#bamboo dock

[bamboo-dock-and-minis]

What Is: Bamboo Dock

This post/info was originally written by Silvia. I have made updates where needed for new information or clarity.

Bamboo Dock is a useful little application which allows you to store shortcuts to applications and also helps you manage your Wacom Bamboo tablet.

Support for Bamboo Dock was discontinued in April 2016 and is no longer available for download on the Wacom website. The same applies to the so-called Minis - the custom applications that were available for download through the Dock. The software is still free, and using, sharing, or hosting the files is not illegal.

The purpose of this Tumblr is to host tutorials of how to install the Bamboo Dock and its Minis as well as to provide useful information on the software as far as my limited abilities and knowledge allow.

If you are using Bamboo Dock and have Minis installed that aren’t available in the linked download(s), I would be grateful if you let me know and possibly provide a copy of the Mini files so that it can be uploaded and made available for download freely.

Below is a list of all Minis available for download and their descriptions.

Default Minis- these come with Bamboo Dock and do not need to be added.

Landmarker: connects to a map server and allows you to draw on top of the map and save the image. (Currently Broken)

Mona Lisa: upload your image or take a photo, and then distort or draw on it. The deafult image to play with is the Mona Lisa.

Bamboo Paper: create digital notebooks with plain, graph, or lined paper. Allows for multiple notebooks to be created and saved.

Free the Bird: draw blocks to control the direction of a bounced ball to hit a birdcage and free the bird. 10 levels.

Input Panel: brings up a keyboard on-screen to type with your tablet.

Additional Minis- these Minis require following the tutorial to add them.

Doodler: For making random notes on your computer or small doodles. It has a variety of writing instruments, is very light and smooth and easy to use.

iNudge: allows you to create a loop of electronic music using a pattern board. It’s very relaxing and doesn’t require any musical knowledge.

DoodleBlast: an ink-type game in which you have to draw lines in order to ensure the rocks will fall into the jar.

MoodTuner: connects you to a random radio station when you choose a color to represent your mood. (Currently Broken)

Mah Jongg: classic mahjong game with 10 different levels to choose from and pleasant background music.

PaperCakes: a logic game where you manipulate a sheet of paper by folding or flipping it. Your goal is to help Doodle - a magical drawing who really wants some cake.

Livebrush: a simple yet functional vector-based drawing application that uses motion-based technology to create a very smooth drawing experience. Not formally a Mini, but included.

[handageddon]

Yeah amaranth is a staple grain so it's kind of like complaining that corn or wheat are herbicide resistant

I understand the point is to reduce the amount of competing plants to avoid failure to thrive, but at the same time, pesticide resistance is a core feature of a lot of plants, generally because people like to eat them or vice versa

Researching herbicide resistance in weeds.

A decade ago, everyone said rotating applications of different herbicides was key to stopping herbicide resistance.

Then, around 2015, evidence from a large study emerged saying that this actually causes weeds to be MORE resistant, so the best thing to do is to spray a combination of multiple herbicides mixed together at once.

Now that is being called into question too. Whoda thunk it...

Herbicide resistance among weeds is only getting stronger. Recently, scientists found an annual bluegrass (Poa annua) on a golf course that was resistant to seven herbicide modes of action at once. Seven. SEVEN. Amaranth plants been found with resistance to six herbicide modes of action at once. Twenty years ago, the narrative was that resistance to glyphosate (Roundup) was unlikely to become widespread; today it's the second-most common type of resistance.

What's more, plants are developing types of herbicide resistance that are effective against multiple herbicides at once and harder to detect. Instead of changing the chemical processes within them that are affected by the herbicides so the herbicides don't work as well, they're changing the way they absorb chemicals in the first place. Resistant plants are producing enzymes that detoxify the herbicides before they even enter the plants' cells.

It took Monsanto ten years to develop crop varieties resistant to Dicamba (after weeds made 'Roundup Ready' crops pointless). Palmer amaranth evolved Dicamba resistance in five years.

So I asked, "Why are all the proposed solutions dependent on using more herbicides, when we know damn well that this is going to do nothing but make the weeds evolve faster?"

The answer is that chemical companies have the world in a death grip. They can't make money off non-chemical solutions, so chemical solutions get all the funding, research, and outreach to farmers.

But why do chemical companies have so much power?

One of the biggest reasons is the U.S. military.

In the Vietnam war, all of Vietnam was sprayed with toxic herbicides like Agent Orange, which was incredibly toxic to humans and affected the Vietnamese population with horrible illnesses and birth defects. Monsanto, the company that made the herbicides, knew that it did this, but didn't tell anyone. The US government didn't admit that they'd poisoned humans on a mass scale until Vietnam veterans started dying and coming down with horrible illnesses, and even then, it took them 40 years. (My Papaw died at 60 because of that stuff.) And the soldiers weren't there for very long. As for the Vietnamese people, the soil and water where they live is contaminated.

Similarly, during the "war on drugs," the US military sprayed Roundup and other chemicals on fields to destroy coca plants and other plants used in the manufacturing of drugs. This killed a lot of crops that farmers needed to live, and caused major health problems in places such as Columbia. The US government said that people getting sick were lying and that Roundup was just as safe as table salt. (A statement that did not age well.)

So chemical companies make money off arming the USA military. The American lawn care industry, and the agricultural system, therefore originates in more than one way from the United States's war-mongering.

The other major way is described in this article (which I highly recommend), which describes how after WW2, chemical plants used for manufacturing explosives were changed into fertilizer producing plants, but chemical companies couldn't market all that fertilizer to farmers, so they invented the lawn care industry. No exaggeration, that's literally what happened.

This really changes my perspective on all the writings about fixing the agricultural system. The resources are biased towards the use of chemicals in agriculture because the companies are so powerful as to make outreach and research for non-chemical methods of agriculture really hard to fund. All the funding is in finding new ways to spray chemicals or spraying slightly different chemicals, because that's what you can actually get ahold of money to look into. It is like the research has to negotiate a truce with the chemical companies, suggesting only solutions that won't cause lower profits.

Meanwhile my respect for Amaranth is skyrocketing.

Who would win: The USA military-industrial complex or one leafy boi

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Ranking current wild life bases on fire safety:

Bdubs, Tango, and Etho (Tuff Guys): That sure is a deepslate and copper fort and a dug out basement! And a moat! No wood here! 10/10

Cleo, Impulse, Pearl, and Scott (The Final Girls/GGGG):We have a cobblestone wall and a basement. The basement is partially wood so that’s gonna dock some points but overall 9/10

Mumbo, Grian, and Skizz(Subones): They live in a mountain side. There is no wood in the main part of the base so that’s good. However, their upper bridges are entirely wood and thus will be gone, as will the railing on the lower bridge. I can already see them getting stuck on a burning bridge. 6/10

Joel and Gem (The Family/Fast and Furious): Joel’s car is safe due to being almost entirely deepslate and diorite but he’s made the floor wood, and Gem’s barn will be absolutely ravaged by flames mark my words. Easy to escape but you made the bridge out of wood. 3/10

Ren and Martyn (Renchanting 2.0?): Oh that’s wood. That’s all wood. However, there’s water built it for an escape route! 4/10

Jimmy, Lizzie, and Scar (Bamboozlers): Cherry wood staircase, scaffolding deathcoaster, and two parrots are the structures currently, though one parrot is made of mostly concrete so it isn’t flammable except the feet. It seems like the whole murder park thing is gonna be pretty substantially made of bamboo and cherry wood. Yeah this isn’t gonna last is it. And your only escape is to scale down the mountain. 3/10

BigB: That’s entirely wood. And your face. It will be burnt sooner rather than later, I don’t even think people are gonna wait to go red before they light it on fire. 0/10

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I think that this 1965 houseboat in Sausalito, CA was built to look a little wonky. The 2bd, 2ba, 1,309 sq ft floating home was completely renovated and is listed for $895k. I'm very surprised that there's no HOA.

Usually, houseboats are kind of tight. This one is a little roomier.

It has an interesting ceiling. When you walk thru the door, the kitchen is immediately on your right and the living room is straight ahead.

The kitchen is a small counter setup with a loft overhead.

I would say that it's more of a kitchenette.

It's nice and bright in here, though.

It has some nice leaded glass windows and some of the smaller windows along the roof line are tinted blue.

There's a small room to the left of the kitchen.

It has a window seat, small bed, and a skylight. Cute.

This bath is nice. Has a little bamboo-ish flair.

The primary bedroom is larger and located up in the loft. It has room for a sitting area and a desk. There're lots of windows and skylights up here, too.

This is quite a large area for a houseboat.

Look at the skylight right over the bed.

This home has another floor, though. Downstairs, there's a whole other apt.

This space looks roomier than the main floor. Maybe b/c it's not as cluttered.

There's also a nice big bedroom down here.

So, each person gets their own living quarters.

The bath down here even looks bigger.

And, the laundry room is down here, too.

Neighbors are very close when you live in a houseboat.

The path to the homes.

Usually the homes are in the water, but these look like they're in a muddy area, don't they? They're supposed to be in Richardson Bay, but it looks dry.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/21-Yellow-Ferry-Dock-Sausalito-CA-94965/332864080_zpid/

[qichun]

❅ 17:15

❅ minors do not interact | 830 words | taglist

❅ contents: Wriothelsey had missed your birthday due to his duties in the fortress of Meropede. he pulls out all the works to make it up to you.

❅ warnings: fem!reader (no pronouns used.), author has never used a slow cooker before so i was free balling it, pet names used (my love), reader is smaller than wriothesley

❅ event: the sapling café's secret santa for @mlkbwunnies sorry i'm late. <3

❅ authors note: two fics in two days, who is he?

❅ no ai scraping allowed | reblogs and feedback are appreciated!! Graphics by @/saradika-graphics

The Duke of Fontaine doesn’t often have the opportunity to take time away from his duties at the Fortress of Meropede. When he leaves the confines of the prison, he is usually on emergency business or has been called to the surface by the Sovereign Neuvillette. Though the Duke considers this matter the biggest emergency he has encountered to date, he is late. Not only is he late, but he is days late, and he hasn’t been able to find the time to write a letter to explain his absence on his beloved’s birthday. Instead of wasting time with a letter, he decided he would make haste and prepare to make up for his tardiness.

His first order of business was heading to the docks. Since Fontaine’s catastrophe was diverted, the docks had been open to more nations, namely Liyue Harbor. Since the reconnection with Liyue Harbor, new ingredients that couldn’t be grown in Fontaine had become increasingly in demand. He made his way to the large ship named The Crux, with its large red sails folded. He was glad they had yet to close up for the evening. He made quick work of purchasing the necessary amount of bamboo shoots and wine for the dinner he wanted to make.

