woman apart. She tried to pounce, but her limbs did not obey. She was rooted in place.

"Oh, there's no need for that, lady. I only need a single tail. Useful for a variety of potions, you see, and extremely valuable. Or so I think. Never seen a vastaya with fox tails before. The tea freezes any pain, along with your... mobility."

Hirin wrapped a bandage around one of Ahri's tails. Ahri tried to resist, but she still could not move.

"You'll wake up tomorrow, good as new!" said the woman. "Well, with one less tail. Do you really use all nine?"

Ahri shut her eyes and reached out to the reservoirs of magic around her. The environment had plenty ripe for the taking, but she was too weakened by the tea to draw them to her. Instead, she reached into Hirin's mind, which was far more malleable, and pushed.

Ahri opened her eyes and stared hard into Hirin's. They deepened from lavender to violet.

"Hirin," she said. "Come closer. I would look into the face of the one who tricked me."

"Of course, lady," Hirin replied, transfixed. The woman's voice sounded hollow, as though it came from the bottom of a well.

She leaned in until her face was only inches away. Ahri inhaled, drawing essences of the woman's life from her breath.

...Hirin was a young girl hiding, hungry and afraid, beneath a market stall. Two men argued above, looking for her. She had nothing but empty coffers to show for her days' work...

Ahri continued to drain Hirin's life, sampling memories of raw emotion. They felt rich in Ahri's mouth, and she relished each unique flavor of emotion.

...Hirin told the fortune of a witch doctor shrouded in veils, receiving a copper for her troubles. She used the coin to buy a piece of bread, which she devoured in seconds...

...In a seedy tavern, a raucous group played cards. A man with eyebrows resembling butterfly wings gambled a golden Ymelo stone while Hirin watched from the shadows...

...Hirin tracked Ahri as she walked through the market. One of her fox tails peeked from beneath her cloak. She drew the vastaya into her caravan---

Enough.

Ahri stopped, her head spinning with renewed vigor. With each memory she stole from Hirin, she felt energy rush back into her weakened muscles, cleansing them of the poison.

Strengthened once more, she slowly shook her limbs awake and flexed her tails with a shiver. They tingled with pinpricks.

Hirin stood wide-eyed and dazed, still very much alive. It was she that would wake tomorrow, good as new - less a few memories that she would not miss.

With knowledge of the woman's life, Ahri's rage had faded. She brushed her hand against the fortune teller's cheek, then wrapped her cloak tightly around her shoulders and stepped out into the sunlit market.

Hirin would not remember her or their encounter. But Ahri had left the trade with a name to hunt - Ymelo - and the image of the man with soft-winged eyebrows was burned in her mind.