#*breaks out into song out of nowhere in honor of my deities*

[lostinvasileios]

Have you ever felt so loved by your deities/love your deities so much it makes you wanna be spontaneous? Do something so out of character, out of the ordinary for you because your body is so full of their energy and love?

Sometimes I just sit around and contain the fierce urge to start doing the worm or whatever because of how much energy they give to me.

[teamhook]

Finding Hope :: A CS August Rush AU birthday fic

Hellol! Okay, before I go on. I swear this will be the last WIP I start. I had to. This story is for my favorite dork @hookedonapirate cause I love her to death. She had asked me to write it before but at the time I was writing the Forever My Girl CS AU.

Happy Birthday!! Hope you like your present.

Thanks to my beta @ultraluckycatnd she is the best!!

FFN

AO3

A love for music unites an unlikely pair. The rhapsody they unknowingly created will give life to the hope they still have in their hearts.

Killian Jones and his older brother Liam had arrived from London with nothing more than the clothes on their back to pursue a music career. The lives of the Jones brothers had been difficult since the beginning. Their mother died at a young age and their father had decided he was not made to be a family man.

The Jones brothers had formed The Outlaws with some fellow expatriates they met along the way. The venues they played weren't the best, but they managed to make a name for themselves enough to have steady gigs.

Emma Nolan had grown up with loving parents but after an unfortunate accident, she was left alone. Afterwards, her grandfather took her in. George Spencer was an ill-tempered man. He wasn't a doting person, which caused Emma to become closed off. She focused on solace in the cello. Thankfully, the man valued pomp and grandeur so, at the thought of his granddaughter attending Juilliard, he eagerly made it possible.

On a rare night out with her best friend Elsa, they decide to go to listen to a little-known rock band called The Outlaws they saw fliers for. It was love at first sight. The lead singer mesmerized the young cellist with his voice. The girls waited for the band to finish their set to introduce themselves to them. Elsa and Emma fit in with the band perfectly. The Jones brothers had quickly gravitated towards the blonde beauties.

Emma and Killian had slowly drifted away from the group. It ended up being the most magical night for the young lovers above New York's Washington Square.

Months later, Emma finds out she is pregnant. Somehow, she already loves her kid so much. Her grandfather makes his displeasure known, however, every moment of her pregnancy.

The day her life changed was gloomy and rainy. After an argument with George, Emma had gone to the store to buy some last-minute things for her baby. The drunk driver came out of nowhere. When she gives birth prematurely, her grandfather takes advantage while she is unconscious and gives the baby girl up for adoption. The moment Emma wakes up, she is told the news that her baby is dead. The news shatters her musical dreams and any hope of happiness.

You're not special. You're just like the rest of us... alone, nothing but an orphan.

The music... Can you hear it? Listen... I can hear it everywhere.

It's in the wind ...

in the light...

It's all around us.

All you have to do is open your heart and listen.

Sometimes the world tries to knock the hope out of you.

They tried to stop me from hearing the music...

I believe in music the way others believe in fairy tales. When I'm alone it builds inside me eager to erupt into a melody. I like to believe that what I hear came from my parents. That the music I hear is the same one they heard the night they met...

Maybe that's how they found each other and that's how they'll know I am theirs and find me...

Hope Swan had grown up in foster care. As a baby, she had been adopted but returned once the couple was blessed with their own flesh and blood. After that, she bounced from foster home to foster home.

In her shared room at the group home, she's currently at, Hope records herself humming a song that keeps playing in her mind, but is rudely interrupted by her roommate who mocks her. "You are not special. You're just like us, an unwanted orphan."

The girl walks away, slamming the door.

Hope's eyes water at the mean girl's words. She knows it in her heart that she is wanted and someday she will find her parents. She continues recording her humming of the song in her heart.

Hope is now eleven years old. She stands in the back of the group as one of the younger girls is adopted by a couple. Maybe she should be bitter and want to be adopted but if she was, she would never find her parents. They're out there and she will find them.

Hope runs away once more from her group home. Living on the streets she makes friends easily, but is still guarded. She knows that someday her parents will come looking for her. All she wants is to go home.

As she wanders the streets, runaway Hope Swan is getting closer to find her home. She knows she will find her family. All she has to do is listen to the music in her heart and follow it.

A kind man, Merlin, is assigned Hope Swan's case. She wasn't a trouble maker, but she was reportedly closed off with the couples. He is notified that she has run away. She has a history of running away. The picture of the young girl saddens him. He wishes he can find her and place her in a good home. She is a pretty girl, with blonde hair, vibrant sea-blue eyes, dimples, and a slightly dimpled chin. He posts her picture on the board.

Emma Nolan had moved away after losing her daughter. Her little girl, her grandfather told her the baby was a tiny girl. The heartbreak led her to become a music teacher to kids. She was always surrounded by children and music. That was the way she chose to honor her child. An unexpected call from her grandfather's doctor makes her break a promise she had made to herself years ago. He is the only family she has left.

Once she arrives at his house, she is summoned to his death bed.

His eyes tear up. "I thought you wouldn't come."

"I don't hate you Grandpa, but my heart hasn't healed. Time will never heal this wound," she sniffled.

He closes his watery eyes. "I think I can help with that."

Emma gets closer to his bed, confused. "How can you say that? My child is gone! You didn't want her, so you threw her away while I slept. You took that away from me. I couldn't hold her!"

"Emma, enough!" he screams, then immediately starts coughing from the effort.

"I'm sorry, I made a mistake. I know now that family is precious, that image doesn't matter. Emma, I have a confession. I hope it's not too late and that you will find it in your heart to forgive me."

Emma stares at him.

"She's alive. Your little girl is alive."

"What? How can you be so cruel and say that to me!" Emma says with disbelief and tears pooled in her eyes.

"Because it's the truth. She is alive. I gave her up for adoption, and I was the one who signed the papers. I was your next of kin since you weren't married."

Emma gapes at the old man as she let her limp body drop to the chair next to his bed. "You gave my daughter away as if she was property because I embarrassed you?"

George Spencer can't keep his eyes on his granddaughter. The once-proud man weakened by age and disease casts his eyes down in shame. "In my safe, you will find the documents."

"What good will that do me?" Emma asks.

"Emma, my attorney can help you find her," he says quietly.

"But-"

"Emma, if your parents were here, they would tell you that you should never lose hope," he says.