Once he had bid farewell to the crew, he made his way to Fontaine’s own market streets, where he could find the rest of the ingredients fresher and cheaper than at the imports dock. He had to haggle with a few of the vendors, but he managed to stay within his budget. He had two more stops before he headed to see his beloved. His first stop was Café Lutece to purchase your favourite dessert, Fontinalia mousse, before visiting Boucicaut at his store to buy you a bouquet of your favourite flowers, pluie lotus.

He looked at his pocket watch to check the time; he wanted to make sure you were still at work before he entered your residence. He hung his coat on the coat rack before swapping his large boots for house slippers. He padded toward your kitchen to place the ingredients in the fridge, especially the mousse, before searching for an empty vase. He filled the vase with water before cutting the ends off the stems of the flowers, methodically placing them in the vase. Once upon a time, he didn’t know how to prepare flowers; too rough around the edges to handle such delicate things, it was only after meeting you that he learned how to be gentle.

He placed the full vase on the kitchen table, with two fresh candles on either side, before he washed his hands so he could prepare dinner while waiting for you to return. He slowly worked through scoring and preparing the meat, along with the spices, bamboo shoots, and soup broth. An hour later, the house was filled with mouthwatering scents. This was the scene that welcomed you when you entered your home, you were tired and not expecting company, but a small smile pulled onto your lips.

“Welcome home, my love.” Wriothesley’s smooth voice called from the kitchen, where he was preparing the table for you to eat. You had been planning to order in since you were too tired to cook for yourself, before you released a sigh of relief knowing you didn’t have to.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” You wanted to be mad; you wanted to be upset, but you could see the flowers on the table, the bamboo shoot soup in the slow cooker, and the sheepish, apologetic look on his usually calm and collected exterior.

“I suppose this is a start to making it up to me,” you spoke sternly, wanting to make him squirm while waiting for your forgiveness, even though you forgave him the moment you stepped through the door.

Wriothesley led you to the table, where he placed the casserole dish of bamboo shoot soup before lighting the candles on either side, bathing the dimly lit kitchen in a warm glow. Dinner was a quiet affair, your small hand held gently in his much larger hand as if it were fragile. There were soft whispered declarations of love, apologies, and hugs; all of the stress that lined both of your shoulders melted away in the warmth of each other. After you had both finished your dinner, he led you to the living room to sit in the pile of blankets he had prepared for your return.

You waited in front of the fire; he returned from the kitchen with a plate of Fontinalia mousse in one hand and two mugs of hot chocolate in the other. He placed the treats on the low coffee table before pulling you into his lap in the pile of blankets. “Happy birthday, my love.” You spent the rest of the evening enjoying his warmth and comfort, the crackling of the fire filling the air as you watched the light snow fall onto the Fontanian streets.

[namism]

Request: Hey, I would love it if you could do a fic with sanji or zoro about a chubby reader who just isn't feeling the best about their self. ( I hope I did this right first time requesting)

best of me | sanji

➳ categories: canonverse, female chubby/overweight reader in a bikini, just sanji being sanji (a sweet poetic gentleman)

➳ warnings: body dysmorphic narrative (not excessive)

➳ word count: 2k

➳ summary: A celebratory banquet hosted by the Straw Hats in the tropics calls forth Sanji's sweet talking amid the invasion of your self-perceived flaws.

➳ notes: thank you for requesting! ❤️ i decided to choose sanji instead since i got too many zoro requests T-T anyway, this was loosely based on the color spread of chapter 1084. enjoy!

➳ cross-posted on ao3

The weather is calm, and the wind is gentle. The moment you peek through the curtains of your private hut—a micro living space made of bamboo, hardwoods, and palms native to the tropical island where the Straw Hats docked—you're enthralled to join the buzzing merriment at the swimming pool a few blocks down your hut. The girls of your crew, the Straw Hats, and of many others play and bathe themselves in the shallow water as Zeus flies around to entertain them, his helpless cloud-like self being chased around by Carrot with her erratic gnawing.

Much to your dismay, a wave of discomfort crashes with the excitement in your stomach. The pool is too populated for your liking. You had expected the Straw Hats and only a few others to come to the party that Luffy decided to host, but it turned out to be a party much bigger than you expected. The oversight was your fault—of course Monkey D. Luffy wasn't going to settle for a 15-people celebration! A banquet is a banquet, and with the good mood channeled by the tropics, it sure was going to be one hell of a party.

Sighing to yourself, you decide to cover the bikini you were wearing with a sheer white cover up, hiding the curves that begin from your hips and end at your thighs, as well as the rolls on your back that peek through the swimsuit. Robin from the Straw Hats told you that your bikini looked good without the covering when she passed by your hut earlier, but you grew vulnerable to the attention as you continued your examination of the pool party's attendees. There are too many girls at the pool still, those with drop-dead amazing bodies akin to fashion models, and you can't bear to strut out without some form of cover, conscious of anyone's judgment.

So you invite your covered self over to the shallow water, where much of it has gone down to at least an inch because of the girls' erratic playing. You heard from someone earlier that day that it was only three feet deep, and by the looks of it, it's bound to get even shallower.

But the commotion at the swimming pool deters you from joining, prompting you to sit on a pool chair beside a seemingly sleeping Robin, who directs a tanning reflector to her face as the easy sun shines down on her. You shade yourself underneath a pool umbrella and sit around in quiet.

"I'm glad that you came." Robin breaks the silence with a smile, her eyes lifting up to form crescents as she pushes back her shades to the top of her head. She asks if you've had the chance to dip into the pool to which you reply with a shake of your head, explaining that it was already too crowded to begin with. "Hmm. Is that why you covered up?"

"K-Kind of?" you reply in a stutter, a poor attempt to hide your insecurity as your hands fly to the folded ends of your cover up to hug it closer to your body. Robin notices your discomfort, but she doesn't comment on it.

"Well, would you like to join me at the bar?" She offers yet another smile as she drops the reflector and rises to her feet, her slim body covered in a form-fitting top and a sheer miniskirt that hides her bottoms.

"I'll stay," you tell her. Looking out into the pool you, add, "I might go in for a dip."

Robin leaves you to your devices and heads to the bar. You sigh as she left. Guilt settles at the pit of your stomach as you realize that you just lied to her. No, you don't plan on swimming—not to mention that everyone else is practically showing skin, discarding your top just to enter the pool would be the last thing you'd do when there are so many people around, majority of which are girls your age with amazing bodies.

Eventually, you retreat to your hut after debating with your thoughts for a few minutes, your insecurity betraying you. Meanwhile, Robin sits herself at the bar, face-to-face with Sanji who's mixing drinks with skill.

"Sanji, would you mind making drinks for the girls at the pool?" Robin asks as she swirls the straw of her drink. Sanji lifts his head. Lo and behold, his eyes shape into hearts as he hears the request. He nods delightfully and gets to work, brewing one drink after another until he whips out a serving tray of refreshments. "Don't forget (Y/N)!"

Sanji makes a beeline for the swimming pool, skillfully balancing glasses of beverages in hand. He's immediately swarmed by the girls who pause their activities, including Carrot who bites his ear out of gratitude.

As everyone helps themselves, Sanji notices an extra glass left on the tray and wonders if he had miscalculated the number of women. But Robin is at the bar, and he could have never miscounted. Who is missing?

"Don't forget (Y/N)!"

Robin's words echo in his head. Of course, it's you!

Noticing your absence, Sanji tries to look around the resort for you, scanning the array of huts that line the perimeter of the site. In the far distance, he hears the tune of drums and maracas from the main campsite, but they're overpowered by the strums of a nearby lute.

Sanji follows the sound of strings and discovers you at the front of your hut, sitting on a rattan armchair while plucking the nylon strings to produce a tropical melody. His eyes mold into hearts when he sees you in just your bikini. Climbing up the steps, his arrival surprises you.

You shriek. Dropping the lute, your hands clumsily flit to the side table to grab your cover up. You throw it on your body like a blanket, covering the instrument with it in a hurry.

"Sanji!" you shout in surprise. "W-Why are you here?"

"I made you a drink!" he tells you proudly. He grabs the old fashioned glass with the yellow mixture and offers it to you. "Caipirinha for you, my lady. Served with love and a special twist."

"Um," you stutter, "thank you."

"Of course." Sanji watches you take a small sip before setting it down on the side table. He looks worried. "Is it to your liking?"

You hesitantly nod.

"I can get you another one—"

"No!" You shake your head. Sanji is even more worried, thinking there is something wrong with the drink he gave you. "No, Sanji, I just don't want to, um, drink anything right now."

Sanji understands your predicament. He lessened the alcohol in your drink, but maybe you're just not in the mood for drinking at all.

"Then I'll get you something to eat."

He's surprised, however, by the way you react to his other offer. You shake your head vigorously, more than the last time you rejected.

"No! No food. I'm okay."

A troubled expression and a pair of downturned eyes. Sanji realizes that something is bothering you, hence your resistance. You reposition the covering on your body to make it more presentable as the man in front of you watches you in distress.

He understands.

Sanji digs into his pocket for a cigarette and lights it up.

"(Y/N)-chwan, there is no need to worry about your looks. You're beautiful in that bikini."

Your face heats up in shame, and your head falls to avoid Sanji's eyes. You feel small under his gaze. Having been friends with the Straw Hat Pirates for a few weeks, you assumed Sanji was a little naive and gullible as he had always fallen in love with beautiful women so easily, yet he just read you like a book! Your impression on the man begins to shatter the more he talks, but your embarrassment doesn't die down as the fear of being read consumes you.

"No, Sanji…"

"A beautiful lady shouldn't isolate herself from a world that needs her beauty," he dramatically says in between puffs of smoke.

You grow flustered.

"W-Well, I just— thanks, but I'm scared," you whisper the last part of your sentence in fright. "I don't want to go back there. There are so many people, so many eyes on me."

"Why is that?" he asks. The question is sincere. Sanji truly doesn't see any problem about your clothes or the way you present yourself in front of him. Instead, he sees a pretty lady who needs to be comforted because she looks upset.

"Because," you hiss, trying to find the right words. Heat rushes to your skin, and you're basked in embarrassment once again. "Because I, um, I don't like being seen with, you know... all this."

You gesture to your body sheepishly. Sanji follows the direction of your hand and he notices the cover up still there, covering most of your front area, from your shoulders down to your thighs. Past the sheer garment, he can see the colored bikini hugging your soft skin, something that drives him fanatical but also perplexed at your insecurity.

He goes down on one knee and holds your hand in his.

