#eh its legible

[queen-chaos5]

[drdemonprince]

Maybe it’s a little creepy eh like bits of it are parasocial as fuck but also how many people in the public eye do we get that are gay, trans, Autistic, mad, fighting capitalism and shit, not pretending wannabe raging lefties so yeah let the gay boys write stories and stuff.the pedestal stuff is weird as fuck but hopefully the minority. the rest of us mad fucks need you

thats the problem dog. I cant BE what you need. i NEED all that shit just as much! I am just as affected by all those loci of oppression, just as under-represented, just as tired of not being legible to other people and having to explain and advocate for and represent myself. i CANNOT be a positive symbol of a bunch of identity groups for you. i am a PERSON trying to live their one individual life without the burden of all of that. its not fair to expect me to resolve these massive societal problems for you. it's not any different experientially from cishets or allistics tokenizing me. both completely make me into my group memberships and assign me with the burden of representation and prevent me from being a HUMAN with a ton of my own shit going on.

like whatever enjoy the porn obviously i think that's funny but you cant NEED me for shit. i am not yours. you dont know me. no person should be reduced like that.

[pyriteplates]

Below is a big giant wall of images containing a bunch of my unposted art from november/december of 2022. I'm still super proud of a lot of these doodles but for some reason i was SUPER picky about what i posted during those months??? ANYWAY. under the cut is so much fucking CRINGE!!! its seriously awesome. theres shippy stuff, au stuff, drawings i made while i was talking to friends, all kinds of super cool doodles. you should look at them! it's like a little museum of my mind from 7 months ago

..

some of the text isn't legible because it was never meant to see the light of day! sorry! but i'm way too lazy to translate it right now. it's 1am and i'm on a weird kick. if anything is seriously impossible to read and you're curious just send me an ask or a message IDC.

i WILL translate the irken though because it's really stupid. the one on the left says "i forgot i had this font lol" and the one on the right says "ehe! meow meow~ donnie can't read this el oh el"

ALSO IM SOO SORRY IF THE FORMATTING FUCKS UP??? i keep trying to make it be normal when i press the readmore but its NOT WORKINGGG so you might have just gone through scrolling hell. OK IM DONE TALKING NOW YAAAAAY WOOOOO thanks for entertaining my bullshit if you made it here <3

[dingdongdoodilydoodilydoo]

A small clawing noise could be heard at the door of the drummers room before a soft whine was let out and the door cracked, the creature slipped through the slight opening of the door and made it’s way to the red head, pressing its head into his leg to get its attention before sitting down, looking up at him. The creature in question was a dog, a small corgi panting quietly with a vest that said “Emotional Support” on it, yet not a name in sight for this small corgi. With a whine the dog grabbed at the drummers pants leg and bite it gently pulling at him as if he wanted him to sit, managing to do so the dog rewards the drummer with a gentle kiss to his hand as it laid its head in his lap, trying its best to comfort pickles as it was trained to do. A small note revealed itself from a pocket of the vest, showing a simple message directed to the freckled man, the writing slightly sloppy but legible and written in green ink. ‘ Dear pickles, you are my favorite band member, I hope the corgi finds you well, his name is rat and he will comfort you for the next 5 asks!’ signed at the bottom is a picture of a rat and a silly little sticker of a beetle smiling and waving its arm.

Pickles wasn't having a good night.

Everything was going wrong, at least in his eyes it was.

For starters, he's had a headache since the morning, probably due to all of the yelling and fighting he did the day earlier.

Then, one of the boys planted a glitter bomb in his room.

Not long after, his cat, Skar Brine, had ran off. Sadly, Mordhaus' various servants hadn't found the feline yet.

And of course, the remains of his favorite snack had been eaten, and his brother was on the way.

And the cherry on top is the fact that three of his favorite records had been broken. Not to mention, they were records he had used for comfort in the past, and his ex-bandmate, Antonio "Tony" DiMarco Thunderbottom, had bought one of them.

Fucking perfect.

It was still glittery, it was all over his bed, hus drawers, everything, really. The noises at his door weren't helping his headache either, the scratching, whining, it was becoming fucking excruciating and it didn't seem like it would stop.

"Fuckin'- 'Ey! Can you shut up? Jesus Chr—..."

He only calmed down when the door cracked open and the small furry creature waddles it's way in his room. It had a little vest on, it wasn't brutal in the slightest...but it was cute, he has to admit.

Squinting, the redhead realized that the creature was a small Corgi upon closer inspection. Ha! Props for creativity, that's an animal he hadn't owned before.

"Fuckin' hell, man..." He chuckled, taking a seat once the Corgi pawed and bit and Pickles' pant leg, he was a cute little thing, the drummer had to admit.

Spotting the note, he took it out of the dog's vest pocket and inspected it carefully. The writing, while a bit sloppy, was still legible.

He felt a stupid grin come across his face as he read the note, a thought popping in his head at the mention of the dog's name.

"Rat, huh? Nah, I don't think it fits ya that well." The redhead grinned. "Y'know what I'll name ya? 'm thinkin'....Ford, Ford F-150." He laughed, looking the Corgi in the eyes.

"Yeah...I think Nate'n would like it." He said, carefully putting the dog down. "Yer a cute sonofabitch, y'know dat?"

The drummer sighed, feeling a bit relieved.

"C'mahn, yer comin' with me, we can get a drink, eh?"

[turtlemagnum]

now, i'm no linguist. but i think it's absolutely worth noting that to the best of my knowledge, this is how most languages worked historically. any modern language that's relatively standardized amongst its speakers is generally the cause of language reforms, typically made by the people in power, in order to enforce their dialect onto the rest of the populace. for instance, the modern language we call french is apparently just the parisian dialect of the many, many languages france called its own. in terms of historical context, it's actually kinda wild how i as an american can go to any portion of my country, any english speaking part of canada, any part of the UK, australia, new zealand, etc, and be able to more or less converse with anyone with an exceptionally high degree of inter-legibility, relative to how in most historical cultures, you might have a hard time understanding the village 5 miles down the road, much less the village 5 miles further.

i believe another modern example of a family of languages that hasn't really been standardized is "chinese", but i'll admit to a lack of knowledge insofar as how many different dialects there are because Again, i'm no linguist. i think it's also worth noting that any such language reforms come at the cost of local culture and is generally a sign of some form of imperialism, but i feel as though any further discussion on that might bring down the mood on this Italian Pussy Post, so eh

i love it when italians argue about italian. like we don’t even know how our language really works we just roll with it

[grellsaw]

As they had finished a job, he shook his head as he held the clipboard out. “Damnit Grelle, we’ve forgotten another soul…” However, this time instead of the notebook opening up to the record of a living individual on the verge of death, an envelope with a lycrois imprinted in red hardened wax fell onto the ground. It read [To Grelle, from your dearest William.] it was a letter requesting her to be his plus one to the masquerade ball. — Will

❝ eh ? you're serious ? ❞ incredulous visage reflects conveyed disbelief, rising one brow; holding will under scrutiny. multi-faceted hues curiously scan over the notebook whilst mid-projecting defiance against his claim of her careless negligence. clearly taken offense, judging by her swift invasion of his personal space, ready to chew him out.

her attention is lured by an unexpected object cradled by gravity in its silent contact with the floor. forward step halts mid-way, pivoting her heel beside the fallen envelope. interest peaks upon reading its title, siphoning a knowing smirk from painted lips.

❝ hiding things from me, william ? how naughty of you. ❞ she pointedly accuses, never minding how he responds. focus entirely honed upon the letter's contents within, hence she squats below and gracefully collects it in her left hand. acting as a letter opener, she cleanly tears back a corner of the envelope betwixt forefinger and thumb. discarding torn remains aside, fingers slowly unveil a folded parchment; she opens it to reveal legible inscription.

a long string of silence ensues. her other palm grasping the letter's opposite end, held aloft which coincidentally conceals her gradually increasing flushed features. avidity barrels up her throat and pours out squeals of fervor. grell keeps the invitation close to her chest, partially curling up where she stands. brimming to the core with excitement at the prospect of attending a masquerade with her beloved, like any nobleman asking for his bride's hand.

