#like unpainted blocks of toys

[ganondoodle]

wait i just realized... the mastersword isnt even important enough to warrant zelda doing to such extreme lengths to repair it bc its NOT EVEN REQUIRED FOR DEFEATING GANONDORF

idk about you but the mastersword being not just this weak after all this but also not even required is like ... hurting the whole plot SO bad for all that zelda knew she was basically killing herself by doing the dragon thing ONLY for the mastersword, which isnt even needed to reach the end why do the dragon thing at all??? she could have put it in some other divine place for it to recover (she knew where the springs are, she knew where the krog forest is, heck she even knew where the forgotten temple is BC THEY WERE ALL THERE* and im not going to belive any of them came into existence afterwards), in botw it took 'only' a 100 years to regenerate the damage it took in botws past which, while not as extreme as in totk, was pretty bad! yeah it gets outright broken in totk but like ... really? far over 10 000 years to recover it? through ZELDA? one of the most divine being IN THE FORM of one of the most divine beings aside from the very gods themselves?? whats the use of it being able to regernate if it takes THAT long?? feels easier to forge a new one for that matter?? and the excuse that "it needed to be able to resist miasma" is like .. why tho? yeah ok fine i could do the entire bossfight with JUST the mastersword, but again, its not required! i can do it with anything else!! and its doesnt cleanse miasma either, like the sword did in tp when you could do away the twilight stuff when it got the super glow stuff so its really like ... she did that JUST for the sword? really? the fact that her becoming a dragon is the way to get her back into her time isnt something she could have known and it working out like that makes it feel like a massive fail of the writers bc it makes it feel less like an actual decision she made for good reason and more bc its a decision the writers made bc the writers already knew where it would end, the writers knew shed be turned back in the end no problem so they had her do the dragon thing despite it being pretty senseless from her perspective

(wouldnt it have felt more in character and logical to put the mastersword somwhere safe where it can recover over all those centuries and search for a way to return to her time herself? like in these two games ZELDA feels like the more important thing that the sword, -zeldas prone to sacrifice herself for other- WHY! its better for everyone if you are alive rather than dead! you got to this time by yourself and also somehow not jsut shifted the time but also PLACE bc you sure as hell didnt appear in a cavern in the middle of the land, you have wielded incredible magic before and are a researcher, surely theres some way for you to at least TRY to return on your own?? how cool would it have been to find little markers and spots where clearly she has left you some sort of message, maybe like a way for you to do something that helps her in the past, USE THE WEIRD ASS TIME BUBBLES FROM THE TUTORIAL AGAIN!! send back something she needs to return! go and talk with impa and purah to determine what shes trying to tell you, help her along the way and in the end she makes her triumphant return, having grown and learned with what she did instead of regressing her chaarcter to the big eyed maiden that you get as a reward at the end through unsatisfying bs reasons and hurray she doesnt even remember, perfect little fairytale of no consequences wahoo- im salty about this let me be salty-)

you can absolutely combine a free to explore open world with good story without restricting it by much, like locking the bossfight behind aquiring the mastersword doesnt feel like that big of a change and its not making it a whole lot more linear, most people do it anyway right?

(also a thing im doing in my rewrite of it is locking certain things for some parts, it just makes sense if you are trying to tell a story, but its pretty clear now they werent trying to do that, just throw you into a box of virtual toys, and i think thats just sad)

*yeah actually whats up with the sonau/rauru putting their little nuclear super weapon storage room inTO THE ANCIENT RELICT OF THE FORGOTTEN PAST TEMPLE BEHIND THE BIGGEST STATUE OF HYLIA IN EXISTENCE?? you cant tell me all those ancient ruins (springs, forgotten temple) were made AFTER all of the shitshow that went down in totks past; putting it behind that statue? building it into there feels incredibly disrespectful, maybe it makes more sense if you just see it as the devs wanting to put somethign new there, but if you consider it in universe its just ??? also HOW is any of it in such a good shape??, it looks like they buried sonia there a year ago, the structures look like they just came out of a 3d printer despite supposedly being older than their recorded history??

on that note ... how does the room with the order and location of zeldas tears make sense .. are you telling me someone of the past ran around after dragon zelda recording where her fucking tears went down and what markings it made on the ground and then built a room next to the nuclear weapon storage room with the laughably unceremonial grave of the fucking queen just to put all that into statue form? also none of the geographical things changed in ALL that time?? the castle is drawn on there too so i guess that was super fresh then since it "was built above ganondorf as a symbol of royal blahbla" at least in botw you had the photos on your SHIEKAH stone to recover them once you found the place they were taken in, it felt so organically integrated ..

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Frigid.

Pairing: Yandere!Rosaria/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 2.5k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Modern AU, Non-Con, Semi-Public Sex, Drug Use, Toxic Relationships, Victim-Blaming, Implied Past Assult, Dissociation.

Touching Rosaria was like touching ice.

Or, like having ice touch you, at least. She didn’t like it when you touched her – if she did, she wouldn’t have her hand clamped around your wrist, right now, there wouldn’t be a chill washing over your skin, inching towards your chest, making your heart beat a little faster every time the threat of frostbite began to seem more like a strong possibility than a distant fantasy. It was jarring, really, compared to the heat of the bodies around you, dancing and moving and sweltering, despite how crowded the club felt, despite how much you wished they would stop. You’d been the one who wanted to come, you were the one who usually liked this kind of thing, but suddenly, the music was too loud, everyone was too close, you could still feel your last drink burning at the back of your throat. It was all too much. It was all too hot.

Except Rosaria, of course. Never Rosaria.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt warm, around her.

She was sticking close to the walls, thankfully. You were glad you’d chosen a smaller club, easier for Rosaria to navigate as she dragged you across the cramped space. It was too dark to see where she was going, darker than it usually was, but you didn’t mind letting her pull you along. You were used to it, the graceless way she pushed through couples and groups and inebriated patrons, the quiet apologies you let out as you followed her, how easy your own feet were to trip over as the bright, flashing lights and the sour flavor coating your tongue made it more and more difficult to think. It was almost a relief when she found what she was looking for – the side exit, the one you liked to use whenever you got too overwhelmed. It was sweet that she’d thought to use it tonight, too, even if you couldn’t remember telling her about your little escape route.

The alleyway it opened into was narrow, just as dark and just as stifling as the club, but the music wasn’t as loud, the air wasn’t as choking, and more importantly, you were able to collapse into Rosaria, burying your head in your chest as she caught you by the shoulders, begrudgingly accepting your clumsy affection. She didn’t like being touched, but you really liked touching her. It made sense that she’d make an exception for you, in the moment, at least. She always made an exception for you.

“Rosey,” You started, slurring the nickname into something near-incomprehensible. There was a tap to your shoulder, a row of blunt nails skirting across bare skin. In the back of your mind, you wondered if she was mad at you. “I can’t… It’s too warm, Rosey. My head hurts.”

“Obviously.” Her tone was lighter than it usually was, more playful. Not quite patient, not yet, but more sympathetic than she usually bothered to be. Like she was talking to a child, rather than a friend. Like the two of you hadn’t already done this a hundred times. “You overdid it, princess. You’re drunk.”

You shook your head, absent-mindedly. You didn’t feel drunk. You felt… dizzy. Out of it. Disoriented in such a way that meant trying to find out why you were struggling to keep your balance only made you more likely to fall. “You had more than I did,” You mumbled, because it was true. You knew how Rosaria could be. You’d wanted to be good, tonight, even if she claimed to be content nursing her third glass of wine. “’s not fair. I’m don’t even feel that—”

“You’re always so careless, too,” She said, cutting you off. Speaking over you, like you’d never said anything at all. Her grip tightened, and you backed away, pressing yourself against the nearest wall. Rosaria didn’t let go. “Drinking so much, staying out so late… It’s a miracle you haven’t learned your lesson, yet. I’m a little surprised no one’s ever taken advantage of you.”

Your heart dropped in your chest. The wall was unpainted, uneven, bare cement and little else. It hurt to touch, to lean against, especially with Rosaria resting her weight on you. It hurt to move, when you finally thought to fidget. “You're being mean,” You whispered, and her hand fell to your hip. Your dress was too thin, too tight. It felt like you were bleeding out in a snowbank. “Would someone really do that?”

