#chroma writes

[chromatasia]

first isat fanfic (that ive actually posted)!!!! this is based on a comic by @radioroxx GO LOOK AT THEIR ART!!!!

[an-established-butt-dent]

Dragon age: the Veilguard 2024

Look, I'm HYPED after the gameplay reveal, but all I wanna say is that the confrontation could have gone very different if it had been Lavellan trying to stop the ritual instead.

10 years!!! Varric, my Grey haired sweety, what were u planning on doing my friend. Just talk him out of it?

I need an Solavellan reunion like I need air.

[ulteriorm0tiv3s]

⚙️ ─ funfetti

✭─ pairing: metal sonic x reader (gender neutral)

✭─ genre: fluff

✭─ summary: it’s metal’s birthday! eggman tries to make a special gift, but you interfere to make it more ‘personalized’ from you.

✭─ song: https://spotify.link/7oI9LZ2RkDb

✭─ notes: LATE BIRTHDAY BIRTHDAYBITTHDAY BITTHFAY BIRTHDAY !!!! late birthday because his birthday was on my homecoming day so i didn’t have much time so 😭😭 thatz also why itz kinda short and poorly written, i didn’t wanna make something too long and have it posted too far away from his actual birthday 😞 so ya birthday oneshot kinda!!!! woo!!

༶•┈┈┈┈┈♡┈┈┈┈┈•༶

it was 4 in the morning, and you could not get an ounce of peaceful sleep. everything around you was so loud. the loud cranking of machinery was literally all you could hear. usually, you found the sound comforting, but it was far too noisy this time. you tried covering your ears in various different ways, but it was no use. sleep obviously wasn’t an option anymore, so you hesitantly climbed out of bed to go investigate.

eggman’s “tinkering room”, is what you called it, and of course that’s where the noise was coming from. it didn’t surprise you that eggman was causing your lack of sleep. there had been various other times where he kept you up. the evil genius was seated at a large metal table, working on some unknown creation.

“doc, it’s FOUR in the MORNING. what the actual fuck are you going this early,” your tone was cranky, which was understandable since you haven’t slept in 17 hours.

“i’ve warned you multiple times not to swear in my presence. however, i’m in a good mood so i’ll let it slide this time.”

“you didn’t answer my question.”

“i don’t have to answer anything,” eggman glared at you, a stern look on his face.

rolling your eyes, you leaned up against the wall, “i’m not leaving until you do though, soo…”

he just rolled his eyes as well and sighed, “fine, since you insist on pestering me. today is metal sonic’s creation anniversary. it has been 30 years since i’ve created him, my most magnificent creation to this very day. so i’m making something special for him, something that’ll finally get rid of that horrendous hedgehog.”

“creation anniversary? dude, just say it’s his birthday.”

“well, he technically wasn’t ‘born.’ so it isn’t a birthday.”

“well,” you mock his tone, “you sound goofy as hell when you say creation anniversary. but anyway, what exactly is the gift? are you gonna almost destroy the world again with some ugly counterfeit gem?”

you could tell you were pissing eggman off. he was trying his best not to boil over from rage and cook himself. the doctor just rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance, trying to focus on his current project.

“a deathray. i’m going to build it into metal sonic.”

“oh.” well that was straightforward!

“now will you finally leave me to my work? you’ve been distracting me long enough.”

“can i get some earplugs or something first?”

“get out.”

“okay, okay jeez…”

🔩♡🔩

eggman ceased his work around 30 minutes ago, but you still weren’t able to sleep. you were planning something quite silly since you knew it was metal’s birthday now.

instead of eggman, it was you who was seated at the large metal table, tinkering away. you were making a few modifications to this so-called ‘deathray.’ these modifications were sure to be more enjoyable than a deathray. well, in your opinion anyway. when you think of birthdays, you don’t think about deathrays, you think about cake that’s so sickeningly sweet you throw it up.

you knew metal couldn’t eat, but the idea of making him a cake was really funny for some reason. besides, what’s better as a gift than the sugary scurrility of a funfetti birthday cake? nothing, literally nothing. perhaps a blue funfetti cake though if anything. maybe you should’ve done blue funfetti…

🔩♡🔩

metal sonic’s feet clanked against the floors as he walked. he was newly equipped with eggman’s special gift. of course, no one knew you had customized it just a little bit.

“hey metal buddy!” you ran up behind him, making sure your voice was loud enough so he wouldn’t detect you as a threat.

last time you ran up behind him without saying anything, he almost shredded you like cheese. fortunately, that didn’t happen this time since you were loud enough. metal sonic turned his head in your direction, awaiting for what nonsensical thing you had to say.

“happy birthday! i'm assuming eggman already told you ‘happy creation anniversary’ or whatever. and just so you know, happy birthday is the correct term.”

he didn’t really understand what you were talking about. he was a robot created to destroy sonic, obviously, so birthdays weren’t really something he was programmed to know about. so he just tilted his head and whirred, showing his confusion.

“birthday, like, y’know, celebrating your birth. or… celebrating when you were built in your case, i guess. but that doesn’t matter, it’s still called a birthday. but anyway! today is your birthday!”

even though you explained it somewhat well, the robotic hedgehog still didn’t see how this was relevant to him. he kept his crimson eyes on you as they occasionally flickered over your form, wondering if you had anything else to say.

“i forget you can’t talk sometimes.. just gonna imagine you’re saying ‘thank you sooo much (y/n)! i’m so joyous about my birthday!’” you spoke in a very very awful impression of his nonexistent voice, patting his head afterwards.

metal sonic rolled his eyes as he turned away from you, beginning to walk away. he had more important things to attend to; like beating the shit out of his organic counterpart, sonic, or something like that. you bid him farewell, and he responded with a beep. maybe he was saying goodbye back. or maybe he was telling you to fuck off, who knows. hopefully he’ll still enjoy your gift.

