#chromatic writings

[leonardalphachurch]

Red vs Blue: Reformation

After Epsilon fragments himself inside of his mind, Tucker is left to pick up the pieces.

An alternate take on Tucker’s story in Season 19: Restoration.

Masterpost

Available to read on Ao3

CHAPTER 1 - Recognition

They might’ve finally found what they’ve been looking for. But there’s one thing to take care of, first.

__________________________

We open on a shot of a military base at night. Two guards stand in front of an exit.

Guard 1: Hey.

Guard 2: Yeah?

Guard 1: You ever wonder… if we’re in a simulation?

Guard 2: Simulation?

Guard 1: Yeah, yknow, like, none of this is real. We’re just the product of some guy simulating a bunch of random outcomes to try to find out what happens next?

Guard 2: … No. That sounds made up.

Guard 1: It’s not made up! It’s a real theory!

A cloaked figure enters through the door between them. Guard 1 raises his gun.

Guard 1: Whoa. Did you see that?

Guard 2: See what? Your simulation?

Guard 1: No! I don’t know! Looked like something… invisible.

Guard 2: Invisible? How does something look invisible?

Guard 1: Well, it looks like something that’s not there.

Guard 2: How am I supposed to see something that’s not there?

Guard 1: It is there, it just looks like—

A second cloaked figure enters the base.

Guard 1: There! There it is again! Did you see it?

Guard 2: Did I see the invisible thing that isn’t there?

Guard 1: Yes!

Guard 2: No. No I didn’t.

Guard 1: Dammit.

Guard 2: Maybe it was a glitch in the simulation.

Guard 1: Oh, fuck you.

Cut to the inside of the base. We see a series of shots. A pair of cloaked boots run along a hallway, followed closely by another. A guard collapses out of nowhere. A silenced pistol is shot.

Cut to the inside of a room. The door opens. No one enters. The door closes. An armored soldier uncloaks.

It’s Locus.

Locus: Is this the correct room?

Another soldier uncloaks and walks past him. He’s wearing The Meta’s armor in black. As he speaks, it fades into an aqua.

It’s Tucker.

Tucker: It should be.

He walks up to a large terminal and plugs in a device.

Tucker: Let’s find out. Guys?

Multiple colors of lights flash around him. Green, cyan, purple, pink, yellow, turquoise. Orange.

Tucker loses his balance after the last flash. But only for a second. He shakes his head and turns to look at Locus.

Tucker: Security here sucked, huh?

Locus is standing in between Tucker and the door, not leaving his back open to either of them.

Locus: I’ve learned it’s not something to complain about.

Tucker: I’m not complaining. Just saying, if what we think is here, is here? Well, it deserves a hell of a lot more security than that.

Locus: …What do you think is here?

Tucker: Huh?

A flash of cyan light.

Tucker: Oh, it’s some old files from Freelancer. Nothing too important, but, shit’s super classified. Be fucked if just anyone found it.

Locus makes a noise of acknowledgement. Is he agreeing? Disagreeing? Gassy? Who knows.

Tucker leans against the terminal, all casual like.

Tucker: So, how’ve you been?

Locus: ………. Fine……..

Tucker laughs.

Tucker: Damn dude, slow down. Even the AI couldn’t process that much information.

Locus sighs.

Locus: I have been. Fine. Nothing interesting has happened since we last spoke.

Tucker: All right.

They take a beat.

Locus: ………. How…… are. you???

Tucker: Wow. That seemed physically painful.

Locus: I… am not used to being the one leading the conversation.

Tucker: Right.

They take another beat.

Tucker: Y’know, I was kinda surprised you were willing to work with a partner again so soon after. Well, y’know. Didn’t think you’d trust so easily.

Locus: I… was more surprised you were willing to trust me.

Tucker, quietly: Yeah, surprised me too…

He stares at the terminal. Some colors flash around him. Pink, cyan, purple, yellow. Orange.

Tucker: We’ve also been doing fine. Same old, same old. Chasing down leads, cleaning up Freelancer’s messes, blowing up Charon’s shit.

Locus: Being a thorn in the UNSC’s side?

Tucker points at him.

Tucker: You know it! Saving the galaxy. One step at a—

Sigma appears at Tucker’s side. Not as a flash of light, but in his full naked, on fire, hologram-y glory.

Sigma: This is it.

Tucker stands up straight, giving Sigma his full attention.

Tucker: Wait, seriously? Finally? It’s really actually him?

Locus: What is “it”?

Tucker: I told you, it’s just old files from Freelancer.

Locus: You said “him.”

A flash of cyan.

Tucker: Did I? Must’ve misspoke.

Sigma: Lavernius. It’s time.

Tucker: Right.

Tucker takes the device out of the terminal. The colors flash all around him again.

Locus: Time for what? I… have been patient. But I do not appreciate being kept in the dark. I know you have bigger plans—

Tucker: Dude, relax. It’s not like we were gonna tell you everything before we knew we could trust you. You? C’mon, be realistic. But,

Tucker lets out an over dramatic sigh.

Tucker: Fine. I’ll explain everything when we get out of here, okay? Just— oh, shit, watch the door.

Locus turns to face the door.

Tucker: Like I was saying,

Tucker pulls out a gun.

Tucker: We were pretty surprised you were trusting enough to work with a partner so soon.

Tucker shoots Locus in the back.

Tucker: Probably shouldn’t have been.

Locus: You—

Tucker starts walking. He reaches down to grab something off Locus as he passes.

Locus: You— why— I, I can’t move—

Tucker: Yeah, don’t worry. Delta says you’ll get use of your legs back in 6 months. Right D?

A flash of green.

Delta: 6-12.

Tucker: 6-12. Cool how they can calculate that, huh?

Locus: Why… why are you doing this?

Tucker: It’s nothing personal, man. Just taking out one of the few people in the universe who might be able to stop us.

Tucker stops walking next to a wall.

Tucker: Well…

He reaches his hand towards an alarm.

Tucker: Maybe a little personal.

He flips it. Lights start flashing, sirens start blaring.

Tucker: I hear the UNSC treats genocidal maniacs well.

Tucker moves to the door.

Locus: You… I should have trusted my instincts. You are just like him.

Tucker stops. Purple, yellow, cyan. Orange. He laughs.

Tucker: You’re joking, right? You two were mass murderers. I’m trying to clean up the mess that you made. I am protecting people. Look at how easily you were manipulated again! Trust me. The galaxy is safer with you put away. It’s safer with us.

The door flings open as Tucker turns invisible. Locus tries to tell the oncoming guards about Tucker’s presence to no avail. We see a Tucker’s cloaked figure maneuver past the guards, into an empty area of the base.

He uncloaks.

Tucker: All right guys. Calculate how fucking badass that exit was.

All the AIs holograms pop up around him. Their lines slightly overlap each other.

Delta: Given your standard metrics, I would calculate that was… 75% “badass.”

Gamma: Too cheesy.

Theta: It was so cool!

Gamma: Overly sentimental.

Omega: We should have killed him.

Sigma: You should not have taken his bait.

None of the others’ lines overlap with Sigma’s.

Sigma: You cut the door opening too close. It was an unnecessary risk. Don’t do it again.

Tucker: Oh, please, Sig.

He flicks Sigma’s hologram.

Tucker: I know you love the dramatics.

Sigma: Not when we are this close.

Tucker looks down at the device he’s holding.

Tucker: So this is really it? We really found him?

Delta: We will not know for certain until we can decryp—

Sigma: Yes. This is him.

Tucker holds the device up and stares at it. Lovingly.

Tucker: All right, Church. Just wait a little longer. We’re gonna fix everything. Real soon.

Omega: Not soon enough. Let’s move.

Tucker laughs, cloaks again, and heads out.