“I would.” She was too close. She was too cold. You didn’t find the constant chill comforting, anymore. “In a heartbeat. Especially after you start acting like such a fucking tease.”

You wanted to go home. There was something pounding in the back of your skull, now, throbbing, blocking out whatever Rosaria might’ve said, making it impossible to process anything but the black dots fraying at the edges of your vision and Rosaria’s lips, chapped and painted red and on your neck, the corner of your jaw, only lingering for a moment before her teeth dug into your jugular and you screamed, the shrill sound immediately cut short by a palm against your mouth, keeping you quiet despite the little whimpers you let out as she pulled back, allowing something warm to run over your skin and pool near your collarbone. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it would get on your dress, if it would leave a stain. You wondered if she would apologize, when it did.

“Spoiled little brat,” She growled, nearly under her breath. Her grip loosened, Rosaria shifting, but any reprieve was short-lived, quickly replaced by two fingers pressed into your tongue and a row of nails clawing at your waist, pulling at your skirt, leaving you to gag and whimper as ice-cold fingertips dug into your thigh, cold enough to leave you trembling. She wasn’t holding you, not really, not tightly enough to call it restraint, but your body felt weak, your legs were shaking, and you couldn’t imagine trying to run. You couldn’t imagine trying to stand. You were almost thankful for the knee she forced between your thighs, for the trace of stability she thought to offer. You wanted to be thankful. You were trying to be thankful. “No talking, alright? I need you to keep quiet. Can you do that for me?”

Right. Obviously. Rosaria was so smart. She always knew what to do, so she must’ve been right, and she was so kind, too, letting her fingers slip out of your mouth as soon as you offered her the small, eager nod she was looking for. You were glad she was wearing leather, a jacket a size too big and pants that clung to her like a second skin – it gave you something tangible to hold onto, something to hide your face in, even if you hated the texture, the sound, the way it felt under you as she cupped your pussy and some thin piece of fabric tore, forcing you to shy into her just a little more. You almost asked why. If she didn't like your dress, she could’ve just told you. If she didn’t like you, she could’ve said so in a way that didn’t make you feel so…

So bad.

“You said you were hot.” Rosaria was talking before you could, though, explaining herself. Why was she allowed to talk? Part of you wavered, flickered, realized that she wasn’t being fair, that she wasn’t being nice, but Rosaria was good at this kind of thing. She must’ve known something you didn’t. That’d make sense. She knew a lot of stuff, compared to the handful of foggy ideas that separated your mind from total oblivion. “I’m just helping you out. You’re not stupid enough to turn down help, are you?”

You shook your head. You weren’t, even if she chuckled at your meek response, even if you couldn’t see how grinding her hand into your cunt could help you feel anything but hot, like you’d been in the sun for an hour too long. Like you were being burnt alive, and Rosaria was the one stoking the flames.

Your thoughts were spinning, now, twisting, spiraling, the need to shut your eyes and make it stop almost overshadowing the slick building up between your legs, that awful, sticky feeling that made you squirm, holding Rosaria tighter and attempting to weakly push her away at the same time. The embarrassment was palpable, that nagging sense of shame, only made worse by Rosaria’s huff of a laugh, by the lingering sensation of her teeth ghosting over your skin and the way you jolted into her, anything intelligent you might’ve said replaced by a small, submissive whimper. It was embarrassing. You wanted it to stop. You wanted her to stop.

But, she didn’t. She wouldn't. You couldn't force her to.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to ask.

It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like much of anything, honestly, as her fingers slipped below the black lace of your panties, as she toyed with your clit and drank in those pathetic sounds you might’ve thought someone else was making, if your own voice hadn’t been so recognizable. Your body was too numb, your nerves already too burnt, Rosaria’s chest too cold where it pressed against yours, like your life depended on little more than ice and sleet. It didn’t feel good, but your face must’ve been flushed, your pupils blown out, your scrunched expression littered with hints that you were in anything but agony. Rosaria sounded smug. She wouldn’t sound like that, not unless you gave her a reason to. She wouldn’t do that to you, not unless she thought you deserved it.

“For fuck’s sake,” She drawled, slowly, like she didn’t have anywhere better to be. She didn’t have anywhere better to be. She wouldn’t have bothered to spend time with you, otherwise. “You’re already so damn wet. If I’d known you’d be this needy, I wouldn't have bothered with the fucking pills.”

You opened your mouth, but you were barely able to get out a strangled cry before something was inside of you, your panties pushed to the side and two long fingers scissoring you open, too quickly, too suddenly, too violently. It was like she’d broken a dam, like some necessary barrier had been crossed and crushed, like everything you’d lacked, earlier, everything your mind had been merciful enough to block out came flooding in for the first time. There was the sting, tight and tearing and impatient, but there was pleasure, too, something beyond awareness, something beyond discomfort. It was a fire, smoldering and invasive, and you didn’t like it. You didn’t like the way your hips bucked to meet her hand, or the new weight behind your eyes, or her smirk, her smile, her self-satisfied sneer. You didn’t like that she was happy. You didn’t like that you were in pain, and she was happy. If you were being honest with yourself, you might’ve been able to admit you didn’t like Rosaria at all, right now.

“S-Stop, Rosey, it hurts—” She had a pattern, now, a tangible pace, a vengeance you wished you'd never provoked. She must’ve hated you. She must’ve. You couldn’t think of another reason she’d curl her fingers like that, another reason she’d abuse every sensitive spot that made you whine and tremble and tense-up, another reason she’d be so mean, especially to you, especially now, especially here. It wouldn’t even matter if you made noise, if you cried out, if you screamed. It couldn’t be louder than your rapid heartbeat, your racing pulse, the wet clicks that only got worse as Rosaria slipped a third finger in and left you to clench around her, too humiliated to care about the slight pain. “Please, I don’t wanna—”

“What did I say about talking?” She was being cold again, ruthless, but it was a playful sort of cruelness, her tone just lilted enough to make you feel guilty for trying to convince yourself she was such a monster. “You don’t want to what? Sit pretty and let me do all the work? Stand there and cum?” There was a laugh, a flick of her wrist, and the heel of her hand came up to grind against your clit. Instantly, you wished you’d never said anything at all. “Do it. Make yourself useful, for once. Cum.”

You didn’t want to. You really, really, really didn’t want to, but there was nothing you could do to stave it off, to get away from it, to keep your knees from buckling or your body from going rigid or Rosaria from kissing you, stifling the breathy moan that threatened to spill out between choked sobs and quiet pleas for her to stop. At least she was gentle about it, as gentle as she could be, pointed canines barely cutting at your lips, a cloud of lingering cigarette smoke barely choking you, her touch barely forceful enough to bruise, as she cupped your cheek with her free hand, tilting your head back and encouraging you to lean into the gesture.

It was almost sweet, how she lingered, how she didn’t pull away until after the aftershocks had faded, until you’d stopped trying to resist, until you were too tired to do anything but collapse into her when she let you go, catching you the moment you threatened to fold into yourself. It was a small mercy. You didn’t want to spend the rest of the night on the ground, sobbing yourself to sleep in some dark, claustrophobic alley. You didn’t want to do that. You didn’t want to be here.

You just wanted to be with Rosaria. You just wanted to be anywhere else, with her.

“Rosey,” you tried, testing the waters. You tried to blink, to stand up on your own, but your eyelids felt heavy, you felt heavy. Rosaria only hummed, in response, snaking an arm around your waist. Already, you were struggling to remember why you couldn’t stand. You were struggling to remember why it hurt so much, when you tried to. “I… I’m not having fun, anymore. Can we go home?”

“You’re lucky I like you, princess.” You were. She was such a good friend, and she always came out drinking with you, and she always took care of you the day afterward, too, when you were sore and hungover and, more often than not, too bruised and battered to get out of bed. Even if the kiss she pressed into the top of your head made you shiver, even if the ghost of her icy breath made your skin crawl, even if a part of you was still begging to keep her at a distance, you were lucky to have her. You were thankful you had her, thankful enough to ignore how low her hands dipped as she held you up, thankful enough to stop yourself from thinking about the slick dripping down your thighs, and the cut on the side of your neck, and the chalk coating your tongue, tasteless and unremarkable, but not completely unfamiliar.

Thankful enough to look up at her and smile, as she finally sapped away the last of your warmth.

“Let’s go home.”