🔩♡🔩

a tree tumbled down as a certain blue hedgehog was violently tossed into it, making said hedgehog groan in pain. it was a common occurrence of a fight; metal sonic vs. sonic the hedgehog. usually sonic would have the upper hand, but it seems that metal sonic is going all out today.

“aw man! that was my favorite tree! couldn’t you have thrown me into a different one?” sonic sneered, crossing his arms and doing his infamous foot taps as he stood up.

his robotic counterpart was in no mood for his mockery, clutching his sharp metal talons before lunging towards the hedgehog once more. luckily for sonic, this was easy to dodge. the tension of the battle was starting to slow down a bit, causing sonic to yawn.

“man…this is starting to get a teeeensy bit boring. just a tad. how about we finish up?”

metal sonic beeped, seeming to agree. however, he had something planned. he would take the win this time, and get rid of this horrid hedgehog once and for all.

“alrighty! this’ll be an easy win!”

sonic dashed towards the robot, preparing for his final hit. metal sonic did the same, clashing into sonic. the two blue blurs continued the battle, the intensity revving up again.

unexpectedly though, sonic was thrown into a tree a second time. this time, the tree hadn’t snapped, but bended. this caused the hedgehog to be flung across the field, giving the robot an opportunity to finish charging up his final blow.

“thanks for throwing me into a tree that wasn’t my favori— why is your chest glowing. that isn’t normal is it!”

indeed it was not normal. the robot had finished charging up his deathray; the birthday gift from eggman. he wasted no time putting it to use. it was game over for his rival.

…

rather than being blown to smitherines, sonic had been blasted with…

“is this funfetti frosting?”

the hedgehog, still in one piece, was coated in bright blue frosting and cake. specifically funfetti, but that didn’t matter. what mattered is what the fuck happened to the deathray eggman made, and why metal sonic was blasting out cake.

seems like he found your surprise!

[donut-entendre]

as an actual ace gay the script is. bad. because its bad. it was fun and crazy to get but like its bad. ive been saying donut is ace for years and i think outright saying "i don't have sexual attraction for anyone" is bad and homophobic because its literally not true and acehood is a spectrum that can very much INCLUDE him experiencing sexual attraction to men so he literally didn't have to do that? he didn't have to say that. and I think I'm actually incredibly rational for thinking that making him something other than a gay man was always going to be a bad move because you need to handle complicated sexuality with a lot of tact that the rvb team simply would not have been able to do with him. I do not trust their skill or time management or writing or knowledge of queer topics and I am proven right to not trust this because "I'm not sexually attracted to anyone" is missing that respectful tact by a mile. It has no place by Donut's character. Blatantly disprovable. I do not think the intention was that Donut is repressing his sexuality there either because it came from a first-draft script conversation where they had no voice at all. its not real and its bad and and i'm gonna sit over here with my entire au i made to talk about donut's sexuality and repression and you can come play too if you want i guess. TLDR he's literally gay

[chrysochroma]

I’ll be bloody and bruised

@febuwhump 2024: Day 17: hostage situation

@badthingshappenbingo: scalding (card is at the end)

Rating: Teen And Up

Words: 100

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Warnings: Defeathering, Violence, Refrence to past trauma

this is inspired by @aquaquadrant and @lunarcrown 's Hels to Pay AU and From Eden by aquaquadrant.

i highly suggest you read that first be it is both amazing and the context is helpful

this is the link to aquaquadrant's From Eden master post

read on Ao3

next chapter (coming shortly)

Jimmy shut his eyes, tight. Steam rose all around him, filling the air. His wings ached. They were wrenched out behind him, heaving him exposed to the water.

A wave of fire poured over him, drowning his wings and soaking his feathers. He gasped, trying to pull his wings in close to shelter himself. Then the first prick of pain stabbed into his muscle. A golden feather fell into the water below. Then another. And another. And another. And-

Tango stared at the cold, mirrored, glass pane building on the coast of endless fire. His mind froze. His heart throbbed.

[heroesofchroma]

Magics of the World

Figured it was high time to start explaining some lore, and since it'll be a focus of the next chapter, I suppose the magic system is a good place to start.

So the Magic of this canon is based on the existence of 4 different existences. The Where that magic comes from. That being the Planes;

The Mundane; Where the story at large takes place. Finite spaces where you'd find humans, mutants, aliens, the usual stuff. It's the central Happening spot, with shaky origins as to why it exists at all.

The Primal Plane; This is where ANY AND ALL Elemental magic comes from. And we're not just talking the commonly thought of Fire, Water, Wind, Electricity, Ice, Earth, nope. It's E V E R Y T H I N G. If there's a magic school for it, it's found here. The Primal Plane is an endless expanse, seemingly, where the local zone is what determines the types of magic you'll find in your world. From Technomancy to Pyromancy to Astromancy. The Primal Plane is also, incidentally, where elemental creatures would reside or originate from, from raw elementals to dragons, quetzals, and kitsune.

The Nthotay; One of two Conceptual magic planes. This one is of Light and Order, and where you'd find creatures you'd classically hear called "Angels" or "Angelic."

The Nthatic; The other of the Conceptual magic planes, this one, of course, being the polar opposite of the Nthotay, embodying Darkness and Chaos. You'd find creatures you'd classically hear referred to as "Demons" or "Demonic."

So how does one actually Cast magic? There's a few ways, but two overall reasons you can cast magic. Either you, A; Are from one of the "extraplanes" (aka Not the Mundane), or B; Have something from the extraplanes with you. Be it a flower, crystal, scar, or even a possession or familiar from the extraplanes, any of these with the correct attunement and practice can allow you to cast magic. And once you're attuned to such an item, you're ready to go on your magic journey, from the lowest level flicking your wrist to light a candle, to sending meteorite swarms from your fingertips.

[thatsuccessfulpokemontrainer]

torturing your oc's is out, bullying your oc's is in. Thats right. Shove them into a locker and call them a cringe nerd.