[thestrongestjewel]

i made this silly concept the other night but didnt really expand on it too much on my other socials so I'll do it here!!

after the pressure of being a guardian of positivity gets to him, dream decides to disappear from the public eye jumping from au to au trying to escape his past, which is hard to do as his aura is very strong and easy to follow.

with blue and ink hunting him down (Mostly because they wanna know if he's ok, but dream doesn't know that) he ends up asking an old friend for help, and thats how cross ends up taking him to a hidden part of the multiverse where some other goofballs happen to live..

so thats the setting, but the au itself would have kinda like sitcom vibes, very lighthearted crack-taken-serious!

there's also delta and color, admitedly I don't know a whole lot about color which is why i havent sketched a lot of stuff related to him,, I'LL GET TO IT ONCE I GO OVER HIS STUFF- which, if any of you have any idea where i can see that let me know please wuehhhahh

as for the name of the au? it has not one yet, again its a very early concept whaha

[qin-qin16]

For my blood orange duo fans @howlsofbloodhounds and @stellocchia

Delta is a monster who is always on high alert; it’s not something he can change, is it something he could ease? Maybe, especially after living with Color and Epic for so long (especially with Epic). Any little noise triggers a fight or flight response, and knowing how he is, Delta always chooses to fight (let’s just say the playful scares Epic pulled in the early days of their friendship weren’t exactly the most fun, always ending with a punch or kick).

This ability was extremely useful when Killer started showing up more and more in his life — slinking through the walls of his house, walking side by side with his friends (seemingly trying to mimic their movements, as if he didn’t know what to do during a friendly interaction), and what Delta considered the worst of all: being his shadow, crawling behind him as if waiting for some misstep.

What was truly terrifying was how Delta could always sense when Killer was behind him — how he could feel Killer’s gaze fixed on his back, despite never hearing his footsteps — and how their encounters usually ended with Delta almost lunging at Killer’s neck, growling at that ever-present static grin. And how could Killer resist the opportunity to further unsettle Delta with his presence? It was amusing watching him contemplate whether to leap onto his bones or simply retreat to another room. If it weren’t for Color, the first choice would probably happen more often.

[zuzuelectricbugaloo]

Tête-à-Tête

Rating: Teen

Synopsis: Nightmare and Epic have a chat. A deal is struck.

CW: Referenced/mentioned canon of Nightmare and Something New Chara’s abuse to Killer, though no abuse is depicted

Word Count: 1,604

Part 1 of A Guardian, A Scientist, and A Parlay

The living embodiment of negativity and a pseudo immortal skeleton walk into a cat cafe run by a skeleton who ran on spite and coffee alone.

It sounds like the start of a nonsensical joke, one Epic could appreciate with a mental laugh as he slides into the unoccupied chair by the table the self proclaimed King of Negativity sat.

Nightmare’s gaze lifts from his book to glare at a grinning Epic as he twirled the wooden chair by its top rail. His eye narrowed further when he finished his risible twirl and sat backwards, languidly crossing his arms atop the rail and propping his chin upon them to beam beatifically.

“…”

Epic tilted his skull to the side, his scarred eye remaining closed while his right crinkled into a half crescent as he continued to silently grin.

Nightmare snapped his book closed with one hand. “Epic.” His eyelight narrowed into a slit. “To what do I owe this unprompted…mingling?”

Epic shrugged. “Wanted to talk to ya, figured you’d be here, and I was right.”

Nightmare’s eye twitched. Before he could voice his displeasure, Epic called out, “I’ll take a matcha latte if ya can, Ccino.” Despite the projection of his voice, his eye remained on Nightmare.

Nightmare tasted the familiar flare of ignominy and curiosity and glanced from his seatmate to the front of the cafe, where the sound of ceramics clashing against one another and a startled yelp was caught by his keen hearing.

The named skeleton startled, jolting with wide eyes in his surprise as an embarrassed beige blush tinged his cheekbones at having been caught.

“O-oh, sorry, yeah,” Ccino mumbled, “just that?”

“Yep!” Epic lifted an arm and crossed his thumb and index finger.

Strange. Nightmare assumed the good luck gesture was composed of the pointer and index. But why would Epic wish Ccino luck at all? Did he assume the barista to be inept with his livelihood?

“Pretty plez and ty bun bun!”

Ccino nodded, bustling off to one of his machines. “Okay.”

Nightmare returned his gaze to his sudden acquaintance, who hadn’t taken his own gaze off of him. Unlike Ccino, Epic’s emotions were not reflected by his outward lackadaisical, pleasant expression and body language. No, there was something dark, something that made his tentacles undulate in delight, corruption greedily absorbing the potent, bitter negativity of a vindictive, protective fury, of agony and pain and death simmering low and deadly in LV that spanned decades.

However, what made him weary was also the positivity that burned on his tongue. Bright, bubbly mischievousness and affectionate ardor so deep and profound that it roiled his corruption and stirred flickers of, unfashionably, envy within the dark lord himself.

“A chat, you say.” Nightmare allowed his mouth to grow wide and crooked, his now jagged, razor sharp teeth glowing teal under the warm lights “Come for a Faustian bargain, have you?” He purred.

His echoed voice drips with honey as he croons invitingly, teal eyelight glittering bright and hypnotic. “I can taste your torment, Epic. The suffering you hide from the world and loved ones both.” With faux gentleness he intoned softly with a hooded eye, “I can take it all away. Your terrors of the night given life, the endless death, the hopelessness of it all…”

Epic’s façade was immaculate, he begrudged. If Nightmare couldn’t sense his emotions he’d assume the man was pleasantly engaged in their conversation.

“Wouldn’t you like a blissful night of rest for a change? You’ve fought for so long, you deserve to rest.” Nightmare’s tentacles dipped slightly at the tips, beckoning him forward. “I can grant you the peaceful slumber you so desire.”

Epic hummed. “Nah,” he declined. “Even if you could, you’d just eat up all my bad mojo an’ still leave me to deal with those damned creatures myself.”

“What if I did so out of the kindness of my heart?”

That pulled an abrupt, disbelieving snort out of the man. “You don’t have a heart, Nightmare.”

Nightmare’s gentle smile widens. “Yes, I do,” It morphs into a jagged smirk. “It’s cold and black, just like yours.”

A shame he didn’t fall for his taunt. Instead, Epic sighed and sat up straight. “Let’s cut to the point.”

It was at that moment Ccino appeared. Epic thanked him for the drink, exclaiming in delight at the adorable foam art of a cat that looked like Epic, eating a macaron Ccino had carefully added. Epic thanked him for the lovely drink and with a playful compliment and wink, and pointedly pressed the center top of Ccino’s gloved hand to his mouth for a gentle kiss.

Nightmare watched, unimpressed, as Ccino blushed under the grateful gesture, sputtering that he had to go feed his animals as his skull flushed and he ran off.

After taking a long, indulgent sip, Epic sighed blissfully. “Damn, that’s good. Anyways,” Epic carefully set the ceramic cup down with a gentle clink. “You’re gonna pay for what you did to Killz.”

Nightmare’s tentacles twitched. “Ah. My mutinous right hand.” He tilted his skull to the side. “What of him?”

Epic’s baritone deepens further as his eyelight flares in his open eye. “How you hurt them, made them suffer and broke them almost as much as their Chara had. And every time he tried to escape, tried to heal himself, you’d hurt them all over again.”

Dark, amused chuckles rumbled out the dark one’s chest. “I gave Killer purpose. Whatever worth or greatness they achieved is because of my direction.”

How Killer himself was thankful to Nightmare and he couldn’t say exactly why when asked.

Epic opened his mouth to speak but Nightmare cut him off. “And how exactly do you propose to enact this “righteous vengeance” of yours?” A tentacle coyly tapped the center of his chest. “You can’t kill me.”

A pearly-white smile mirrored his own. “Exactly.”