[mimiplaysgames]

Terraqua Week Day 4 (Legends/Tales)

Summary: Someone calls for help from the deepest depths of darkness. Terra and Aqua trace the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. || Word Count: 8,983

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek hooooo if you thought yesterday’s was angsty dkfjdkfjdk So everyone and their mom compares Terraqua to Orpheus and Eurydice (Orphydice?) and I totally agree. It was time to officially jump that wagon. This one was difficult though - originally, I was going to have them sitting near a fireplace and talking about fairy tales over drinks, but I think I did the sit down apology fic way too many times and needed something different. This one was a huge challenge in such a tiny frame of time though. It took me the longest to write (a whole week, when I normally take months), so I couldn’t clean it as much as I would like to. I hope you like it anyway! <3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Long Way Down ~ no further debts to be paid

Aqua has been dragging him all over town, following a call—this gut-wrenching feeling that something is wrong and someone is crying but she doesn’t know who or where. Except here, wandering around Thebes, though Terra doesn’t mind at all. Keyblade wielders are supposed to follow their hearts. Terra will follow hers anywhere.

What he does mind, though, are these screaming fangirls. 

He collides head first into a neglected booth of rugs, scampering away from a group of young women who were trying to rip his left arm out of his socket, seeking pieces of his armor. They squeal, they cry, they sigh with all the fever of delusion. Champion! Terra! You’ve come back! You’re more beautiful than the gods! 

Aqua strides by him, hiding an amused smirk behind her elegant fingers. “You picked a good hiding place.” She straightens a bent rug and rolls it tighter, letting it lean on its side by the wall. 

Terra knocks a rug off of his head. “I did nothing to deserve this.”

“I nearly forgot,” Aqua says in a way that means she didn’t. “You won a championship.”

“Years ago. Once.” He kicks the pile on his back and crawls out. Zack and Hercules would never let it down if they hear about him hiding from harmless girls like he’s a mouse. “I’m no celebrity.”

“I beg to differ.” She unfolds a tapestry. Weaved into the fabric is a figure of a man armored in golds and burgundies, tall with dark hair and wielding a giant key. “You’re a story they share. Be grateful for your adoring fans.”

The only thing he’d be grateful for is the attention of the person standing right next to him. He never thought about the Olympus Coliseum championship while he was possessed and trapped in Darkness, not once. He thought of her every day and night. 

“I think you’re jealous they’re chasing me and not you, Master Aqua.”

“Well, I would handle it with more grace.” She beats dust out of the corner of a rug with her hand.

The way she jokes with him is instinctual, natural, but the way her eyes wander is not, like she’s not paying attention. They’ve searched Thebes for hours, and while the city-state’s stairs for hills and elaborate gardens are impressive, they’ve found no lead as to who Aqua is looking for. She unrolls another tapestry like she’s reading a scroll. She doesn’t even have a name, just a dream that spoke to her one night: Find me, please. 

“There’s nothing here, either,” she mumbles. 

Terra doesn’t know how to lift her spirits. “Maybe the answer is not in Thebes.”

“We haven’t searched everywhere.” She pulls out another tapestry that he’s sure she’s already deciphered.

How many times are they going to circle the marketplace? Terra sighs and risks peeking at the main street from the alleyway. If he stays close enough to Aqua, the fangirls stay farther away, as though she’s a repellant. Who knew Aqua makes for a good shield. 

The marketplace swarms with chatter and dust pickup from sandals and wheels. They’ve been through every store on this block. They’ve been through museums, they’ve listened to storytellers on the streets, met with sages and fortune tellers. There’s not much to deduce out of a whisper from a dream. 

A high-pitched scream breaks through the loud talk of shopgoers, and Terra summons his Keyblade, watching for Heartless.

It comes from a girl, pointing a finger at him. Everyone else gawks. She shivers from head to toe. “Terra!” 

At the sound of his name, like mockingbirds for sheep, they call out. “Terra!” 

“Damn the stars,” he mutters and sprints back into the alleyway, a stampede behind him. “Aqua?” She’s not by the rugs. “Aqua!” He turns the corner of the empty alleyway, stuck between choosing a direction in a crossover. There’s no sign of her, no sign of his star in the darkness or his shield.

A hand waves at him through a window. 

“Terra!” the girls squeal. 

He dashes, throwing himself through the window. He lands on his back, on hard concrete. Aqua cradles his head on her lap and keeps low beneath the windowsill, a finger to her lips as the wave of giggles and cries ride past them and fade away. 

“You were gone,” he whispers. 

Aqua brushes her fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry,” she says, but she offers no explanation.

They’re in what looks like the back room of a pottery shop, half of them unpainted with the clay still slick, and the rest completed but possibly not inventoried yet. 

“We’re breaking into people’s homes now?” Terra asks, grunting.

“You needed a hiding place,” Aqua says. She sounds unlike herself. Too tone-deaf, too distracted, her heart in the right place to help him like she always does, but she’s disregarding the consequences she’d normally consider before making such rash decisions. 

“Why are we here?”

Aqua looks at him with a blank expression. “I don’t know.”

“You just waltzed in here?” He sighs. The shopkeeper is lucky Terra hasn’t destroyed anything when he crashed. He sits up and holds her chin, checking for vital signs of injury. “Are you feeling alright?”

Aqua grimaces. “Maybe we’re in here for a reason.” 

Or maybe she’s lost her mind. 

“Is it too early for me to say that I’m worried about you?”

“I’d say so.”

Terra scoffs and stands up, his knee hitting a table next to him. The vase on the surface rattles and spins. Aqua catches it. 

When she glances at the artwork, she glares. “This one.”

“Huh?”

The vase is stamped with an image in black. Two figures, a man and a woman, reach out for each other, but there’s a wall between them. 

“You recognize this?” Terra asks.

Aqua waits before she answers. On the man’s side is a lyre. On the woman’s, wisps of smoke. “Not really. But something about it is so unpleasant.”

It’s not much, but her reaction is the closest they have ever gotten so far. 

She takes the vase with her and heads out the window, the door to the rest of the shop locked. “I’m borrowing it.”

“Aqua—” 

“I’ll bring it back.”

Out in the alleyway, Aqua cradles the vase gently in her arms, desperately looking around for someone to talk to. 

As much as he doesn’t want to, he says, “We can head back to the marketplace.” 

The shuffle of feet approach them from behind the building next door. A lost girl blinks at them, her makeup smudged and running as though she’s been crying, her lip color smeared on her teeth. She recognizes Terra—

—Terra casts Silence on her and pulls her aside, up against a wall. “Shhh. Please don’t yell, please don’t yell.”

Without her voice, her squeals are replaced with gasps. She throws her arms around him. 

“Hey!”

Aqua runs up to them without acknowledging how Terra is peeling this girl off himself. She points to the vase. “Do you know who this is?” The girl stares back. “Can you tell me? Please?”

As much as he really doesn’t want to, there are miles he’s willing to trek just for Aqua. “If I remove my spell,” Terra tells the girl, “and you answer Aqua, very gently, who this picture is supposed to be of, I’ll let you hug me again.”

The girl’s eyes go wide and she nods. 

He recants his spell, and the girl suppresses her squeaks. 

“Oh gods, it’s really Terra.” She hops, pinning her hands in between her legs. “You smell so good. I love you, Terra. I mean, um…” Instead of speaking to Aqua, the girl just locks her eyes at him. “That’s Orpheus. Everyone knows who that is.”

The look on Aqua’s face tells Terra that her heart is stirring. 

“What’s his story?” Terra asks.

The girl is happy to oblige. “He sings the saddest ballads, all about the death of his most beloved wife.” She twirls a lock of hair. “Lost her to a snakebite. They say he went to the Underworld to find her, but he lost her along the way. He wasn’t a strong person.” She stands on her toes. “Not like you, Terra. You wouldn’t leave the one you love in the darkness, would you? You’d save them?”

Terra steps back. The onslaught of such specific questions makes him sick to his stomach. 

The girl leans forward. “Can I touch your hair?”

“No.” He slaps her hand out of the way.

“Where can I find him?” Aqua asks, completely serious. 

The girl rolls her eyes this time, as though it’s such a rude interruption. “If you trek up Mount Olympus, you’ll eventually cross a forest. You can find his head there.”

“His head?” Terra says. 