"Every time a goddess covers up in fear of judgment, an angel loses its wings," he says. You would have rolled your eyes on any other day, but Sanji's smooth talking has a grip on your heart, no matter how dramatic. "You, my lady, look amazing, and I see nothing wrong with you in a swimsuit. In fact, I think it's fabulous on you! Would you care for a lemonade? An iced tea?"

You frown. "I'm cutting off sugar, Sanji."

He nods.

"I understand. How about going back to the bar with me?"

You hesitate. After a while, you decide to come with him.

Sanji celebrates with bright sparkling eyes. You chuckle at his enthusiasm. He's not what you initially assumed him to be.

Standing up, you leave your lute on the armchair and hesitantly remove the cover up from your body. A chill runs down your spine as you feel Sanji looking at you from the corner of your eye. Regret swallows you whole, and you're about to put the garment back on but he suddenly swoons.

"What did I say?! You're sooo lovely! So gorgeous!"

Eyes shaped into hearts, Sanji praises you in admiration at the lack of garment covering your body. Your head falls into your hands, overwhelmed with shyness and appreciation all at once. You mutter a bashful "thank you", while Sanji grabs the Caipirinha and your hand, then takes you to the bar where he was bartending.

Yet again, you feel self-conscious as you merge into the crowd of mingling folks and islanders, feeling too exposed to your liking. A girl in a red one-piece walks past you, and she howls mid-sip into a margarita.

"Looking good!" she yells over the noise and music.

"T-Thank you?" you stutter.

She winks then disappears into the crowd, while you process the compliment in your fuzzy overwhelmed brain. When you arrive at the bar, you sit on the vacant seat beside Robin, who sips on her second espresso martini of the day while Sanji gets back to work. As you look around the site and realize that nobody is talking about you from afar—even more so spending their time judging you—you heave a sigh of relief.

Sanji bartends to a few customers before suddenly swinging by your area to ask how you're doing. You look around once more, and you reach a conclusion.

No one is judging you, no one is looking at you weirdly. Has it always been like this?

Through a light chuckle and a smile, you decide on a drink.

"How about that lemonade you offered earlier?" you ask.

Sanji smiles brightly at your request, his heart leaping in joy. There's that smile on your face. Shy, but a smile nonetheless. He then wanders away to make his special lemonade, unduly happy that you don't look as troubled as you once were.

Sometimes you're just in need of a slight push by the people around you, and you're glad that it's Sanji who brings the best out of you.

-

i didn't think i would enjoy writing this. i grew up overweight (genetically) and was hypocritically shamed by my own family. "tough love", they called it. eventually i realized that you meet people who really don't care about how you look, people who are kind enough to compliment you on the way to work, and strangers who won't even remember you if you decide to wear that one article of clothing that you think makes you look horrible. no, you don't look horrible—you look great. you look like yourself and you look just fine.

this goes out to everyone who's ever had and who does have insecurities. more power to you (to us), and thank you for reading!

[odoraful]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌

you set up a surprise for xiao's birthday which feels, strangely, just like one of his dreams

content: xiao x gn!reader; inspired by his birthday letter; reader can be interpreted as the traveller or as a character on their own; reader and xiao are friends but there are some romantic undertones; soft/reflective xiao; bubbly reader; minor angst but mostly fluff/comfort ;~2k

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Xiao never liked having his senses incapacitated. A deafening roar from a lawachurl that caused his ears to ring, or a crushing blow from a geovishap that made him loosen his grip on his spear. It left him defenceless, and gave more than enough time for an enemy to strike him. 

That was why when you asked him to ‘close your eyes’ and promised that ‘nothing bad would happen’, he was understandably a little sceptical. 

Arms folded tight against his chest, Xiao had his eyes wide open. “I won’t be able to see anything,” he frowned. 

You placed your hands on your hips and sighed. “That’s the whole point, Xiao. It’s meant to be a surprise.” 

 Xiao had received express permission from Zhongli to accompany you to Chenyu Vale for ‘immediate funeral parlour business.’ Only now did he realise that the smile on Zhongli’s face was far too wide and doting to just be relaying simple business affairs. 

His frown deepened, eyes sweeping around the surroundings. Following a short bamboo boat ride, you and him were now standing at the dock on the base of Teatree Slope. Even though the area was closeby to the village, monsters did not rest simply because it was a sunny afternoon. 

He could think of a thousand different ways he and you could be ambushed. A millisecond was all it took for an arrow or blade to pierce your flesh and he’d open his eyes to find you lying on the ground. This nightmarish thought made his skin crawl. He knew you were a capable fighter (he’d even seen you fend off creatures quadruple your size), but his mind and instinct were always at odds with each other. 

“Gaming and I already cleared this place out early this morning.” Your reassuring voice coaxed Xiao from his thought spiral. He focused on your face, lit up by the sun. The glow of your skin only added to your palpable excitement. 

“With his knowledge of the area plus my fighting skills,” you mockingly flexed your arms, “I can guarantee you it’s safe.” The corners of Xiao’s lips faintly twitched in amusement. 

Once you noticed this slight break in his demeanour, you jumped at your chance. 

“Please?” Clasping your hands, you stepped closer to him, not breaking eye contact. “It’ll only be for a minute or so!” 

He tried his best to hold his gaze on yours in defiance. It only lasted a few seconds, however, as he quickly darted his eyes away and down at the ground. He fought the urge to teleport to the opposite side of Liyue as his face grew warmer.  Archons, do you always have to look so enthusiastic about such small matters? Exhaling deeply, he relaxed his arms to his sides. 

“These mortal customs…” he mumbled under his breath. At last, he closed his eyes. “Alright. Lead me to wherever you choose.” 

Attuning his hearing to the light trickle of water from the river, Xiao inhaled the crisp air. He almost jumped when he felt fingers intertwine with his hand. You moved to his side, gently bumping your shoulder against his.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.” You said. Xiao could easily make out the giddiness in your voice. Your hand squeezed him to emphasise your point.  

His hand briefly stiffened, uncertain how to respond to your casual affection. The naturally stoic expression on his face thankfully did not reveal the millisecond of indecisive chaos that raced through his mind. He decided to reciprocate. Squeezing your hand in return, he hoped it somehow conveyed his trust in you. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The weight of your hand in his felt all too comfortable as you guided him across the grassy hillside. As you promised, the walk was short and free of monsters. 

“We’re nearly there.” You assured, swinging his hand. 

Xiao hummed affirmatively. Briefly, he completely lost himself to your touch, almost in a trance. 

In his observations of humans during his patrols, he’d seen couples hold hands, never letting go of each other even when they would disagree on where to go or when bustling crowds would jostle them. How foolish, he once thought. Wouldn’t it be more convenient to simply walk side by side? Or even split up so each could each get their respective tasks done? Now, as he sensed the warmth of your hand that radiated through his glove, and every twitch of your fingers when you readjusted your grip, he understood. 

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to imagine himself as one of them too. Strolling down the paths leading to Liyue Harbour with you, quietly talking about anything that came to mind. A closeness that meant you’d never leave each other’s side. He indulged himself. These were just imaginations, after all. 

He heard the sound of your footsteps against grass, and felt a sudden emptiness in his hand. 

“I’m still here!” Those three words you whispered were an immediate relief for his worries. “I just needed to get in the right position!” You called out, your voice coming from a little further than before. 

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.” 

Xiao’s eyes adjusted to the brightness as he opened them. His overexposed vision quickly corrected itself, revealing the surprise you had prepared for him.

Laid out on the grass and flowers was a white blanket, weighted down at the corners by cushions. The unopened picnic basket in the centre was neatly surrounded by a few plates which held food. Xiao recognised servings of almond tofu, buns and rice pudding.  A small clay teapot had faint wisps of steam coming from its spout, and was accompanied by two cups of matching colour. The picnic was perfectly situated just beside the river to have a clear view of Jademouth.

“Ta-da!” You exclaimed, gesturing towards the picnic. “Happy birthday, Xiao!”

His mouth was slightly agape. “Y-you prepared all this on your own?” He approached the spread before him. 

“Well, Xiangling helped with the buns and pudding,” you rubbed the back of your neck sheepishly before quickly adding, “but everything else was me.” 

He stood there stunned. 

For so long he viewed this day as insignificant. The same duty to perform, with the same people and places to protect as any other day of the year. Celebrations were unnecessary for a guardian who preferred to remain in the shadows. Liyue’s safety was his only priority, and nothing else. However, as you tugged on his hand to follow you to sit, and piled cushions around him to ensure his comfort, longing flared in his heart. If it was just with you then perhaps celebrating would not be so bad. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“How’s the food?” You asked, taking the last bite of your rice bun.

“Good.” Xiao lifted a spoonful of silky tofu and fragrant syrup to his mouth. “You’re an accomplished chef.” 

“Not really.” You said, shaking your head. From the stories you had told him when you just sat down, he suspected you were reminiscing about your… bold attempts to follow Xiangling’s recipes. 

“The only dish I can make well is almond tofu.” You continued, chuckling to yourself. “I think I perfected it thanks to you.” 

He was glad for only the gentle sounds of nature that surrounded you, otherwise he would not have heard the lilting sound of your laugh that rang clear in his ears. 

The first time you made it for him, the scent of almond and osmanthus provoked a dizzying sense of nostalgia. Whilst Yanxiao’s version was textbook — perfectly balanced in flavour, and decorated precisely, Xiao preferred yours. You always made the syrup a little sweeter, and added your own touches. He was greeted with different coloured toppings of small spheres and cubes of jelly every time you served a plate. Though trivial, he quietly looked forward to how you were going to decorate the dish each time. 

The conversation lulled to a comfortable silence as he finished his last spoonful. He tried to savour the last bite — a taste so simple but pleasing to his palate. It reminded him of something. The sweetness must have loosened his tongue because before he could think, the words spilled out of him. 

“I have been having dreams recently where we sit together just like this.” 

Your eyes widened as you took a sip of warm tea. “Really? With me?” 

Uncrossing his legs, he stretched them out in front of him on the blanket and leaned back on his hands. 

“Yes, though they are not fantastical.” 

A breeze picked up, cooling his skin and tousling his hair. Gazing in the distance, the landscape before him looked like a painting hung in one of the rooms of Wangshu Inn. The jade monument in the distance shimmered in the sunlight. Even being here right now felt like a dream. 

“In each of them, we go on idle strolls or outings.”  

“Like having a picnic?” You remarked, playfully nudging his shoulder. Much to Xiao’s hopes, you remained there, your shoulder lightly touching his own. A small smile you were only privy to graced his lips as he nodded. 

“They are oddly comforting to me.” His voice grew wistful. “Although, I don’t know how worthy I am to have such sweet dreams.” 

Xiao curled his fingertips into the picnic blanket, nails digging into the fabric. He wanted to savour everything he could sense in this moment. The soft fabric of the blanket, the warmth of the sun against his face, the lingering scent of tea leaves in the air. For perhaps this would be as fleeting as those in his dreams.