❝ so elaborate of you ! tricking me into believing we missed collecting a soul. it's bad manners, manipulating a girl's heart like that~. ❞

whether or not they had truly missed a soul to reap, grell is currently ignorant to the fact, her priorities rests wholly on the idea of them together amidst a romantic scene; conscious absorbing into this vivid imagination. resuming her approach, grell nears his side; placing a tender kiss upon william's cheek.

❝ i accept to be your plus one. how could i deny such a request ? after all, we'd be the only finely-dressed couple in attendance ! and who knows, perhaps there will be other forms of entertainment awaiting us~. ❞ a subliminal hope she and Sebastian will commit to a danse macabre, or worse.

𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 ! ⸺ @akumanomorii

[expfcultragreen]

Remember, when you persistently ask a woman out and then freak out when she says no, and go cross country about it and camp out taking photos outside the houses of anyone in her scene.........thats "journalism", youre a "journalist"

https://web.archive.org/web/20130801225042/https://www.genuinewitty.com/2013/07/29/it-looks-like-torontos-anti-gentrification-battle-is-heating-up-feat-sigrid-kneve-ocap/

A silkscreened picture of a machine gun isnt legible as "seriousness about the issue not the literality of being armed" or even just "pop cultural" eh, its a free pass to maybe get your harshest critics shot by cops all legal style

"Scary stuff" i lived with the person who came up with the defend george street ones lmao

By the second raid even, the cops were like, we actually hate people who waste our time like this, lowkey its a known factor doing it just like fyi you know who it is coughitsgregrenoufcough

Like based on that and ime from being arrested for allegely assaulting a cop (on the way to george street) (it was a false accusation), and also getting ticketed by transit cops once, running away from a graffiti charge etc, there are a lot of filler guys on the force who arent actually as messed up as the ultrafash fringeoids on OR off the force (the ones who couldnt make it as cops are generally not esteemed by cops)

Like, we were all clowning on him for being a stalker and he just stalked harder about it...only people totally unfamiliar with the landscape of the issue listened to him

[b4kuch1n]

Okay but can we discuss the general overall theme of all of your Hop comics which tends to boil down to how Hop is Not Okay™️? I love that the fandom is realizing the boys growing conditions living under the weight of Leon (beautiful disaster that he is) is harmful in terms of the pressure. However I love your professed/lecturer/engineer spin you’ve taken on his future because it actually adds substance behind his very vague “I think I’m gonna be a Pokémon Professor!!”

haha Hop and Leon’s relationship hits me a bit hard, because they definitely love each other a lot, but at the core of it I don’t think they know each other very well until post-game? it happens with family members who have only ever been nice to you, but who you don’t get to just. see living their lives. it’s much easier to make up what your loved ones think about you (and thus put pressure on yourself) when you don’t really have that approximation of how they are in your head, y’know? 

it probably doesn’t help that Leon seems to think of Hop as The baby brother. or, well, doesn’t seem like he thinks about it too much, he just. acts around Hop how he’s been acting around Hop. it’s a common thing (which I have lived through and try not to do to my siblings), but there can be that break when you actually get to know your family and just. start registering them as their own person. you like them for who they are, not just because they’re your family. I really want to see Leon and Hop get to that point, which is why I keep returning to post-game stuff and future!Hop haha... but again, no more than what the boy deserves anyway! 

I do kind of take some issues with pokemon’s handwavy ‘professor’ as ‘support’ beside a trainer, so this is just a chance for me to try and flesh it out in a way that feels better to me. and I am very much about Hop finding his own footing, a big part of which of course is actually thinking about what he does, and also I am still a bit enamored with the tech wiz archetype I still haven’t outgrown my 13yo soul... I’m glad you like the stuff I make up haha!!

[liquidstar]

so, in the kingdom of anthea, there's a light province, a water province, a nature province, an ice province, a fire province, a metal province, a healing province, an earth province, a sky province, a wood province, and the capital :o could you tell us a bit about each province and which characters are from where? :)

Right off the bat I just want to make something clear: The people of a province generally won’t have the same magic as their rulers, even if it’s something valued by them the vast majority of people will just pick literally whatever they want, aside from the heirs who have to learn that type of magic. I just want to make that clear because I’ll be referring to them as “the XYZ province” and those are just placeholder names! I’m having a hard time finding real names since I feel like I should have a “theme” just like I did with the plant names for each character but it’s surprisingly harder than I thought :p each province takes light influence from certain parts of the world but that’s mostly in the people being represented to have a connection to the real world and I don’t plan to dive too deep into fantasy culture and history beyond what’s needed as far as lore goes, I’m not Tolkien lol, but any an all input is still welcome on it! anyway, I’ll put all the rest under the cut so I clog people’s dashes.

Well, before I even start here’s a map of Anthea! labeled (Still with the placeholder names) and color coded :) this’ll just be good for reference, so I’ll start in the middle with the light province and go around in a loop! As for which characters are from where I should probably make a separate post for that since this one’s already going to be long and wordy, for the most part though most H.A. students that aren’t heirs are from the light province (or were born their with their parents being from somewhere else) since that’s where the school is, the heirs are just super rich kids that get to go abroad lol

First off is the central light province ruled by Angrec, after taking over from the now deceased Ambrosia, with Amaryllis being the current heiress. Since it’s the central province and the ruler of it is also the ruler of Anthea as a whole. It used to be the only one before it became impossible to manage by single people, as opposed to Iris and Crocus before Iris stepped down and passed it off to Anne-Lace, the first queen, who started to break it off into pieces governed by sub-rulers like dukes and duchesses to make it more manageable. The province itself is filled with big cities as well as tiny villages, it’s a huge melting pot of people from all around Anthea. The main influence was the United States but with European-eque villages. For example the way I view the village that Hecate Academy is in is very heavily influenced by my own home village of Karpenisi in terms of lay-out, basically just taking inspiration from my own childhood experiences in both Greece and America.

Then is the sky province, ruled by Weigela who has recently taken after her father fell ill and passed away, leaving her younger sister Wedelia as the heir apparent. The province is mainly inspired by countries in the Mediterranean region, mostly Greece since like I said before it’s a place I’m more than familiar with! It’s a mountainous alpine province with buildings and houses built around and going up the mountains. It also has lots of temples and ruins, because is the most devout to Iris of all, hence their abundance of temples, but they used to have the same energy for Crocus, that’s where the ruins come from. They’re not as celebrated.

Next is the ice province, as you can probably guess it has an icy arctic terrain and is located high up north. It has cities and villages with buildings made of ice, full of beautiful crystal-like structures and cities. It’s real-world inspiration is twofold, with both Russian and Inuit influence, though the latter is heavier depending on the part of the province. It’s also known for its beautiful northern lights, they’re said to be enchanted in a wish-upon-a-star type way, though that’s largely considered to just be a cute story to tell to kids.

After that is the wood province, currently ruled by the youngest heir in its history by a longshot, Elm at age 13 took over after his mother’s death, but he also has a team of advisers that guide him through a lot of the process since he was mostly unready to take over so soon, and he wouldn’t have had to if he were just two months younger. The province itself has influence from Asian countries with the heaviest probably being Japanese. The environment is a contrast between small farming villages with wooden homes and huge neon cities and the province is big in technological innovation, especially in terms of crystal technology, being the place where crystal screens (Anthea’s smartphone equivalent) were invented.

Right underneath it is the fire province, ruled by Calendula with her second child Celosia as the heir apparent, after her first child Ash quit. The province’s influence is also from Asian countries but with a much heavier influence from India as well as bit of the Middle East. The two provinces actually share one island together where one gradually shifts into the other. Of course it is ruled by fire so expect hot weather and a focus on fire throughout. Buildings vary from small and humble to castle-like depending on the area, and it’s not uncommon to find temples scattered throughout.

After that it’s the earth province, it’s current ruler is Sycamore and her three children, Senna, Maple, and Morel, are the heirs. It’s the largest one so it also has the largest range in culture going from small villages that live closely knight, to huge buzzing cities with unique architecture. Generally both actively try to avoid harming the earth, since it IS the earth province, that’s something important. Unsurprisingly it also has a lot of mountains including the largest in Anthea, it’s so large that it’s seemingly impossible to climb, no one ever has, and people say it’s cursed to be that way.

Then is the healing province, the landscape is generally very hot and dry, desert-like in some places, but filled with beautiful and lively villages. It’s a province that values and celebrates life, as the healing would imply, and the people are generally regarded for being super hospitable. It’s influence is Central American and it’s currently the smallest province. The current sitting ruler is Vervain, who currently has no children and instead of passing it off to the closest blood relative plans to choose her own heir.