Emma stands up. "You're right, I'm going to find my daughter."

George sighs as he falls into a deep sleep, his machines flatlining. The nurse that had given them privacy to talk rushes in as soon as the machine goes off.

Emma finds the papers and with trembling hands, calls Mr. Gold, the attorney.

The man is a ruthless slimy bastard. He tries to convince Emma that her kid is better off where she is. Of course, he would say that seeing he had helped her grandfather do this to her; he was just covering his ass. She doesn't care about that. All she wants is to get her kid. She has a daughter and she is out there. She hopes to God that she is being taken care of.

Killian Jones had moved to California not long after The Outlaws broke up. He had given up his dream of singing, but somehow had managed to gain a thriving career as an agent.

He had also distanced himself from the memory of Emma. After the band broke up, his brother and former bandmates had moved to Boston. Killian thought the further away he could get would be better, though. He tried forgetting her, but he knew he could never forget her. It was only one night, but he would belong to her for the rest of time.

Liam had called him a few days prior to ask if he wanted to join them in a reunion of sorts. They were going to play at the little place where he had met Emma. The joint was going out of business so in an effort to raise money to save it, The Outlaws had agreed to come out of retirement for one night only.

Killian had yet to agree, but 'what if' rattled in his brain. Something inside him tugged at his heart. A man unwilling to fight for what he wants gets what he deserves, Liam had told him over and over. He decides he will do it. He will fly to New York and look for Emma. He prays to every deity he can that she is not married. It's a selfish thought, but he couldn't bear it if she isn't meant for him.

Killian picks up the phone and dials his brother's number. "Liam, I'll be there."

"Brother, you'll do it? What happened to never setting foot in New York?" Liam asks.

"Liam, are you going to question my decision? I thought you would be happy," Killian says through gritted teeth.

"I am, I am. I'm just surprised. Killian, this doesn't have anything to do with her, does it?"

"Brother," Killian sighs, "Even if it was, I don't have a way to contact her." Sure he was lying, but his brother didn't have to know all his reasons.

"We are driving out there," Liam says.

"I'll fly. I will text you the details once I've made arrangements," Killian says.

"Alright, see you then," Liam adds. "Brother, it's going to be good seeing you after so long. I miss you."

Killian sighs. "I miss you too."

The line disconnects. Alright Emma Nolan, what have you been up to? he thinks as he enters her name in the browser's search engine. He had thought of looking for her before, but he had never found any sign of her online. He knows her family has money but somehow she has managed to stay hidden. The only information that would come up was of her grandfather's business deals. His heart tells him that this time, though, things would be different.

Sure enough, he finds one headline: "George Spencer dies at home after a long battle with heart disease."

Killian reads the headline carefully and his heart sparks with hope to see Emma again. The newspaper lists her as the sole survivor of her grandfather's Estate. That means she would have to be at his home. He winces at the thought. He knows that his method to approach her while grieving will be considered to be in bad form, but if it is the only chance he has, he has to make the best of the situation. He takes a deep breath and alters his flight plans so he can arrive a couple of days earlier.

Mr. Gold had changed his tune when Emma didn't fall for his manipulations and offered his services. Emma reluctantly accepted his help. He told her to give him a couple of hours and at that time, he would have information to make her search easier. He quickly found out that her daughter had ended up in foster care. He gave her the name of the caseworker assigned to Hope Swan. That was her baby's name. Emma tries to ignore the fact that her daughter is in the care of the state. She wonders what she looks like? Does she take after her or him? Killian Jones, he had never left her thoughts, but before it was painful to think of him because inevitably her thoughts would end on her daughter. Emma smiles, realizing how fitting the name Hope was for their daughter. Emma thanks Mr. Gold and goes to see Merlin Wilde.

Emma arrives at the CPS office. Her nerves are getting the best of her. She approaches the information desk. "Excuse me, I'm looking for Mr. Wilde?"

The woman looks bored. "Do you have an appointment?"

Emma shakes her head. "No, I'm sorry. I must speak to him, though."

The woman rolls her eyes. "Fill out the sign-in sheet. I will see if he can fit you in today." She gets up and heads to a door behind her desk.

Emma is about to sit down when something catches her eye. Pictures of missing kids. Runaways. She gravitates to the board. Her heart is beating so fast as her eyes land on a name, Hope Swan. Emma smiles as she stares at blue eyes that reminded her of the pair that stole her heart all those years back. The sound of someone clearing their throat startles her.

"I'm sorry for startling you, Miss Nolan. I'm Merlin Wilde." He smiles at her as he looks over her sign-in sheet and signals for her to follow him.

"Oh, no it's okay. Yes, I wanted to speak to you in private. My situation is not a common story," Emma says as she follows him to his office.

They enter his office and he kindly motions for her to take a seat.

Emma looks around the office. She tries to get a feel for the man. He seems kind, but looks can be deceiving.

"Miss Nolan, how may I help you? Is there a child in a situation you are concerned about?"

Emma nods. "Mr. Wilde, yes, in fact, that is the reason why I'm here."

"Alright," he starts taking notes. "May I have the child's name?"

"Hope Swan," Emma says. "I'm her mother."

Merlin looks up from his computer. "I'm sorry," he says as he types rapidly on his computer keyboard, before looking up quizzically. "Her case says she is in the care of Mrs. Emerald."

"I'm afraid you misunderstood me. I'm Hope's biological mother." She takes a deep breath. "I was young and unmarried when I got pregnant with her, and my grandfather didn't think having a child was appropriate." Her eyes begin to sting because of the tears. "He took it upon himself to decide that giving my daughter away while I was unconscious because of an accident was the appropriate decision to make. Until recently, I thought Hope was dead. I'm here because I need your help getting my daughter back. I understand she is in foster care, so it shouldn't be a big deal, right?"

Merlin keeps his eyes on her and laughs. "She is a good kid, the people that had fostered her before never had a complaint about her. She loves music and she always hummed a melody to herself. She was just not open to letting them in. It's like she knew she didn't belong there. I'm afraid that has caused her to run away on several occasions. I was just informed she ran away from the last home."

Emma's eyes tear up. "I loved my daughter from the moment I knew she was there. I used to play a song on the cello for her that her father sang the night we met. Until the day I thought I had lost her, I played the same song. I need to find her."

"And we will, Miss Nolan. I have put up fliers all over the city."