“I couldn’t think of someone more deserving of them.” You responded. Placing a hand on his shoulder, you finally drew his attention, pulling him away from the unease bubbling within him. He turned to find your brows scrunched slightly, a determined look on your face. 

“You know, it’s okay for you to be selfish when it comes to joy.” You were always quick to defend Xiao, even from comments coming from himself. 

He couldn’t even recall the last time he had allowed himself leisure. If not for your insistence at wanting to take him on outings since your meeting, Xiao envisioned a dim future for himself. Confined to the Inn, too afraid to mingle with the people that he gazed upon from his balcony, filled with unanswered questions about mortal life. 

His gaze unconsciously trailed from your eyes to your lips. They were slightly reddened and glossy from whatever cosmetic you had applied.  As desperately as he wanted to be, he wasn’t quite ready for that kind of selfishness just yet. 

“That does not come as easy to me as it does for you.” He replied with a gruff, heart thundering in his chest.

“Well then, I guess that means I’m the perfect person to help you.” You grinned.

“And how would you help me?” He asked, a brow raised. 

You paused, resting a hand on your chin in thought. “To start, if you’d like, you can tell me what kinds of nice dreams you have so we can bring them into reality.” Head tilted towards Xiao, you regarded him for his reaction.

Xiao certainly could not hide his surprise. The offer sounded too good to be true. “Y-you would do that?” He spluttered out.

You fidgeted with your fingers. “If it means being able to spend more time with you, I’d gladly do it.” The subtleties of human interaction were often lost upon Xiao, but he swore there was a bashfulness in your tone as you spoke.

His expression softened. Shaking his head, Xiao wondered if he could ever fathom your kindness. “Your plans are always… unique.” 

With the comfort of your shoulder pressed against him, the worries he previously had slipped away for the moment. He peacefully focused on the drone of insects in the background and the occasional rippling of water from a swimming fish. His mind began to drift, considering whether a stroll on the harbour or an outing collecting crystalflies should be first on the agenda.

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a/n: thank you for making it to the end of my INCREDIBLY belated xiao birthday fic! :') it was a little hard for me to write this because nothing i wrote felt right, but i hope it turned out okay! his birthday letters are always so romantic, it fills my heart with such warmth seeing how his character has grown to become more soft and trusting TT the idea of xiao slowly allowing himself to enjoy the little joys of life just makes me </3

[wanderingsimsfinds]

Agnes Concrete Walls - 4 Presets - §5 - Rock & Stone - Original

Designer Painted Brick Walls - 8 Presets - §5 - Masonry - Original

Bamboo Walls - 6 Presets - §5 - Misc. - Original

Bamboo Floors - 6 Presets - §5 - Wood - Original

Bamboo Deck Floors - 8 Presets - §5 - Wood - Original

Caroline Tile Walls - 12 Presets - §5 - Tile - Original

Loft Herringbone Brick Walls - 6 Presets - §5 - Masonry - Original

Loft Horizontal Brick Walls - 6 Presets - §5 - Masonry - Original

Margaux Tile Walls - 6 Presets - §5 - Tile - Original

Sauna Wood Dock Walls - 7 Presets - §5 - Misc. - Original

Sauna Wood Dock Floors - 7 Presets - §5 - Wood - Original

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

4t3 Syboulette Build Conversions Pt 1 - Originals by @syboubou

DOWNLOAD (SFS) (MediaFire)

[heavenlyraindrops]

Change With the Seasons| Stardew Valley| Sebastian x Reader

♡♡♡♡♡♡ Chapter One: Moving In

♡♡♡♡♡♡

A/N: This is just gonna be a cute romance between Seb and the Farmer, aka Reader. If It’s also available on AO3 and Quotev. I’d visit the masterlist if I were you, since it contains trigger warnings + the story blurb (summary/ synopsis)

♡♡♡♡♡♡

Chapter Summary: After moving in and getting accustomed to life at the farm, you happen to meet a certain someone on a rainy day by the docks.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

The wind whistled through the trees, snaking its way through your hair and causing the leaves to skitter. Immediately the breeze died down as soon as it picked up. 

You had just finished speaking to Major Lewis. Robin, the carpenter, however, had decided to stick around for some more conversation, an idea you weren’t completely against yet weren’t completely welcoming towards either. 

“You should definitely get to meeting all the townsfolk,” Robin said, eyes surveying the wooded, overgrown land. They flicked back to yours, and she smiled. “It’s not everyday we get a new person here in Pelican Town. So they’re all very eager to meet you.”

You smiled and nodded, as she continued:

“And you should meet my kids too. They live with me in the Mountains, oh, the mountains…”

As Robin went off on a long rant on how wonderful and fresh the crisp air of the mountains were, you looked out at the farm stretched before you. It was covered in rocks, wood, overgrown grass and trees. You winced at the thought of having to clean it all up. 

“Anyways, I won’t keep you any further!” Robin smiled, and left. 

You proceeded to dump your luggage on the bed, which creaked under the weight, and rolled your sleeves up. The first thing on your list today, you decided, was to go into town and see how it was. You had, after all, dropped your safe, stable life in Zuzu for this. 

The walk to the village wasn’t too long. You picked up a daffodil along the way, with no other reason than finding it pretty. Immediately you arrived at what seemed to be a clinic. You peered in, but it was closed. The building next to it had a large sign. Pierre’s General Store. A calendar nailed to the wall caught your attention- it was listing all the events and birthdays in town. A specific day seemed to jump out at you: Flower Dance. 

You’d have to ask Mayor Lewis about that. 

You put your hand on the door handle to Pierre’s store and pushed, but the doors refused to budge. It must have been locked, too. You checked your watch. It was only seven. That explained it. 

You wandered down a little, taking in the buildings and houses. You squinted at a small figure in the distance, loitering near a couple of flowers. Seemingly very interesting in them. 

As you moved closer, you realized that it was a little old woman, tending to the flowers. She smiled at you, and you smiled back. “You must be the new farmer. Welcome to the community, dear. I’m Evelyn. You can call me ‘Granny’ if you like.”

You flushed at her kindness. “Alright, Granny.”

She smiled and nodded, before heading inside a small blue house, claiming to go bake some cookies. 

You exhaled slowly, staring at the flowers. The spring sun seemed to glow off of everything, yet the breeze was cool. You felt a faint smile growing on your face. You’d like it here, in Pelican Town. You knew it. 

-

A week had passed. So had your doubts. 

Everyone in the town had been kind to you so far- so far, being the keyword as you hadn’t met many people yet. You’d woken up that morning with rain lashing down, pattering on the roof, echoing through the small cottage. With watering your rather small number of crops being taken care of, you’d decided to devote the day to fishing at the docks, ever grateful for the rather flimsy bamboo rod Willy had gifted you. 

The rain was pouring down harder than when you had left as you arrived at the docks. Your hair stuck to your forehead, slick with water, droplets of it rolling down your cheeks. You carefully picked your way across the docks, which had grown slippery. The sea was choppy, and occasionally hit against the supports of the docks but they were fortunately high enough from the water level. Yet still a few salty drops sprayed onto your face now and then. 

Being as drenched as you were all ready, you just decided to sit down on the edge of the dock, before casting out your rod. You didn’t even notice the man already sitting next to you amidst the whirling wind and drops of rain and seawater. You shivered, cold, before glancing to the side and-

“Oh!” You jumped in surprised, almost toppling off the dock and into the angry sea. “H-hello.”

The man stared at you in silence, the black strands of hair obscuring his face, making it unable to be seen properly, before turning back to the sea. “Hey.”

You’d never felt awkward with the people in Pelican Town until now. You forced a nervous smile, tilting your head. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. You don’t mind if I sit here, right?”

He dug his hands into the pockets of his black sweatshirt, the moody look on his face deepening. “Whatever,” he muttered, then said under his breath, “The ocean’s better enjoyed alone, though.”

Your own frown hardened into a scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?” It hadn’t even been ten seconds since you’d met this guy and you were already starting to feel a growing dislike for him.

“Nothing,” he said. You noticed the eyeliner around his eyes getting slightly messed up from the rain, and stared hard back out at sea. So much for everyone in the twon being nice. You must have jinxed it, or something. 

“What’s your name, anyways?” You asked, taking another stab at being friendly. 

“Sebastian,” came the blunt reply.

You stared at him again, for a moment. He caught you staring, and raised an eyebrow, an action which for some reason made your heart pound. “What?”

“Nothing.” You turned your attention back to the fishing rod. The weather was becoming harsher now, your clothes completely drenched through with droplets rolling down your face and arms. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed, making you jump and let out a small noise. Sebastian smirked and you glared at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, clearly mocking you in such a subtle way you wouldn’t expect. You scowled, feeling something tug at the rod. It was a soggy newspaper. Feeling your face burn with embarrassment, you picked it up and scrunched it up in your hand before getting up and stomping down the dock, back towards your farm. 

“Nothing,” You muttered, mockingly. That day, you decided. 

You do not like Sebastian. 

[simstorian-blog]

Ohan’Ali Dock West

(CC List + DL)

[Note: (1) If your sims keep taking off their shoes and you do not want them to, individually click the Charly Pancakes shoes, located within the primary bedrooms of both houseboats, to get the menu to turn it off. (2) There are mini fridges slotted into both kitchens!]

World Map: Sulani

Area: Ohan’Ali

Lot Size:  30 x 30

Capacity

Houseboat 1: 2 Bedroom (Up to 5 sims), 1 Bathroom (w/ bathtub), Kitchen, Living

Houseboat 2: 2 Bedroom (Up to 6 sims), 1 Bathroom, Kitchen, Living, Bar Room, 2 Entertainment Decks

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

Cats & Dogs

Cottage Living

Get Famous

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Horse Ranch

Island Living

Lovestruck

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dream Home Decorator

Realm of Magic

Spa Day

Star Wars: Journey to Batuu

Strangerville

Vampires

Werewolves

Stuff Packs

Home Chef Hustle

Laundry Day

Toddler Stuff

CC Used

[All credits go to the following creators for sharing their work with the community. It is greatly appreciated and I hope that you all have endless nights of the best sleep ever.]