Next is the nature province, it’s current rulers are Mullein and Fir, and their daughters, Chrysanthemum, Magnolia, and Celandine, are the heirs. It’s a very large providence filled with flora, it’s main influence is South America and it’s probably the province that sticks to it’s own aesthetic the harshest. Tree-house villages are incredibly common in it’s vast forest areas, and other villages will be big valleys filled with flowers, cities won’t keep up this aesthetic as harshly but aspects of it will still be there. Generally it’s regarded as the most mellow and peaceful province.

Right by that to that is the metal province, based on Western Europe with the heaviest influence from England. The province is incredibly industrial with a combination of huge factories and metalworks along with castles and medieval aesthetics, it’s going through a bit of a shift between the old and new ways, becoming kind of steampunk in aesthetic (but no actual steam or this would have been the steam province). It’s current ruler is Ironwood and his daughter Clarkia is both the heiress as well as a local knightly hero.

And lastly in the middle of the ocean, of course, is the water province. It takes influence from both Hawaii and… Myths about Atlantis, making it the only one not influenced by reality, but after all this is a fantasy story. The Atlantis influence is obvious, because the vast majority of the province is actually completely underwater. The people cannot breathe underwater, it’s under a magic dome, and the only way in and out is on the surface areas of the province. There are many tropical villages on top of islands too, but underwater it’s filled with huge villages and cities and cities and incredible sights you can only get underwater. It’s current rulers are Dehlila and Kelp, and their heirs are their two kids, Geranium and Coral.

There’s actually another landmass too. It’s not a part of Anthea though, it’s not a part of anything. This island used to be Crocus’ personal playplace. Iris cast it aside from Anthea in order to protect people from her brother’s monsters. It’s also known as the Forbidden Island, it stands as lonely as can be far away from Anthea. It’s landscape is bleak, beran, filled with monsters, curses, and chaos. Though there are also ruins there from long-forgotten villages and homes before the people were forced out. 

[obaewankenope]

this is how i feel about one paper in particular for my lit review

[absolutebl]

In Which ABL reads MDZS

IRL Responses as I read:

I did not anticipate the newspaper headline/town cryers opening narrative device. Interesting.

I am enjoying the translator notes.

I am not interested in someone else’s life. Why back story of a host body? Fun opening premise tho.

Ooo, head hopping from our omniscient narrator. Now THAT I did expect. Been a while since I read this style last (Dickens maybe?)

So far I am finding the translation legible but not pretty or enjoyable to read. Just kinda there. A bit brutal... or something?

Also I’m glad i watched some of The Untamed its much easier to follow this story having watched bits of that one. 

The use of American colloquialisms from like the 1980s, “flipping out” for example, is both amusing and highly distracting.

Too many names and sects. (But I knew that going in.) 

I admit it as soon as the romance element hits and our leads are on page together I’m interested. But there isn’t enough of that. 

Ooo the whip marks bathing scene!

Chapter 13 and now the history of the relationship?

I’m really not interested in dismembered bodies, zombies, ghost hunting, ghost raising, exorcism, bodies inside walls, ancestral tombs, or anything along these lines. And I am really really not interested in any parts of the story where the two leads are not together. So I’m skipping a lot.

This book is what 600k, I suspect I am moving rather rapidly through about 500k of that. 

I love the bit in the city where WuXian is just all “well he can take care of himself I’m going to look after the kids.” And WangJi makes his instrument do a non-verbal murmur of acknowledgment. Very funny.

The dark humor is funnier than I expected too. A lot of dismemberment bits remind me of...

I find the side stories of other people’s lives extremely boring and distracting. Like I am being forced to read a short story in the middle of a novel. 

Honestly this book is like having a conversation with a drunk person. NO it’s like having a conversation with a STONED person. Ramble ramble ramble, eats something bad, says soemthing insightful, recites something poetic, talks about past lives, parents, history, rambles some more. Except there’s all the blood and gore. So maybe it’s like having a conversations with stoned Hannibal. Either Hannibal. 

Coul we just STAY ON TARGET. (The Target being WangJi “manly member” inside WuXian.) 

I love the way WuXian’s magic adores WangJi even as he refuses to notice his own affection for the boy.

Look they don’t need to kill the walking dead, just make them try to follow the fucking names in this book. 

I am finding the homeric jumping about on the timeline absolutely maddening.  At least use the different names at different times. Give me some kind of clue. I wonder of the official translation into English will have some kind of time stamping/framing device. 

Still, if marketed properly, I can actually see this being hugely successful in the North American market.

Oh great another chunk of backstory for a character who is already dead or about to be.

80% into this and it’s the infamous bath scene at last. I heard about this. 

It’s an interesting first sex scene. Not well written. Not as bad as I was expecting either.

Wow a full on confession scene. I was really not expecting that. I also wasn’t expecting how public they are about everything. 

I did enjoy the culmination sex scene. Quite kinky. And I like that it’s consistently WuXian who always starts everything. Was in worth 570k to get here? 

Eh... no?

Good ending. Much better than the series. 

And that’s it. 

Thoughts? 

Look it read like fanfic, and I don’t really go for that style (I struggle to ID the narrative structure, story arc, or authorial intent). The romance was very much standard beats, tropes, and pretty unsophisticated. It’s fine I don’t mind that actually. Romance should be somewhat predictable, that’s why it’s comforting. I liked the characters fine, the plot was complex to the point of confusion (but that’s probubly my fault) and the horror was... well there was a lot of slashy slashy body body dead DEAD, wasn’t there? 

I’m glad I read it because of this corner of fandom I exist in, but I’m not sure I would necessarily recommend it as a book. Don’t listen to me, though, I intensely dislike most epic fantasy (Game of Thrones can bite my arse) and always have, this may be very Chinese and very cultivation but it’s still also very much epic. I also strongly dislike horror too so, yay now, naught but the gay bits were really for me. 

Honestly making me suffer through 500,000 words and 500,000 corpses for those few moments of gay feels very Chinese BL of it. 

Final summation: 

I liked it when they were kissing but there were too many non-kissing people wafting about, not to mention non-sexy body parts piling up. 

Sorry I can’t share your love @renafire and @percida18​ but my taste in literature is very much as questionable as my taste in television. 

(source)

[literaticat]

I have a question about Shun manuscript format. I am a Disabled author, and it is difficult to get the particulars correct, like starting the manuscript half way down the page, for example. As long as the important bits are correct, 12 PT. Times New Roman, Double Spaced, chapters starting on new pages, indents in all the correct places, do those particulars really matter? How far can I veer from Shun format but keep the industry happy?

Well, for what it's worth, I had never heard of that, so... (I looked it up, if other readers are also are unfamiliar and want to know.)

This format is perfectly correct, yes. But also, anything that comes even close to that is correct. And also, there is no "correct", actually. A paradox!

At the end of the day, if your manuscript is going to get taken on by an agent / sold to a publisher, it will be edited, re-edited, copyedited and finally, professionally formatted within an inch of its life. You don't need to stress that hard about the formatting at THIS stage. You just need to get it read.

We NEED it to be legible, which ideally means a clean and simple 12-point font such as Times New Roman, double spaced, with normal margins. (But if it is some other legible font - that's also fine. Some people like Courier. Courier makes me want to die, I can't read it easily at all -- but I can also *change it* so.... eh.)

We NEED to know what it is and who you are, so ideally, you have a title page before the manuscript starts that has the title and your info, OR, you put your info and the title at the top of the first page, as in the Shunn example. (Where and how you get us this info is not the most important thing - HAVING THE INFO ON THE MS is the most important thing.)

Bonus: It would be great if there were actual chapter breaks between chapters.(But also, if there aren't -- OK? As long as we can TELL it's a new chapter -- because it's on a new page, or there's a significant space and then the chapter heading, or SOMETHING, we'll be able to figure it out!)

Bonus: It would be nice if there was a header or footer with page number and info -- some designation of what the book is on each page after the first one -- so if we print the ms out and then drop the whole thing down the stairs in the subway, we can put it together in order again. (But also, that's pretty unlikely to happen, so... whatever!)