Emma nods. "I will look for her myself. I plan on hiring a private investigator. Could I have a picture of her?"

"Of course, Miss Nolan. I will do all in my power to help get your daughter back. I'm going to go looking for her at Washington Square Park. That is a hot spot for runaways. If you would like to join me? We might get lucky," he says as he hands her the picture of Hope from her file.

Emma smiles. "Sure, I will. Thank you for asking."

Hope is sitting on a bench at Washington Square Park and then she hears some music playing. Instantly, she is drawn to it. A boy around her age is playing the guitar. She smiles wide and sits down to enjoy the show. People surround the boy as he plays and they drop change on a baseball cap on the floor. Once he finishes playing, the boy picks up his cap and puts the money in his pocket. He grabs his guitar and thanks the crowd before leaving.

Curious, Hope follows him to an abandoned theatre.

Killian arrives on the first flight of the day. He rents a car and makes his way to the Nolan Estate. He is a nervous wreck. What will Emma think of him showing up unannounced? He hopes she will be happy to see him.

The boy Hope was following introduces himself as Henry. She likes him. He is nice and he promptly explains that all the runaway children live there. They had been taken in by Walsh Oz, the "Wizard". The man provides a roof over their head and food.

"Don't worry, Hope. He will teach you how to perform in street corners to pay for your part. If you're lucky and any good, he will let you use one of the park's spots," Henry says. "When he gets home with food, I will introduce you."

Hope thinks to herself it couldn't be that bad. This way, she won't be picked on for playing music.

Henry smiles fondly at Hope. "So why did you run away?"

Hope smiles back. "I'm going to find my parents. How about you?"

"My adoptive mom didn't love me." He shrugs. "Hope, I know you will find them."

Hope beams. "Thank you, but how can you believe so?"

Henry smiles. "I have a feeling that you will find them and then you will have your happy ending."

The Wizard hadn't always lived in condemned buildings. He once had been a success in his art but lost it due to some scandal years ago, but he could still spot talent. The young girl Henry had brought to him had loads of talent. She had played a song that most of the other kids couldn't play. The girl was magical. She appeared to be a musical genius with savant-like abilities and perfect pitch. He knows he could make a good living off of that girl. He smiles wickedly as the girl plays with his prized guitar, Roxanne. "Well, looks like we found our top earner thanks to Henry," The Wizard says to the group. He pulls Hope to the side. "Alright, you are going to be in my old spot at the park and you will be using Roxanne." He scrutinizes her. "Now what should we call you?"

"My name is Hope," she says.

He walks back and forth contemplating and shaking his head. "I know, I shall call you Odette."

Emma and Merlin arrive at the park. They split up in the hope to cover more ground.

Merlin posts missing posters of Hope on every corner he can; he even hands some to the people walking by.

Emma is walking around the corner when something catches her eye. They have some posters for an upcoming event displaying some talent from Julliard. She smiles wistfully, she misses her music. She takes out her phone to call an old friend. Elsa had ended up at their old school as a teacher.

Somehow her connection is stronger now. She has a sudden need to play. She feels it will help her connect with her daughter.

Tag list:

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera  @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615  @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713  @donteattheappleshook @reggieshamster @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes  @demisexualemmaswan @queen-serena88 @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @bethacaciakay @ohmakemeahercules @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @mariakov81 @sals86 @elizabeethan @brooke-to-broch​ @hookedonhiddles​ @onceratheart18​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​

[black-quartz-sphinx-judge-my-vow]

Exalted 3e Villain Analysis

When I was first going through the various Adversaries of the Righteous, I skipped right past Adeimantus, because I’m shallow. His art just isn’t evocative. But ho boy! Beneath that pale, bland exterior lurks a villain worthy of an entire campaign. So let’s talk about that.

Adeimantus is the ruler of a utopian City from the Shogunate named Beimeni-Ta. A city which was consumed by the Wyld ages ago. It now creeps into Creation like an infection transforming cities and slums into itself.

What a great freaking idea, wow. The sidewalks the towers, the people all transform into echoes of a golden age lost to time. Can’t you just see the brick back alley suddenly becoming a marvelous marble tunnel? The building torn halfway between one style and material and the next? The crowds of excited peasants waiting for their shacks to complete their transformation into mansions? Now that’s a threat! How do you even deal with something like that? Do you burn down the infected part of your city to keep it from spreading? Do you jail the new citizens to stop the from singing the praises of utopia, and converting more people to their cause? Or do you go after the Raksha that’s behind it all?

What I like most about Adeimantus is that he’s totally on the up and up, at least in my interpretation. He’s not doing this because he wants to eat every baby in Creation. He genuinely wants everyone in the world to live in his perfect city. So much in fact that he has a charm that not only changes the city to match the desires of an individual, but he himself changes to match that desire.

After the players have defeated Adeimantus and sent his city back to the mists: “That’s alright, we’ll start over as many times as you need. This is all for you.”

Which brings another terrifying aspect of Adeimantus into view. When he vanishes, so too does the city, and all of it’s people. Any buildings and individuals changed by Beimeni-Ta get whisked away to the Wyld, even victory can mean that a entire slice of a city is amputated. Spooky.

As far as a combatant, meh. If you’re using Adeimantus to beat people down, you’re doing it wrong. Although he does have a knife that can make you ugly to anyone who can read, which is fun. His main power in combat comes from his ability to summon battle groups of his followers to attack the pcs. Plus ya gotta involve the city itself in any combat you do. Potholes open up beneath your feet, shingles slide off the roofs onto your head, and other such irritants. Maybe give the city it’s own initiative, and stat block, why not?

His real strength comes from his ability to manipulate intimacies. Not only can he instill them in people through their dreams, but he can also make you disregard any that make you oppose him. Very fun, and could be interesting if you have players who are very dedicated to rp. Otherwise think of all the NPCs you can target, and turn against the players. Now that’s high drama. Solars want to live in Utopia too right?

Especially since as I said before Adeimantus is a chill dude. He doesn’t want to resort to violence, he rules a utopia, and wants to share it’s bounty with the world. Of course his Utopia ends up being pure madness when it returns to the Wyld, but no one seems to be dissatisfied.

So I’ve gushed on about this beautiful bald man long enough. What are some ways you can use him in a game?