Epic took another, longer sip of his drink. “If I die, I come back. You can’t die, period, unless by Dream’s hand. Fighting’d be pointless.”

A nod of agreement as Nightmare drank from his own cup. “An immortal quarrel, yes.”

“So,” Epic suggested, “let’s play a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“Of wit and charm.”

Intriguing. Nightmare perked up. “Oh?”

“Whoever can accurately glimpse into and freak the mind of the other wins.”

“Hm.” Nightmare mulls it over. He won’t admit it aloud, but Epic can tell by the gleam in his eyelight and the tiny wags of his tentacles that he’s intrigued. Aloud, he inquires, “The guerdons?”

Epic set his cup down. “If I win,” his smile fell, the glacial fury of Epic’s agitated LV simmered and burned delightfully when Nightmare absorbed it. “You stay away from Killer. No contact, no reaching out through a third party, nothing.”

Before Nightmare could speak, Epic persisted. “And that includes alternate timelines.”

Nightmare continued to smirk, unaffected.

“Yeah, I know about them, and you’re not putting Killer through that shit.” Epic’s voice is cold as verglas when he intones, “Any version of him.”

How droll. “Is that all?” Nightmare gave an unimpressed quirk of his brow. “I have no use for a traitor. What,” he taunted, “are your other companions not nearly as important?”

“It goes without saying you stay away from them. All of them.”

A dark claw idly tapped at the elegant table cloth while Nightmare rolled his eye and scoffed. “Please, as if I care about your little band of misfits. The rainbow was a persistent annoyance but he's Killer’s problem now, and the orange one tears himself apart far better than I ever would.”

He grinned as he brought his cup to his mouth for a long, pointed sip. “Though it would be interesting to perhaps invite Cross back to the draw,” he emphasized. “Second to only you, his torment is,” his forked tongue slid over his jagged teeth, “simply exquisite.”

Ah, Nightmare thought giddily, corruption greedy as it absorbed Epic’s anger and fear for his dearest friend. That got him.

Electric indigo sparked and spread along Epic’s body as he opened his left eye, the violet orb burning within its onyx prison. His words dripped with verglas, the frost on his ivory bones glittering under the lighting, “Everyone.”

As quickly as it had appeared, it vanished. The biting cold easing away as though it were a bitter breeze. Epic took a deep, steadying breath when he sighed, slipping out of his chair and turning it to sit in a side straddle.

“And,” Epic held up two phalanges. “A favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“An ROI. An I-Owe-You. Save for later, Chekov’s succor, whatever ya wanna call it. And,” Epic added, “When I cash in, you pay up. No take backs, no cut corners, nothing.”

Nightmare chuckled. “How titillating,” he crooned derisively. Epic’s mouth quivered at the corner in a reluctant chortle.

“Ha, you wish.”

“Cheeky. A thought I’ve had for this proposed game,” Nightmare vaguely gestured to himself. “How do you propose to beat an empath that can See you for all that you are?”

He doesn’t answer the clearly baited question. Instead, Epic shrugs carelessly. “I guess you have nothing to lose, then.”

Nightmare's tentacles writhe behind him, betraying his eagerness. “Very well, I accept. And if I win,” shadows grew and lights flickered, several cats and a few dogs scurrying to hide. His form melts and shifts with the echo of his voice sounding like several overlapped into one. “I get to devour your negativity. Permanently.”

Epic leaned forward and held his hand out, not even flinching once as Nightmare’s own claw dripping with viscous corruption encircled his. “Deal.”

[basilpaste]

cargo shirt.

[theartsynebulawhodoodles]

Memories

{A Color One Shot, mentions of Chromatic Crew, He/Him and They/Them both used to refer to Color, Wholesome, Comforting, short one shot, relaxing}

One shot under keep reading 𓏲𝄢

Color sat on the ground, gazing up at the sky with focused eyes. In many AU’S the night sky was either fake, or the real one on the surface was usually hidden by clouds, no stars or the moon in sight. But in Outertale, it was different. Color could see many dashes of color, the distant planets not yet explored, the many moons orbiting around planets, and the stars dancing across the sky. Color’s hands lightly gripped the ripe grass, his phalanges curled around different blades of grass. It was silent. But not the uncomfortable silence they were used to. It felt serene.

Color slowly gazed down, their head tilting down to the ground. His eyes traced to the digital camera by his side. It had a few stickers, some of which had the film peeled off due to being worn down, and a little bit of smudged marker ink on the bottom of the camera, which the faint words of ‘Color’ were still visible. Their bony finger slowly traced to the on button, and turned the camera. They slowly lifted the camera, and took a photo of the galaxy sky.

The photo soon printed out. Although in duller colors in the photo, it still held the charm of the real thing right in front of him. He placed the photo in his pocket, before feeling something. He slowly pulled it out of their pocket, seeing what the mysterious item was. A stack of photos tied with an old tan rubber band. Color didn’t remember putting this in their pocket before heading out. Certainly not. And they couldn’t have forgot the photos inside their pocket, the washer and dryer would have messed the photos up one way or another.

He untied the rubber band, before looking at the first photo, their eyes gazing down at the photo. A photo of Killer standing by a creek. They remembered taking this. It was when they were at a creek, just walking and talking, feeling the afternoon sun kissing their forms. Color felt a genuine sense of relaxation from Killer they hadn’t seen before.

Color moved to the next photo. Delta smiling wide while wearing a cowboy hat. Color remembered this. He remembered convincing Delta to put on the hat and smile for the photo out in a town after finding it inside a store.

Color flipped to the next. Cross, getting their trans flag tattoo, holding up a peace sign while the rest of the Chromatic Crew stood around and also posed for the camera with peace signs and smiles. Color had asked for the tattoo artist apprentice to hold the camera for the photo. Color hadn’t seen Cross smiling so wide his fangs were showing.

Color flipped to the next. Epic, kicking around mud with a wide smile, getting it on the boots of others. Color remembered that all of them arrived covered in mud after that day after having a ‘mud battle’, aka kicking mud at each other.

Color gazed at all the photos on their lap, slowly putting them back together and wrapping the rubber band tightly around them, placing it in his pocket, before laying down on the ground and gazing up at the sky.

A soft smile appeared on their face.

thank you for reading:) 𓏲𝄢 sorry it’s kinda short, it’s a practice piece 🩵

[arsonistfriday]

Summary: the Chromatic Crew celebrate Gyftmas and Killer gets a gift that means a lot more than he was ever expecting it to.

This is a (late) Christmas gift for @stellocchia and is a huge thanks to them for not only being one of my best friends for years now, but also getting me back into this fandom and inspiring me!

Also I will get to the Colourkiller fic I promised y'all

[medicalunprofessional]

‘ My skin is metallic now, no longer an elegant powder blue ‘

- King Crimson. Lyrics to “Dig Me”

[nehswritesstuffs]

Scientific Convention

A while ago I was asked about what I would do if I wrote a sequel to Peer Review [FFN/AO3], and then that got me thinking, so everyone go thank @chromatic-lamina for this.

4955 words; please read Peer Review first before this because it will make so much more sense; general warning for medical descriptors (very specifically feet and things that can make them extra) that can be pretty gross depending on one’s personal tolerance (despite this, there will be Obviously Fake Medicine, as I am not going to pretend that I am a fully-qualified medical professional by any means); takes place shortly after Law becomes a Warlord but also before Punk Hazard; if you don’t think reading a fic about someone literally presenting a research piece/case study isn’t fun then be warned that this might not be the fic for you

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Lvneel was absolutely teeming with excitement as they prepared for another regional convention. It was their turn to host the medical summit, where all the immediate area’s preeminent minds would converge and share their findings with the world. People were gathering from all over the North Blue to attend, and for good measure: now that there was no Flevance, it was up to Lvneel to be one of the standard-bearers of excellence in Northern medical care. It was frankly a step down in that regard, but that was neither here nor there at this point.