Helpful Tip: Having Only What is Needed For CC Builds (Tumblr)

Amoebae: Pile in Carpet

Anye: Neomy (Rug)

AroundTheSims4: Awning Set

Awingedllama: Blooming Rooms Separated

Charly Pancakes: Lavish, The Lighthouse Collection

DSC: Fancy Table Setting

Felixandre: Soho Pt. 1 | 5 (CurseForge)

GUA Sims: Apricity (Curtains + Tracks)

Harrie: Brownstone Pt. 1 (Shelves), Coastal Pt. 5|8, Country Kitchen, Klean Pt. 2, Octave Pt. 2|3|4

House of Harlix: Bafroom (Hot Tub), Harluxe, Kichen, Kichen 2.0, Livin’ Rum, Orjanic Pt. 1 (Sliding Oak Door Medium), Orjanic Pt.2 (Rug)

KKB’s: JOMO Laundry

Max20: Closet Collection

Lili’s Palace: Folklore (Deco Wheel on Wall 1)

LittleDica: Chic Bathroom, Rise & Grind Cafe (Fence 1)

NANDO: Fashion Store (Mirror Large)

NoStyle x Woodland: Rumasri Petbed

Pierisim: Auntie Vera Bathroom (Bathrobe), Domaine Du Clos Pt. 2|4, MCM Pt. 2|3|5, Oak House Pt. 1 (Coat Hanger), Outside Lunch, Pantry Party

Peacemaker: Arcadia, Bayside Bedroom (Dresser), Creta Indoor & Outdoor Kitchen (Urned Palm), Drapery Delights, Hickory Floorboards, Hamptons Hideaway, Hamptons Retreat, Hamptons Getaway, Hinterlands Dining (Round Dining Table), Hinterlands Living (Sectional+Chaise), Hudson Bathroom (Hamper), Kitayama Dining (Dining Chair), Volta Appliances (Under-cabinet Rangehood), Simple Siding

Plush Pixels: Shape Collection, Summer Closet

PXL: RH Baby & Child Bunk

Ravasheen: CounterFit (Mini Fridges +Trashbin), You Know the Drill (Thermastat)

RubyRed: Beaded Pendant Large

RusticSims: Kind of Modular (Books 4)

SicamCC: Life in Plastic (Vanity Chair)

Sooky88: Leaning Framed Posters – 2 Frames

Sundays: Cirrus Pt. 1|2|3, Java Pt. 1(Throw Blanket), Kediri Pt. 1 (Throw Pillows), Kedungu Pt. 1 (Throw Pillow I), Kelapa Pt. 1 (Throw Blanket), Nisaki Pt. 3, Pool Haus Pt. 1|4 (Armchair + Bar Stool), Sumba Pt. 1 (Pillow Set I + Throw Blanket), Ungasan Pt. 2 (Slippers)

Syboubou: Bamboo Foundations, Elevare (Industrial Stairs + Top)

TheClutterCat: Casita (Feeding Bowl), Fairylicious, iCare, iLove, Snuggle Set Pt. III (Wooden Candle Tray), Sunny Sundae III (Books), Welcome Home I | II

TaurusDesign: Lilith Chilling Areas Pt. 1|2

TUDS: Cross (Lamp Ceiling M), Ind 03 (2x2 Round Table), NCTR (Wallpaper Panel), Turn

Valia: Beachy, Cozy Cabin Nursery

Wondymoon: Carpinus Living Chair (website not available)

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

DOWNLOAD (1.56 GB)

[bamboo-dock-and-minis]

Installing Bamboo Dock

Download Bamboo Dock from one of these three resources: -The Neocities Site that corresponds with this blog: https://bamboo-dock-and-minis.neocities.org/

-Software Informer (Dock and Default Minis Only): https://bamboo-dock.software.informer.com/

-Silvia's Google Drive Backup: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/0BxunVPG7fvwUdlFHZ2tVdDF3OXM?resourcekey=0-_P7k1dZJbX9XHMxVNFEVfw&usp=drive_link

If you are using Windows 10 or later, you need manually set your computer's date to 2015 or earlier to install.

To do this, go to: Settings ---> Time and Language Turn off the option to "Set time automatically" Click the [Change] button under "Set the time and date manually" Adjust the year and click [change] to save. When you are done installing the dock, you may turn back on the option for "Set time automatically" without losing access to using the Dock.

Step 1: Open and run the dock_setup application.

Follow the install wizard. This will add the base Bamboo Dock application to your computer, along with the default minis. The default minis are: Input Panel, Landmarker, Mona Lisa, Bamboo Paper, Free The Bird, and Mood Tuner. Mood Tuner may not work without installing it again in step 2.

Step 2: To add additional minis, proceed to

How to Install Minis to Bamboo Dock: https://www.tumblr.com/bamboo-dock-and-minis/738633489320230912/how-to-install-minis-to-bamboo-dock

Moving installation from one computer to another

Download Bamboo Dock from one of the three resources above for the install file for Dock and install the dock on your new computer.

On your old computer, go the the Wacom folder in the same way as Step 6 for installing Minis. Copy the "widgets" folder and the "icons" folder onto something like a USB drive to move them to your new computer.

On your new computer, move the "widgets" and "icons" folders to the Wacom folder (step 6 for installing Minis), replacing the "widgets" and "icons" folders that are there from installing the Dock. Make sure the Dock is completely closed when doing this.

Troubleshooting: If you see this even after setting your computer's date to 2015:

Close the installer. You will need to adjust the date to 2010 instead, and then you may launch the installer again.

Refuses to install:

If the Dock refuses to install, close the installer and please check that you do not have it already listed under your programs. If you do, uninstall that listing first before running the installer again. The installer will not work if there is a copy of the Dock installed to your computer already.

Please also check to make sure that the copy you already have is not one that contains non-default Minis not available on this site by looking at the files and running it. If it does, you should not uninstall it, but should proceed to step 2 instead. If you are able, please email me those missing Minis at magsciar@gmail.com.

[dastardly-imbecile]

Thalassophilia

Used to be, you would put your chin on his shoulder and watch him work, whispering ideas in his ears when you wanted to be helpful, whispering other things when you were in the mood for distraction. Galatea carved in statuesque marble, naked and tangled in his sheets, coyly asking him if you were inspiring him.

Now, now you are Aphrodite wreathed in seafoam, beautiful in raw, brutal edges, nestled within the mouth of a clamshell.

---

Elliott loves you, dead at sea. Elliott loves you, somehow still alive. OR an elaborate excuse to make elliott a monsterfucker

---

Wordcount: ~6k

The ocean is poetry. Elliott’s always liked it, ever since he was young, hunched in his father’s wood-paneled office and flipping through old books. Running his fingers over those grainy images, trying to replicate the cool caress of those foam-capped waves, the frailty of life all bundled up in the crash of the surf. It’s why, when he finally set off in pursuit of this authorial lifestyle, he settled beside the sea. It’s worth the grains of sand constantly in his bamboo sheets, it’s worth the crabs that hide in his shoes, it’s worth the constant fight against lichen and mold and moss. 

There is no better feeling than to sit upon the dock as the sun crawls over the horizon, painting the sky in gauzy nectarines and pale creams, sea kissing the undersides of his bare feet. 

Well, it would be a better feeling to be able to share such nirvana with someone else, but as that’s not an option, solitude still has its own kind of beauty. 

Today, like every day, he makes his way down those rickety wooden slats, past Willy’s old shop, now quiet and dark and boarded-up, a great beast stripped down to its skeleton. He wonders if your farm looks the same way, all torn and unkempt, chipping away at the edges. He wouldn’t know. Hasn’t been back to check. 

Leah’s left a bottle of wine on his doorstep, propped up against a paper-wrapped baguette and a small coin of soft cheese. It’s her bohemian version of a mourning casserole, and he leaves them on his porch for now, continuing along in his trek down the beach. 

There, washed up upon the shore, is a plank of driftwood, and his eyes snag on the peculiarity. Most likely, it’s random, something blown into the sea by heavy winds and spat out later, but he can’t quash that niggling bit of curiosity. 

Boy’s a wanderlust, Father’d said, long ago when he was a gangly boy of sixteen and trying to write instead of participate in his class’s mandate of business and economics, no room for the artistry in such high echelons. He hadn’t meant it as a compliment, but Elliott’s taken it as one, repurposed it as one makes feathers into dreamcatchers and seaglass into necklaces, made it something entirely his own. It’s that curiosity that drives him to kneel, using a delicate hand to turn it over. 

The bottom half of the thing is encrusted with barnacles, pulsing softly, exposing their soft inner hearts to the air with each shellbeat. Above that, though, in algae-grown letters, faded gold, it reads Man O’ War. He drops the board like it’s burnt him. 

He remembers Willy on a Thursday night at the saloon, so many months ago, “an’ she fixed it right up! Just like that! My Man O’ War, in sailing shape once again!” 

So it was no coincidence after all. Figures. 

It never is. 

After a long, steadying breath, he picks the plank up again, tucking it under his arm, turns away from the croon of the ocean and towards town proper. 

Lewis is tending to his gardens when Elliot reaches him. He doesn’t announce his presence, simply stands there until the man cottons on—and then, there is a muffled yelp as Lewis stands to find him looming over him. 

“Oh! Elliott!” His eyes drop from his face down to the boat under his arm, and just like that, any pretense of cheer melts away, dripping from the last bristles of his mustache. 

“It washed up this morning,” he says in explanation, drawing it out from under his arm and presenting it to Lewis. It’s soaked his jacket, but he doesn’t particularly mind. These days, he’s not the most well-kept sort of man in any case. All those fancy suits that he’d pilfered from his father falling to tatters, hair tangled and matted in the underareas, dark circles below his eyes, salt crusted in the strangest places, like he himself is being slowly subsumed by the sea. 

Man O’ War, Lewis mouths, a stricken expression falling upon his face, so stark that it’s almost amusing. He stares at it for a long moment, before looking back up at Elliott, then down again. “What do you… ah, what should we do with it?”

“Willy would’ve liked,” he says after a long moment, “To be buried with it, I think. He loved that ship like a wife.”

There’s some thread of morbid humor to be found in that, in the irony, but Elliott can’t bear to find it. 

“Of course,” Lewis assures, “yes, he- I do believe he would have, yes. I’ll… I’ll handle it.”

“Can I come?” Elliott asks. He feels like a little boy, asking, he feels like he is back in Father’s manor, watching him bustle about and unsure how to recapture his attention, he feels like he is unmoored and drifting in that great blue eye they call the ocean. 

“Of course, of course,” Lewis assures, placing a warm, paternal hand upon his shoulder. 

—

It’s up in the mountains, past the railroad, where the dirt roads fade into tall grasses and thin, reedy trees. Far from the town’s own graveyard, down in the center of the plaza, which is a nice place all in its own right—all shaded by tall, graceful oaks, well-trimmed lawn tufting up around many polished stones—but you’d have liked it better here, both of you, he thinks. It’s here that they bury adventurers, that they bury those who died in the mines or the caverns, fighting monsters, defending the sanctity of Pelican Town. 