1. A world saving device was once held in Beimeni-Ta, and it’s needed once more. Do you: look for a city infected by Beimeni-Ta. Crusade into the wild to reclaim the lost city. Or maybe infect a nearby city, long enough for the vaults of Beimeni-Ta to manifest.

2. Beimeni-Ta begins to arise within Great Forks. How does the city of a thousand gods react to such an intrusion? Is the draw of Utopia enough to tempt even a deity? Or do they hold firm as more and more of their followers join the cult of Adeimantus?

3. Every Winter Adeimantus visits a struggling village in the north, and provides them with supplies needed to survive the harsh winter. What scheme is he up to? It’s been generations since he started doing this, and no apparent harm has been done. The villages are convinced he’s a benevolent god of winter, how will they react when the players try to destroy him before he can corrupt their village?

4. Beimeni-Ta is ruled not only by Adeimantus, but also a Senate of Demons. So this Fair Folk, has an alliance with demons, as well as a permanent city in the Wyld. There’s something deeply interesting going on with Adeimantus. In his Stat block it does say the Senators are Raksha too, but I much prefer him being a complete weirdo. But as for plot hooks. A city has already fully fallen to Beineni-Ta. Now there is only one thing left to do. Characters must introduce a bill to the demon senate which will revoke the city’s hold on creation, at least this part of it. Can the pcs, get it through sub-committees, and over come a filibuster lead by a second circle demon?

5. Burns 100 Poets is a monk of the Immaculate order who has thrice vanquished Adeimantus from creation. He carries the weight of the many poets he’s killed to keep Adeimantus from spreading his corruption. He is retired now nearly 200, and works day and night to craft the poems which could have been were it not for his diligence. He may hold valuable information in how to stop Beimeni-Ta from spreading. However this gentle poet of an old man may suggest methods the pcs would consider frightful.

Finally let’s talk about a campaign that has Adeimantus as it’s big bad.

I call this one: Lookshy, Rise of The Shogun.

The basic premise of it being Beimeni-Ta was a city during the Shogunate Era, a pretty important one. Reclaiming it would finally give The 7th Legion reason to accept a new individual as Shogun.

Act 1

The Players, Dragon-Blooded protectors of Lookshy are tasked with looking into strange happenings around the city. The marching band plays a song hundreds of years out of date, a new building appears seemingly out of nowhere. Things escalate when a section of the city’s rampart’s becomes infected with shiny new lightning ballista. Suddenly the General Staff is torn on how to deal with the situation. with some opting to let the infection spread to access Beimeni-Ta’s ancient resources, to others wanting to combat the plague before it’s too late. The group is forced to navigate this tenuous situation, while beating back Adeimantus’ growing cult, and corrupted gentes. Culminating in the final confrontation with Adeimantus, and a member of the general staff he’s corrupted. Adeimantus vanishes with his pawn defeated, and takes however much of Lookshy he’s corrupted away with him, back to the wild. The walls are breached, the city is in ruins, the army is divided, and things are looking dire. Were The Realm not crippled by The Scarlet Empresses’ disappearance, this would be the end.

Act 2

After a brief recovery clarity comes to the surviving populace of Lookshy. The Shogunate Bureaucracy has records detailing this Beimeni-Ta many of the afflicted citizens were rambling about. It was once a seat of power for the Shogunate a place of immense importance, that fell into the Wyld never to be seen again, until now. Most importantly it was the final resting place of The Imperial Seal. The stamp with which The Shogun made words on paper law. With it, a simple document can be stamped and a new Shogun can be appointed, the shogunate will live once more. If only Beimeni-Ta can be dragged back out of The Wyld. If only... we could find it.

No maps of Beimeni-Ti’s location survive, only records of military assignments. Letters for a general to withdraw from the defense of the city, a general by the name of Tepet...

With the only lead they have the players are sent under cover to The Realm to find what they can about Beimeni-Ta from it’s ancient defenders. There’s investigation, spy work, a heist. All of which ends in a social confrontation with Tepet’s ruling Council which presents them with an offer: fulfill their oath to the Shogunate, regain their honor by retaking Beimeni-Ta.

Act 3

The impossible has happened. The players have convinced Lookshy to break with tradition, and march on the Wyld. House Tepet has given their only legion to the cause. The two armies of the Shogunate unite like something unseen in anyone’s time, and march through the river lands towards the end of the world. It’s a long grueling march, through an untold number of kingdoms. The centuries of Lookshy’s political favors, and military threats fray with each border they cross. Threats seeks to divide them with armies and from within. The Lookshy soldiers see their Tepet allies as traitors, and the Tepet aren’t too fond of the scavengerland barbarians either. The players must use their genius to get their army through in one piece. Until they reach, the border marches.

Act 4

From here on it’s all out warfare. The players and their small army must reclaim creation step by step enduring every machination the Wyld can through at them, from raining lava, to forests of grass as tall as a warstrider, and as sharp as a blade. All until they lay siege to Beimeni-Ta. At last the jewel is within their sight. They just have to overcome Beimeni-Ta’s endless militia of maddened citizens, their 100 Demon Senate, and of course Adeimantus fully empowered by the wyld and Beimeni-Ta itself. Who can with but a look, a touch, who’s very presence beckons you to join him in Utopia, in oblivion.

And what are the rewards for such an epic journey? A brand new city to rule over? The title of Shogun, and resurrections of the shogunate? An arsenal of first age weapons from the shogunate’s richest city? Who’s to say what dreams await you in Beimeni-Ta? 

Only Adeimantus knows.

Only Adeimantus can show you the way.

[graywritesoccasionally42]

Like a balloon on a barbed-wire fence [this is where pieces of you get torn away]

ALL TRUSSED UP AND STILL NOWHERE TO GO

“You have to let go” | barbed wire | bound

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship(s): Shindeku

Read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/34205761

The sharp metallic tang of blood in the air is what Midoriya Izuku noticed first when he regained consciousness. He couldn’t quite tell what had happened, who was bleeding and why, just the dull, all encompassing ache emanating from his body. The young adult tried to wake up his muddled senses, piece together what was wrong. He thought back to his last memories: normal enough patrol, stopped a few drug deals, caught a couple would-be muggers, it was almost dawn, about time to go back to the agency to file his reports, then...nothing. His mind began to whirl, working backwards from where he was now. His head screamed with a likely concussion, and something wet seemed to be oozing down the back of his neck. So he’d been jumped, knocked out. He opened his eyes to a dimly lit warehouse floor, the sun barely making it through the boarded up windows. Ok, he’d been captured, taken somewhere. Not a typical occurrence, but not a first to be sure. The scent of blood was still heavy in the air, and it was becoming more and more obvious that he was the one doing the bleeding.