[tigirl-and-co]

Colours and Light Part 3

Morning Sun

Yippie, more unedited, stream of conscious shortficfic for my OCs! This is like the only time I write fluff lmao

Some people were very teary-eyed on waking up, eyes watering to rid themselves of collected dust and sleep. Chroma was among them. Some people forgot to take off their mascara and eyeliner before bed- Chroma was among them, too. This, of course, led to many mornings with makeup-stained cheeks and time spent washing her fur to be rid of the inky tear tracks.

Many times Luxa had thought about letting her girlfriend know when she was about to make the mistake again, but every time Luxa found a reason not to. She wanted to hasten Chroma into bed for extra cuddles, she liked the way the tear tracks looked...

But most of all, she treasured the mornings. Luxa booted up quickly in the morning, and had taken it upon herself to guide Chroma, bleary-eyed and incoherent, into the bathroom. The wolf would seat her girlfriend on a chair facing the mirror, and gently wipe away the evidence of yesterday's shows and last night's dreams.

Quietly, she would whisper and mumble, chastising the hedgehog for her forgetfulness, complimenting her vibrant quills, weaving together the fragments of last night's dreams, until there were no more smudges and all traces of makeup were gone.

Unbeknownst to Luxa, Chroma enjoyed the time just as much. Even through her bleary eyes and the cloudy mindedness that came with a slow start to the day, she admired her girlfriend. She'd stare into her sharp blue eyes, or use the mirror to marvel at how the two made so perfect a pair. Occasionally she'd think of those hands, so gentle and tender with her now, and be amazed that those same hands once fought so valiantly to keep them all alive. She felt blessed to know how soft those hands could truly be.

Burdened still by the weight of morning and unwilling to disturb the routine, Chroma said nothing, instead allowing herself a large, dopey smile, the kind of expression one can only make when they know they're safe. The kind of smile Luxa prized.

And in these peaceful moments, Luxa found herself unafraid to return it.

[shukakumoodboard]

Which letter are you currently on with your Syllabarium fic? *O* If you could tell us morrrrrrre (I know I’m forcing with this one and I have no shame)

tell me, my beloved. would you like letter c to be “chroma” or “contact” 😚

i’ll work on it just for u i swear . maybe i’ll gun for a new segment this weekend

i want to keep most of the words a secret until they’re posted but here’s a random sample: grasp, tactile, perihelion

[keighanweylan]

For all two of those who see this curious, or anyone who pops in and sees this now, I've done something, that in hindsight I shoulda started with.

The Heroes of Chroma novel series has been moved to its own blog, found @heroesofchroma. You can read the whole novel there as it's posted. Feedback is, of course, welcome.

[sharkface-daydreams]

thinking about the tonal misalignment between Sharkface's grievances with and vengeant crusade against the freelancers with the almost flippant death the writers gave him

why

why would you put all this weight behind his narrative and his grief only to be like 'lol and then we shot him and moved on haha c'mon laugh' like no i will not?? if he'd been a cartoon villain hell bent on causing pain for fun, because he liked it, if his character had been previously treated with that same levity we wouldn't be getting that tonal whiplash right now. and for a severe tonal shift to be funny, well. i can't tell you what it requires but i know you ain't done it right.

as if in at least three past seasons you didn't fold a former villain into your tornado of insanity and friendship despite then trying to kill the main crew. as if two of those former 'villains' aren't the ones staring down the barrel of their own mistakes committed under the direction of a corrupt military prog —

...... you fucking killed him because you didn't want to have to deal with holding wash and Carolina accountable for what they'd done. this is actually repeated in season 15 with the blues and reds. I'm

[chromatasia]

Isabeau with flowers please [:

“You know there’s meaning in flowers, right?”

The question came without warning, and Isa looked up at Odile from where he lay on the ground. The researcher (or, not-researcher, he supposed) kept her eyes on her notebook. The question didn’t come unprompted; the two currently sat in the fields surrounding Jouvente, and in those fields were, well, flowers. This wasn’t Isa’s first time visiting the fields - he’d grown up here, after all - but it felt… different. More meaningful.

“I know some basic stuff, yeah. Flowers are quite popular in the city!” Odile nodded, humming to herself as she scribbled something in her notebook. “Any reason, madame?”

“Oh, no, not at all.” She covered a smirk with her hand and, oh no there was definitely a reason. “Just curious, since you’ve received quite a few flowers on our journey, is all.”

And she was right! He did! The flowers he’d received from his family lay protected at the bottom of his travel bag, protected by the rest of his items. How poetic, he’d first thought.

“Do you know what the flowers mean?” Isa asked, though he expected the answer.

“If you show me, I’ll probably know,” Odile answered, closing her notebook and placing it on her lap. Isa lifted his head from where it rested on his bag and started digging through it, taking the various items out and spreading them around himself.

“…Flower-ology?” He proposed, causing Odile to laugh. Yeah, there was no secret research, but it was still fun to throw out guesses.

“That’d be botany, Isabeau. And no, I just know quite a bit from my travels.” One day he’d manage to get a story about Odile’s mysterious past, but that wasn’t for now. Isa looked into the bag and - there, wrapped in string, were the flowers. He pulled them out gently, taking care not to loosen any of the pressed petals.

Isa pulled a flower out a random and held it up. “Bonnie gifted me this one, I think. A little bit before we reached Dormont.” Odile leaned forward and nodded.

“Our little Boniface has quite the knack for choosing flowers, then,” Odile said with a small smile. “This is an Edelweiss, said to symbolize courage. That’s quite true for you, I’d say.” Isa gave a small chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I mean, I'm not that courageous, madame. Just doing my job!” It was part of being a Defender, after all.

“Still, Boniface admires you quite a lot, for all their teasing.” Her face dropped minutely, her eyes narrowing as she averted her gaze. “It truly is cruel, how brave they needed to be, in our journey.” Odile sighed and shook her head. “We can’t change the past though.” She leaned back, and looked back at the collection of flowers.