“I don’t like this,” Law grumbled. He was standing in a hotel room in Lvneel’s capitol area while his three closest crew members—friends, truly, but don’t tell them that—were fussing over his appearance. It was a transformation that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with, as they were turning a powerful and feared pirate captain into the frumpiest academic they could muster. He was in loose-fitting slacks and a lumpy sweater over an open-collared shirt, while Penguin and Shachi put makeup on his hands to cover his tattoos and Bepo concentrated on making his hair look as naturally messy as possible.

“Ah, relax,” Shachi said casually. “The more we build up this academic business, the more likely it will benefit us all in the end.”

“Benefit us?” Law questioned. “How are you getting into all this?”

“If we ever need a place to lay low, then Lvneel will welcome its dear son back as he helps some friends of his while they get on their feet,” Penguin replied. He finished off Law’s left hand and nodded—not a bad job. “You do this, get a bit more established with the medical community on a face-to-face basis, and you’re golden—we’re golden. Right?”

“Right,” Shachi agreed. “Don’t worry, Captain. We’ve got your back.”

“I don’t know if I should feel better about that or not,” Law frowned. He looked at himself in the mirror and didn’t entirely like what he was seeing. Once he put on the eyeglasses that were currently sitting on the dresser, he knew exactly what ghosts would come back to haunt him. The only reason he even agreed was that maybe those same ghosts might haunt the other conference attendees as well. “You almost done?”

“I am, Captain,” Bepo said. Shachi took one last look at his own handiwork and nodded—he was done as well. “I think you’re ready for your debut, Dr. Wittman Lars. You sure you don’t want one of us to come along as a secretary?”

“No—if I do that, I’m going to drag Ikkaku out of the Polar Tang,” he decided. Law stood up and grabbed the glasses, putting them on without checking how it looked in the mirror. “A male secretary would stick out in this crowd. I just got named a Warlord—I need to stick out less.”

“Well then that’s on you for going and accepting both a speaking position to present the nastiest shit ever and filling a Shichibukai seat within a month,” Penguin teased. Law scowled, unable to refute that. “Now get a move on, champ; registration opens in half an hour and it’s a twenty minute walk to the venue. Go out there and do the Heart Pirates and Flevance proud!” He smacked Law on the rear like a sports coach, trying to get him towards the door.

Law figured that it would take until about noon for Shachi and Bepo to find all the pieces and put Penguin back together.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Soon as Law arrived at the convention venue, he knew that he was going to be out of his element. Piracy was generally a young person’s game, and the ones who made it long enough to develop weird crew themes and/or grow old were not forces to reckon with; medical professionals, on the other hand, skewed older, battier, and from what he could tell, were just as passionate about their profession as some pirates he’d run into. Once in line, he stared at the large hall containing dozens upon dozens of booths and displays, the only things grounding him to reality being the messenger bag with his presentation over his shoulder and the paper takeaway cup of coffee he had bought on the way over to blend in better.

‘Just act normal,’ he thought, taking a sip. ‘You’re just a normal doctor going to a normal medical convention, to give a normal dissertation. There is nothing weird about this…’

“Hello!” said a voice, making him jump in surprise. Law almost dropped his coffee in fright—who the fuck?! He looked and saw an elderly man standing next to him, a gleaming smile on his face. “You alright?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

“Welcome, son! I don’t think we’ve met,” the other man said. He held out his hand and Law took it, the elderly man shaking the younger’s entire arm. “I’m Dr. Kingford Kennichi. You are?”

“Wittman Lars,” Law replied, just a bit too loudly. He coughed and tapped his chest with his fist, pretending to clear his lungs when he was instead just flattening the Flevance from his accent. “Sorry—Dr. Wittman Lars. This is my first convention that doesn’t involve costumes.”

“Ah, so you’re that lad that Meg let through a while back,” Dr. Kingford nodded. “I knew you were on the younger side, but you’re just a baby! You single?”

Law couldn’t believe his ears. “What…?”

“Not me; got a couple grandkids that might be more your speed though,” the old man laughed. He gave Law a few firm pats on the back—Nika above and below, how was that any better?! He got to the registration table and tried to ignore the old man by getting his badge, but his adversary was a stubborn one, pouncing once he was out of line. “Where you been that you can’t come to any of the conventions until now? I hear that you seem to work remotely…”

“I… work… on a ship…” All of Law’s ability to think and speak seemed to be whisked away, which made the old man laugh.

“Ah, figured as much—we lose some of our best to the Navy in most years.”

“Not the Navy,” Law replied quickly. Dr. Kingford raised an eyebrow. “It’s an… uh… it’s a private ship.”

“Bah! Relax! It’s not like you work for pirates! Nothing to be ashamed of!” Dr. Kingford patted Law on the back again—oh no, was this going to become a thing??? What did he do to deserve this—and the man smirked as he motioned with his other hand towards a specific booth. “Come over here with me—I’ve got some colleagues I want to introduce you to—part of this entire thing is networking after all!”

Law let out a slight whimper of a noise in protest, but now he was trapped, and without the ability to use his Devil Fruit for a quick escape or else risk drawing too much attention to himself. He was doomed.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ikkaku said as she slapped a pair of cards down on the table. She and the rest of the crew were playing a tournament of King’s Alone while waiting for news from either their captain or the three he took with him, hoping that they wouldn’t have to go in and extract them. Winners had been paired with winners and paired with winners, meaning it was now down to her and Hakugan, the others watching intently as she waited for the masked man to draw one of her cards. No one dared help him pick—they knew retribution would be swift.

Hakugan’s fingers hovered by Ikkaku’s cards, carefully hedging his bets before swiping one of them. She let out a big grin as he looked at it—the King—and settled in to watch the exaggerated lamenting as her opponent gained the only non-pairable card. They all whined and pissed and moaned to the point they almost drowned out the ringing of the transponder snail sitting nearby. Luckily, Ikkaku noticed and slammed her fists on the table.

“SHUT UP! CAPTAIN’S CALLING!” Everyone else went dead quiet, the Den Den Mushi becoming fully audible in their silence. She picked it up and let it cllllick on, putting on her most shit-eating expression and sweetest voice. “You’ve reached the Sora, Warrior of the Sea Information Hotline for all your pathetically nerdy needs. State your reason for calling and we can connect you with a representative best suited to your inquiry.”

“That is not funny,” Law replied. The snail looked distressed and was mimicking the specific lilt in the captain’s voice that appeared during the rare instance of panic. “On today of all days, that is not funny.”

“Oh, lighten up, Cap,” she smirked. “I would think you’d be a bit more normal when surrounded by other medical junkies. Did you forget your slides?”

“No—I need you or Clione to come down here and pull me out of this trap!”

Everyone looked at the snail curiously. A trap…?

“I thought that’s why Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo are on standby.”

“Yeah, but… they won’t.” Wait, was that a whine…? “Listen: I could barely sneak away to make this call. All I need is someone who can pass for a secretary to come down here and…”

“No can do,” Ikkaku replied. She plucked another card from Hakugan’s hand—two of clubs—and placed it on the table with the two of hearts. “I’m literally about to win no cleaning duties for six months.”

“You barely have cleaning duties.”

“…and soon I will have less of them.” She offered her cards to Hakugan again, allowing him to start making his decision. “What kind of a trap you in, anyhow?”

“The elderly want to network.”

“Ah, that’s not too bad…”

“I have been told I need to be introduced to no fewer than thirteen of their single adult grandchildren, and at least four who are going through a divorce.”

“Did you try explaining to them that you’re normally a gross cretin who forgets to bathe or eat when studying? Or that you usually have to be babysat by a bear in coveralls? How about the line where you explain why the ship will just casually smell like cadavers? You know, go in for the kill.” Hakugan plucked the ten of diamonds from her hand. “Figuratively, of course.”