Izuku was seated in a metal chair, and he tried to move, to test if he’d been restrained and gauge what hurt, but immediately regretted it. He barely muffled a scream as his whole body lit up like Endeavor’s quirk, and he had to blink white spots out of his vision. No moving, got it. He blearily looked down at his bonds and his blood ran cold. What kind of psychopath ties someone up with barbed wire? He had to get out of there yesterday. Luckily, the fact that he hadn’t checked in last night (technically that morning but underground heroics had always entailed odd hours) had likely tipped off his coworkers that something was amiss. Izuku cracked a small smile--Hitoshi was probably tearing his hair out by now, trying to figure out where his trouble magnet of a fiance had disappeared to.

Oh so carefully, Izuku manuouvered just enough that he could hit the emergency beacon sewn into his glove. Even the tiniest movements sent lightning shocks of pain echoing through his nervous system. Once he was sure it had transmitted the signal Izuku tried to relax and sit as still as possible. This proved to be futile as he was suddenly pushed unceremoniously from his chair and onto the floor.

This time the hero couldn’t hold back the scream as the impact jarred every open wound and dug the malicious barbs deeper into his skin. He felt dizzy, and noticed the worryingly large puddle of blood spreading beneath him. His captor flipped him over roughly with gloved hands, eliciting a sharp gasp from the young hero.

“Well well well, the elusive Dekiru,” the villain began, and Izuku almost rolled his eyes at how cliche it all was. “When my goon said he’d captured a hero, I wasn’t expecting someone so high up on our shitlist. My older sister is in jail because of you, and my family’s power has been reduced to less than half its force. I’ll enjoy making you squirm.”

Izuku barely had time to mentally prepare as a steel toed boot made contact with his solar plexus. All the air immediately vacated his lungs, and his vision whited out. His head spun, and he briefly thought he might be sick, the metallic taste of blood pooling in his mouth. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to whatever deity was listening that his back-up would get there soon.

The villain kept kicking Izuku’s prone form, sometimes spouting some nonsense about his family’s honor. It felt like hours, though through the haze of pain and his concussion it was hazy. He started fading in and out of consciousness, only aware for the worst bits of pain--The villain stomping down and breaking his ankle, getting kicked so hard he rolled a few times and the barbed wire dug even deeper into his arms and torso. His throat was torn from screaming. He definitely couldn’t fight back, not when every breath created shockwaves of pain. Part of him tried to stay awake, knowing how dangerous sleeping on a traumatic brain injury could be, but the larger part of him knew it was a lost cause. Black encroached on the edges of his vision, all noise was a cacophony of static.

Suddenly the barrage stopped, though Izuku’s nerves were so fried it was hard to tell. Something was happening near him, but it was anyone’s guess what. He realized his eyes were closed, and he tried to wrench them open when a hand touched his head. He flinched away a little, but all that did was jar his injuries and drag a pained groan out of him, irritating his trashed voice box. He tried to focus on the purple blob above him, and he became aware of words being spoken again, barely audible over the roar in his ears. He couldn’t comprehend a thing, but the voice was familiar, soothing, even though it was tinged with panic. He felt safe with the purple voice, maybe it was ok to sleep? Izuku’s eyelids fluttered shut, and even with the desperate hands on his face and the voice rising in pitch and volume he slipped under.

***

Izuku woke up to quiet music. His eyes felt glued shut, and his body buzzed with the not-quite-pain of injuries masked with painkillers. Someone was holding his hand. It was...nice. Most definitely not the worst way to gain consciousness. Even if he was in the hospital again and Hitoshi might actually kill him this time…

Wait. Hitoshi. Izuku pried his eyes open, a task that felt herculean, and looked over at his fiance. The purple haired hero was humming along to the song that was playing on his phone, lost in thought as he held Izuku’s hand. Izuku squeezed his hand a little, and Hitoshi absentmindedly squeezed back until realizing. Amethyst eyes locked with Emerald, and Izuku attempted a smile.

“Hi Hito,” he said, voice gravelly with sleep and overuse. Hitoshi immediately leaned in and kissed him, then rested his forehead against the other’s.

“Izu, I was so worried, you asshole.” The words had no bite, and Izuku smiled a little wider.

“I’m sorry, love.” Izuku pressed a kiss to Hitoshi’s cheek, and the taller of the two slumped into an embrace.

“I’m glad you’re ok.”

[aviwrites]

The Old Song

Author: @aviwrites

Fandom(s): Bendy and the Ink Machine

Warnings: Body horror, there’s a cult leader who tries to sacrifice the main character, some ink monsters running about

Prompt: Henry gets tied up.

Notes: H o l y  f u c k . I told myself this was gonna be a short drabble, but boy, was I wrong. Anyway, this is another test at writing creepy scenarios and an interpretation for that whole kidnapping scene near the end of Chapter 2, so spoilers if you haven’t played that far.

Word count: 2457 (holy fuck)

Fic/Link to Fic: [DeviantArt] [FanFiction] [AO3]

He shouldn’t have stayed in the studio.

He should have turned on his heel and left the moment he realized that Joey Drew, his old boss and friend, was nowhere to be found, even though he requested his visit in the first place.

And he definitely should not have turned that damn machine on.

But no, his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he’d went through all the trouble to collect those office relics--sacrifices?--and fix the ink flow. And how was he rewarded? Why, with a chase from a demonic, three-dimensional rendition of the old cartoon character he use to animate and a fall through the floor to the basement, of course.

Exploring the underground music department had been...interesting, to say the least, what with all the satanic-looking pentagrams and alters to a cartoon deity scattered about and the massive expansion that must have cost Joey a fortune. And, yet again, his attempts to reach an exit out of the animation studio were thwarted, this time by a sudden, surprising blow to the back of the head.

And as he fell to the floor with a heavy thud, barely aware of the shadowy figure looming over him, Henry found himself remembering an old saying about curiosity and cats, and could feel the regret steadily growing.