“I see a Zinnia in there, Isabeau. Who was that from?” Isa perked up at that, and the chance to ignore the weight of their journey.

“Oh, Mirabelle gave me that one! She said a villager gave her one as thanks, and thought it’d suit me.” Despite how long it had been since their victory over the King, passing villages often tried to extend their thanks to the saviors, much to Mirabelle’s apparent discomfort. Isa had taken the flower with a smile and given her a tight hug.

“Zinnias represent eternal friendship, supposedly due to how easily they grow in certain regions. Something with the abundant flowers representing how frequently the recipient was in the giver’s thoughts, if I am remembering correctly.” Isa nodded, twirling the flower in between his fingers. He loved his whole family, but being with Mirabelle since the beginning of her journey made their connection… special. He’d been there for her since the start, all the way up until the end of their journey. Had seen how she’d Changed, despite her protests that she was the same old Mirabelle. He smiled at the thought of his friend.

“Yeah,” Isa muttered, smiling to himself, “that fits.” He glanced at the rest of the flowers, and - oh!

“This one was from you, madame!” He held up the slender plant, the large leaves carefully covering the delicate flowers. Odile smiled and nodded.

“Yes, the Laurel. A common sign for victory across multiple countries.” She brought a hand up to her chin as she got lost in thought. “Boniface had asked, once, whether or not it could be used in cooking. It can’t, thank Gems they asked, but I did tell them of its meaning. Then they insisted I gift the ones they collected to the rest of our group, as a good luck charm.” She chuckled to herself. “I suppose not a sign of good luck, but we did succeed, by all odds.”

“Well, thank you for the gift, madame!” Despite the fact that he was sitting, Isa gave an exaggerated bow, and Odile sighed at the gesture as he giggled. “I shall treasure it to the end of time!” She flicked him on the forehead, which only served to send him further into a laughing fit. Isa flopped back, the grass cushioning his fall, and took a deep breath.

“Just one left, I suppose.” Isa held the flower up to the sun, ignoring the way his face grew warm as he looked at it. “This was from Siffrin, not too long ago.”

“I can tell, based on your expression.” Isa shot up at that, and Odile snorted at the appalled look on his face. He floundered for words but, well. It was Odile. She’d counter any one of his arguments made that no, this was definitely not from Siffrin, and he always smiled that happily when he looked at gifts from his friends, not just from a certain cloaked rogue.

So, rather than arguing, he simply flopped back down and groaned, covering his likely-dark face with a hand.

“…Is it really that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“…Can you tell me what it means, at least-?”

“ZA!! DILE!! WE FINISHED OUR SHOPPING!!” Isa sat up abruptly, trying to school his face into something that didn’t look like a flustered mess, and Odile sighed and waved behind Isa.

Looking back as he stood, Isa saw Bonnie running at top speed, arms behind their back, towards himself and Odile. Jogging behind them was Mira, clutching a couple of books, and Siffrin, who wore an easy smile and their face. Upon looking at Isa, they ducked their head under their collar.

Bonnie proceeded to collide directly into him with a hug, throwing Isa from his thoughts and into hugging back the preteen.

“Sorry if we took too long!” Mira called as she approached, taking a deep breath in as she slowed her pace. “The library was much larger than I expected and-“

“Mira, Mira it’s fine! But only if you rant about them if they’re bad.” She giggled, and that seemed to help her. Siffrin came up behind her with a mischievous look on their face and-

“Besides, Mira, we had the whole day booked.” Mira and Bonnie collectively groaned as Isa laughed, clutching the tulip in his hand close to his chest.

There, in that sprawling Azalea field, he never felt more at home.

[akela-nakamura]

I have so many fucking WIPs.

They keep expanding.

If anyone wants to know what I'm working on that's not on AO3, just ask.

There's so much hidden in my GDocs yet, y'all don't even know

[chronicles-of-condoria]

Escape

Entry 1. 

I’ve had many journals before; however, I have just got this one today. Fitting, because tonight is the night my life will change forever. Tonight, I escape. 

In case someone finds this journal next to a skeleton, have some context: My name is Philo Ivers and I am (at the point of writing this) a citizen of the Kingdom of Stone, aka Zulos. My sister Alexis escaped several years ago, and I promised myself that day I would too; I would join her. Therapon and Floren escaped with her. Ther’s mom was asking about him. I hope he’s all right 

Alexis has been brought back a couple times. They never seem to be able to erase her memory like the others though, she’s told me stories. It sounds so lively and nice out there. A sure change of pace from gloomy gray concrete and stone. Silence and stillness. 

In Zulos there is little choice in what role you get to play. Those who are richest work among The Twin Kings’ court. They have a bit more freedom than those lower down the ladder. If I were to stay another year, I would become a worker. I’d be given a set of tasks around the kingdom each day and would be forced to do them or face punishment, which varies in severity and on many different variables. 

No matter. Tonight I kiss this place goodbye and run for the smoke in the north. That’s where Chroma is. My friends, my family, my freedom. 

Signing off, Philo I. 

…

They exhaled, stepping towards the kitchen cabinets. Philo crouched and opened the door to one of the cabinets on the floor. Moving aside plates, he grabbed his bag.

Once he knew all the food he had so carefully packed was still there, he put his journal and pen in the backpack and zipped it shut. Their hands shook as the backpack was slung onto his shoulders. Mentally, Philo began to catalogue all the advice his sister had given him on escaping.

• Be stealthy, be quick, be crafty. • Do not leave a trail, they’ll find you.

And the most important one:

• Do not look back at the kingdom once you’re out.