Though you’d died doing neither, when Lewis’d asked Marlon for permission, the old man nodded solemnly, of course, she was the bravest of us all. And Willy too, for good measure, because he’d shared drinks with the guildmembers at the saloon, and easy enough to spun a tale portraying him as the valiant captain in the midst of some goliath storm. Both of you heroes, both of you dead.  

Marlon’s there when they enter, standing over some ancient looking slab, sword pressed into the ground. He does not even open his eyes as they swish through the path. Best not to disturb his grief. 

Your grave is in a prime spot under the tallest of the trees, like some ancient king slumbering in his enchanted grove. Willy’s is further back, tucked into the crook of the mountain, where Lewis leads. Headstone carved to look somewhat like a mermaid’s figurehead—the combination of Robin and Leah’s best work; he remembers long nights watching the two of them slowly chip away at a massive block of stone—and now, he stands upon the earth, grass ticking his knees through the holes in his pants, wonders if the man dreams of krakens, down in his real grave, deep under the surface of the waves. 

“Burial is hard,” Lewis says after a moment, “but we can- we can erect it here, like a marker, see?” He maneuvers the plank of wood down onto the ground, pushes it slightly into the loamy earth, looks up at Elliott for approval. He nods blankly. “Good,” Lewis says, and then repeats, “good. This… he would’ve liked this.”

“Yes,” Elliott replies simply. Lewis cuts a glance at him from under the brim of his eyelids, shifty, gauging something. 

“The Dance of the Moonlight Jellies is coming up,” he says after a moment, “I hate to spring this on you, Elliott, but… if we should cancel it this year like we did the last, then it’s no imposition, really, I just should inform the-”

“No,” he cuts him off, “no, it’s quite alright. We can host the Dance.”

“Are you sure? I know it’s… it’s quite close to the anniversary, and if-”

“Mother Nature will happen either way,” Elliott replies, “there’s no use in staunching it. Perhaps it will help the mood.”

Lewis nods rapidly, swallowing. “Good idea, yes. I’ll… I’ll begin preparations immediately.”

“I cannot wait,” he replies, using the most emotion that he has at all thus far in this conversation, and truly, he means it. 

—

They’d canceled the Dance, yes, though that was before they’d known you were both gone. After departure to Ginger Island the day before, a kiss upon his cheek and the promise of a return, and then a storm, winds beating against the glass of his cottage, clouds burled overhead. The day of the festival itself, there was the search, setting out upon small sailboats, until chunks of wood began to wash back up upon Pelican Town shores. They’ve kept coming in the months since—half a steering wheel here, a few smoothened shards of glass there, and now, the nameplate. 

Soon, the Gem Sea will run out of pieces of ship to regurgitate onto the beach, and then it will have to start with pieces of body, and he dreads and anticipates that day in equal measure. Grotesque. Morbid. Seems that’s the only way his mind turns these days, though. 

It’s seeped into his writing. He cannot unravel sci-fi epics anymore, cannot slowly turn his way through delicate romances and sprawling fantasy worlds. All he churns out are tales of the macabre, of great monsters in the froth, of waves that stretch high as the heavens and low as the hells. They don’t sell. His editor doesn’t particularly like reading the fifth story that ends in, and then, the sea took them all. 

When he’d complained of this to Leah, she’d frowned, worrying over her bottom lip, and then tried to introduce him to wood carving—said maybe a different avenue of creativity could unclog whatever pipes were malfunctioning. He’d started to, on instinct, make a crude sort of kraken, and she’d taken the knife away from him. 

They’re not malfunctioning, is the truth. They are working exactly as intended: pumping out a thousand gallons of saline, churning the wheels of some great, rotating machine in the depths of his mind. 

Tonight, he hunches over his desk, and writes the only other thing that he can write: a letter. In a hurried script, leaving small, messy drips of ink all over the crumpled parchment. Doesn’t matter. The words have their substance and that is all he needs. 

I love you, he says, and then scratches that out, I still love you, marks it again, I will always love you, before moving onto the next. An exercise in revision, in making it perfect. He’s sent you dozens—twice a week—and this time, he mentions the boat’s nameplate, Lewis’s question about the jellies. It always was your favorite holiday. You’d told him, that day you left, that you hoped you’d make it back in time to watch. 

Carefully, he rolls it up, slots it delicately into a colored glass bottle. One of Leah’s old winebottles, in fact, from her weekly deliveries. He doesn’t drink them—instead, pours them straight into the ocean, another form of tribute. The letters are for you; the wine is for Willy. Always did love a good drink, that man. 

Then, he pads out into the surf, bare feet digging into the sand, and pushes the bottle into the waves. The sea takes it eagerly. Of course. Greedy, always greedy, always wanting. 

Though it’s spit out many other things, it’s never given back one of his bottles. He likes to imagine that’s because you’re keeping them. Tucked into the hollow of your ribcage, ensconced in bony arms, wherever you are. 

—

If he were a sappy man, he would call it love at first sight, and because he is a sappy man, that’s exactly the label that he slaps upon it. You, on your first foray into the beach, picking up a mussel and turning it about in his hands—and him, emerging from his cabin after a six-hour writing marathon. Eyes meeting, hearts sparking, falling into each other’s arms as naturally as the flower blooms. The real story is of course longer and not so much a fairytale, but at this point, his own version has become so naturalised that it is all he thinks of. 

He tries to write it down, sitting at his desk, with a ragged duck’s feather that you gave him many months ago. It starts strong, but sputters out by the time he reaches the final act. All there is left to say is that the ocean takes, and that is that. 

—-

One week until the Dance. Six days until the anniversary. He goes up to your farm for the first time since those early days in which you didn’t come back. Brings a small notepad and another quill, just in case it finally sparks some sort of inspiration, if the ghost of his muse rises from the dead. Used to be, you would put your chin on his shoulder and watch him work, whispering ideas in his ears when you wanted to be helpful, whispering other things when you were in the mood for distraction. Galatea carved in statuesque marble, naked and tangled in his sheets, coyly asking him if you were inspiring him. 

Now, now you are Aphrodite wreathed in seafoam, beautiful in raw, brutal edges, nestled within the mouth of a clamshell. 

The farm is abandoned, of course. Marnie took the animals, folded them back into her Ranch, Demetrius cleared out the cave, Lewis came by and uprooted each one of the crops once they began rotting in the earth. All a necessity, of course, but it felt a bit like many small parasitic beings consuming the remnants of some gargantuan corpse. Now, all that’s left is the overgrown grass amongst the old husks of barns and coops, the scarecrows crucified above brambly fields. 

Elliott tries to pick his way through the undergrowth, but the burrs begin to snag at his pants, and he can bear no more, so he retreats to the collapsing porch.

He’s never been quite the outdoorsy type of man, which only inspires more questions about why, exactly, he chose to live in possibly the most rudimentary part of the valley, but this is a different breed of unpleasant. Reminds him of when Leah tried to take him camping, and he could not bear his hair getting tangled in the branches, the hardness of the rocky ground beneath his back. You were so good, out here. It must be different in the sea. 

It’s the silence that chases him away, more than anything. No crashing waves. No breeze. Unsettling. 

On the way back into town, he sees the bustle of the saloon, many people slipping in and out, and thinks, why the hell not?

The first step inside, however, proves to be a mistake. He’s suddenly acutely aware of his appearance, of the fact that this has been his first time reappearing in town proper in a year—he has not attended a single one of the preceding festivals. Spent the most recent, the Luau, holed up in his cabin, blankets over his head, trying to block out the sound of forced laughter. 

“Elliot!” Gus exclaims, eyebrows making a valiant effort to reach his hairline, “it’s been a while. What do you want?”

He blinks. Can’t remember what he used to order, what his usual was. He still remembers yours—ocean sunrise, some obscenely fruity drink, bright gradient of yellow foam to deep indigo syrup pooling at the bottom of the glass, thick enough to coat the mouth and strong enough to linger. He used to tell you that things as brightly-colored as that are, by natural law, never meant to be consumed, and you’d asked, then why does it taste so good?

“Ocean sunrise,” he says. To his credit, Gus does not let even a tick of his facial expression belay any concern—instead, he turns straight to pouring and measuring out small quantities of bottled liquid. 

Elliott moves to Leah’s table, who’s been sitting there, watching him all this time. She has a nervous hand running down her braid, but that’s the only indication that she is not entirely relaxed. 

“Not a wine?” she asks. Right. That was his old poison of choice. 

“No,” he replies, “feeling… ah, nostalgic.”

She nods as if that was a profound statement. “You got my delivery?”

“Yes.” He manages to shoot her a shallow smile. “Thank you, by the way. I never do express my gratitude enough. You are… you are a good friend.”

“Anything,” she vows, moving the hand from her braid to her heart. Emily stops by their table with the violently colorful drink in hand, shoots him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, before whisking off to another table. He picks it up, takes a sip. 

The lighter, orange-yellow layers taste of pineapple and tropical fruits, Ginger Island. It deepens as the bottom begins to mix in; that thick, heady indigo syrup, and by the time he reaches the bottom, it is entirely bitter, thick and sharp and acidic. This is what storms must taste like, he thinks, lightning sparking on his tongue, bright ozone filling his lungs. This is what your final moments must have tasted like. A final lick of the salt around the rim, a gulp of seawater, and it’s an altogether full experience. 

He almost calls his compliments to Gus, good on distilling death at sea into a drink, but then it occurs to him that that probably wasn’t the man’s intention. 

“Written anything lately?” Leah asks, around a bite of her salad. He tilts his head, thinking. 

“Lots of horror. Not so much else.”

“Oh?” She perks up. “I like horror. It’s been too long since you’ve let me read one of your manuscripts.”

“They’re in the ocean,” he says, “but it’s hard, capturing what it feels like to die. When the ship begins to crack. I’ve never experienced it, obviously. If only I could ask…”

“Okay,” Leah says, voice dropping a few notes, “okay, Elliott, no more of that. Please.”

He flushes faintly. “My apologies. It is simply… inspiration is a fickle thing.”

“Really is,” she replies, but the tenuous sort of mood has snapped in half. He leaves not much later, passing his empty cup to Gus, taking the well-wishes of the others with a simple nod of his head. Back down to the beach, back to the waves that tear at the sand. 

Sometimes—and these are the thoughts that he voices to nobody—he wonders if you are truly dead, if you are not somehow alive. Not in the fanciful, swam your way back to dry land sort of way, but instead, it’s some amalgamation of mermaid stories, of life breathed into you, of becoming one with the sea. Harvey tells him that this is normal—I’m not technically a psychiatrist, but from what I know…—but he feels so certain, some days, that it threatens to burst through his chest. 