The Shunn example is absolutely normal and perfect -- what you probably learned in middle school about how to format a paper is absolutely normal and perfect -- your own way is likely just fine, too, as long as it is within shouting distance of those normal ways.

[hi-5-sunflower]

Chapter One

Finally decided to take the plunge and post a full chapter! Here we go!

Word count: 2,200

Summary: Laura sneaks into an alchemy storehouse at night in hopes of finding a medicinal herb for her sick father.

Content notices: Mild violence, mention of illness, mild blood

Laura never thought she’d be the type to commit a crime.

And yet, here she was.

Against a clear night sky, the alchemy storehouse loomed like a great block of granite, its entrance attended by a solitary pacing guard. Laura watched from the shadows of the field beyond, concealed amid a patch of dusty desert weeds, her spine burning from the strain of prolonged crouching. Clutching the heavy stone was cramping her hand, but patience was key if she had any hope for success tonight.

The guard’s dull yellow Glow lantern, hanging from a hook on the building’s face, did its best to fend off the gloom of the moonless night. Intuitively, Laura knew the field she hid out in was little more than a black void, but the night-vision tonic she’d taken kept fooling her; she could make out the cracks in the dirt beneath her feet, could count the twigs on the skeletal stalks around her as though a full moon shone overhead.

She watched as the guard approached the nearest corner of the storehouse before turning on his heel to march back, and Laura’s grip tightened around the stone, its jagged edges biting into her palm.

Almost.

As he reached the far corner, she seized her moment, rising up and hurling the rock as hard as she could. It sailed through the air, arcing over the field to a spot near where the guard stood.

With a thump and a rustle, it made contact with brittle shrubbery, and sure enough, the guard’s attention snapped toward it.

Now!

Laura darted from her cover, acutely aware of her footfalls pattering on the dirt as she hurried forward, pinning her knapsack to her body to silence it, making for the side of the storehouse. Giddiness fueled her as she sped across open land, not daring to look in the guard’s direction, not slowing her pace until she was tucked snug against the dark northern wall.

From here she crept silently alongside the building, staying deep in shadow. There might be another guard stationed at the rear entrance, but with any shred of luck, the first one wouldn’t raise the alarm.

At the corner, she knelt low, peering around slowly. This side was also lit by a hanging lantern, but to her immense relief, no one was back here. At least, not at the moment.

Still, that meant the first guard was responsible for watching back here, too, or there were others nearby. A stable and another low building were positioned in such a way that if someone inside looked out, they could easily see her.

No time to lose.

Unlike the front entrance, which was a standard door, the rear entrance was big enough to give entry to animal-drawn supply carts, closed off by a pair of massive wooden gates. An iron chain wound tightly between the gates, held fast by a heavy padlock. Laura approached, nodding to herself, and fished a set of lockpicks from her bag.

All week, she’d gathered every lock she could get her hands on in preparation for this moment, working at them for hours until she could’ve picked them in her sleep. Never mind that this lock was twice as big as those. That was just another of many hurdles to overcome tonight.

The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her as she fumbled with the greasy contraption, trying not to jangle the chain. She’d spent the last six years of her life in the Silver Guard, a faithful servant of the law, busting petty criminals for...

Well, this.

And yet, here I am.

She couldn’t afford to feel too bad about that now, though. That could come later.

With a heavy click, the lock popped open, and Laura exhaled, realizing she’d been holding her breath. The chain threatened to slide out of place, but she caught hold of it before it could make too much noise. She deliberately extracted it just enough that she could sidle between the doors and into the storehouse.

It was tempting to congratulate herself for this small success, but the job wasn’t done yet. She drew the gates closed behind her and turned her attention to the abyss she now stood in.

A broad skylight interrupted the middle of the ceiling, a dim sprinkle of stars visible through the glass panes, but the rest of the room was a jungle of silhouettes. She dug into her knapsack again, feeling around for her portable Glow lamp, as her enhanced night vision could only do so much in an area as large and dark as this. She pulled the little lamp out and switched it on, finding herself in an absolute labyrinth of towering shelves.

Oh boy.

She took a breath, inhaling the strange scent of the place—herbaceous, with a hint of horse—and reviving her determination. Lyusk root was the prize she sought, the key to alleviating her father’s incessant, painful coughing. Of the countless herbalists and apothecaries she’d visited in the last month, not a single one had the root for sale anymore, reducing her options to two: leave her father to suffer, or raid the stores of some high-profile alchemy company.

By that point, it hadn’t been a difficult choice. Now if she could only figure out where they’d stashed that damn root.

Her cylindrical lamp was designed to concentrate its Glow, but the cavernous darkness easily swallowed its faint white beam. She started down an aisle, checking crate labels, but some of the chicken-scratch print was barely legible. Squinting, she made out the words hyssop seeds on one.

The crates on the shelf beside it were labeled iceberry leaf extract, so she placed her bet on alphabetical arrangement. That meant she wasn’t terribly far from the lyusk root, assuming this place had some.

If it didn’t...

She pushed the thought from her mind and scanned labels as she hurried alongside the shelves, hoping she wouldn’t have to climb up high. Her pulse picked up as she skimmed the L’s: lavender...lion blossom...lotus concentrate...

Magnolia bark...

No!

Maybe it was up high after all. She took a few steps back, raising her lamp over her head to try glimpsing the labels on the upper shelves, but it was no good.

Taking note of her position, she went in search of a ladder, but before she could get far, a rattle echoed through the storehouse.

Someone was opening the gate.

Laura’s heart stopped. She fumbled with the lamp, switching it off, then knelt against a shelf in the dark, hardly daring to breathe.

“Okay, good try,” drawled a voice, echoing hollowly throughout the room. “I know someone’s in here. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.”

She could see the guard silhouetted in the thin gap between the gates, and to her dismay, he was flanked by two others. They, too, carried Glow lamps, but theirs were much brighter than hers, emitting long beams that cut through the darkness.

They split up, their beams swinging this way and that. As one set of footsteps approached Laura’s hiding place, she chose her moment and bolted, treading lightly as she wound her way through the maze.

She took refuge against a stack of crates near the exit. One guard still stood between her and freedom.

“I’ll make you a deal,” the guard called out. “Quit wasting my time and I’ll consider letting you go without reporting you.” Laura briefly considered the offer, but it was probably a bluff. She remained silent, trying not to breathe too hard or to let her nerves gain authority as she waited for her chance to escape.

The first guard’s lamp beam continued to probe into the blackness around him as he stood firm by the gate. Come on. You won’t find me like that. Any second now, one of his friends would make their way around a corner and spot her. She was stuck here until he decided to budge.

After what felt like an hour, he finally did, grumbling to himself as he made his way between two rows of shelves.

She sprinted for the gate. In her haste to get outside, her knapsack caught on the dangling length of chain, which emitted a deafening clatter as it slid to the ground.

Crap!

The guard’s beam honed in on the entrance just as she ducked away.

“Hey!”

Laura ran for it. Her heart battered against her chest as she skidded around the corner, trying to fight down her rising panic. They were pushing through the gate now. If she could make it into town, she could probably lose them, but she had to get there first.

Adrenaline spurred her forward, her hearing muffled by the rush of air in her ears. They were falling behind, she was sure of it...

And then, without warning, she collided face first into a brick wall.

Except the wall had hands, which closed around her wrists like a vice, resisting her attempts to wrench free.

“Alright, pal,” said her captor. “Fun’s over.”

Damn it.

The other two guards caught up, shining their blinding lights into her face, illuminating her failure. She squinted at them as defiantly as she could manage, and they responded by seizing her knapsack and tying her hands behind her back with scratchy rope.

“Nothing stolen in here,” said one guard, digging around in the knapsack. “Not much of a thief, eh?”

“Get her out of here,” said another. “Let the Guardians deal with her.”

They dumped her unceremoniously onto a rickety supply cart, and with her hands bound, it was a rough landing. A flash of white erupted behind her eyes as her head clashed with coarse wood, and after that, there was blood in her mouth.

It tasted like defeat.

Someone fetched a mule from the nearby stable, and a moment later the cart lurched into motion. Laura mentally cursed herself throughout the sore, splintery ride, trying not to think about the slew of problems she’d just created for herself.

Once they got into town, she was handed over to the Silver Guard as promised. As the official peacekeepers of the Tri-Realm Republic, the Guard were, to most, a symbol of leadership, protection, and upstanding citizenship. Laura grew up admiring that black-and-silver uniform and was ecstatic the day she finally got to don it herself, but at the moment, it was the last thing she wanted to see.