He took a deep breath before blowing out the candle. Alexis had escaped in the dark, so he knew it was possible. Philo closed the cabinet door and walked to exit this tiny, cinder block “apartment”

Cautiously, he opened the door as quietly as possible and stuck his head outside. The Checker that made sure everyone was in there rooms would be a couple floors up by know, but they still needed to be careful. Philo shut the door near silently. He double checked his pockets. A multi tool in one jacket pocket, and a folded up map alongside a decoder ring in the other. That pocket was zipped, having things too valuable to loose.

Philo shuffled quietly to the end of the hall. He crept down the stairs to the entryway to the apartment complex as quickly as he could. Three flights of stairs later, they were far closer to freedom than they were a moment ago.

Although early in motion, Philo’s escape plan had gone perfect so far. They shuffled toward a window in the entryway and watched a Seeker go down an alleyway opposite of the building. No other entities-living or magic- roamed the streets at this time. Philo exited the building swiftly before darting down an alley.

Zulos, in all its maze-like construction, was still somewhat navigable if you knew how. Philo ran through alleys and snuck just out of site of Seekers and Guardsmen alike. In time, he reached the edge. He managed to duck through a whole in the first concrete wall. Now he just had to tackle the electric fence and he was free.

Philo flipped the lever on the outside of the electrical box. They pried open the lid and used the wire cutters on the multi-tool to cut several of the wires. He started to scale the fencing now it was safe.

Right before he could jump down from the top of the fence and run for the mountains, four guardsmen rounded the corner and found him.

“Halt young man!” The captain shouted. Philo pushed off the fencing. He landed on the other side and immediately started sprinting.

He ran and ran and ran. Swerving to keep his pursuers-who were a good bit behind him- guessing. He found a small sheltered dip in the ground with a dead, fallen tree covering it. Philo immediately dove into the hiding place and waited.

The gaurdsmen approached. Philo carefully flipped out the blade of his pocket knife.

“Where’d that kid go?” One asked.

Philo gripped the pocket knife tighter. I don’t want to have to hurt anybody. Then, he heard garbled speaking over a walkie talkie, but couldn’t make out what it said.

“Doesn’t matter. He was just a diversion,” the captain grumbled, “Big group escaping right now, back up needed asap. Let’s move.” In silent relief, Philo listened to the steps of the guardsmen as they left him alone. He turned his eyes to the sky as they let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Philo had never seen the sky look like this before. The harsh, rigid scheduling of Zulos had never allowed it.

Pale stars scattered over a many colored sky. The three moons casted peculiar, beautiful shadows over each other, one was pink, one was pale blue, and the last one was sort of silvery.

After a moment of rest, Philo hauled himself out of the ditch and started to walk towards the mountains. They pulled the furred hood of their jacket over his head as a chill began to set in. The wind howled and cried. The urge to look back at The Kingdom of Stone almost took Philo over. He shook his head and started walking faster. Claw-like, shadowy hands pulled on their coat and pants. Philo kept walking. He watched the puffs of his breath rise and then dissipate.

“Almost there,” He told himself. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. They scoured the sky for the smoke of Chroma. For once, not so distant. Not so lonely. Philo felt a pull. Zulos called for him.

Philo shook his head. He said through clenched teeth, “I can’t give up now.” In his mind he repeated that key rule.

Do not look back at Zulos.

They began to walk faster. The further, the lesser the pull in strength. He still felt it call. Desperate for his attention, for their surrender.

“Do not look back at Zulos,” Philo echoed,“Do not look back at Zulos.” The kingdoms grip on him loosened. He started to jog, then run, then dash for The Hidden Pass. It was so close now. He was almost there. The Hidden Pass was a canyon in between the rocky cliffs of The Guardian Mountains. As the name suggests, it is hidden by magic from Capturers, soldiers, and those who want to harm Chroma or the people residing in it. Philo slipped into the pass and hurried down. A gathering of people who had just escaped and those already residing in Chroma. By the time he had reached the end, it had to be midnight “Alexis?” Philo called out, “Alexis!” He looked around the group of people.

“Philo?” Someone asked from behind them. He turned around and saw her. Philo practically tackled his sister into a hug. “Welcome home man.” Alexis smiled.

[the-arigen]

Hi! Happy WBW! This week I've been thinking a lot about religion so... What is considered sacrilegious in your world? Is it common to encounter such a thing or is it punishable (or maybe both)? How do religious institutions react?

No matter what, it really depends who (in the worlds) you ask!

For Chroma (Rainbows Fade) the most common one is acquired superpowers (as opposed to inherited), along with certain kinds of magic- particularly those that subvert belief from large numbers of people or that control minds/souls as detached from the body.

People with acquired superpowers (an "empowered", distinct in universe from a "super") make up about 2.6% of the population, and most major religious institutions have basically given up on trying to call them evil, but it remains one of the most common targets of hatred for extremist sects. Some countries have tried to make it punishable, but this tends, for a few complicated reasons, to make even more empowereds. It's much more effective to just let them be.

The magic is a different story; many of the kinds that would be considered "sacrilegious" get their practitioners actively hunted down by the dragon clans. While religious orders typically lack the institutional strength to punish them, the structured belief does act as a shield against those kinds of intrusion (depending on the religion, sometimes just for believers and sometimes for friends/family/people nearby as well). There are usually 10-25 practitioners of forbidden magic per year. Typically, a maximum of 3 survive until the next.

[chrysochroma]

a walk in the Garden

My gift for @star01134 as a part of the @mcyt-halloween Gift Exchange! Enjoy :D

Read on Ao3

TW: Eye horror/body horror

“Are you ready to leave?”

She spoke softly, but her words were clear. “I don’t know. Do you think we’re ready?” “About as ready as we will be.”

She furrowed her eyebrows the slightest bit. “What do you mean?”

Etho gave a small shrug and leaned back on the fence post behind him. “At a certain point, more preparation won’t help, so there’s no point in waiting.”

The two of them were stood on the edge of the small town, about 100 meters from the edge of the Garden. A fence taller than he was spanned across the edge of town in an attempt to ward off people who thought it a good idea to venture in. It worked for most. 