The only festival he’s attended this past year is the Night Market in winter. Not to peruse those exotic wares, even to take part in the free coffee. No—he made a straight beeline for the mermaid’s caravan, stepping into that thin wooden boat, shells hanging from the walls. 

He did not even wait for her, the frontwoman, skin bright and soft as white taffeta, shimmering with a faint iridescence, to begin her song. Instead, he asked, “in the sea, how do you… become a mermaid?”

She turned to her sisters or companions or whoever they were, behind her, and they all chittered for a moment in a curt language that he had no frame of reference for. Not even in all his childhood study of such languages, Ferngillian and Gotoron and all those different tongues, had he encountered something like that. 

Eventually, she turned back, said, “No, we are birthed.”

He saw that, after a moment. Eyes a touch too white, skin faintly translucent, many odd, small details that hinted at inhumanity. Only a pale imitation—or maybe humanity was a pale imitation of them—but there’s no alley of transformation there. Of course, then, he had to ask, “then, is there any way to… to evolve enough to survive the sea?”

Another round of chittering. This one sounded distinctly like laughter. 

“No,” she replied, when she finally turned back, “no, landfolk, no.”

All that to say that both alleyways of comprehension—that of Harvey’s scientific method, and the magick of the merfolk—have refuted his hypothesis, and he’s just a fool, a lovestruck idiot who has not yet moved past the first stage of grief. 

Your first kiss was upon a boat. Leah chewed him out, later, gave him a long lecture upon the implications of taking a single woman onto the water and kissing her but you’d been quite receptive at the time. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard to move on. 

When he remembers you, he remembers the seafleck salt upon your lips, remembers the damp hems of his pants and the brine in the air. You are the sea and the sea is you, undeniably intertwined, and all this was just both parts of you reconjoining at once. 

—

Willy’s birthday, 24th of Summer, comes, passes. He’s sitting on the docks, alternating between taking light sips from Leah’s most recent bottle and pouring shots out into the sea, when Linus suddenly sits himself down beside him. Next to Linus, Clint, and finally Marlon on the far side. 

“Are we interrupting?” Linus asks. Elliott shakes his head. Behind them, Willy’s shop looms, dark-windowed, beast with eyes hidden behind their lids. 

“He was a good man,” Marlon says after a moment, “took us across the sea more than once. Would’ve liked to die on the water, if you pardon me saying.”

Clint hums in agreement. “Told me to just… y’know, roll him into the surf when he keeled over. Uh, I always thought he was crazy, but…”

“And she,” Marlon adds, referring to you, “brave ‘un too. If a storm was somethin’ you could fight, she’d’ve come back no worse for wear.”

Dawn is upon them before they’re even done swapping stories, the bottle empty, all those many drops poured for Willy to drink, eventually, wherever he is. They stumble back to their respective homes, but Elliott remains on the dock. The air is charged not only from the weight of a thousand recollections, but something else, something bright and salty and there are only a few days left, now, only a few days left. 

—

A storm. Promised by the newfound height of the waves, grasping at the lip of the dock, by the pebbled clouds overhead. Elliott sits within his cabin, listening to the wind do its damn best to try and uproot the thing, and draws a monster upon the table. Today, tonight by technicality, is the anniversary, and there is none of that crushing weight he’d expected, no grief that bows his back down like a sapling. 

Leah makes it to his cabin by mid-day, when the winds are just beginning to pick up. “Hey,” she tells him, when he opens the door, “I think your house might blow down. Do you want to come back to my place?”

“No,” he replies, looking not at her but instead over her shoulders, at the ocean beyond. “No.”

“If you’re sure,” she says doubtfully. Gives him a hesitant pat on the shoulder, “just don’t blow away, ‘kay? I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll try my best.”

She leaves after only one more reproachful look over her shoulder, braid whipping about in the breeze. For lack of anything better to do, he sits himself down in front of a small mirror, and begins to work back through his hair. If he closes his eyes… well, if he closes his eyes, then it’s nowhere near the sensation of your fingers working through his hair, primarily because he needs to positively yank to untangle some of these knots, but it reminds him of that feeling, anyways. 

Often, it was the prelude to things. Him, sprawled out in bed, head upon your lap, while you worked your fingers through his scalp, scratching lightly enough to make his back arch in search of more. Then, of course, inevitably, it would turn to kissing, to the warmth of your tongue and the press of his body upon yours, hands still entangled in his hair. To him within you, suit discarded somewhere upon the floor, skin to skin in all the closest of ways. 

Outside, thunder cracks, and lightning flashes like the whip of some storm god overhead. He runs his fingers through his hair one final time, moving to the window. The waves are dark and obsidian, an infinite tar pit with many primeval beasts rotting within, mesozoic creatures under the coruscant sun, and there is something, there is a shape beneath the waves. 

He presses a palm to the window. Watches. 

It rises like a buried God, head breaking the surface, then body, torso and hips and legs until it is shedding the last of the sea, still walking steadily across the beach. 

It looks at him. 

You look at him, and he knows. 

Elliott rushes to the door and flings it open, allowing the wind to bunch and unfurl into the house, send his papers scattering, but none of that matters because it is you, you the same and different all at once. Hair plastered to your cheeks and your neck, naked, dripping. As you draw closer, more details make themselves clear, more strangeness. Your left eye is entirely gone, nothing but a gaping hole, and the skin of your right cheek has been superseded by the iridescence of scales—indeed, they run down your arms too, coil around your legs. Some of your skin is rocky, barnacled, made up of nothing but gray crag, but you are too close to turn back, and he would not turn back either way. 

Only when you are right before him do you pause. Part of your upper lip has been torn away by a predator in the depths, and the teeth it reveals are jagged, barbed. 

“You’re back,” he says. You fall forwards, into his arms, bracing yourself only once he has stumbled back under the brunt of your weight. A long moment is dedicated simply to holding you, to breathing in the briny scent of your skin, running his fingers down the slickness of the scales that line your skin. 

And then, you look up at him, singular remaining eye wide. He notices that there are small threads of gossamer substance entangled throughout your hair, and, when he looks closer, they have eyes too, many small pinpricks looking back at him. 

“Where have you been?” He asks. You tilt your head a fraction of a fraction, almost imperceptible, open your mouth to reveal those long, sharp teeth, and beyond them, a tongue that is black as coal, blending into the darkness that falls upon the back of your throat. Close it with a snap. He reaches out, uses a light finger to trace that ragged bit of flesh where your face was torn apart and you duck instinctively, shy. 

“No,” he says, “no, no,” reaching a hand beneath your chin to tilt your face back up, “you’re beautiful. Still. Did you get my letter? I’ll always love you.”

You do not blink. The pupil of that eye is slitted now, like a snake’s, a goat’s, and he could not care less. He runs his hands down your side, over the rocky bits that stick out from your waist, ducks his head so his forehead can settle against yours. 

“So much has changed,” he whispers, “I can’t write without you, you know. You’re my muse. I miss you terribly, every second, every day.”

Your hands, clawed, tighten around his side. He dips a bit lower, lips to yours, waits a fraction of a second to see if you’ll draw away—if you’re different now, if you are nothing but unfeeling sea—but no, your grip tightens once again, grabbing handfuls of his suit jacket, and you lean up. When your tongues meet, it is a bit of a shock, slippery with some bitter sort of mucous. Reminds him of Gus’s drink. Reminds him of death at sea. Reminds him that, no matter what, he still has you here and relatively whole before him, so none of that matters, and he takes it in stride, deepening the kiss. 

He cuts himself on your teeth, he’s pretty sure, because the taste of copper fills both your mouths, but that is of little matter and little consequence, simply another flavor to this kiss. Se maneuvers you slowly to the bed, wetting his sheets, tracking sand in, and has he not already established that none of this matters?

Slowly, you pull him down, dipping until your back lays flat upon the sheets, hand wandering to run up and down his back in an almost wondrous way. Maybe you are just as surprised to see him as he is for you. Maybe both of you have been lost in equal ways, land and sea, forever separated by that line in the sand. As the shock of initial embrace wears off, there comes the new realization that you are in fact naked, and you are pulling him towards you. He draws back for only a second to shuck off his suit and, with fumbling fingers, unbutton the seam of his pants, kicking them off. The area around your mouth is stained with red and black and still slick with seawater. It is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. 

Soon, he’s unclothed as well, and hardly a moment is wasted in pulling him back. Though you are not entirely flesh anymore, the parts he is interested in are all seemingly intact. Not that he’d mind if they weren’t. He’s determined enough to find a way. He starts with first a hand, but you make a quick movement, angling your chin towards him, and so he withdraws that and thrusts in fully instead, into the smoothness of your warmth. His hand, he moves back up to your chest, rubbing in slowly-expanding circles. When he reaches the patch of scales beneath your armpit, you huff out a quiet breath, and then, as he begins to scratch along their seams, you begin to writhe, so he lingers. 

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers, and he’s said this already, but you are not here to stay, he knows. Just a slip of seafoam in the breeze, the briefness of a late-summer storm, “it’s why I stay, so I can be-” you clench, and he loses track of his words for a brief moment—“-be here, with the sea, with you. I wade, sometimes, and pretend that it is an embrace.”

Overtly wordy confession of love when you are saying nothing at all, but the tail end of his words coincides with you tensing beneath him, so perhaps it had an effect after all. He tips over the edge in unison, both of you free-falling, and you bite into his neck with those sharp teeth, hard enough that blood immediately wells up and stains the sheet. Another dimension of pleasure, in such an adrenaline-hazed state, the spike of salt at the end of a long drink. 

Coming down is an exercise in drowsiness and the slow return of pain, both in his tongue and upon his neck, both lacerated by your teeth. His hair is matted in sweat and seawater and blood, spread out across the sheets, and you take to combing through it. When your newfound claws scratch against his scalp, it makes him shiver in something approaching rapture. Eventually, though, he cannot even stand that, too far from you, and instead turns to press his face into your chest. 

He is crying, he realizes belatedly. You run a single finger down from the crown of his head to the nape of his spine, and there it lingers. 

“How can I do it?” He murmurs into your chest, breath hot against your skin, “I cannot write without you, I cannot… cannot live. I wish to throw myself from the cliffs, some days. Would we be together, then?”

Your chin scrapes across his head in a negation. Whatever you did, whatever happened to allow you survival, he supposes it’s something he—boy born with an iridium spoon in his mouth, whose half-formed childhood idea of rebellion was to run off and become a hermit—would never be able to stand. 

“How, then?” He asks. You rest your head upon his with a heavy weight, a heavy finality, and he knows you have no good answer. He rises after a long moment, an idea striking him—leans over, skin unsticking from yours, to grab a quill and one of the many papers scattered across the room. “Can you-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head, a shrug. Whether that means that you physically cannot write, do not know how to write, or any number of possibilities between those, he’s unsure, but he deflates almost as quickly. Seeing his sudden disappointment, you hesitate, before pointing towards the letter, towards the sea. 