“This is not helping.”

“You knew that the threat of socializing was the risk you were going to have to take when doing this,” she reminded him.

“You did warn me, alright, I admit it; now someone needs to come be my shield or else I will blow everyone’s cover.”

“Mmm.”

He grumbled, the snail mirroring his annoyance. “Please.”

“Tough tits, Cap; consider this practice for when you need to start doing Actual Warlord Shit. Ta.” She hung up the receiver and glared at the back of Hakugan’s cards while her crewmates all marveled at her boldness. “He’s being a big baby and you all know it.”

“Yeah, but, he said please,” Uni noted. “Only Bepo usually gets a please.”

“Yeah, yeah; maybe this’ll make him reconsider that strategy,” she shrugged. Ikkaku took a card and cringed: the King. That’s it—she was now ready to go to war.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The transponder snail in his hand fell asleep and Law wanted to scream. What good was having a dedicated crew if they were going to get sassy at the most inopportune times? He put the snail in its carrying case and slid it back in his bag—no dessert for the entire crew for a week.

“What are you doing back here?” a voice asked, making Law jump. He looked and saw it was one of the elderly doctors he had been trying to give the slip for the past hour and a half. Dr. Langley was a dentist with it sounded like three adult grandkids she thought he needed to be introduced to, two granddaughters and a grandson “in case that’s more your speed.”

It made him want to run at the very sight of her.

“Was just making a call back to my staff,” he semi-lied. “Confirming everything is running as-scheduled; they don’t always stay on-task when I’m away.”

“Oh, that’s just the burden of having staff,” Dr. Langley smirked, waving it off. “Listen: if we head on over now, then I can introduce you to someone who I think would get along splendidly with you…”

“I-I, uh, really don’t have the time,” he said. “I’ve got to practice for my presentation.”

“Can’t beat my first presentation,” she scoffed. “Got myself so worked up I lost my lunch all over the front row.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid,” he replied. Well, not lose his coffee—chances were he wouldn’t eat until hours after he got back to the Polar Tang—and it wasn’t like his newfound “colleagues” were making it any better.

“Maybe a pretty face will calm your nerves,” Dr. Langley insisted, pushing him along.

Fuck, this was such a disaster! Why was Law attracting people like this?! Would this be every scientific convention he would attend?! It made him want to stick to ones about Sora, Warrior of the Sea and only ones about Sora, Warrior of the Sea. Dr. Langley stopped at a booth about topical pediatric antibacterials (why…?) and shoved Law towards a young woman who was working there.

“Help,” he whispered soon as he made eye contact. The woman seemed to be about his age and when she began to put two and two together, she groaned exasperatedly.

“Nonna, what are you doing to this guy?!” she scolded.

“Oh, nothing,” Dr. Langley said innocently. “I was just thinking that you and Dr. Wittman might have a lot in common…”

“That is extremely rude! I can’t believe you’re being like this!” The woman kicked Law outside of her grandmother’s view and motioned towards the table, which was covered in a cloth. “Is this the work of your little matchmaker club?! Because those of us in the line of fire have had it!”

While Dr. Langley was distracted, Law ducked underneath the table and hid himself within the sheet. He then took a deep breath and tried to concentrate—if he tried hard enough, he’d be able to create a Room without the usual blueish hue, it being clear instead. It was a risk, but possible if he was not disturbed. Another breath, then another, and he let the sounds of the convention melt away into white noise as he used his Devil Fruit and located a discarded bento box that had been kicked behind a curtain. One use of Shambles and he was free, dropping the Room immediately in case he lost his concentration too quickly.

Poking his head out from behind the curtain, Law decided everything was clear and he hurriedly made his way down to the presentation hall, lingering in the standing section by the door. Someone was finishing up describing their own case study, presenting her findings flawlessly and confidently. He didn’t even know what it was she was doing a presentation on—all he knew was that he envied the poise of the doctor up on the stand. Everyone clapped as she bowed and left the stage.

“Next up, we have Dr. Wittman Lars, presenting a case study from his time on the Grand Line, his first in what we hope is the first in a very long line of dissertations,” someone said into a voice-snail. “Will Dr. Wittman Lars please proceed up to the stage?”

Law swallowed hard and began to walk towards the stage, gripping the strap of his messenger bag. He found where the voice-snail was and the aid who was in charge of a projector he could utilize for his slides. Once those were handed over, he took his hand-written notes and stepped towards the podium, almost swearing that the voice-snail sitting on the wooden surface was mocking him.

No; a feared pirate and Warlord was not going to be bested by a crowd of professionals in middle-age on average! There was no reason for him to screw this up.

“Hello…?” Law cleared his throat and leaned slightly towards the snail. “I’ve never talked into one of these like this; can you hear me in the back?”

Someone along the back wall put their hands up in a circle above their head—he was good.

“Thank you. I’m, uh, Tr…” he coughed, “…sorry, I’m Dr. Wittman Lars. I am certified out of Lvneel in general medicine and work as a ship’s doctor in the Grand Line. Although I’ve specialized in surgery since my certification seven years ago, I am functionally a general practitioner due to my professional position as the only qualified medical person on staff. Today, I am here to give a presentation on an individual case study that I thought might be of use…”

“Get on with it, rookie!” someone shouted in the crowd. Giggles erupted and Law’s face went hot with blush.

“…as I was saying: I found a novel case of tinea pedis accompanied by localized tinea lesions elsewhere on the body that might be of great use, as it was a severe and complex case requiring treatment outside our normal prescribed regimens. If everyone is done laughing, I have some accompanying slides I’d like to go through before I get into said treatment.” He looked at the aide, who checked the projector snail’s connection and gave a thumb’s up—things were a-go. “So, um, my case study is a former slave of the Celestial Dragons recently deemed unworthy to work, male, aged forty-nine. When I first became acquainted with the individual, he had been recently released from Celestial custody. Instead of going into what he went through to acquire this affliction, I think it’s time to go through his symptoms. Slide, please.”

The aide clicked on the button atop the snail shell and the first slide popped up on the wall behind Law. There, for the whole room to see, was two photos of Jean Bart’s feet. One showed the soles of his feet, the other the tops, with both images showing off how grossly horrific they had once been. Cracked, scaly, discolored skin was most of the foot, with gnarled toenails and weeping lesions as the main accompaniments. The entire hall seemed to gag, then grow curiously quiet—what sort of place was this newbie in?

“A type of dermatophytosis, ringworm of the foot, tinea pedis, the local common term being ‘sauna foot’ and known globally as ‘fungal foot’ and ‘athlete’s foot’, is often seen in former slaves returning to their families, though—again--this specific case was of particular note. Please notice the near-complete disfiguration of the foot in these wide shots—these were taken upon the removal of his boots during the initial primary health evaluation. Slide.”

Another click and the aide pulled up another photo, this one a close-up of the left big toenail. He could hear some additional gagging in the audience, and for good reason: it was discolored, cracked, and most importantly, was visibly moist. “This is an example of extreme progression of the disease. You can see here that it has spread to the subject’s nail, completing the infection of the entire extremity. Slide.”

Slide after slide, Law showed off nasty photos of other areas where Jean Bart had been infected. The fungal infection had spread to his arms and legs, his groin, and even into his scalp. He paused on a slide that was a compilation of all the different parts of Jean Bart that had been infected.

“Now I’m not going to get into the method by which this was contracted. Sauna foot is called as such in the North because it often occurs in poorly-cleaned saunas, which maintain excellent temperatures and opportunities for growth and transmission if not regularly disinfected. We all know the rumors of what goes on in Mary Geoise: there are many different ways he could have been exposed. What we can say is that it is clearly a compounded dermatophytosis infection, with multiple contact points, and an enforced lack of both treatment and hygiene encouraging its spread. Slide.”