The scene, fence and all, was practically ingrained in his memory, having been there dozens of times more than the average person. He knew just where the grass faded from a cool green into a bleak gray, when the bark of the trees turned gnarled and lifeless, when  the sky faded from bright blue to completely unsaturated.

It took him a long time to realize the beauty of it—longer than any of his customers could stand being there. Sometimes he wished others could recognize its simple elegance, but it didn’t surprise him to see apprehension in their expressions instead. 

The traveler looked at Etho, perhaps just starting to realize just how far out of her depth she was. He recognized that look on her face—mostly confusion, concealing the hint of primal terror that she hadn’t quite realized was there yet, regardless of the fact that her expression differed slightly from what he usually saw. 

It usually didn’t take too long for them to realize, once they had started their journey. He knew how it would go. Sometimes his companions would talk, wanting to discuss the trip ahead or have the usual small talk conversation of “So how long have you been doing this?” and “What got you into it?” and “Why do you even bother?” Most of the time he tried to answer as simply as possible, giving one-word answers unless it would be impractical not to. He had garnered a reputation for being a man of few words and he saw no reason to start diverting from it now. 

The more experienced ones were usually less talkative. It made sense—once you understood exactly what the next couple of weeks entailed, small talk really didn’t seem necessary. 

Etho was having a hard time fitting this person into either of those categories. At first glance, she was an average customer—visibly nervous, with at least a little understanding of the journey ahead—maybe a mix of the two, he thought. Upon further examination, though, he realized that what he had mistaken for nervousness was actually more along the lines of alertness.

Her face returned to a neutral state, any hint of confusion or fear completely gone. “I apologize for my reaction. That caught me a bit off-guard, but I’m still ready to leave at the nearest convenience.”

Etho couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. He hadn’t heard that before, that’s for sure. “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning, just after the sun rises. That’ll give us some time to get some rest before we leave.”

She hesitated a bit before responding. “Actually, would it be possible if we left earlier?”

At this point, nearly everything she said surprised him. Still, he weighed the options in his head, speaking his thoughts out loud. “Late afternoon isn’t exactly the best time to leave, but if it’s necessary, I can make it work. However, I strongly advise that we wait until morning.”

She glanced down as she took in the information, then looked back up at Etho. “I see. If you think it’s best, we should leave tomorrow.”

He nodded. “We’ll meet here at sunrise tomorrow, then.”

She returned his nod before turning and walking towards the center of town, where she was most likely staying for the night. 

Etho waited a few seconds before he retrieved the piece of paper folded neatly in his pocket—the record of who exactly required his services. 

Her name was Ivory Cavallo and she was a farmer from a relatively rural town. That was it. That was all of the information he had on this unnaturally calm customer of his. 

It wasn’t like she didn’t fit the part—she had nearly white hair down to her shoulders and was wearing a brown jacket and long, dark pink skirt, both of which looked relatively worn. At first glance, it was perfectly reasonable that she be a farmer from a random town. Yet, she was a strong contender for “least terrified customer,” even though they hadn’t started the journey. Usually, when people ask to leave earlier, they’re trying to get across the Garden before something along the lines of a family member dying happens, which isn’t very negotiable. Unsurprisingly, neither is their preferred schedule. 

Ivory, however, seemed perfectly fine with his objection, so that probably wasn’t the case for her, meaning that she just wanted to leave earlier of her own volition. 

This route through the Garden was worse than most people’s last resort. Nobody wants to go if they don’t have to. Nobody wants to leave sooner if they don’t have to. So why did she?

Etho looked back up to see the edge of Ivory’s skirt disappear through the door of a restaurant. He refolded the piece of paper, pocketed it, then headed in the same direction. He held the restaurant door open for a couple that hastily avoided making eye contact with him, then stepped inside, letting the warmth of the busy atmosphere wash over him. He took a quick scan of the patrons inside, not taking long to find Ivory. 

She was sitting alone at a table for two, intently focused on the piece of paper in her hands. 

Etho quickly turned his eyes towards the bar instead, thinking it best not to dwell. He took a seat and let his mind wander, counting down the time until they left the next morning. 

⎺ 𓎱 ⎺

Ivory stepped out into the brisk barely-morning air, straightening her jacket as she closed the door behind her. She looked across the horizon, just able to spot the top of the sun from above the wall of mountains to one side of the town, then started towards the spot she had met Etho the previous day. 

He was already there, leaning against the same fence post as yesterday. He had a backpack on now, though, as well as a pair of curved short swords hanging from sheathes on his waist. The mask he had on yesterday was still obscuring his face from his nose down. 

From the little that she had heard about her guide, nobody had ever seen him with it off. She half expected the reason he wore it to be just adding to the mystery that he was already drowning in. She had heard about the swords hanging from his belt, too—mainly tales of how they slashed through the beasts of the Garden with ease, slicing through the air in shining steel streaks fast enough that the creatures’ molasses-thick blood sprayed off in amber arcs. 

To say the least, Ivory was skeptical. She wanted to be skeptical of everything she heard, but she knew that the rumors weren’t entirely false. From what she knew of the Garden, anyone who made it through had to be more skilled than your average person, and this guide of hers had taken the journey more than once. Needless to say, any skepticism she had was firmly overshadowed by trust. 

Ivory stopped next to Etho. 

He gave her a slight nod. “Morning.”

She returned it. “Good morning.”

He gestured to the bag on her back. “Just the essentials?”

“Yes.”

“Ready to go?”

“Yep.”

Etho turned and stepped carefully through the fence, then stopped to wait for her on the other side. 

Man of few words indeed. 

She followed him, pausing for a second before following Etho as he set off towards the Garden. 