When he finally came to, he was on his feet, slumped and supported against a wooden column that someone was currently tying his wrists behind. Henry blinked once, twice, and then shut his eyes tightly as he became suddenly aware of the pain that throbbed at the back of his head, where he had been hit with some sort of heavy object not too long ago. He would not be surprised if he was left with a nasty bump from that attack, but it was certainly not the worst he had suffered.

Henry took the opportunity to survey his surroundings now that he was conscious and his captor was still securing the bindings. As far as he could tell, he was still in the animation studio--the abhorrently dim lighting casting everything in sepia tones, the familiar dark stains and the tell-tale sound of ink dripping from some distant, leaking pipe was enough to tell him so--and the now familiar alters and a set of speakers not too far away from where he was standing signaled that he was still in the music department.

There was something like a set of wooden posts not far from where he was tied, supporting the aforementioned speakers and looking for all the world like some sort of gateway. Leaning against it was the ax he picked up shortly after arriving in the basement, and beyond it was a door akin to the ones used for garages. To his left was a closed door that seemed to lead into a recording booth, and on the wooden floor beneath his feet, there was a pentagram painted in the accursed, black ink, the sight of which startled Henry. He straightened, but most of his movements were restrained by the ropes tied behind him.

“There we go now, nice and tight,” an eerily cool voice said from behind him, and it was only then that he registered that his captor had stopped fiddling with the bindings. “We wouldn’t want our sheep roaming away, now, would we?”

The captor revealed himself then, stepping around Henry to lean in his face. The old animator pulled himself from the masked figure, reeling from the acidic scent and what he could only assume was the smell of rubber ink lingering on the other’s breath.

“No, we wouldn’t,” the man before him concluded, and Henry choked back a gasp once his mind connected the voice to a face.

Sammy Lawrence had always been an odd character in Henry’s mind. Even during the studio’s golden days, the music director was reserved and mostly kept to himself, and usually ventured out of his office only to complain when he was particularly upset about Joey Drew springing up an unexpected deadline on the employees. Most of the other artists in Henry’s department weren’t too keen to interact with him, but while he did not know him well enough Henry himself had always regarded the man with respect. Sammy was clearly talented at what he did, and he’d be damned to say that he didn’t at least tap his foot while listening to those cartoon tunes while he was working.

But that had been the Sammy Lawrence back then. The Sammy Lawrence now looked like he’d gone through a horrific transformation and was no longer recognizable. His skin was a deep, dark black, dripping in some places like some sort of sludge--to his horror, Henry realized that it was ink. The only articles of clothing that he was wearing were a pair of pants and suspenders that resembled the same kind Boris the Wolf wore in the cartoons (but it looked odd, stiff like cardboard), and the head of one of those wretched, life-sized Bendy cutouts, re-purposed as a makeshift mask despite its fading paint and broken hole in a few of the teeth the grin sported. Sammy had always been a little imposing--he held a vertical advantage over most of the other staff members, and Henry lacked quite a bit when it came to inches--but right then, with the dim lighting and the way he loomed over the old animator, he appeared downright terrifying.

And if those recorded tapes scattered around the studio were anything to go by, he was just as insane, too.

“I must admit, I am...honored you came all the way down here to visit me,” Sammy continued, unhindered by Henry’s shocked and horrified expression. “It almost makes what I’m about to do seem...cruel. But the believers must honor their saviors. I must have him notice me.”

Henry swallowed past a lump in his throat as he slowly understood what that meant.

There was an odd, hesitant silence as Sammy stopped his monologue to lean further into Henry’s face, his head now in a confused tilt. If he didn’t know any better, Henry would have said that the music director was frowning underneath that mask.

“--Wait,” the silence broke at last, “you look familiar to me. That face…”

All at once, the old animator felt the urge to yell at the figure before him that barely resembled the man it once was. They were co-workers, for god’s sake! Sure, thirty years was a hell of a long time, but certainly not enough for Sammy to completely forget about a head animator, right? Unless his current body horror really was doing worse things to his mind, and he really was beyond saving. Henry opened his mouth to explain their relations to each other--but was immediately cut off by a faint, distant clanging in the pipes, and Sammy stiffened and straightened as he snapped out of the moment.

“Not now, for our lord is calling to us, my little sheep,” he raved. “The time of sacrifice is at hand! And then, I will finally be freed from this...prison.” He paused as he frantically waved a hand as though to gesture at the horrifying transformation his body had taken. Flecks of ink flung from the limb (Henry cringed as a few came too close to his face), and drops fell from his arm and onto the floor. “This...inky, dark...abyss I call a body.”

Henry swallowed, trying to hide the fear as he attempted once again to reason with the man before him. “Sammy--”

Another clang interrupted him, but this time it was louder and followed by a chorus of banging in the pipes that seemed to be progressively getting closer. The old music director waved his hand again to his masked face, an ink-dripping finger hovering over the broken teeth of the cartoonish grin.

“Shhhhh! Quiet!” He pointed excitedly at the ceiling as the eerie noise continued, and Henry could feel the fear bubbling in his gut. There was no mistaking the grin in Sammy’s voice. “Listen! I can hear him...crawling above. Crawling! Let us begin. The ritual must be complete. Soon he will hear me…” And then he leaned in close once again, repeating a line Henry had seen painted in ink on the walls of the music department that sent shivers up the old man’s spine:

“He will set us free.”

Sammy walked off towards the door to Henry’s left, leaving him alone with a crushing feeling of dread. The old animator struggled against his bindings in an attempt to break free. He had to get out of here. He had to get out before that cartoonish ink demon found him, tied up and vulnerable. He did not want to know what it would do to him if it found him, and definitely did not want to stay long enough to find out.

But the ropes tying his hands back were tight.

It didn’t stop him from trying.

There was a ringing as the speakers before him came to life, and Sammy Lawrence’s voice spoke through the metallic boxes in that eerily cool tone of his. He was chanting some kind of rhyme about sleeping sheep, and Henry recognized the lines from a song from one of the old episodes, except the words were wrong. They were twisted, dark, not at all a rhyme meant for kids. But Henry couldn’t afford to pay much attention to what the music director was saying. The garage-like door not far in front of him opened and he struggled harder, half-expecting the monster his captor was trying to summon to come barreling through.

But it didn’t. The clanging in the pipes became louder, coming closer and closer until it was practically overhead, and it continued making its way through the pipes that passed through the room Sammy entered into, and after a moment it stopped. The music director’s voice suddenly became frantic through the tinny speakers as a new sound carried through it, something Henry was afraid to call growling. He struggled even harder with ropes tied around his wrists.