The audience seemed to let out a collective breath of relief—all the infested, putrid photos were replaced with clear skin and fresher-looking nails. “This is after eight months of intensive treatment, the last two of which were even slightly effective. During that time, the subject was isolated to his own shower stall and bed linens, sharing very little with crewmates. Standard antifungal medications—both oral and topical—made little progress, if at all, including remedies I came across by sailing the Grand Line. It was a medical enigma, until I remembered something: Flevance.”

Awkward silence settled over the presentation hall. Many there had clearly not heard, let alone thought, of Flevance in over fifteen years. Some even allowed their jaws to drop, clearly discovering a new dimension to the speaker they had not anticipated… one that they hoped was all in their heads.

(Law also did not want to mention the fact one of the things he attempted to treat Jean Bart with was his Devil Fruit ability, but the facts it was well-known to belong to a notorious pirate and it being a medical practitioner’s wet dream to possess… he conveniently left out the part where even the Op-Op Fruit alone of all things couldn’t prevent Jean Bart’s fungal infection from coming back, meaning he had to find some sort of complimentary treatment…)

“Flevance,” Law continued, “had a compound designed specifically for treating acute cases of dermatophytosis, which many of us have likely seen before in the days before the Purge, podiatrists in particular. The problem with attempting a recreation is twofold: finding an old journal or instructional volume from then, and figuring out how to synthesize it without exposure to Amber Lead, as the heavy metal poisoning it provided is what caused many of the Flevench casualties pre-Purge. As field treatment—”

“That’s a lie!” someone shouted. Law paused reading off his notes to take a deep breath and look like he was simply scanning the audience, except he was really feeling about with his Observation Haki, bringing him to a group of people who were very nervous, as well as someone dead in the middle who felt extremely smug.

“Beg pardon?” he asked, making it clear in his voice he was very, very angry with the interruption. Sure enough, the perpetrator stood and identified himself.

“It’s common knowledge that Amber Lead Disease is a highly-infectious bacterial infection that attacks everything from the respiratory system to the dermis and musculoskeletal system,” the interrupter said. Law made a dismissive noise, which only proved to piss him off. “It was named that because it developed in the mines! You couldn’t’ve been barely off your mother’s teat when the Purge of Flevance happened! What would you know about how horrifying it is?!”

“Then please cite me your research—or comparable research done by local, independent accredited sources and not related to the same folks who provided my patient with the appropriate conditions to contract several types of treatment-resistant tinea at once. Childish terror at being faced with the potential prospect of treating an afflicted patient does not count.” The interrupter said nothing. “Now sit.”

Law gestured as though he had up a Room and was using Takt, slowly sweeping his pointer finger from at the offender towards the floor. Said person sat down while everyone else was deathly quiet.

“If we’re all done with that,” Law said before clearing his throat and continuing, “I was saying: field treatment in the Grand Line is not one for waiting and seeing, or making sure a control-group clinical trial can be achieved before treating the impacted patient. It involves a lot of experimentation and quick thinking. After making sure that my patient was fully aware of the risks, I was able to acquire a more recent textbook from Flevance Medical University’s pharmacology track. The specific procedure as outlined in Moore, Trafalgar, Hand, et al, fourth edition, did indeed involve a tincture of refined Amber Lead—as sourced from the original publication—so even if long-term exposure to Amber Lead was not poisonous, it was not always readily available in the latter half of the Grand Line. Finding an alternative, non-toxic heavy metal composition as a replacement activation element was going to be key…”

Thus, Law began outlining the process he took to replicate the specific qualities in Amber Lead that made the old remedy effective, with now the added safety of not using a toxic compound. The presentation hall remained eerily silent as he did so, giving brief (and just vague-enough) sidebars into the origins of his research and how he even came across some of the literature without completely giving away that he was Flevench in origin. He did not mind oblique references that could imply anything from him having visited the White City as a child to being from Flevance himself—anything that he could neither confirm nor deny that set terror in the hearts of those who ignored his home as it was murdered and chased him from potential care as a child.

Eventually, Law was done with describing the torturous regimen he had put Jean Bart through—it had been so much ointment—and finished on a slide composing of photos of the man’s healing feet. He adjusted his father’s glasses and looked out over the crowd; he had them by their balls.

“Any questions?” he asked, trying not to let his mouth twitch into a grin. “I still have some room in my allotted time slot, if anyone is interested. Yes?” He pointed at someone a few rows back, who seemed to be timidly raising their hand.

“What gave you the idea to look into Flevench remedies?” the person asked. Law shrugged casually.

“I might generally be helping to bring down the average age in this building, but I am still old enough to remember when Flevance was one of the greatest medical centers in the world… on par with the Grand Line’s Sakura Kingdom and the Vegapunk Labs in many regards, if my memory is correct. It would make sense that some of the answers we seek today can be found in Flevench records before they’re lost to time. Anyone else?”

“How confident are you that your data can lead to a control-group study?” another attendee asked.

“Highly—that information is found within the formal write-up I submitted to the Greater Lvneel Medical Journal. Provided there are no complications, it should be in next quarter’s issue. Yes?”

“At what rate do you expect such a study succeed?”

“If we’re modeling our expectations of efficacy as stated in Moore, Trafalgar, Hand, et al, fourth edition, then we’re possibly looking at something along the lines of eighty-three to ninety-nine percent. It can be assumed that if a control-group study with a wide-enough population representation is completed, this could also become an effective late-stage treatment for Minks, Seafolk, and other varied Humanoid species.”

“Why would you consider Minks and Seafolk?”

“Stay for a few years on the Grand Line and you tell me whether or not all you see are Humans. Besides, I grew up with a Mink here in the North Blue. They are more wide-ranged than you’d think. Yes?”

“Does this mean you are advocating for further investigation into Flevench research to find what can be salvaged?”

A grin tugged at the corner of Law’s mouth—bingo.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was late by the time Law fully escaped the Elder Matchmaker’s Club and got back to the hotel room. None of his friends were there, so he allowed himself to flop face-first onto one of the beds and screamed into the mattress. After he was screamed-out he simply laid there, waiting until his roommates returned. They eventually came in, all three at least a little bit plastered, though only the Humans were obnoxious about it.

“There you are Dr. Wittman,” Penguin scoffed. “You are the fucking talk of the tavern scene tonight.”

“No shit—actively denying that you almost died of a bacterial or viral infection? Your balls must ache from how much they weigh.” Shachi poked Law in the back and his captain did not move. “Oi… you die of embarrassment or something?”

“Nearly,” he grumbled into the bedding. He adjusted his head so he could look at the goobers, Bepo already passed out in the armchair. “What did you do to him?”

“Stop being such a mother hen,” Shachi frowned. “The bear wanted some beer, so we got him some beer.”

“You two are insufferable,” Law mumbled.

“We’re insufferable?” Penguin smirked. “There’s actually rumor going around that you’re secretly a contagion-riddled biohazard with a mission to infect the area’s medical staff.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst rumor about me.”

“Another prevailing rumor is that you might just be a ghost sent to punish everyone via shame and semi-dubious science.”

“…again, could be worse.”

“Bep said he heard someone mention your father by name.”

“Now that’s the shit I like to hear.” Law smiled to himself, despite the fact Penguin and Shachi could very clearly see, and chuckled. “I hope none of them sleep for the rest of the fucking week.”

“Pretty sure you took care of that, Cap,” Shachi laughed. The pair them piled into their bed—with the sheet between them! No funny business—and went to sleep as Law drifted off peacefully for the first time in a few months.

It was about damn time.