The girl steps up to meet him face to face. “They say he still sings—that’s how Death came to meet him. Anyone who hears his songs will be instantly enamored. Man and beast alike. Even the leaves and the stones will move just to be near him. That reminds me of you, Terra.”

Aqua—already sprinting back toward his direction from the pottery shop after leaving her borrowed vase at its windowsill—cuts between Terra and the fangirl, pulling him away from her by the hand. The hug he promised this girl is cancelled, and Terra is grateful for it

“Thank you!” Aqua says, not breaking her speed. The girl is left behind, dejected.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Thebes is now a miniature, a toy town of red roofs and sandstone streets, that disappears from view as soon as they cross over a cliff, where the face of a forest is tucked away. The quiet greets them, a chirp of a bird here and there. 

Terra follows Aqua, not knowing where she’s going.

“So we’re looking for a severed head?” he asks. 

“According to the girl, yes.”

“Isn’t that a bit gruesome?”

“I think what she was hoping to do to you may be worse.”

Aqua skids to a stop. She looks over to her left, and runs in that direction. The treeline gets thicker, casting a dim filter over the ground. Aqua stops at a short, stone monument—a statue of a head on a pillar. The man’s face is carved with an open mouth, like he’s singing an opera. The trees sway in the wind. 

“That’s Orpheus?” Terra asks quietly. 

Aqua frowns. “I don’t hear a song.”

“I don’t, either.”

“But I feel so sad.” She holds a fist over her heart, her eyes watery.

Terra places a hand on her bare shoulder. She feels cold, and he has a sickly feeling that she’s getting worse. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know, yet. There’s not much I can do here. There’s no text, no clues.” Aqua walks, scanning the ground for a hint.

For a mural, there are no words or poems honored to Orpheus, no maps or glyphs that lend to any guidance. Terra touches the head of the pillar. He feels nothing. Keyblade wielders can be invulnerable to certain spells, but this is supposed to represent grief, and grief is Darkness. How he isn’t affected is an enigma to him—how he is spared and Aqua is not, is worrisome. 

“You know what I think?” he asks. 

She’s no longer there. Terra steps away from the statue. 

“Aqua?” 

No answer.

He jolts into a sprint, passing tree after tree with no sign of blue, none of her sashes flowing in the air. How did she get so far away?

Terra shouldn’t be so worried. The Heartless population here after the Keyblade War is minimal, and Aqua is more than capable of taking care of herself—but how she’s coming in and out of reality is more than Terra can bear. He can’t lose her. Not ever again.

“Aqua!”

Terra cries out in relief. She’s standing in a field of red flowers. Lilies, by the shape of them, speckled in the color of raspberries. Their stems curve over, swaying like bells. They’re not stretched towards the sun but hang towards the ground, as if they’re watching for fingers to climb out through the grass.

“I thought I lost you,” he says when he approaches her.

Aqua crosses her arms. “There’s something here.” When she inhales, she turns around like she just realized he was there. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Terra fights the urge to hug her. He loses, taking her in his arms. “I think I’m going crazy... I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says, though there’s so much more he needs to tell her. 

“What a little, perfect, crispy portrait of a love story,” a heedy voice says, pronouncing every syllable with sweet spite, exaggerated by hand movements. First is the creep of black smoke over the grass. A shadow emerges from behind a tree, bald head with blue fire for hair, a long black cloak wrapped around his body. “Really, it’s a photo op, an exhibition, a grand spectacle.” He frames them with his fingers. “Bluebird and the Waste of Space, classic. All the children will hear about it.”

“Of course you’re involved in this,” Terra spits, letting Aqua go. He keeps his Keyblade near, in case he needs to summon it.

“On the contrary, I’m the victim in this case.”

“Hades,” Aqua says, an icy chill to her voice. “These flowers...”

“You like them?” Hades flashes a grin, teeth sharp as needles. “A specialty from- you could say a good friend. They’re called eurydice, funnily enough.”

Aqua freezes.

“What’s so funny about that?” Terra asks, stepping in front of Aqua so he’s a barrier.

“I forgot you’re not the sharpest rock in the canyon,” Hades mumbles, before animating his hands, presenting his words like they’re a marketing technique. “Eurydice, the pride of the forest. A muse, a sprite, a dryad.” He motions quotation marks with his fingers. “‘She’s not like other girls,’ whatever you want to call her. A gold prize.”

It comes to Terra like the dawn. Orpheus’s wife.

“What is she to you?” Aqua asks, defensive. 

“Well…” Hades casually places a hand on his hip and relies on the other to tell his story. “The Underworld is a vibrant culture of flora. There’s still some Heartless mucking about in the crevices, little maggots, doing Zeus knows what, but…” He pinches the air with his fingers. “There was a teeny tiny leak, a blemish in the system.” He shrugs. “And she slipped. You want to save her, and I want her back in my perfectly packaged Paradise. We work together and we both win.”

Terra scoffs. “You lost a ghost in the Underworld?”

Hades bites a breathy laugh, flicking lint off his robe, a gross smile stretching across his face like he knows a dirty secret. “My Underworld is a tight machine. No. She went somewhere darker.”

Aqua is the first to speak after the silence. “I see.”

“You see what?” Terra says.

Aqua casts her eyes downward. She usually never breaks eye contact in the presence of an enemy. “She’s in the Realm of Darkness. That’s why I’m connected to her.” 

Aqua has often said that she thinks a piece of the Darkness will stay with her until her final day, a single thorn growing out of her heart. 

“It’s not a place for the sensitive.” Hades scoffs with false modesty.

This is something no one has the right to ask of her. “We’re not bringing Eurydice back to you,” Terra says.

Hades disappears in a blink, reappearing by Terra’s shoulder, his hand a warm pot on the stovetop. “You, my friend, are the last person to bargain.” He disappears again and bursts into flames by Aqua’s side. “Aren’t Keyblade wielders supposed to keep a world’s balance at the tip of their fingers? There’s only one place everyone ends up in this world. Who says you can take the dead away from me? Where else would they go?” 

Aqua won’t give him the merit of a look. She swats his smoke away like it’s a fly.

Hades continues, “You see, the living owe a debt. You borrow life to breathe here for a few short happy years, and when you’re done, you return back to where you came from. And if you borrow, then you owe.” He flashes the teeth. “Therefore, she’s mine.” Hades flicks a finger on Terra’s chest. “You—both of you—have cheated. You’re thieves, you reek of it. Talk about privilege.”

Terra stammers.

“We’ll do it,” Aqua says.

Hades taps all his fingers together. “I’m glad we came to an agreement.” 

“We didn’t agree to anything,” Terra says, his eyes begging Aqua for an alternative way to do this.

“Down boy. Your bite is just as intimidating as your bark.” Hades turns over his shoulder. “Oh, and one other thing.” He raises a finger, and addresses Terra directly. “Have you ever worked with ghosts before? Miserable company. They’re mopey, they babble too much about nonsense. Not the guest you want to invite over for dinner. They’re confused, it’s part of their nature. Being connected to one isn’t the most sane habit. If you’re not careful, they’ll infect you with their pain.” Hades winks, and nods toward Aqua. “You might want to keep an eye on her.”

Terra’s heart strikes his chest like a hammer to the blood vessel, and he swallows bile. Aqua doesn’t seem fazed. 

“Well,” Hades says, “it’s a long walk down. Stay healthy, drink water, don’t go crazy.” With that, he vanishes for good this time, leaving the wind gliding through the flowers, all looking for someone below.

“She’s nearby,” Aqua says, her voice breaking a silence that doesn’t want to be heard. Like poison to be drunk, denial to be told the truth, there’s no ignoring this. “I can open a door here.”

“You’re really going back?”

“I can’t let her continue to suffer,” she says. “But I won’t put you in danger, either.”

“Wait,” Terra says, getting in her way. “I’m coming with you.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“I don’t expect it to be anything else. Danger doesn’t scare me.” Terra takes her face in his hand. “After everything you’ve been through, you can’t ask me to let you do this alone.”

Aqua opens her mouth as if to refuse but she grimaces. “I admit I would like the company this time.”

Terra’s heart thumps, stroking her cheek. “I’ll never turn my back on you again.”

“A shame. You look taller from behind,” she says, and he snorts. 