“No! My lord! Stay back! I am your prophet!”

With a final pull, the ropes snapped and came undone.

Sammy let out a blood-curtling, fearful scream at the same moment.

The first thing Henry did now that he was free was reach for the ax once again. Now armed, he charged through the entry before him that opened during Sammy’s chanting, not waiting around for that monster to find him. He continued down the hall, only letting himself slow down once he was certain that he made enough distance. It was quiet now, as quiet as it was upstairs when he first arrived to the studio and as quiet as it was when he traversed through the music department, but Henry still held his ax before him wearily as his heart pounded in his chest. He kept going, kept walking…

A light down the hall caught the old animator’s attention.

He stopped.

It was an exit sign.

Henry almost collapsed in a heap at the sight, the relief almost killing him. At last, a way out of this animation studio from hell! The only thing separating him from the door to his freedom was--

--A room entirely flooded with ink.

He swore under his breath as he examined it. Whatever the room’s old purpose was was now lost to the black liquid. It now served as a makeshift lake that Henry wagered to be at least calf-deep. The scent was unbearable, but if it was the only way out…

Henry sighed and approached the room cautiously, the ax still held in front of him like a lifeline.

Before he could set foot in it, though, the ink erupted like a geyser, and from the spray the demonic, lanky, monstrous form of the old cartoon character he used to animate emerged, grinning menacingly at him. Henry gasped and stumbled back, scrambling in order to sprint back down the hallway again. How did it find him so soon? Wasn’t it at the music department just moments before?

He spared a glance over his shoulder as he raced away, barely catching the oddity that was its awkwardly twisted leg. He didn’t allow himself to think too much on it just yet, but if it was enough to slow the monster down, even just a little bit, he was glad of it.

The old man bolted down a new path, slamming the door shut as he reached a different area of the studio. Henry locked it with a board of wood, pressed his back against it, and waited. Something slammed against the other side of the door, loud and heavy. It rattled the door on its hinges, and then it slammed again, and then a third time, but somehow the wooden board held. Henry heard the monster lean against the other side and pant like it was trying to catch its breath, and then it sauntered away.

He let out a heavy breath. He was safe.

For now.

For now, he better figure out where he was and where the nearest exit was. Henry, still clutching the handle of the ax in a death grip, looked around. There were a few shelves stocked with what looked like old merchandise (they were lined with Bendy plushes and cans of bacon soup and other odds and ends), but there wasn’t much else to help him save for a sign--”53 Vault,” it read--hanging above the doorway straight ahead. With nowhere left to go, for going back out was simply out of the question, Henry resigned himself to moving onward.

There was a clatter and a clunk as a can of bacon soup rolled from beyond the corner and into view. Henry felt himself tense up, and, suddenly realizing he wasn’t alone in whatever part of the studio this was, readied the ax like a weapon.

“Hello? Someone there?” he called out to whoever was out there. “I know you’re in here. Come out and show yourself.”

And the other obliged, cautiously stepping around the corridor to meet him, and Henry felt the shock strike him immediately. The tight grip on the ax slackened and he felt the urge to pinch himself, because there was no way what he was seeing was real. It couldn’t be, because he’d seen the same figure on the metal slab upstairs, dead, with its chest open and rib cage exposed. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

But it was.

Standing before him, as though he had been pulled off the concept sheets and perfectly rendered in three dimensions, was the co-star of the old cartoon Henry used to draw for.

“...Boris?”

[gracemolteniisnothome]

Kyushu Calling: VOL 1

A Few Words:

As a Westerner living in rural Japan, I’m often asked what the outside world thinks of when they think of this country. I explain that most people – most Americans, at least  – picture futuristic Tokyo, or temple-rich Kyoto. Maybe Osaka, maybe Hiroshima. Sites like Instagram, Pinterest, and Tumblr are full to the brim with Japan’s well-known sights, but for many, the rest of the country remains a mystery. Most people don’t know that you can live on a cow farm and still be a short drive from a beautiful volcano lake, or that surfing is huge on the island’s southeastern coast. They don’t know that 70 percent of Japan is mountainous, which is why the metros are so packed, or that those mountains behold some spectacular views.

I’ve been spending my time in Japan shooting the places most people don’t see -namely, the big island of Kyushu, where I live. I hope to do it some justice in a series of posts. First up: my town, Ebino.

VOLUME I: Ebino

Back in April, after a bit of back and forth with my employer, I received word that I was finally being placed in a school system. Twelve hours later, I was packed up and on a train headed toward a town called Ebino. I knew two things about Ebino: first, that the town hosts a cow-jumping festival every year (yes, you read that right); and second, that my company described it as a nice place, albeit being in the middle of nowhere.

Geographically speaking, they got the middle part right. Nowhere, though? Depends on how you look at it.  

With volcanoes to the south, foothills to the east, and low mountains to the north and west, Ebino lies nestled in a caldera valley. The town itself, with a modest population of 18,000 or so, is actually comprised of four villages - Masaki, Kakuto, Iino, and Uwae- that were combined in 1996 to create Ebino City. As a result, there isn’t much of a centralized town center, with no real main strip to peruse, no castle or Isoteien (Japanese-style garden) to wander, no shopping or entertainment district neatly packaged into one area. Instead, there are small clusters of humanity – coin laundry, udon restaurants, grocery stores, and post offices – separated by rice fields that split the valley into uneven grids. Aside from a handful of overpriced snack bars, there’s not much for a nightlife or even cafes (though we did recently get a rad one that operates out of a converted shipping container, no less). A social life can seem a remote possibility.

Due to its central location between three prefectures (Kagoshima, Kumamoto, and Miyazki), both Kyushu’s expressway, called the IC, and the island’s main non-toll road cut through the heart of Ebino. It would be easy to drive through, stopping only for a bathroom break and some kumquat ice cream, or perhaps not stopping at all. To most travelers, this town is a mere blip on the map. But to those who find themselves spending more time here, there is something about this area that is undeniably captivating.  