It was only a matter of time now before word of this incident got to her commanding officer. Before her own uniform was taken away for good. She cursed herself again.

“Alchemy storehouse, huh?” said the Guardian, mild amusement in her tone as she untied Laura’s hands. “Must be some fun stuff in there.”

Laura dropped her gaze, examining the prickly desert burs caught in the laces of her boots. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Where’re you from?”

“Silverton.” Laura sighed. “Listen, my mother’s name is Eva Alvez, and I suppose you ought to send someone to inform her of this.” Her mother was not going to be pleased with her, but better someone else broke the news first.

“You’re Senator Alvez’s girl?” said the Guardian, scanning her. “Oh yeah, I see it. Looks like the spikefruit fell a few miles from the tree, huh?” She paused to chuckle at her own joke. “Let’s getcha back to Silverton, then.”

The Guardian took her to the Rift station, which was fortunately quiet this time of night. There were still just enough people around to stare uncomfortably, though, as Laura’s chaperone took her to the front of the line and received clearance to the gate labeled ZASSK–SILVERTON.

Rift gates were the fastest way to travel long distances, and the only way to travel between realms. Suspended within a metal archway, the gate was a translucent, rippling surface, like an upright pool of water. Peering into it, Laura could just make out the blurred figures of people milling about on the other side.

She stepped through, momentarily engulfed in the familiar staticky sensation. Her skin prickled fuzzily, and not a second later, she was in the Rift station in Silverton, the capital city of the Republic and her hometown.

The Guardian led Laura to the local Guard post, though her feet reluctantly carried her there on their own. To her chagrin, astonished faces greeted her as her comrades realized tonight’s offender was one of their own. Pointedly avoiding eye contact, she let herself be escorted into the holding room, not at all in the mood to explain.

The small room was furnished with a half-dozen chairs, a low table offering a few recent copies of Republic News Weekly, and an off-white Glow lamp fixed high on the wall. In all of her years working here, she’d never known how stiff these chairs were.

Time crawled in the silence, making her acutely aware of her pounding headache and the smarting scrape on her temple. Not to mention the constant self-reminders that, for all the trouble she’d gone to tonight, she’d come away empty handed after all.

I’m sorry, Dad. I’ll get that lyusk root for you somehow.

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

Thanks for reading! Here's the full intro for the book if you're interest in learning more about it!

Tagging @thelaughingstag 🦌🙂

[gwenbrightly]

Redwall Falls Chapter 2

“He’s looking at me...” Brome heard his sister whisper to herself. She was not so inconspicuously watching Martin, one of the Mystery Shack’s teenaged employees, while she cleaned bobbleheads made in the image of their Great Aunt (or Graunt) Polly. The siblings had been put to work helping out around the tourist trap as soon as they’d had some time to settle in.

“Why don’t you just, I don’t know, talk to him?” he suggested with an eye roll. Rose stared at him.

“After what happened last time?” she cringed. Yesterday, when they’d met him (and the handy-squirrel known as Feldoh), the mouse had introduced himself before saying something about a “rosty nose”, which had taken several minutes to decipher. Brome still wasn’t sure what that was about, but it had definitely been awkward.

“Well, he’s proven that he can speak coherently,” Brome observed, nodding his head at the customer Martin was currently ringing up, “so maybe this time you guys can make it through an entire conversation without crashing.”

“I... Don’t be so pushy, Brome. These things take time. And besides-” Rose’s protests were cut off by Graunt Polly’s appearance from the back room.

“All right, all right, look alive, everybeast. I need someone to go hang up these signs in the spooky part of the forest,” the mole announced, displaying several signs that had advertisements with question marks and directions to the Mystery Shack on them. Rose, Brome, Feldoh, and Martin all glanced at each other.

“Not it,” Rose said quickly.

“Not it,” Brome followed suit.

“Also not it. You needed me to switch out the lightbulbs upstairs, remember?” It was Feldoh, this time. Graunt Polly looked annoyed.

“Martin, go hang these signs.” She ordered. “Oh, I would, but it’s so far. And I just realized I never had my lunch break so...”

“I’d fire all of you if I could,” Polly complained, frowning at Martin’s lame excuse. Her statement didn’t seem to have the desired effect, for she looked rather disappointed when no one took the hint and volunteered as tribute.

“Fine, then. Guess we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way,” she said, “let’s make it.. Eanie, meanie, minie… you,” she pointed a paw at Brome. He groaned in dismay.

“What? No. Graunt Polly, there’s something off about these woods… they’re creepy and I always feel like I’m being watched.”

“Noonvale doesn’t have much in the way of real forests, Brome. It’s gonna take some time for you to adjust to, well, the great outdoors,” Polly told him, giving his headfur a ruffle. He looked to Rose for backup, but she didn’t offer anything.

“I’m telling you – there’s something weird going on in this town. Homesickness can’t explain why the mosquito bites on my arm spell out ‘beware’.” Brome pointed out, rolling up his sleeve to show the others. Feldoh made a gagging noise. Rose raised an eyebrow and said,

“It looks more like ‘bewarb’ to me, and that’s really only if you squint.”

“Look, kid, that whole ‘monsters in the woods’ thing is just a local legend drummed up to attract more tourists,” Polly tried to assure him, but Brome wasn’t convinced. He had only been in Gravity falls for a day and he’d already seen bizarre glowing lights, heard strange noises, and been accosted by possibly radioactive mosquitos.

“But...” he protested as Graunt Polly plopped the signs into his reluctantly waiting arms.

“Stop being so paranoid and try to have some fun with this, eh, Brome?”

_______________

“No one believes anything I say,” Brome muttered to himself as he nailed a sign to a tree. It felt like he had been out in the forest for hours. All by himself. With no one to talk (complain) to. Was it even legal to send children out into the forest to perform manual labor without supervision? He’d have to check the local child labor laws once he got access to wifi – yet another thing the Mystery Shack seemed to be lacking in.

“Ugh!” he cried. “Stupid Mystery Shack! Stupid signs!”

Kathunk! Brome kicked the next tree he came to and immediately recoiled. He yelped in pain, then cocked his head. Trees didn’t make weird echoey noises… did they?

“Weird…” he commented, dropping the remaining sign on the ground so he could investigate further. Rapping gently on the tree – he didn’t want to hurt himself – Brome listened to the oddly metallic sound the tree made on impact. Something was definitely off about it. He took the sleeve of his sweatshirt and rubbed away at the trunk. Textured brown paint and a healthy coating of dirt and grime gave way to old metal. Ahah! The entire tree was fake. In full detective mode, now, Brome examined the tree until he spotted a small handle.

With slight apprehension, for there was always a chance his actions would activate an army of laser equipped robots, he grasped the lever with both paws and yanked it down. Nothing happened. No grand reveal. No explosion. Just the sound of birds chirping in the distance.

The young mouse huffed in disappointment and turned to leave, wishing he hadn’t gotten his hopes up. All his Sci-Fi TV shows and books had lied to him. Cool things never happened in real life. The world just didn’t work that way. But then, the creaking of a rusty hatch forcing its way open somewhere nearby caused him to stop in his tracks.

Brome circled the area, searching for the source of the sound. The switch must have done something, after all. He checked every nook and cranny, below each bush and on top of every rock and stump. His query remained elusive. Whatever the lever had opened was clearly well hidden.  Brome took a step backwards, hoping the action would give him a different view of this patch of forest.

In a way, he got exactly what he wanted; the fallen tree he tripped over certainly forced him to see the area from a different angle. But the unexpected fall wasn’t very pleasant and Brome couldn’t help but wonder how badly he’d have to hurt himself before his parents would let him come home. He lay on the ground for a moment, half tempted to sink into the dirt and become one with nature. Thankfully, such drastic actions did not end up being necessary.

It was no wonder Brome hadn’t noticed the bizarre hole the switch had uncovered. Half buried by the log and built from camouflaged materials, he would have missed it completely if not for the fact that he’d practically fallen right on top of it. He sat up, thoughtfully. Whoever had installed this hidden treasure trove obviously hadn’t wanted anyone to find it. How long had it been since someone sat where he now sat? Since somebeast had peered into the hole to examine its secrets? Brome gently removed an object wrapped in old newspapers, bursting into a fit of sneezes at the resulting cloud of dust that had floated into the air.