When she moves away, he feels hollow, a sudden need to hold her again invading his body. He shrugs the feeling off. “I’m texting Ven.” He pulls out his Gummiphone. “He’ll need to open a Door to Light for our return.”

“Yes.”

“Any tips for how to survive?”

Aqua summons her Keyblade and points to the ground. “The Realm of Darkness wants you to feel hopeless and scared. It feeds from your mind.” She looks at him. “You can’t trust what you think or feel. You won’t be able to tell the difference between you or the Darkness.”

“Then how are we supposed to find her and come back if we can’t even think?”

Aqua lifts an elegant shoulder. “You keep your head up. That’s your best defense. The Realm will do many things to make you want to give up, to make you doubt yourself. You have to choose your battles. Even if you feel like you’re being followed, don’t look back. Don’t give in to its tricks.”

It sounds like hell. It feels like a knife to the liver—Aqua has suffered so much. His biggest regret is not having the strength to break out of his prison and do something about it.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Aqua asks.

“Not at all.”

The way she smiles this time makes her look like herself. “You know, I feel better now. Much clearer.”

Terra hopes that’s a sign of sweeter things to come. The smile he gives is weak when she summons a Door to Darkness. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Realm of Darkness is a dirt path in a forest that sprawls under patches of stars, as though someone has taken photos of different skies and pasted them together in a collage. Few lanterns light the way, smokey as if caked in fog. It would be similar to a romantic walk on the mountain in the spring if not for what it really is.

Terra trails close behind Aqua, the cape of her armor bouncing in the air. She jogs with such confidence despite that they have no map and have never been here before—well, Aqua has, but not here. According to her, the Realm of Darkness never stays the same. There’s no path back the way they came. 

So far, it’s lacked excitement, a still silence as though this world’s heart has stopped beating. 

“How do we find her?” Terra asks, his voice loud enough to make him worry if something hidden behind the trees has heard him.

“We keep going.” 

A sudden clank, metal on metal. Terra sprints to her. “What’s going on?”

Aqua has stepped onto a metal surface, a sudden cutoff from the forest like mismatched puzzle pieces forced together, spreading beyond what they can see. When Terra steps on it, the boot of his armor reverberates from his weight. 

“I don’t like this,” Aqua says. 

The river is black and made of torn iron, shards that jut out like shredded waves frozen in time. Lanterns from broken boats wedge into the collisions, a ship graveyard where they all crashed into each other in a hurricane.

“What now?” Terra asks, hushed.

She turns to face him, her helmet obscuring her expression. “We keep going.”

Their only direction is forward. There’s no compass, no horizon to see where they’re going. They curve around mountains of broken war and cruise ships and melted steel, like hills to climb and descend. Whether they’ve trailed a huge arch and are going backwards, Terra can’t tell.

Then again, Aqua has said there is no backwards in the Realm of Darkness. But what if this river doesn’t have a shore?

“Those aren’t lights,” Aqua warns. 

Some of the lanterns bob up and down, blinking.

“Stars,” Terra curses, summoning his Keyblade. Aqua has already conjured hers and is throwing a blast against a group of eyes hiding inside half of a ship, its inner scaffolding exposed like bent needles. The impact combusts.

Heartless swarm up and rain on him. They’re stronger here, these small Shadows more resistant, withstanding his powerful swings when they’d normally be thrown far back. 

A huge crash rumbles behind them, and Terra is knocked onto his knees. A ship sinks as its bow breaks off. It sounds like a building caving in. 

Aqua grabs his elbow. “Forget it,” she yells over the clamor. They run past hordes of Heartless materializing from the metal as if they’re being born, more and more and more until the sea behind them is a mass of yellow eyes. Terra relies on nothing but his two legs, pushing and pushing them despite the strain to catch up to her. Ships and boats disintegrate, about to swallow them if they can’t find solid ground.

They step onto dirt, a slab of earth suspended in space. They’re blocked by a huge stone gate without walls. 

Aqua turns and slices her Keyblade across, light thrusting forward to cut through the first wave of Shadows. 

Terra grunts when he jabs his Keyblade, a beam striking the gate in the middle. He summons a keyhole, a plea to enter. 

The gate opens.

“Come on!” He grabs her elbow and bolts inside. Terra immediately pushes his weight against the gate, Aqua mimicking the same—a desperate slog at first, his breath hitched and pulsating at his temple, until they build momentum and shut it. At the slam of the door, dust drops from the ceiling and lands on their shoulders.

Behind them is a dim hallway of two choices: left and right. The little light they have here comes from nowhere.

Terra sighs, breathing heavily. The air inside his helmet doesn’t smell fresh. “Well, your heart, your pick.”

Aqua chuckles, her voice muffled. He wishes he could see her smile. “Enjoying your stay?”

“You’re sick.”

“Remember not to get too affected by what you see, Terra.” She holds his shoulder, her glove clunking onto his pauldron. “The Realm will probe your mind until it finds what it can use.”

She leads the way right, her steps kicking up clouds of dust. The entire floor is sand, sinking the sound of their steps. The hall turns left. It turns left again. 

Terra can’t shake the feeling that they’re being watched. He eyes the ceiling where the crevices that meet the wall are at their darkest, where he anticipates small, yellow eyes blinking at him. 

He thinks he hears something, but shrugs it off.

No, he has heard something. Growling.

It thrums louder and Terra is walking slower, growing a distance between him and Aqua who hasn’t noticed yet. 

The growling is coming from behind.

He turns.

There’s nothing.

“Aqua.”

“What is it?”

“I’m hearing an aggressive dog.”

“There are no dogs in the Realm of Darkness.”

“But it’s following us.”

“Trust me, there isn’t anything behind you.” She waves with her hand. “Come on. The Realm wants you to worry. The moment you start to believe it is when your heart begins to falter.”

At another two-way junction, Aqua chooses left—they’ve just gone in a circle. Terra expects to come back to the stone gate—but as though the Realm has heard him and is laughing at his assumptions, the hallway opens up into a path of eight directions. One of them a stairway up, one a stairway down. The opening next door is blocked from a staircase turned upside down, and the one next to that leads to a staircase that twists and leans on its side. 

Aqua chooses the way straight ahead, a long uncomplicated hallway.

The hallway turns right. She’s no longer there.

“Aqua!” Terra dashes forward and the hallway turns dark, like the twist of the knob on a lantern, a flame fading.

He turns over and heads back. “Aqua!” 

They went left, left, left, straight. All he has to do is trek that backwards. 

When Terra arrives at the large expanse of eight directions, Aqua comes in from behind him. “Terra!”

She runs into him when he halts and spreads his arms, their breastplates colliding. “Where did you go?” he asks.

“Down the hall, that’s it.” Her voice trembles. He’ll have to do better to be braver, for her. Aqua pulls away to look up at him. He wishes he could see her eyes. “What did I say about giving in?”

He licks his lips. “Don’t go back.”

Aqua swallows as if to stop a sob. “There’s no going back in this place, Terra. You could have gotten lost. The Realm wants you to doubt yourself.” She nods as if to make a point, her voice thick as if to mask how terrified she is. “Do you understand now?”

No. “We keep going.”

“I’ll stay close to you this time.” 

“Please.”

“I-I can’t lose you. Not again.”

“You won’t, I promise.”

She points to a hallway different from the one she chose earlier, and walks by his side this time, step by step. Down this way is brighter, the stone newer, the sand thinning until they step on cobble. The walls shrink into a tight foyer framed by fully lit torches, parchment and paper scattered all over as though a storm blew through a library. 

Terra bends to pick some up. They’re all blank.

“Love letters and songs,” Aqua says, reading through empty pages, “that Orpheus wrote to her.” She shakes her head. “The stories I grew up with were so stupid.”

“Which ones are we talking about?”

“Those books I used to read when I was a teenager.”

Terra grimaces. “About true love.”

“I believed them until the end.” She sighs. “They seem so silly now. That you could be in love at first sight, without ever bonding with them—without ever knowing the ties you create with them and how much it pains to have those cut. It’s improbable. How does anyone expect them to be willing to pluck their hearts out of their chests and sew them together like that? How is that supposed to be ‘true,’ or ‘pure?’ The trials they’ve gone through to prove themselves in the name of that love—so small in comparison to some.”

“You mean in comparison to what Orpheus tried to do.”