Ivory had never really seen the Garden before. She had only heard others’ descriptions, which all painted it as a bone-gray, hellish woodland, like it could’ve been beautiful if all of the life wasn’t sucked out of it. According to them, the trees were nothing but gnarled, stone-hard bark, razor blade leaves and putrid orange flowers like demons’ eyes, with ashen moss that dropped from their branches to the ground in curtains that collected in creeping piles on the ground, obstructing the little light that could make it through the treetops. The roots of the trees jutted up through the ground, tearing through the terrain and criss-crossing through the grass, while the branches snaked into the sky like a lightning strike, towering over anything that dared enter.

In their words, it was horrifying. In her eyes, it was serene. 

Everything was perfectly still—unnaturally so, but calming nonetheless. She felt pleasantly alone amongst the trees, like no one was there to watch her. It was quiet too—there were no insects or animals to add ambient noises to their trek—only the sounds of their own footsteps. She could’ve stayed there for years if it weren’t for the voice in the back of her mind screaming at her not to. It was peaceful when the sun lit their way, sure, but as it dipped below the horizon, Ivory’s story of the forest became a different one. 

The Garden was still silent as the sky above became pitch black. Etho lit up a torch, offering them a small sphere of light to see with. Only the sounds of their boots on the ground could be heard through the trees. But every step that they took, she could tell that they were being watched. She didn’t know from where, just that they weren’t alone. Of course they weren’t. 

Without fail, every time someone brought up the Garden, their next breath addressed the creatures that lie within. She had never gotten a clear grasp of exactly what they were. Some described them as hulking monsters made from the same material as the trees. They would crawl out from the ground below and use their scythe-sharp claws to slice your tendons, leaving you trapped on the Garden floor. Some said they were beasts of shadow covered in glowing orange eyes, capable of passing through the trees and moss like it wasn’t there. They were just as capable of passing through you, leaving you cold and paralyzed, unable to call for help. Others said they took the form of lost travelers pleading for help and directions, and when you turned your back they would cut you down, taking advantage of your kindness. 

In short, nobody really had a clue of what they were. Everybody could agree on one thing, though—the sounds they made. Sounds like the slow, drawn-out snapping of a fallen log, like the groan of old wood flooring, like the sharp snaps of tree branches coming into contact. The sounds the Creakings were named after. 

A branch snapped behind them. Etho’s swords were in his hands the second he spun towards the origin of the sound, eyes scanning through the trees. Ivory froze, her hands almost twitching. A single, yellow-orange eye opened through the trees. Ivory locked onto it, staring into the pupilless, citrine glow radiating from it. 

“Keep looking at it,” Etho told her. Then he was gone. 

Another eye opened, basking more of the trees in its glow. Then a third, then a fourth, leaving Ivory to rotate her gaze between the four. Three of them closed. Ivory found herself looking at a section of gray bark rather than a warm yellow glow. The Creaking got closer. It was quick, scuttling through the trees, covering a quarter the distance between them in half a second. Ivory looked back into one of its opened eyes. It froze. The eye closed. Ivory looked into another before it could catch up. There was less than ten feet between them now. It was blinking faster, opening and closing its eyes at random. Ivory kept staring. Her eyes were starting to water. They were aching, almost. Branches rustled above her. She blinked. Wind rushed by. The sound of branches snapping came from right in front of her. She finally opened her eyes. A Creaking stood half a foot away. One of Etho’s swords was embedded in its head, thick, golden blood running from the wound down its face. 

She heard Etho’s voice from behind her. “Ivory, step back.”

She took a step back. 

Etho stepped forward, holding a jagged chunk of amber pulsing with light in one hand and his remaining sword in the other. 

The Creaking was moving slower now, like its energy had been stolen.

Still keeping his eyes on it, Etho ran his sword through the chunk of resin, leaving it there like meat on a skewer. He strode forward, then plunged his sword into its heart. 

The Creaking started to crumble, turning to dust right in front of them. Etho’s other sword dropped to the ground. He picked it up, sheathed both of them, then turned to Ivory.

“Are you okay?”

Her muscles untensed slightly. “Yes.”

He nodded. One of his eyes seemed to shine with a yellow tint in the faint moonlight.

⎺ 𓎱 ⎺

Traveling through the Garden was a difficult route on its own, forgoing the challenges of timing. Usually, Etho would have to weigh the options on a daily basis—sleep during the day and lose valuable safe traveling time or try and fail to sleep at night in an effort to save said time. Usually the decision was pretty easy, but on this trip, the debate was a little harder. For once, he was tempted to consider taking shifts at night.

Usually, this was nowhere near an option. Saving a few days’ travel total wasn’t worth the probable deaths of both his clientele and himself, but Etho had a feeling that Ivory could take care of herself.

Eventually, the two of them stopped for a short break. It was still dark, but they had been walking for hours at that point. 

“Five minutes,” Etho said. 

“Okay.”

The two of them found a fallen log that they could sit on to rest. Ivory set her bag on her lap, then dug into it and retrieved a pair of silver sickles. They were shiny, like they were brand new, never having touched a speck of soil. Either that or she had polished them well enough to hide any trace of dirt. They looked sharp. The handles were worn. They were well used, just perfectly clean and honed to a razor’s edge. Not exactly what most sickles looked like. He watched as she attached them to her belt, letting them hang by her sides. It was a quick process, one that she was clearly familiar with. 

Etho took a sip of water from his flask and stood back up. Ivory did the same shortly after, the two of them continuing on their journey once again. 

As they walked, Etho kept trying to place Ivory into one of his two categories, to which he failed miserably. She wasn’t nearly talkative enough to be naïve, but she also didn’t seem like fear was the thing preventing her from talking. And her sickles—there was no way she was just a farmer. Maybe she looked the part, but her instincts told him otherwise. She had a staring contest with a Creaking and didn’t flinch. Didn’t scream, didn’t try to run—hell, she looked ready to fight it.

Another creak from their right. This time, he was able to hear it form, giving him more than enough time to turn to Ivory. “Same as last time, alright?”