It was old. Old-old, as in more than just a few years old. The newspapers were from several decades ago. Their edges had curled with age, and some of the lettering was too faded to be legible. Fortunately, Brome had little interest in the newspaper; the item it protected was far more intriguing. A journal. And journals always had juicy secrets written in them – he’d learned that from snooping in Rose’s bedroom (though this journal would inevitably be much more interesting than his sister’s diary).

The journal’s design was simple enough. It was made of thick brown leather with the insignia of a paw print on the front cover. Brome wasn’t sure what kind of creature would have an entire extra toe. He also wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. What if the journal contained something bad? Something he wasn’t supposed to see?

It must have been hidden for a reason, after all. The young mouse sat for a moment, pondering his options. He could, of course, bury the journal and get back to work hanging Graunt Polly’s signs. He could also take his chances and open the book regardless of ancient curses or government Intel. It was a difficult choice.

“Alright, mystery beast. Let’s see what you’ve been hiding,” Brome muttered when his curiosity finally got the better of him. He hummed thoughtfully and flipped through the first few pages. They were covered with sketches of creatures he had never seen before. Detailed notes and memos accompanied many of the sketches.

“It's hard to believe it's been six years since I began studying the strange and wondrous secrets of Gravity Falls,” he read aloud from the page that had the most writing. Six years was a long time to be stuck in this place. The author must have had an awful lot of spare time on their paws to create such an elaborate journal. Flipping through the journal some more, Brome found himself growing more intrigued with each page he read.

Eventually, the writing and sketches grew increasingly erratic and less caretakingly organized. Notes that made no sense lined the margins in some places. One page in particular had the words Trust No One scrawled across its top in large lettering. Brome read the rest of the entry with bated breath, “Unfortunately, my suspicions have been confirmed. I'm being watched. I must hide this book before he finds it. Remember: in Gravity Falls there is no one you can trust." He paused, confused. That seemed… harsh. But if Gravity Falls really did have a dark side-

“Watcha doin?” someone said, sending Brome into a frenzied attempt to hide the journal behind his back. He groaned when he realized who it was. His sister gave him an awkward wave.

“Rose! Thanks for that. I really needed a heart attack today,” he stated flatly.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Rose told him, sitting down on the fallen tree, “Graunt Polly sent me to check on you.”

“Oh,” he said. He felt a little foolish for being so easily shaken. The journal’s tone was clearly getting to him.

“So… what were you reading that you didn’t notice me coming your way?” she asked.

“It’s nothing,” Brome said quickly. Rose hummed in response, clearly skeptical.

“Seems like pretty interesting nothingness. You were really invested in it.”

“Well… it’s not nothing nothing,” he admitted, “Just not something I should show you out here where anyone could happen to walk by. Let’s go somewhere more… private.”

“Alright. But now I’m curious. This better not be evidence of aliens, or I’m going to be very insulted that you didn’t show me right away,” Rose teased, ruffling his head fur. Brome winked at her and stood up. He waved the journal at her before taking off in the direction of the Mystery Shack as he said,

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

After all, surely the book journal hadn’t meant sisters when it said trust no one… right?

[spidermilkshake]

Isolated Element--Part 1: Captoptromancy

Welp, I'd best post writing on the hellsite too. What better place for the unhinged fanfiction that spills between my brain's cracks?

IP: Kingdom Hearts (powerfully headcanon'd)

Genre: Fantasy, Mystery+Suspense

Word Count: 2,400+

TW: Unreal/derealized dream states, mild body horror

(Next)

1: Catoptromancy

It had been a few years since she had last come this way. Already, nothing was at all like she remembered. Years back, Traverse Town didn’t even have its proper name; it was only known as the settlement cobbled together from Gaia’s refugees—from Radiant Garden to Corel to Nibelheim—a hybrid of survivalist shelters and shanty-town as more and more hunks of unfortunate Worlds materialized in the outskirts, sometimes bringing hundreds of new people with them. A few years ago there weren’t quite five thousand folk crowded in here, getting by on salvaged bits and crisis aid given by the Elveshmean military and the Elvaan Źduhace (the Elven Dragoon Order). If not for the work of Radiant Garden’s more progressive intellectuals, Gaia’s ties to Elves and even fellow Human nations would not have been so strong, and if not for these ties, the alarm at the sudden radio silence would not have been so swift in onset. If not for this, Traverse Town would likely have remained a guttering, suffering den of survivors—languishing and on their own.

Aqua sympathized.

As she disembarked the transport cruiser into a grey, stale-smelling rain she noticed immediately the place’s changes. She pulled the sides of her hooded poncho together, pausing by the platform’s railing to look out over the newly-constructed bell tower, and the mis-matched buildings surrounding it. Formerly, this area had been half-built and strewn with piles of salvaged rubble. The wrecked hulk of an Interspace-Airship hybrid, the Highwind Mark IV, had lain propped up on blocks, its engines burst and drained of power. It had since been moved—or taken apart, likely to go towards the Mark V. Shaking the oil rivulets dripping down her hood away, Aqua brought herself back to the present. Traverse Town was now equipped with signs; she began following some, scanning the terraced levels and built-into underpasses for signs of nightly lodging. A warm, elevated porch caught her eye—its swinging sign lit up with a covered manatech lantern, the orange glow making “Bedknobs+Broomsticks: Food—Rooms—Entertainment—Vacancies Available” legible through the weather. She climbed the stairs to the entrance, taking a moment to shake the rain from her poncho again, to not drip a soot-marred trail all through the place. The least she could hope for was that this one wasn’t already grimy, and without her griming it up for the proprietor.

It did turn out to be clean inside, mostly. A few active spiderwebs decorated the high, out-of-the-way corners, but a polished oak bar-top was well-shined, and a row of recessed booth seating looked to be mostly clear minus some spice containers. It was a tiny place, a staircase and a cramped elevator entrance intruding halfway into the diner-like area. Clearly, most of the establishment was on ascending floors and this scant hole-in-the-wall was the only important thing besides cheap beds. At first she assumed she was alone on the floor—some clanking in the doorway behind the bar area implied one distracted kitchen worker only. A sound like sheafs of silk rubbing together turned her head, and the slight, constant movements caught her peripheral vision.

She jolted, instinct forcing her to grip thin air after a Keyblade that would no longer come to her. After all this time, she’d assumed she would be used to the full range of weird entities roaming the Three Realms, but apparently this… entity, was still a surprise.

He was wedged into the outermost side of the closest booth, in the shadowy corner. His feet were propped up on the table and half-crossed, but it was not their electric-green claws and webbed toes the color of “drowning victim” that was so terrifying: The rest of him was by far more strange. Tall, slender, with swept-back pointed ears and some of his dark reddish hair braided into an Elf-Knot identified his species—and the bustling array of mutations he bore brought that species into question again. Above the protective gloves and bracers he wore, his forearms were that drowned-blue color, and slithering with several large tentacles each. His ripped jeans were a similar story at the hip joint—and even more sprung from a point near his shoulder blades. The deep V-neck of his shirt allowed a travesty of more subtle issues to be on display: His shoulders and across his collarbones had stubby, green quills protruding from them, the veins of his neck close to the surface were a green hue too and hideously engorged. On second glance, Aqua suppressed a shudder of revulsion as she saw the veins on his arms and even one faintly popping from his temple were the same. A moment passed in which this Grey Elf paid no attention to her—engrossed with a ratty-looking, thin book propped open against one knee—but then, vivid purple eyes flicked over to the onlooker.

“Well, well, cydezé,” the twisted elf greeted her, gaze flicking over her from the Keybearer’s Chi-Rho emblem on her chest to the lacing ornaments over her corset and spur-stabilizers on her boots, landing at last on her muted blue hair and bright eyes. “They say it’s rude to stare, stranger.”

“Sorry, I, uh…” Aqua stalled her movements by force of will, as instinct was sending her creeping backwards. “I couldn’t help but look.”

“’Swhat they all say!” He snickered, snapping his book closed. She couldn’t be so sure of this relaxed, humored response; her eyes lingered on the tentacles as they coiled back over themselves. “No offense taken at all, eh, miss..?”