Aqua swipes her hand over a page to flatten the bends. “I can’t imagine how brave he had to prepare himself to be, and how little he cared for his personal safety. That he would descend so deep into darkness for her. After everything I’ve been through, I could say—that is love. The fairy tales I’ve read don’t come close.”

Terra watches her stack parchment together, tapping the edges so that they align, her movements stiff due to the armor. There are no written words to be read on the pages, but there’s not a single word that could describe the epiphany he’s having. That she is sitting next to him, that there are things neither of them uttered a sound for, that she is the same person who fell to the depths just to save him, that she is not the same child who used to sneer at his essays. That day, he only had a feeling that he was being hugged until he went to sleep, then he woke up twelve years later.

“You love me,” he says, part question, part certainty.

Aqua pauses. Her visor reflects his. “I do. I have for a long time.” She scoffs softly at herself. “You know, the Realm has brought you to me in lucid dreams. Five times. The first three, I told you how I felt. And you smiled. Then you were gone. I got fooled each time.” She hangs her head. “It was the fifth time that it was really you.”

“I remember,” Terra whispers. 

“I couldn’t say how I felt, but you took those precious few seconds we had to tell me not to give up. I realized later that I needed that more than saying anything.” She sighs, her breath parched from the helmet. “I never expected to say it again, here, of all places, but now… Now you’re here. And I love you.”

Terra leans forward, bracing her arm, the cusp between her shoulder and neck. He feels the inner padding of his gloves. They can’t take their helmets off, not here, but a swelling of solace fills him. For a moment, he forgets where he is, his imagination only seeing her face, his heart asking to break the metal and touch her.

“Do you have any idea how important you are to me?” he asks. 

She breathes like she’s laughing. “I have an inkling.”

He leans his helmet against hers. “With all my heart,” he says. 

“I thought so.” She squeezes his gauntlet. 

When they get out, the first thing he’ll do is take her in arms. 

“I think we’re close,” Aqua says, talking about Eurydice. 

They have to see the light of day first. When they get out, the first thing he’ll see is her smile.

“Let’s do it and get out here.”

Beyond the next archway is a new place: a cavern maze, the walls roughed up by raw mineral, crystals glowing pastel colors in the dark. It’s beautiful in its own expression, a small memory of whatever the Realm took and couldn’t digest. The single paths here are disorienting, the walls littered with natural dips and holes to take shortcuts.

The cave opens up to a jagged, rocky clearing, its natural structure much like a coliseum. He and Aqua stand at the top. The boulders cut off a clear sight of the path below, a single star in the sky and a single fig tree at the bottom, its exposed roots dug into a pond. Terra and Aqua descend, the rocks down here taller.

“Prepare yourself,” Aqua says, taking the lead.

Terra summons his Keyblade too, bracing himself for Heartless. A shadow moves near the tree, hiding behind one of the roots.

A surprised shriek comes from the tree, like it’s been woken up, and it shifts. The roots straighten out, the branches curl over and sharpen like claws. Cut through the trunk is the shape of a heart, empty and black inside. No yellow eyes. 

“What is that thing?” Terra yells before dodging. The tree slams its branches between him and Aqua. 

Terra trips. A tree root chokes his ankle, pulling him from under the dirt. 

Aqua doesn’t see it happening. She scrambles and ducks behind a boulder before the earth behind her collapses into a sinkhole. She climbs the boulder and jumps onto the canopy.

The tree rocks viciously to knock her off but she stabs the bark with her Keyblade to hold on. It digs its vines and branches into the ground. A flash of purple lighting cracks the boulders into halves. 

Terra cuts himself free. The root shrivels, and the ground it touched caves into nothingness. He dashes, taking fast cover behind boulders. It’s hard to tell if he’s effective since he doesn’t know whether the tree has blind spots. 

When roots shoot up to throttle him and fail, they punish the earth instead, ripping away respites and hiding spots. If enough of the dirt sinks, the boulders fall with it.

Terra can only keep running.

The only signs that Aqua is okay are the flashes of light from her Keyblade, spellcasting and waves of reflective blues crushing the tree. Stuck on the canopy, Aqua doesn’t have much room  to escape when the ground is collapsing at random. 

Terra yells and charges towards the tree, calling upon his Keyblade to transform into his glider. He slams into the roots, all of his offense and magic building up and combusting against the bark.

The tree tumbles and Aqua lets go. 

Terra catches her and flies up. He hovers a rock that is still holding on at the edge of a newly formed cliff.

A dark lightning bolt strikes from above and Aqua summons a barrier to protect them.

“It’s her,” Aqua says, straining to keep the barrier intact.

“That can’t be possible.”

“We don’t know what the Darkness can do to the dead. We don’t know anything.” Aqua chokes on her words. “But that’s Eurydice, I know it.”

The tree scratches at nothing and wails, its roots crumbling hard onto the ground with every step it makes. Eurydice sounds like anger, a need to make sure everyone else suffers with her. 

“The hole in her trunk, where her heart would be if she wasn’t dead.”

“Terra—”

“Say no more.”

He revs his glider and charges towards the clearing, now a gaping hole sunk down the middle with no bottom. Terra sticks to the cliff sides. Aqua jumps off from the back, high into the sky, waiting for his next move.

Terra lets go and holds on to his Keyblade’s grip. It stretches and transforms into a whip. He slaps one of the branches where it hooks, and slams his fist onto the ground. The tree careens. He keeps pulling, forcing the tree flat against the ground.

From the sky, Aqua points her Keyblade towards the trunk and calls. A beam of light strikes through the heart void, glowing. 

The tree shrieks and thrashes. Terra is thrown off and the tree slaps Aqua out of its way. Aqua lands on the side of a cliff, climbing up. The tree stampedes towards her with the motion to crush her. 

Aqua yells and yanks herself over, rolling onto her back, pointing her Keyblade up again. Her light blinds this time, a force that shocks the air and pushes everything with swept pressure. As though Aqua has summoned water, Terra is thrown, the currents taking him away. 

He lands and rolls. It’s quiet. 

His muscles ache and sting. He’ll have bruises but those don’t matter. Terra stumbles when he stands, leaning on a boulder near him. He peers over, praying for the image of Aqua climbing over the hole, but what he sees is a picture from before the nightmare: the clearing back in its original state, as though he has hallucinated everything. The rocky exterior makes it hard for him to notice anyone. If she’s crouching due to pain, if she’s stranded somewhere, knocked out…

His knees give out when he runs, and he tumbles down the hill. Summoning his glider, Terra asks it to carry his slacked weight. There is no puddle at the bottom anymore. He keeps himself up high where he has a vantage point, calling her name. There’s no sight of her. 

“I won’t be fooled. You’ll take me to her,” he tells the Realm. He scans. No sign of her. What if she’s buried beneath the earth...

A pale glow flickers between rocks.

He drops.

Aqua isn’t here. In her place is a green, ghostly apparition of a woman in a simple, flowy dress that allows for dancing, her long hair swaying to zephyr. Terra doesn’t need to ask for her name. His voice croaks. “Where is she?”

“Of whom do you speak?” Eurydice says. The ghost has no voice but a loud breath, as though she is whispering right into his ear. 

“Aqua!” he calls but he gets no answer. No sound of the pebbles crumpled by her bootsteps, nor the clank of armor. 

“Ah,” Eurydice sighs. “The one who looks like a naiad. A water nymph.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“In the labyrinth.”

Terra turns over his shoulder and starts up the hill. Where is the entrance they used to get here? 

“If you enter the labyrinth, you will lock her inside, Keybearer.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” His helmet feels tight. “How do you know about Keyblades?”

“The body is an entrapment, a vessel designed to define concepts that we can’t understand. What we call prayers, offerings, angels, the Light, the fountain of the gods, Keyblades, Kingdom Hearts, Paradise, Mount Olympus—all bear the same resemblance depending on the language we use. Without a body, I am not burdened by any of those barriers.” She holds her hands together with reverence. “Your armor glimmers like a star.”

“Can you feel her then? Is she hurt?”

“She is with you.”

That’s the same thing people say to him about Eraqus. Your Master will always be with you, no matter where you are. You just need the faith to know he’s there. 

I’m sure he’s proud of you.

I’m sure he knows how much you love him. He’s with you.