[prism-empurress]

Chromatic Theatre, Sand Sekai ch 1

Ganthor inhaled sharply, clutching his arms to his sides. He looked around the sandy plains, and the knots in his stomach loosened a tiny bit. It was almost like he was home. But it wasn’t home. Was it real? The familiar warmth caressed his face, he saw some cacti in the distance. If he could poke his finger on the spines, it’d prove to be real.

Ganthor shakily took one step forward, then another, bare feet slightly sinking into the warm sand. He wanted so badly to believe that this area was real, that he was outside and feeling the suns. The young keimon looked to the clear sky, so bright and vivid orange… but instead of any suns, there were zero. Regardless, he trudged onwards toward the tall cactus that had a commanding presence about it. Sure enough, it was covered in spines.

Once he was close enough, he shakily reached for the armed plant.

It stabbed. It stung. Deep purple dribbled onto the fine sand, and Ganthor smiled.

So this place was real. Were it some mockery, his hand would have phased right through the damn cactus. He pulled his hand away, yanking the spines off of his fingers with his teeth and spitting them out below. More purple drenched the ground, thick like honey. But he wasn’t concerned about it. “Is that how you water cacti?” An unfamiliar gruff voice spoke out. Ganthor whipped his head around, and saw an incredible teal colored Keimon with long curling pigtails. Dressed like one of his kind, her robes kept her body cool in the desert heat. Ganthor, however, was wearing thick sportswear.

“W—who are you?” Ganthor whispered, covering his bleeding hand that still stung.

“My name is Miku.” The brightly colored Keimon smiled, “Come with me, or else the nightbeasts will smell you.”

Without hesitation, Ganthor followed Miku across the plains. “This place...it’s…” “Almost like your home planet, isn’t it.” Miku quipped, keeping her eyes firm on the dimming horizon. “How did you...know?” Ganthor asked. “Sekai are born from one’s strongest feelings.” She answered. “All of this was created by your heart. Even the spines you pricked yourself on.” “I-I was just doing a test…” Ganthor replied, scratching the back of his neck. “How did I get here?”

“To answer that question, I must tell you that I do not exist in reality. I am a concept that came together from the wishes of multiple people, given form.” “And this Sekai...is where I reside. This version of ‘me’, that is.”

“So there are other...’you’s?” Ganthor curiously glanced at his new, tall friend. “More or less.” She shrugged. “And when this world was born from your true feelings, so was I.” “But you look..like...an adult…” “This ‘me’ has taken the form of a guardian. One who protects, nurtures, and teaches.” “So...then...about me coming here…” Miku smiled again, lightly patting Ganthor on the head. “You touched a glowing panel in the woods, remember? That’s what brought you here.” Ganthor blinked. “I...something...upset me. I had to get away...I don’t know where I was going, I just...I felt. Suffocated.” Miku nodded, prompting him to continue. “I was begging for...someone, anyone, to...help me.” Ganthor got another look at Miku, from the physique peeking outside of the robe, he could see she was really well built, and held multiple battle scars across her face. One eye had a major gash over it, rendering it devoid of color. “So I...manifested you into...the real world?” “Not quite.” Miku shook her head. “I am but one of many. I was originally a singing program. Just a voice that could sing any song one desired to hear.”

“Then the world I came to know and love…” Miku sighed. “Humanity was devoured by its own greed. And ‘I’ too, was sucked into the abyss. Forgotten.”

“When I came to...I heard a cry for help. I wished so badly to help. I wished so much, I willed myself back into the new world.” “I breached the abyss, hand stretching out from the sea of sand, and dug myself out of my own grave.” “All this..happened so quickly?” Ganthor scratches his ear. “More or less.” Miku shrugged. “But it’s the best that I can explain for now.” Ganthor pondered over Miku’s words. Humanity devoured by it’s own greed? A singing program becoming fractured? But what of Miku’s scars? “Hey. Uhm. Your scars…” “Battle scars.” Miku said. “That’s all they are. They’re not from any bar fights, or me fighting off some great evil… I’ve just been hunting nightbeasts.” “What a lonely life…” Ganthor pursed his lips. “Don’t dwell on it. You and I are two ducks in the same oasis. But I have a favor to ask of you.” Miku paused, just before the entrance to a dark cavern. “O-of course!” Ganthor straightened his posture and nodded. “What is it?” “...as this body is but one fragment of a whole… so too, are my memories scattered. I can’t remember what I sang about, in the first reality.”

“How...exactly do I help with that?” Miku smiled, laughing softly. “Silly. Just tell me about the world you experience, and those that inhabit it. Something will surely resonate and I’ll be able to sing again. When that day comes…” Miku paused. “Please promise you’ll make me sing again. Be I your friend or a new singing program. Whatever form I take, I want to sing.” “You mean you can’t sing right now?”

“Nope.” Miku sighed, looking down. “Not one single note. The first sound of the future, reduced to silence.”

Ganthor’s ears drooped. “I’ll help!” He said, nodding. “I’ll tell you about where I come from, who my friends are…!” “Well, let’s talk more after we eat.” Miku gestured to the entrance. “Come now. I think my hare stew is about ready.” Ganthor straightened himself up again, and followed Miku inside, not fearing the darkness.

[ladykailitha]

Ooh, the Christmas AU is cute - that please!

WIP Wednesday! Make me write!

Other asks here, here, here, here, here, here.

Snippet

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you play D&D, Stevie?”

Steve shook his head. “No, but I like to read the handbooks. They’re interesting. Plus, I like looking at your artwork.”

“All chromatic dragons are chaotic evil, you know?” he said with a smirk.

Steve scoffed. “I always thought that was bull shit. If other sentient beings like elves, dwarves, humans and gnomes can be any alignment then so should dragons.”

Eddie laughed. “Only the handbook says that other than humans each race tends toward neutral, chaotic, or lawful.”

[leonardalphachurch]

Red vs Blue: Reformation

After Epsilon fragments himself inside of his mind, Tucker is left to pick up the pieces.

An alternate take on Tucker’s story in Season 19: Restoration

Chapter 1 - Recognition

More chapters to come.

Full thing also available on Ao3

*******

Yello. This is Tucker “Lavender” Rose. Season 19 did my boy so fucking dirty I immediately had to come up with a story that would treat Tucker (and Sigma) with respect.

This is going to be kind of formatted like a script? Except I don’t know how to actually format scripts lol. And it’s not exactly a strict “rewrite” of season 19. I had the choice between writing something that could theoretically be a season of the show or having fun, and I chose having fun. If we were to write actual script it would actually feature the scenes of The Reds and Caboose or Wash etc. but I’ve decided I’m only going to be doing Tucker’s stuff. Imagine that those scenes are basically what happens in canon. Maybe one day we’ll want to completely rewrite the season but for now: take this.

[mortellanarts]

First, I'm not quite sure if you saw the answer I gave to your question on Rot in Paradise, so I'm just checking here 👍

Anyway, out of the three Zero Escape games, which one was your favourite and least favourite and why? I think for me it was 999 as the best, then VLR and then ZTD. I like all the games, but the first one was the one where I enjoyed things the most (especially the art for that one).