“I’m Aqua,” she suppressed a flinch, especially as one of his eyebrows raised in intense interest.

“Aqua, eh?” Finally, he slid the mutated pair of feet down from sight. “Excellent. I’m named Oppidimy—though some call me the ‘Octomancer’. Or a walking accident.” He chuckled again, grinning.

“Now we’re introduced, at least—so! You didn’t come in here after me, I’ll assume, but surely you’re looking for someone.”

Aqua’s brow twitched as it was tempted to furrow, “What makes you say that?”

“You have that ‘looking for someone’ quality,” he smirked, tipping a hand towards the scene outside, “It’s a safe assumption. Most who come here are, in fact, trying to find people.”

The young Keybearer half-bit her tongue; appearance aside, she was unsure of how wise it would be to make even a guarded mention of her goals. Oppidimy was clearly a mage of some sort: What kind was as uncertain as how he’d come to be half-elf, half-aberration. And what kind of magic-user he was made all the difference.

“Actually, I wasn’t looking for someone,” she chanced it. She figured she could downplay the importance it had, leaving little clue that the lost item in question was the sacred Keyblade. “Something, actually. Several somethings.”

“Lost some stuff?”

“Actually… more like stolen.” She sucked in a breath, reigning in the residual outrage that lingered even years later, “A sword, and a set of plate armor. They were very important to me and I don’t have much idea of who took them from where I last saw them.”

Oppidimy clicked his tongue, eyes hooding in a disgusted expression as he nodded.

“That’s cute—people really are out there like that. World’s in the process of ending and they’ll still try robbin’ you blind.” Aqua blinked hard at the statement, but he carried on overtop of her visible bewilderment, “Odds are, the culprit’s one of a short and nasty list; the only types who would be out to steal anything that wasn’t provisions, these days.

“I might be able to help y’ out,” a slow, crooked smile spread over his pointed features, and his gloved fingertips settled together into a triangle of scheming thoughts. “At least, if you’ll have me. At the very least I could help rule out some of these skeezballs.”

“And how would you accomplish this?” Her voice turned suspicious, and the Rurcelan mutant obviously cottoned on. He disbanded the triangle of wicked contemplations with a series of assuring waves, shaking his head and chuckling.

“Ah, ah, I know that tone—relax! My methods are one hundred percent legitimate, completely moral. Even though I blend in quite well with society’s villains and monsters, the ‘look’ was not exactly intentional. But, if you’ll take up my offer, you’ll see how it serves to my advantage.”

As Oppidimy began to stand and tuck his book amongst the grips of the tentacles issuing from one elbow, Aqua tilted her head:

“…So you specialize in espionage?”

The elf raised a gloved finger to his lips and the quills on his bare shoulders went rigid, suddenly looking grim and serious.

“Not so loud,” He slid past her, the Keybearer wearing a stone face even as she cringed internally at the tendrils coming inches from brushing by. Stepping towards the stairs, he turned back to call over his shoulder, smirk returned: “Come see me some time if you need a hand, yeh? I’m in 32. I’d suggest giving that old office door a knock so you can get a room of your own before it gets too late.” He began to cackle, “Owner’s a bit narcoleptic, so knock hard!” His laughter echoed, becoming cartoonish as he ascended the narrow stairwell and the raucous noise faded out. She paused a few seconds just to breathe.

Never had she encountered someone quite so exaggerated—it felt like a front—or a trap. She could be the intended victim, but just as easily the intended bait, a lure to draw in the unsavory targets he’d referred to. Only further investigation would bring that to light.

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

As suspected—the place was a cheap joint for cheap beds. The need in town was high, and the cramped room she was assigned was, at the very least, livable. Crumpled under the stiff, rough-textured outer sheet, every attempt to calculate the dubiousness of the elf’s offer, versus the likelihood she could finally close in on her lost Keyblade, set her sleep back another hour. And another. But slowly, surely, sleep and Aqua arrived at an uneasy truce.

She had the dream again. Different—and clearer.

The vision of that round, white, metal-plated room, the gaps in this armoring (or acoustic featuring?) showing faint glints of pipes, cables, and other hints at underlying manatech. It mocked her. She was for a second so infuriated at its recurrence that she almost missed the new features: Insignias in a stark black marked the walls, familiar but strange. It was much like the Keybearer’s Chi-Rho—or the Heartless Emblem, itself very much a cheap plagiarizing of the order’s sign—upside-down, so that the spikes forming the “Chi” took the peak position.

The miasma of her unconscious half-lucidity swam around her as she struggled to turn around and face the raised central area. She had already seen what was arranged there during the prior dream states. Her armor, and her Keyblade, where she knew it last. If the passage of time was to be believed, someone had been keeping it tidy and dust-free.

The chair was new. Aqua’s jaw hung in silence a moment, unable to react, as she faced its occupant. Outside of this recurring hallucination she knew she was asleep—and she wondered if he, within the dream, was also. His dark-toned skin and wildly-arranged silver hair were uncomfortably familiar, and his face itself also so but for different reasons. His ears were slightly-pointed as a half-elf’s would be, but since his eyes were closed she couldn’t tell if he possessed the mish-mash of colors and features she dreaded. She had seen this man before, she was sure this was… but somehow, her mind refused to let her assume this was the same person. Or persons, technically. He had to be, and yet… she was sure this quietly seated man was another entirely.

Her frown began to appear, giving some control of her face and voice back. Whoever this dead-ringer for Terra (and Xehanort) was, there was no likelier suspect for the role of the one who had relocated this Chamber—her Keyblade with it.

“Where are you?”

Aqua nearly jumped, though her dream-self felt far too sluggish for it. Exactly as and exactly what she had been gathering up energy to say the man with closed eyes had asked in a low murmur, devoid of feeling. Though, this she supposed could be from him truly being asleep—mumbling and aware of her regardless.

“No,” she barked, “You tell me. Where are you? And who are you?”

The man paused, eye movements flickering behind their lids. In painfully slow motions, he began to shake his head.

“I cannot answer you. You must tell me first.” He was still almost deadpan, with a hint of tired annoyance creeping in now.

“You can’t force me to tell you, and you can’t do anything to me. This is a damn dream-state. So, if you want anything, you first.”

He huffed, his brows twitching, and the sleek black fabric that made up his gloves straining as his grip on the armrests tightened.

“No,” he growled. “You don’t understand. I cannot answer you first because I have no answer. I don’t know who I am.” He let silence return to the humming void around them, becoming neutral in expression, “But perhaps, if you tell me your name, I can know more.”

A spike of hope softened her expression; the frustration and the intonation was so like his, melded neatly with the rigid aura of calm he imposed on himself—two traits so Terra-esque and incongruous with each other they seemed unlikely to be performed. And very un-Xehanort, in this way.

“I’m Aqua. Do you have a name, by chance?”

“I do,” he nodded, brows knitting slightly, “But it would mean nothing to you. It is a chosen name, taken after the time you seem to recognize me from.”

“Are you Terra?” She forged ahead, prepared for a let-down.

“I am aware of who that name belongs to, but I do not think so,” he surprised her, “Before you ask: I am equally aware of the one called Xehanort. I am not him.

“You have seen this Chamber before, haven’t you?” A dim inkling of curiosity entered his soft tone, surprising her alongside the change of subject. “Years ago I began to see this place. In my dreams at first, and then, every time I closed my eyes. I suspect you saw these visions. You saw the way into the room, hidden in what is left of the bastion of Radiant Garden.”

“How did you figure that out?” But, already guessing the answer, her eyes wandered to the sections of her armor propped on the central dais.

“I have memory I can’t explain,” he began. “I remember the name of the one this Keyblade, and its armor manifestation, belongs to. Aqua.” Sudden, jarring, he seemed unable to resist letting his eyes snap open and zero in on her with their bright, orange intensity, “This belongs to you, doesn’t it?”

An immediate shock came over her—but not only from being eye-to-eye. As soon as it happened, a spell broke. She felt roaring in her ears; the Chamber of Repose winked out and she was filled with the sickening sensation of half-awake, confused floating just above one’s body. Psyche-wise, she felt slammed back into her self as she bolted awake, still curled under the cheap inn’s terrible sheets, the room quiet and empty.