“Aqua!” Terra bolts into a run, picking whatever direction because this clearing is a circle and there is no exit. He’ll have to break one open. His helmet presses on the pulse in his neck. He’s losing oxygen. He’s gasping. He’s removing his helmet, collapsing to his knees, yelling at the most his lungs could give him, now that his voice is no longer muffled by metal. “Aqua!”

His throat throbs.

“No panic, no haven for panic, Keybearer.”

Terra stares at the dirt under him—cracked from drought, a single pebble and a patch of grass. “You should have taken me,” he wheezes. 

The ground rumbles and he snaps up, dying to see if it’s her. A giant hand pounds towards him, attached to a giant body with beedy yellow eyes and tentacles for a face. A Darkside, towering over him, watching him like it’s going to grant a wish. 

“Keybearer,” Eurydice warns.

The Darkside digs its fingers into the dirt like the roots of a tree. A black puddle opens up a pathway for the sprawl of eyes to crawl out. 

Terra would summon his Keyblade but he’s slow and tired. Numb. His skin is exposed to the Realm, and it seeps into him. It lulls him, it quiets him. There’s no sanity better than the world the mind makes up.

The Darkside grabs him. 

Terra is tired, watching for a hint of blue when he sees black. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Terra.

“Aqua.” 

Terra wakes submerged in an ocean. He reaches for her but grabs air. 

He’s gently sinking. 

So he’s lost her. He’s failed at his duty of protecting someone who needs his help. This is why Aqua is stronger than him. Terra could never survive in a place like this, he could never withstand twelve years of this torture. 

“Aqua, I’m so sorry.” He wants to cry but he can’t. The Realm won’t let him, anesthetizing the fall of tears. 

What is in the ocean with him? A monster he can’t see? Will it have teeth? Will it swallow him? Or will it watch him float here, waiting for him to turn so he could become one with it? Terra could let go here—

—but a faint glow hovers near, like breath to a limp body, like a light at the exit. There’s still time and a chance. If he can open his eyes, then Aqua could, wherever she is.

Eurydice watches the amoebas in the water, floating by herself. 

Terra swims to her. 

“‘Twasn’t a long wait,” she whispers when he approaches.

“I’m sorry for turning my back on you,” he tells her. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Eurydice smiles at him. She looks sickly, hollowed cheeks down to the lines of her skull. But if she was healthy, she would be the beauty that captivated people in the forest. 

Terra takes her wrist and gravity takes them. They gently land on solid ground, in the black, in the middle of nothing. Endless dark, endless shadow, endless lack of everything.

“We can’t go anywhere without Aqua. We have to find her first.” Though Terra doesn’t know where he is or which direction he should take.

“We are everywhere, she is nowhere.”

“What does that mean, though? She isn’t here? Then where is she?”

“Below. Nowhere and the end. At the beginning, where you can’t see.”

Terra jerks forward to beg, but a ghost is the last person to ask for answers. He trembles. 

“You have a kind face,” Eurydice says. “The bards would have sung in honor of you.”

That’s no consolation. Terra sobs but it’s dry. 

“Beware, Keybearer.”

He hears the sloshing of water. His ankles are sunk under. 

If he despairs, the Darkness will take him. If he stays calm, he’s betraying her. 

“Aqua, what do I do?”

“I called to Lady Aqua because I saw her Light,” Eurydice says, nodding slowly. “The only star in the dark. I would trust her choice, always. I believe in the Fates.” She brings her hand to her chest. “I believe she brought me you.”

The truth stings, a slap to the face, the swallow of a knife, the burn of the tongue with a lighted match. He can’t bear it, but he has to. Aqua would trust him with anything. 

“I…” He is such a horrible person, looking at the face of the needy and the hurt but thinking about someone else. He can’t do it. He has to. “I was supposed to hold her when we got out.”

“We were to be married.”

Terra feels as though a pail of water was dumped on him. He takes a hard look at Eurydice, at how she’s trying to warn him with bulging eyes, distorting. Ghosts are emotional. “What happened to you?”

“I died. Vipers are the most unpleasant.”

Terra doesn’t want to ask, afraid of where this conversation will go. “And Orpheus?”

She brightens up, washed over by nostalgia. “He came for me. With his gift of song, he moved Hades enough to agree to be charitable. Hades granted me freedom so long as Orpheus accepted the terms.” 

Of course, Hades and his contracts. 

Eurydice’s face ashens more than it possibly can. “I was to follow. Orpheus was to lead me to the sunlit earth, so long as he did not look back at me while I was in the dark.” She pauses, as though her lips are sewn together. Talking about this hurts her. “So Orpheus led with much enthusiasm. So much at peace. I was to finally be with my beloved again, to smell the pomegranates and taste the olives.

“Love is powerful but Death more so. Every step was a moment to rethink. He could not hear me behind him, for I was a mere shade. Orpheus could not trust Hades. I could feel his anticipation, his desperate need to hold me dearly, his doubt that he was being played.”

“I can’t blame him.”

“At the end, right as the light was about to touch us, Orpheus lost his faith. He looked back to see my face.” Eurydice hugs herself. “I gave him my farewell and kind regards, then I was whisked away, back into the Underworld.”

“I’m so sorry.” Terra swallows, not liking what this is supposed to mean for him. “Aqua would have chosen to help you.”

“Will you set me free?”

“Yes, of course but—” He inhales. “How could I leave her?”

The look on Eurydice’s face stops him. “I did what was asked of me. I followed him. I kept close. I was loyal. I spoke to him though he could not hear me. And yet he turned and tore us apart. I have yet to understand what I did wrong to let him doubt me.”

“He didn’t doubt you.”

“Then why hesitate to trust Lady Aqua?”

Like a knife to the throat, Terra falls to his knees and grips at his chest, the guilt inside so heavy and thick that he wants to rip his armor off and cut it open, dig it all out so he could finally breathe. 

If she were here, Aqua would have told him to save Eurydice. There’s no denying that.

“I’m sorry,” he says, hoping Aqua could hear him. “I’d give you my whole heart if it meant you were here.” He swallows. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be back, just wait for me.” He doesn’t want to stand up, for that would mean that he’d have to walk. But he tells himself that there must be ways around this. There must be an exception, a line in the fine print. “Wait for me, I’ll come to you. I swear with every will I have to live.”

Terra stands. He summons his helmet. When he wears it, he finally cries, soft tears that feel warm then cool, muted because they’re delayed.

“Okay,” he tells Eurydice. “Let’s go.” 

He wades across the water, ripples that fan out and reflecting light that isn’t there. 

Eurydice floats by his side. “I’m grateful. The vipers are the most unpleasant.”

Terra stops a chuckle. “Yeah, you told me.” Repetition is a symptom for the eldritch, an obsession with what life was. Eurydice deserves so much better. “Do you have to go back to Hades?”

“Orpheus is with him. Once we reunite, we will walk the Underworld together.”

“But it’s a prison.”

Eurydice glances at him. “Man and god are the same. They associate death with misery and see the Underworld as nothing else. But we don’t see what you see.”

“The thought of Hades hating his job is satisfying.”

“He makes for an upsetting neighbor.” 

Terra scoffs. 

“But I shall be content. Death is powerful but Love more so.”

Terra doesn’t know how to respond, but it spells for him a kind of peace. The Realm numbs everything it touches. As long as they play by the rules, it’s not so bad. Aqua is the only balm he’d need.

“How shall we escape?”

“Ven—my best friend—is waiting on the other side. You see that light?” Ahead of them, far in the distance, is a star. “He has a door open for us.”

“But we’ve been walking for so long and yet it does not come closer. Are you not looking forward to seeing him?”

“Of course I am.” Terra slows to a stop. The water has reached to his waist.

Eurydice studies him with sadness. “You mean to stay here.”

Terra doesn’t answer Eurydice’s remark. “I mean to see you free and happy.” He holds out his hand and she takes it. 

Nothing is truly ever following Terra here, for the Darkness wants him to think so. So he will stay, walk forward and walk far without a map or a compass. Eventually, he’ll have to cross paths with her. There is no other place he’d want to go, and any world without her is a world behind him. With that vow to himself, the star finally comes close, the black fading into gray.

“Ven?” Terra calls.

“I have always wondered what it would be like to cross over,” Eurydice says.