I sawww many moons ago, my bad qwq

I have had the game dowloaded along with Eloquent Countenance and played Married in Red!! Pretty simple but good, it made me nostalgic for finding those short and sweet rpg maker horror games between replaying the longer more popular ones, I'm looking forward to playing the two whenever my brain allows me especially since I'm trying to get back into game making and so I feel like I need to pay extra attention to everything

Second question! I certainly have a soft spot for 999 above the others as well (parentified brother of the year is not on the other ones) it was very important to me, that kind of media that shows up in your life right when you need it when things are tough to give you an epiphany on how to get through it you know? but even revisiting the serries as a whole I'd have to say the visual presentation does have a lot to do with it too yeah... VLR is harder to think about for me because there's so so much blue and grey that just morphs together but I'd still say I like it better than ZTD because some moments in it just really rub me off the wrong way despite me remembering them all much better? I think a lot of the last fic I made was me making peace with the way canon concluded and forcing open some space for the characters to breathe and feel like they have humanity and internal logic again to my way of reading each of them at least

[calandrinon]

i was going to do some more asks tonight but i accidentally had to transpose nimic de pe frontul de est 2 to a key playable on hammered dulcimer, maybe tomorrow <3

[theartsynebulawhodoodles]

The Suitcase

A Color and Killer One Shot

{Angst then comfort, quick read, can be seen as romantic, queer platonic or platonic, affectionate, triggers, he/him used for Killer and he/him and he/they both used for Color, in chromatic crew au where they live in same household}

⚠️tw: paranoid thoughts, derealization (in a sense)⚠️

One shot under ‘Keep Reading’

In the dead of night, the house was silent. Not even the sound of Cross’s nightly training was heard. It felt eerily silent. Killer was roaming through the house like he always did at night. He was always a light sleeper, Color once even told him that he was nocturnal, like an owl or a bat.

Killer didn’t see himself as either of those animals, but slowly began to agree that he was almost like a nocturnal creature. His footsteps were quiet, practicing stealth being quite useful for him as he did not wish to awaken Color. Last time he accidentally awoken Color, Color lazily draped himself across Killer and Killer stood still for hours so Color can rest.

Killer continued to walk, his gaze set forwards, his soul providing an illuminating red light across the area. He can see everything once hidden by the darkness. But as he walked, he noticed something peeking out from under the couch.

His curiosity grown more, keenness taking over quickly, which he wouldn’t be able to return to his restful state one back in bed without satisfying the burning curiosity of what was under that couch.

He slowly approached, kneeling down, his knees touching the carpet as he slowly grabbed the item. It was a bit large. Once pulled out from under the couch, he gazed at the object. It was a suitcase, a burnt sienna color, a bit of damage to the outside but otherwise completely useable.

He slowly picked it up, holding the box in his grasp, after which he began to lightly shake the box. Inside he heard swishing of light objects. Curiosity struck once again, and that burning desire had flicked on its flame again, this time with the desire to know what was inside the suitcase.

His hands itched with desire to discover the content inside, and soon, his hand unlatched the suitcase, and opened it.

Inside were countless photos of himself, but each with writing. Killer was confused, his expression of his usual smile still there but his confusion strong. He didn’t remember these photos ever taken of him. He slowly lifted one, and flipped to the back.

‘𝘒𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳 5. 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘮.’

It was Color’s distinct handwriting, in black ink from a pen. Killer was stunned. He began to go through each photo, reading each one.

Each one was of another Killer, with the reasoning why they were gone. There were innumerable amounts of photos with each Killer being labeled a number. As Killer sat there, the realization of what these photos are clicked.

Those were past versions of himself, Killer’s from before. Color had photos of each one from their camera, and if something happened, he wrote it down in that printed photo of them and put it in the suitcase. Killer knew about his past versions, but seeing these photos of them felt so…petrifying.

Slowly, Killer’s hands began to slightly tremble, the last photo he held slipping onto the ground as he stared into space, his mind overtaken with thoughts. His soul shined brighter as he began to feel himself getting worse, paranoia filling his mind, overtaking his thoughts.

Killer’s mind had a tight hold upon him, and unveiled thoughts full of paranoia, but one stood out to him.

This was a punishment. A eternal punishment. Constantly having versions of himself have bad fates, it was all a punishment for his killing, for being forced to accept that deal, it was all a punishment.

Killer slowly tumbled down onto the floor from his sitting position, his back on the ground and his hands holding his body upwards. His paranoia began to extend its grasp upon him. Dripping determination began to gush from his eyes at a faster rate, his hands clinging onto the carpet.

Was this truly the version of himself that was able to be rescued, or was this just an illusion? Was he ever truly saved? Was this real, or just a figment of his imagination?

His soul illuminated brighter and brighter as he got worse. Unexpectedly, the lights flickered on.

“…killer?”

A soft, tired voice called out. Killer, still with the paranoid thoughts rushing through his head, looked over to see who it was. It was Color. Color looked worried, glancing at the situation.

Color didn’t intend for this to happen. They didn’t want this to happen. Color tried to keep this stuff away from Killer so it doesn’t trigger his paranoia, but forgot to tell Killer about the suitcase having this stuff in it. Color felt a burdensome amount of guilt, blaming themselves for this.

“…killer, gah, i’m so sorry. i meant to tell you about that, but it slipped my mind. i’m sorry…”

Color slowly approached and kneeled down by Killer’s side. Killer slowly calmed down in Color’s presence, hesitantly wrapping his arms around Color and embracing him. His face buried into Color’s shoulder, the dripping determination smearing onto Color’s shoulder, but Color didn’t mind.

Killer closed his eyes and just took in Color’s scent, the aroma pleasant and easing Killer down, helping him get back to a calmer state of mind, the thoughts easing down.

Killer felt calmer now. The dripping determination slowing back down to usual again, the thoughts calming down, everything feeling normal again. Killer didn’t blame Color. He knew that Color never wanted Killer to see those things and had meant to warn him. Killer was glad Color was there now.

Killer could tell Color felt guilty. So, to ease him, Killer nudged his nose under Color’s chin, nuzzling them. That arisen a chuckle out of Color, who nuzzled back gently, their flames curling around and moving around like an elegant and slow dance.

The suitcase was shut by Color’s hand while the other was draped across Killer’s back, the content sealed inside.

“…i’ll make sure to keep this where you won’t have to see it, i promise. you won’t have to see it again. i promise you, ḥabībtī.”

Note: ḥabībtī=My Beloved in Arabic, Color belongs to superyoumna, Killer belongs to Rahafwabas, dividers either sister Lucifer or other creators who labeled it reblog/like/free to use.

Note from writer: Thank you for reading! I appreciate it a lot 🩵 take care of urself!!

[hergan416]

end of year content meme! 

🥰 a piece i’m really proud of and why

📝 a line or paragraph i’m really happy with

🥰 a piece i’m really proud of and why

I actually have multiple answers for this, so if someone decides to ask again I do have more answers saved up xD

But I'm going to pick Welcome To Paradise first.

This probably looks... pretty mediocre on my list of works to most people. The premise isn't especially inspired; the tally mark thing from chapter one is a little unique but hardly groundbreaking, and it isn't a masterpiece of wordsmithing or anything.

But I've spent 11 years avoiding the topic of children and pregnancy for reasons and I decided to take the allou trimester challenge somewhat literally and force myself to deal with my issues via characters. I am proud of it, because, even if I'm not telling my story, I'm still closer to processing stuff as a result of it.

Albert's experience is turning out quite different from my own. I don't think I'm going to be able to project on him as much as I started out planning to. But I am proud of myself for touching the topic.

Welcome To Paradise is rated T(een) but contains heavy themes, such as detailed depictions of alcohol withdrawal, unexpected pregnancy, and suicidality. Additionally, the main pairing is Albert/Louis, which may be viewed as incestuous by some readers.

📝 a line or paragraph i’m really happy with

I did answer this once, but I feel like with the amount of writing I did this year I can probably find more than one line or paragraph? If you want to see my first choice answer, find it here.

This line is from Choke On My Words, Swallow Them Faster - my MTP Angst Week someone gave me an excuse to write hanahaki disease fic

He stared at the petal in his palm, and faced with the inevitability of admitting what had just happened, he shoved it back in his mouth and swallowed it down.

Honestly the fact that I got to use flower imagery was super fun to work with and led to a lot of pretty cool lines and images.

Choke On My Words, Swallow Them Faster is rated T(een) and has the hurt no comfort tag. Most tagged ships are unrequited; tagged ships include alwill, willouis, sherliam and allou. An different fic within the Emergency Contact series that this fic belongs to is rated E(xplicit) for sexual content.