“I should continue sending?” He asks. You nod, a small, controlled motion. “I will,” he vows immediately, “Every day, a poem, a sonnet, for you, for the sea. My… my muse, my love, my glimmering waters,” and the last bits of that devolve into nonsense as he once again buries his head against you, laps the salt from your skin. 

Sleep comes with the swiftness of a storm. The last thing he recalls is saline, a sharp hand circling the top of his head. 

—

The bed is cold when he wakes. He reaches, instinctively, for you, but his hands hit nothing but damp blankets. 

When he finally pushes himself into a sitting position, he sees many wet puddle-footsteps leading to the open door, already soaking into the hardwood floor. 

Outside, there is no difference. The sea is placid. Unfeeling. 

He smiles anyways. 

Returns into his cabin and pens with a fervor—a poem, firstly, long enough that it stretches across the length of the paper, and then a letter on the other side, rolls it up and sends it into the sea. Finishes it with his signature, and then, under that, love you always. 

—

One last thing. 

The Dance of the Moonlight Jellies comes with the last bits of dusk. More muted than usual, of course, townsfolk picking their way through the detritus of the beach, and Elliott is already upon the docks. 

Lewis sends off the lantern without much ado, no ceremony or great speech, and the jellies appear as pinpricks upon the horizon that undulate, pulsing with their own internal rhythm. 

But in the water off to the side of the dock, he notices something. Believes it to be a jelly, at first, but no, it’s glassy and hard and, when he reaches down to grab it, he finds that it is a bottle. One of Leah’s old ones, filled with silted seawater and a scrap of paper. 

He opens it carefully, heart staccato in his chest. Out comes flooding the water over his hand, and along with it, the delicate scrap. He unfolds it as slowly as his eager hands are able, cautious not to rip it. 

It’s one of his own letters. Can’t remember when he wrote it, what it was about, but there is clearly a bit of text available, framed by the ragged edges. 

In familiar black script, it reads, until next year. 

He watches the jellyfish slowly approach below, lit by some internal glow, and thinks that it cannot come soon enough.

[refigiowen]

Process Of Odyssey (subject to change)

Overview:

After a great calamity most of the world was swallowed by the oceans and only a few larger landmasses remain. One of these landmasses is New Ijssel, a powerful nation ruled over by an organization known as "The Guild". The Guild was responsible for developing all the technology used in New Ijssel, for example the machines that keep the waters from swallowing the country whole - The Steambreathers.

Not far from new Ijssel is the island of Gehenna, a paradise of resources and minerals. For a long time this island was one of the most important pieces of land for The Guild, until one day any and all communication with New Ijssel was cut off - to this day no one knows why. And it stayed this way for many years, until relations to the other nations began to become more strained and the idea of a war was on the horizon. And so The Guild brought together a party of prisoners to investigate the island and restore communication with the island. Should these prisoners be able to restore communication with and essentially reclaim Gehenna, their death sentence would get voided and the Guild would grant them any one thing of their desire.

After barely surviving their journey to Gehenna, the party was met with ruins and traces of a once prosperous civilization. But before they could notify the Guild about anything, the Guild cuts off any communication with the group until they find the cause - leaving them stranded. And so the prisoners wander across this barren and empty island, trying to understand what went down here and how the Guild was involved in all of this.

The group of prisoners consists of 4 members, they are as follows:

Illinca (protagonist)

A satyr woman who was thrown into jail and sentenced to death after committing a great crime. The Guild classified the details as top secret.

Illinca is described as a kind woman of few words. Despite not talking a lot to those around her, she values conversations and smalltalk. She also indulges in a drink or two from time to time. She claims to know Michikatsu, another member, well but tends to avoid him due to unknown circumstances.

Michikatsu (deuteragonist)

A middle aged man of unknown origin. He was sentenced to death after causing the death of several Guild troops by only moving his hand. He wears a black business suit and has short, messy black hair. His skin is rather pale for unknown reasons. The Guild has no idea who he is, despite wearing a suit no records of him ever working for a company exist.

Personality wise he seems to be rather sarcastic, almost like he doesn't take others that serious. Despite that, he is often made fun of by the others.

He utilizes a power known as the "Twilight". What it is exactly is unknown.

Him and Illinca share a history together and at first seem to dislike the other, but over the course of their journey their relationship quickly changes.

(Inspiration for Michikatsu, basically what he looks like lol)

Sancho (still W.I.P)

A loud, talkative young woman who was sentenced to death after massacring an entire squad of Guild troops and many civilians.

She claims to wish to return to her homeland, wherever that may be. This prisoner cannot operate without tasting blood every few hours.

Kim (still W.I.P)

Inspired by Bamboo Hatted Kim from Library Of Ruina and Limbus Company

Locations in Gehenna:

Morrowfield (Main City)

Morrowfield Plains (surrounding area)

Summer's Docks

W.I.P

Note:

I want to implement more abilities for characters, something similar to magic but a lot simplier.

This is only gonna be a Oneshot (a demo of sorts) for now until i feel like Process Of Ruin is at a point where i can put it on hold.

Also, i need to come up with a better name ASAP.

[blueiscoool]

2,200-Year-Old Bronze Artifacts Uearthed in China

While exploring an ancient site in China, a team of archaeologists recently stumbled upon an abundant trove of ancient bronze objects dating back at least 2,200 years. Among their finds were plates, tripods, decorative ornaments — and a collection of swords.

Experts were exploring one of three sprawling sites in Shaoxing, officials from the Zhejiang Provincial Institute of Cultural Relics and Archaeology said, according to a Feb. 7 post from the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. The three sites are known as Tingshan, Nanshantou and Nanshan.

The sites — and the ruins and artifacts found during excavations — date to China’s Spring and Autumn Period and the Warring States era, which lasted from 770 B.C. until about 221 B.C.

Archaeologists also found the ruins of a large building and other ancient remains while exploring the three sites. Here’s what they discovered.

SWORDS AND OTHER BRONZE ARTIFACTS

The seven swords and bronze artifacts were unearthed at the Nanshan site, officials said.

Of the seven swords, only three were completely preserved. Two fragments from the weapons had characters engraved on them, according to archaeologists.

Experts also found pottery, porcelain, metalware, bamboo, wood artifacts, and plant and animal remains.

Among the animal remains, they found evidence of cattle, pigs, deer, fish and rare horses. There were also leftover grains and the remains of vegetables and fruits.

A LARGE CEREMONIAL BUILDING

At the Tingshan site, archaeologists found the ruins of what they believe was once a large ceremonial public building.

Experts unearthed part of the building’s foundation: an east-west wall spanning about 180 feet long and a north-south wall spanning about 30 feet wide.

Whoever built the ancient structure likely dug the foundation’s trench and then placed a ground beam with attached columns into the trench, according to officials.

Archaeologists unearthed the building’s intricate column network, including exquisitely decorated and painted pillars.

AN ANCIENT WHARF AND SACRIFICIAL PIT

In another area of the Tingshan site, experts identified the ruins of an ancient wharf, known as the Linshui Wharf.

Archaeologists discovered three organized rows of wooden stakes left from the ancient dock-like structure.

They also found the remains of a sacrificial pit — still filled with offerings.

The pit held artifacts, including charcoal and food, according to officials.

Shaoxing is in the Zhejiang province in eastern China.

By MOIRA RITTER.

[discos-abandoned-blog]

-> A fairly small woman was simply looking around, her head and face shadowed by her massive hat and shimmery veil. Her braids seemed to twitch as if they were alive.... - @windswept-ocs [BAMBOO FLUTE]

A man sat on the dock. His long and fluffy dog-like tail laid flat against the wood. He was dressed like someone from Thieves Den. His back faced the woman as he was tracing shapes in the water. His tail twitched when he heard her boots clink against the dock.

“May we help you?”

[xaz-fr]

A Leap In Magic 5/5

Christ I meant to have this finished like 4 months ago. Anyway. This is the end and I'm giving away two of the babies specifically to LORE CLANS who want some inter-clan interaction. I'm specifically giving away the Jaguar (girl) and the Python (boy). If you're interested please hit up my messages or you can PM me on FR (xaz). These are Leap Year dragons (so they are adults) and their parents will never breed again. So they're quite special. This is not first come first serve and I'm not above just keeping all three.

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

There weren’t many maren left who called the lagoon around the Windsinger’s Tale home. Only those most loyal to the clan or their dragon friends stayed. They’d kept the bottom of the ship in fairly good repair still. But today was not an inspection.

Nadalin sat on the edge of the dock, her hatchlings under her wing. They were sleeping in the shadow of her protective wing. Ars was talking to the elder of the small group of maren. It was a heavy day today. These hatchlings couldn’t stay here. They’d grow Silenced too and Ars knew nothing would break Nadalin’s heart like watching her children go Silent. She didn’t love sending her children away but it was one heartbreak over another. Ars was confirming with the elder about the plan.

A skiff was brought forward made of native Labyrinth hardwood and bamboo that grew along the banks of the lagoon. Three large thresher tailed maren pulled it and brought it up to the dock. The skiff was lined with some pillows and blankets, baskets of food, for the journey away from the lagoon and out into the Gladeveins and beyond.

Swallowing Ars turned to his sister. “Nadalin,” he said. “It’s time.”

She looked over at him, her wind-full eyes sad. “Already?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m sorry,” he couldn’t help but say even though they’d both agreed. It had even been Nadalin’s idea to call upon their maren friends.

“Alright,” she said softly and got to her feet. She picked up one of the hatchlings and brought them to the skiff. Ars took the second and third as Nadalin bundled them in a blanket and pillow. She stepped out of the skiff looked at them and then left, walking away quickly, back through the docks into the ship.

“Is she alright?” the elder asked.

“She knows what she’s doing is right but it pains her,” Ars said.

“Ah. We know that feeling well. We will look out for these children and find them new homes,” he promised.

“I know,” Ars said looking at his nieces and nephews. They wouldn’t wake for some time. He knew that. He knew because he’d put a sleep spell on them. It wouldn’t be until they were out of range of the Windsinger’s Tale that they’d start to wake. Hopefully the maren would find homes for them quickly and this Silenced clan would just be a bad dream from a time when they were small. He sniffed. “Please, go now,” he said, voice thick.

“We will return home once our task is complete,” the elder said. Ars nodded solemnly. The elder sank beneath the water, mustered the three thresher tailed maren, and with great speed pulled the skiff towards the edge of the lagoon. Ars waited until the skiff was swallowed up by the Gladevein’s growth before following after his sister and heading back into the ship.

It was better this way.

It was better this way.