She sat up, waiting for some soreness that never came. A vivid dream. Not exactly, but closer than really being there. For a minute she just listened; a few muffled clangs of activity echoed from some lower floor, and she could hear through razor-thin walls the sounds of folk opening and shutting doors, exchanging bleary greetings, and going about the act of “morning”. A sliver of weak light creeping in between shut curtains confirmed the early, small hour. She collected her wits, and stood. She wasn’t getting any more sleep now anyways.

To Be Continued

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Darkstache - Seeing the Truth

A follow-on from the prompt where Wilford discovered Dark was colourblind. He’s determined to help Dark experience the beauty that is colour.

Word Count: 1,565

-

If there was one thing every single ego working in the studio could agree on, it was that Wilford was not the smartest of the bunch. He struggled with reading, had difficulties keeping track of time, had an unreliable memory on bad days, among other things. Which was why there was surprise when it was discovered Wiford was undertaking heavy research. Sitting at the desk in his dressing-room-studio, the reporter was immersed in work on his laptop. There was a notebook beside him where he attempted to write legible notes. Several drinking glasses had been conjured and emptied so he could work without the distraction of moving. Another notebook was open and drying on the radiator after some water spilled on it.

But if anyone walked in with the intention to see what he was doing, they were blocked by an invisible bubble. To Dark’s frustration, it included him.

“You know you can’t work on anything without telling me about it. As the company’s lawyer, I need to make sure what you’re doing keeps you out of legal trouble.” Dark folded his arms with an irritated expression. In response, Wilford pulled himself onto his feet, sauntered across the room, and slipped through the bubble barrier to take Dark’s hands in his own.

“Yeah, buuut Google told me that’s only if I’m workin’ on somethin’ fer th’ studio. This is a personal project that I want perfect before I tell anyone!” A seemingly simple answer had alarm bells ringing in Dark’s mind. Wilford always put his brainstorming on display for others. Why was he being so secretive? He tried to pull his hands away, but the reporter’s grip was too tight. “Ya gotta trust me, sugarplum. I’ve been workin’ hard like a little bee in here. Just gimme a little longer an’ I’ll show ya everythin’.”

“Will this be before or after you cause whatever trouble you’re planning?”

“Who said anythin’ ‘bout causin’ trouble?” Wilford was hurt by that, though he was quick to shake it off. “When it’s ready, yer th’ first person I wanna show. Promise.” He kissed Dark on the cheek and added, “Yer still free after work, right?”

--

When the other egos and regular staff had called it a day, Dark returned to Wilford’s empty office. To his surprise, the barrier bubble was gone, but the desk space had been cleared. There was no evidence he could see that might tell him what Wilford was up to. Wilford had actually remembered to shut down the laptop for once. This was certainly an unusual setting for the reporter who was terrible with technology. There had to be a clue somewhere that he wasn’t seeing!

“Babe!” Wilford’s voice made Dark jump. He spun around to notice Wilford had changed clothes to wear a faint blue (maybe) shirt, black trousers and white suspenders (he could tell those colours easily). “Thought I’d catch ya before ya left yer office. Ya ready ta go?” Dark nodded, crossing the room to take Wilford’s free hand.

“A basket?”

“Well, yeah! Can’t have ya gettin’ cold on me, eh? We got a great evenin’ planned an’ I want ya ta be cosy!”

--

The car pulled up at their normal viewing spot outside the city. Dark tried to weasel information out of Wilford, but the reporter was unusually tight-lipped. All he could learn was that the pair were sky-gazing. As much as Dark liked spending time with Wilford, he couldn’t help but feel Wilford forgot that Dark couldn’t enjoy seeing the day sky in the same way. Surely he wouldn’t need to ruin the night by having this conversation a second time, right? Stuck with indecision on what to do, Dark didn’t notice how Wilford sat on the picnic blanket and began pulling things out of the basket at first. A little vase of flowers, a notebook, some juggling balls, a small balloon, a black case… 

“Wilford… What are you doing with all this stuff?” Before Dark could sit, Wilford quickly scrambled back onto his feet.

“No, no! Not yet. Tonight’s a special night. Gonna be one of th’ prettiest views an’ I don’t wantcha missin’ it ‘cause yer askin’ why I have so many things with me.” Wilford wagged a finger playfully at Dark. A graceful bend allowed him to scoop up the black case and hand it to Dark. “A present fer my beautiful shadow.” Dark accepted the case, clicked it open, and frowned.

“... Sunglasses. At 8pm?”

“Well, yeah! There’s gonna be some big bright flashy thing of some sort tonight. Bing was ravin’ ‘bout it. I’m surprised ya didn’t hear ‘bout it!” Wilford had whipped out a pair of sunglasses and rested them in his messy curls. “Go on! Try ‘em on. Betcha look real handsome with ‘em~”

Something wasn’t right, but Dark couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Wilford was acting peculiar, like he was trying to distract the entity from something. Google never mentioned anything about events taking place in the sky. With all the random objects scattered at his feet, it could be Wilford’s way to pull attention away from some crime he had committed while out. That’s why he changed clothes, it had to be! Even with those worries in his head, Wilford looked genuinely excited. Dark never wore sunglasses, but maybe he could humour Wilford and play along. 

The glasses were put on.

The world exploded in a way he never could have predicted.

What was originally a murky mesh of blue, yellow, and grey had now become so much more. Everything was brighter, vivid, alive! He quickly lifted the glasses to see the world as he was used to, then dropped the glasses back down to see this new world. It was the glasses. The glasses were somehow letting him see colour in a way he never could have imagined and couldn’t possibly explain. The colours seemed to shift a little the longer he wore them, possibly as his eyes adjusted to it, allowing him to see so much more. A hand covered his mouth as emotions welled up inside him. Never did he think he would ever see something like this in his entire life.

“Ya doin’ okay?” Wilford’s hand gently squeezed his shoulder. Dark nodded.

“I… I’ve never seen colour like this before. It’s beautiful… I thought you brought me here because you forgot.”

“Nah. I wrote it down when ya told me. This is what I’ve been workin’ on all week that no one knew ‘bout. I wanted ta help ya see colour. These glasses were th’ best way ta do that. Bet it must be weird fer ya.” 

“I never would have guessed how many types of green there are. It all looked the same, but the leaves on the trees and the grass all look so different…” He turned to face Wilford, only to trail off as he took in the sight of his boyfriend in full colour for the first time. He was wearing a purple shirt, not a blue one! Wilford could see the emotion in Dark’s eyes through the tinted lenses as the entity’s hand reached up to Wilford’s face. “... Is that pink? Your moustache… It’s brighter than I could have imagined.” Tears finally slipped underneath the glasses as he laughed. “It’s perfect for you. I can’t stop smiling as I look at it. Oh! I never even realised it was in your hair either! I thought your hair was all one shade!” Fingers looped strands of pink locks to examine them better. “I knew I was right to think of you when I tried to imagine what ‘pink’ looked like.”

“Ya can admire me an’ my pretty pink all ya like later…. But turn ‘round again. I think y’ll like what yer ‘bout ta see.” Wilford kissed Dark on the nose before encouraging the entity to spin back the way he was originally facing.

There, in all its majestic glory behind them, was a sunset. With the distraction of the glasses, enough time had passed for the sun to dip low enough below the horizon. Dark slipped an arm around Wilford’s waist and held on tightly as he took in every inch of the evening sky.

“I knew it was yellow, I knew it was blue, but all the colours in between… No wonder you were always so excited to look at sunsets. I could stare at this all night if I could. I’m seeing colours I never knew existed before. It’s perfect.”

“I thought y’d say that. I try ta keep a diary ta help me remember things so I thought, ‘why not do th’ same fer you’?” A spiral-bound notebook was passed to Dark, open on a page that had coloured squares labelled. “I made ya a little chart so y’d know what colours are what.” A simple gesture had the emotions bubbling over all over again as Dark hugged Wilford tight.

The pair would sit in silence and enjoy the full beauty of the sunset. Wrapped in a purple and white blanket, Dark was given all the time to process what he was seeing. Later, the pair would use the notebook to show Wilford what Dark could now see in the random assortment of items that dotted the blanket as they undertook a masterclass of colour.. But for the moment, seeing the beauty of a colourful world took priority.

---

Note: For those who might be curious, I highly recommend checking out EnChroma, who do indeed make glasses to help those who are colourblind. There are plenty of video reactions to people wearing them for the first time if ever you need to rediscover your appreciation of colour.