A Beautiful Nowhere

Head towards the volcanoes to the south, and you’ll find Ebino Plateau. This area is home to the Kirishima-Kinkowan National Park, which was Japan’s first designated national park. The Kirishima Mountain range crosses through the park and includes Mt. Karakui, Mt. Koshiki, and three gorgeous crater lakes: Rokkannonmiike, Fudo, and Byakushi. On a clear day, which is rare, it’s rumored that you can see South Korea from the top of Mt. Karakui. As a result of their volcanic activity, Ebino Plateau and Kyomachi (a district in Ebino City) are popular enclaves to enjoy hot springs. People come from all over to Kyushu to hike here, marvel at the azalea blooms in early summer, or relax in the onsens. Drive towards the northern and western sides of town and you’ll encounter switchback after switchback, working their way up, over, and through the mountains. You’ll find small hidden waterfalls, and miles of river gorges. The ridges are both high enough to offer sweeping views of the valley (like from the Yatake Plateau), and low enough to catch heavy clouds. On more than one occasion I’ve taken alternate routes home from or to school, tossing my camera in my bag, to chase the fog as it drapes along, clinging to the treeline in wisps.

Seasons are felt in full on Kyushu, and the Japanese seem to mark them in smaller segments – including cherry blossom, wisteria, dragonfly, fall foliage, and, of course, rainy season. Kyushu itself is an incredibly lush part of the country. The forests blanketing the area are mix of bamboo, cedars, and various pines, with canopies so thick that stepping into their shade brings a noticeable temperature drop. After rainy season, the land swells as overgrowth spills out onto sidewalks and roads. The vibrant green of the rice fields seems to have its own frequency.

The whole place vibrates, really, both in sound and color.

Despite assumptions about the stillness of a pastoral life, anyone who has lived in the country knows that nature is anything but quiet. Between the cicadas, the rain gutters, the downpours, and the frogs, every day is its own song.  

Cloud Pornography

Nothing makes me feel more like a Midwesterner than how much I talk about the weather. I’ve learned this is theme with the Japanese as well. With the little bit of language I’ve picked up, I often hear people commenting on the temperature or the storm outside, practically before they have finished greeting each other. Exhibit A: When I mention that Chicago is cold and often snowy, anyone with enough English to communicate it shares the same horror story about a snowstorm three years ago that shut down the city and school. Say what you will about small talk, but weather unites us all.

One of my first introductions to Ebino’s ever-changing skies rings true more and more every day: “If you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes.”  

The mountains surrounding this valley create a cycle of low pressure and high pressure as the temperatures rise and fall. As a result, a strong breeze pulls clouds and storms across the valley in a constant weather parade. Ebino is the kind of place where it can be rainy, sunny, and foggy all at once. I am fortunate enough to have an apartment on the second floor with an unobstructed view of the river and my part of town. You’ll often find me throwing open the windows to shoot a rainbow across the river, or scrambling out onto my makeshift balcony just to gawk at the clouds and the sunsets. Forget big sky; this is timelapse country. (Note to self: learn how to take timelapses.) On any given day, depending on the sun (or lack thereof), Ebino could be mistaken for The Pacific Northwest, the Blue Ridge Mountains of the Carolinas, or, when the volcanoes are feeling feisty, Hawaii.  

A Serving of Pride

The Miyazaki prefecture is also well known for its chicken farming. Often raised on organic feed, these freerange birds offer a leaner, healthier, more succulent meat that is used in dishes like chicken nanban (a breaded favorite), yakitori (skewered and grilled), kara-age (breaded and fried in oil), and can be found at many restaurants, tourist sites, and festivals. Miyazaki chicken can be found on the menu in popular cities across Japan like Tokyo. On top of that, there are egg vending machines all around Ebino where farmers can drop off fresh eggs for purchase at any given time. If you watch my Instagram stories, you know I am a frequent patron of these machines. You’re also bound to stumble upon a Tano Kami or two throughout the region. These stone statues, called Tanokansaa, depict a deity that is believed to to protect the rice fields and bring good fortune to its farmers. While they range in appearance –from adorable, to weathered, to homemade –these pestle-wielding guardians symbolize the pride Ebino takes in its rice. So much pride, in fact, that requesting half-portions for our school lunch required a delicate dance of reassuring my coworkers it was for dietary reasons, so as not to offend their heralded crop. Rice farming is humble, back-breaking work, but it is highly honored by the community. It is served with every lunch in the school district, and is a staple in most households. School children in Ebino are required to spend an afternoon learning from local farmers and planting their own plot of rice as a class.  

Sentiment Addict

I am not here to convince anyone that Ebino should jump to the top of their travel list (unless your travel list involves visiting me, of course) but there is something to be said for time spent in those in-between places. True, there are no awe-inspiring temples, no cascading torii gates, no giant Buddhas. At the end of the day, this is still rural farming community. But, half a world away, it mirrors a landscape familiar to me from my childhood. Strangely, there are moments here where I am reminded of Wisconsin. Like if you drive with your windows down, and the breeze is just right, you’ll know the cows are nearby well before you see them. Whether it be the sweet scent of freshly cut fields, the swallow’s nest outside my apartment, or the universal nod shared between drivers on back country roads, it's funny how these little threads of familiarity weave themselves into somewhere so foreign.

In the way that Americans may only know Tokyo or Kyoto, most Japanese folks’ knowledge of America is limited to Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York, or Disney World. To many, Ebino is and will always be the middle of nowhere. But, I grew up in the middle of nowhere. I understand what it’s like to live somewhere no one knows. And, I understand what it’s like to love it all the same.

Till next time ✌🏻

Oh, here's a few gems from the Ebino/Kobayashi area:

Kirishima Geopark: Great for year round hiking, this park offers a handful of trails around the volcanoes and their lakes, and there’s a cafe for refreshments at the end of your jaunt. Bishamon Waterfall and Kuruson Gorge: Small, but lovely waterfall hidden in the hills outside of Ebino, followed by a large bridge overlooking the gorge - which is a 10 KM stretch of the Sendaigawa River. The gorge is frequented by fisherman, but the route isn’t paved and can be precarious at times.

Ebino Outdoor Station: A new cafe in town, housed in refurbished shipping containers and offering solid coffee and tasty lunch options.

Michi No Eki Ebino: Our modest roadside station, offering local goods and omiyage, and delightful kumquat ice cream.  

Daiwa Dairy farms: Real cheese is quite hard to come by, but this small show outside of Kobayashi offers some award winning cheeses as well as homemade ice cream.

Musumi: A adorable coffee shop and co-working space could easily fit in a city like Chicago or San Francisco, offering delicious lunch and dinner courses.