Without waiting for an answer, he launched himself upwards, latching onto the bark of the trees and pulling himself into the branches. 

It had taken Etho a while to figure out that the creatures’ weakness was hidden in the trees above them, in the form of a pulsing amber heart. If you kill it, you kill the Creaking. It took him significantly less time to realize that the tree branches were dense enough to climb through. 

Their hearts made a distinct sound, like wind rustling through fallen leaves—otherwise absent in the Garden—which he frantically searched for as he scrambled through the treetops. Usually it didn’t take him this long to find. 

Below him, Ivory had dropped into a fighting stance, sickles in hand. Her eyes were locked straight ahead, staring into the eyes of the Creaking. She looked tense, coiled up like a spring. 

Etho returned his focus to the branches and the sound he should’ve been hearing by now. Its heart couldn’t be too far away, that’s where they formed from and he literally heard it form—besides, they were practically tethered to it. As far as he was aware, a Creaking physically couldn’t get too far away from its heart without something happening. Still though, he heard nothing. 

It was getting closer to her. Keeping eye contact with a Creaking’s ever-changing eyes was hard enough as is, and if you added fatigue on top of it, it was nearly impossible to keep one at bay solely by staring. She seemed to already be aware of this fact. It bolted closer. She readjusted her grip. 

A sound like the crunch of a fallen leaf rang in Etho’s ears. From the right. He spun towards it and spotted the heart almost instantly after, the faint orange glow a stark difference from the surrounding gray. He lunged forward, tearing through curtains of moss to reveal the pulsing chunk of amber. 

Ivory’s sickles clashed against the Creaking’s stone-hard armor, trying and failing to slice through. 

He ripped the heart from where it was nested between the tree’s branches, its light fading slightly when he did so. 

Finally, her blades started to gain purchase on its armored exterior, ripping through the top layer of its flesh. 

Etho unsheathed one of his swords, aiming for the heart in his hand. 

A sharp crack came from directly beneath him. Etho tensed, ready to spring back into a fight, then fell. The branch gave out from beneath him, sending him tumbling. It was a short fall, but enough to knock the wind out of him. He lost his grip on both the heart and his sword, reaching frantically for both of them before they could fall too far. He just barely grabbed the very end of his sword’s hilt by the tips of his fingers as the heart hit the ground behind Ivory. 

It took him a split second to properly grab his sword before launching himself off the branch to go retrieve the heart—but only moved a foot before he was yanked back. The hood of his jacket had caught on a tree branch, offsetting the trajectory of his jump so that he was headed straight down instead of where he planned to be. He almost didn’t catch himself, now hanging by one hand on a branch, sword dangling from the other. 

He looked down. Ivory was still fighting it, ruthless in her strikes but not quite holding her ground. It was pushing her farther and farther back as her sickles whirled in gleaming silver circles around it, amber blood pouring out of the cuts across its body. She looked completely focused on the task at hand, analyzing its movements and reacting faster than it could, all while maintaining eye contact.

Etho wondered where she learned to fight. Then he went back to concentrating.

“Ivory, behind you!”

Instead of immediately looking behind her, Ivory elected to jab the point of one of her sickles into the chest of the monster, then pushed it so the two of them were facing the other way. Smart. Her expression changed after she did so; she noticed the chunk of amber on the ground, while still staring into the Creaking’s eyes. Her demeanor changed once more, back into the determination that it had been previously. She pushed forward, putting all of her weight into her cuts, sticky, glowing blood coating her blades. Her eyes were locked on those of the Creaking, unblinking as she forced it back. 

Finally, she reached the pulsing heart on the ground, kicking it up with one foot to retrieve it. She stabbed it onto the point of one of her sickles, then drove it into its chest, tearing an oozing gash through its flesh, blood pouring like syrup onto the ground.

Another crack caught Etho’s ears. 

Behind her. Five feet away. Too close to survive. He pulled himself up, then he dove.

⎺ 𓎱 ⎺

It screamed when she dealt the final blow, like the crackling of logs in a fire. She thought she heard another crack from behind her. A flash of movement passed her from above. 

The Creaking in front of her crumbled, vanishing into dust that melted into the mossy forest floor. Ivory took a second’s breath before turning around. 

There was another one, less than five feet away. It was on the ground and Etho was on top of it, his swords discarded by his sides. His mask had fallen down. The skin underneath looked gray. And textured. Like the bark of the trees. His eyes were glowing yellow as he stared into the Creaking’s for once unmoving eyes. 

A slit on Etho’s cheek split open, almost as if on its own accord. The light that poured out was the same shade of warm, sticky yellow. Another eye opened, this time on the other side of his face. Then another, across the bridge of his nose. The Creaking remained unmoving. So did Etho.

Then it started to shudder, like it was shivering, almost. Then it was gone, dissolved into the floor like the other one. 

Slowly, Etho got up, then turned to her. The eyes that had opened across his face closed again, the yellow fading from his normal pair of eyes. The texture of his skin remained, though.

“Thank you,” she said. Nothing else.

Etho nodded, his expression returning to its usual calmness, now tinged with relief. “You’re welcome. Nice fighting.”

“Thank you. You too,” She added. 

“Thanks.” He paused for a second. “You were trained somewhere, right? You’re too good to be self-taught.”

She nodded. “A while ago, yeah. I don’t fight anymore.”

“I figured.” Of course he did. “Enjoying your life as a farmer?”

“I am.” An ever-so-slight smile flitted onto her face, gone just as quickly as it appeared. “Do you enjoy yours?”

His mask was still around his neck from when it had fallen, the torchlight illuminating the desaturated gray of the skin around his mouth and jaw. He shrugged. “It’s not bad.”

Ivory let out a quick laugh. 

The sun was starting to rise behind them, adding a faint light to their surroundings. What little sounds there were during the night faded out, leaving the two in silence. Now in the presence of the glowing sun, they continued their journey.