Heavy, loud footsteps approach them. Ven appears in the light, in a box colored in white, his armor worn. “Terra? Finally, I’ve been—” He jerks his head towards Eurydice’s direction, the sharp rabbit ears of his helmet tilting. He leans forward as if to peer inside. He does not have a reflection in the water. “Where is Aqua?”

“We are everywhere, she is nowhere,” Eurydice says.

“You don’t see her?” Terra asks, his voice brittle. A tiny part of his heart was hoping he was wrong.

“Dude,” Ven says, “I can barely see you. You’re like an outline.” 

“That’s proof enough.”

“Such lies,” Eurydice says. 

“What is the ghost talking about?” Ven asks.

“It’s okay, Ven,” Terra says. “I’m going to find Aqua.” 

“I’ll come with you.”

“She’ll never forgive me if you follow.” Terra hangs his head. “Please don’t ask me to leave her.”

“That’s not—”

“I’m not afraid of the Realm of Darkness.”

Eurydice turns to Terra. “Such bravery yet you are frightened to cross the threshold for her. Is it natural that faith betrays you? Don’t do this to her. Don’t punish her.” 

Ven looks at her, looks at Terra, looks at her. 

Terra says, “Once I find her, I’ll be okay.” He moves to turn. 

Eurydice holds his shoulder. “Many don’t know how to love. They only know the fall, and they fall, waiting for peace to replace the ecstasy and despair. But it will not come if you do not beckon it. May you listen to your heart?”

His heart aches. 

Ven grabs his forearm. “I’m going to listen to the freaky lady. She knows more than you.”

“Ven—”

“I can’t lose both of you. We’ll figure out an action plan, and”—Ven uses all his weight and both of his hands to try to pull Terra over—“you’re coming with me.”

“I can’t leave her here.”

“We’re not! Come on, man, she’s strong.”

“Step forward with me. The vipers are most unpleasant,” Eurydice says.

Terra holds onto the doorframe. The sun hits his gloved fingers, baking them. Aqua, what do I do?

Terra, please. 

That’s Aqua’s voice, far away. For the Darkness wants him to think nothing is following him.

“You promise me we’ll come back?” Terra asks Ven.

“Of course. Anything for her.”

Terra doesn’t sob when he wants to. He doesn’t make a decision—he leaps, stepping forward into the light. Eurydice follows.

But a heavy ton, the Darkness, drags him back. Hands from the water grab his cape into bunches and pull on his neck. They hold onto his legs and bend his knees, desperate, like beggars that need his help, need the stars that glimmer in his armor.

One hand grabs his forearm, metal on metal, like it’s telling him not to forget something. 

Terra gasps. 

He grabs that hand and throws himself forward with a yell, ripping away from the Darkness begging him to stay, knocking Ven out of his balance, and pulling her out. 

Terra lands on his back and hears her gasp and whimper out of shock, relieved. He throws his helmet off.

“Aqua.”

Aqua’s blue armor stares at the grass while she takes in the scene, her sobs controlled and hushed. 

Terra pulls her helmet off to look at her face, stained with tears and tired smiles. “Aqua.”

“You didn’t hear me?” she asks, crying quietly. “No one heard or saw me, I was there the entire time.”

“I’m an idiot.” Terra weeps with her. He dispels his armor and touches her pauldron to dismiss hers. He holds her tightly. She’s warm and sweaty, small in comparison to him, folded into his chest like she fits perfectly. “Call me an idiot, I deserve it.”

Aqua’s cries tremble into laughter as she buries her face in his neck, twisting his suspenders in her fists. Terra lets her weight pull him onto the grass. “That girl was right. You smell good.”

“What are we talking about now?” Ven removes his helmet and brushes through his hair. Terra is so happy to see that chubby face. “Everything’s so confusing.”

“These girls have been chasing Terra. They’re harpies.” She looks up at him and smirks. “I don’t think they’d be pleased if they saw us like this.”

Terra chuckles into her hair. “I don’t care.”

“Wait,” Ven says, scoffing. “Now we’re going to be murdered by rabid fangirls? Ugh, Terra, why are you always inviting trouble? We don’t need it.” He slams his helmet back on. “Stay here, I’ll scout to see if it’s safe. I’m kicking your ass when we get back home.”

That’s fine. Terra will hold onto Aqua here, stroke his thumb on her cheek, wipe her hair off of her face, massage his hand over her exposed back, under the straps. It’s overcast, the clouds a respite. 

Flowers named eurydice watch over them, their anthers hanging close. 

“She’s okay,” Aqua whispers, sighing. Her body relaxes. “Thank you.”

Terra kisses her forehead and brings her waist closer. His star in the darkness. She blinks from behind blotted clouds.

[omgkalyppso]

Gentle Moments

Chapters: 10/?

Ship: Claude x Lorenz x Hilda x Fae (a nonbinary My Unit OC)

Rating: Mature

I have a series called Golden Discretion which I chip away at to explore post-canon moments. The fic Gentle Moments focuses on fluff and hurt/comfort. It's father's day so I'm plugging it because there's fan kids and a few little windows to Claude and Lorenz's fatherhood.

Text of image below the cut.

[ID: A photo of several wooden toys on a white blanket in front of a wicker basket. From right to left, there is an unpainted stegosaurus, an unpainted elephant, a painted giraffe, a painted crocodile and many colorful square blocks. The image is overlaid with a dark shade and white text. End ID]

Lorenz explained the rules of some of the options for his son, and Claude stretched out, watching the children on the carpets.

As Nader reached out for a rectangular block, Lorencia extended a little arm to pull it closer to him, asking, “You like the long ones?” She looked around to collect a few more. “We can line them up.”

With Lorencia’s wall now in his way, Nader pointed beyond to a diamond block sitting on its side. “Hadduh?”

Claude brought a hand up to the base of his neck and shared a look with Hilda, though whatever had touched him had only confused her. She squinted in response before turning to watch the scene play out.

“Hadha, Nader?” Fae corrected, stretching to roll the blocked closer to them with a finger. “This one?”

“Hadduh,” he repeated, and Hilda pouted at Claude in understanding.

Lorencia smiled quizzically at Fae before reaching over to pick it up and offer it to Nader.

“This one?”

[birdghost]

Seeking bird toy parts!

Hey folks I’m looking for clean, natural craft items to use in my bird toys including:

Leather scraps (veg tanned)

wood beads (unpainted/unstained)

raw wood scraps/blocks

Natural untreated items such as: loofah, gourds, pinecones, coconut husk/fiber, raffia, wicker, corn cobs/husks etc

Craft items like popsicle sticks, wood cutouts, corks

Any type of natural cord/string- leather, hemp, cotton etc

If you or someone you know have extra of this stuff laying around I’d love to take it off your hands! I can either buy or trade for it. 

Feel free to contact me here or through my email at ruckra@gmail.com

[jimclassicstoycollection]

The Transformers

Pretender Class

GunRunner (loose and incomplete)

By Hasbro

As I’ve mention before, I grew up in 80′s and the G1 era, but I never owned every Transformer from that decade, so I’ve got a lot of gaps in my collection (and I am NOT looking to complete that collection) but I buy what I like.

This is probably a toy that I would normally pass on, but after watching a toy review of this figure done by Youtuber Patriot Prime (link will be at the very bottom) there were enough really cool things about this toy that convinced me to look for it on eBay.

I bought the Pretender shell and figure, and the gun turret module from two different eBay sellers at two different times to make this set, and I’m still missing the missile pods. All in all I think I paid about $30 total for all of it so far.

Pretender Shell:

Gunrunner’s Pretender shell is a red, futuristic SUV with an orange canopy, and a reciprocating gun.

The SUV’s got some simple sculpting, and stickers for the headlights and grill, and other areas.

Robot Mode:

Opening up the SUV you see the Pretender bot himself just kind of lying there...

This robot mode barely qualifies as a robot mode. These late era G1 Pretenders were bare minimum and low effort attempts.

Gunrunner’s bot mode has an unpainted mustard yellow body, and black joints and head, with a bit a silver paint on the face.

The robot mode has a swiveling head, rotation at the shoulders, clavicle joint, mono-hips, and mono-knees.

By opening up the orange plastic canopy you see some internal mechanical detail, however this is also a spring-loaded hatch which can be opened up to allow Gunrunner to sit in the car and drive it.

You can’t exactly close the canopy after he’s been placed in the driver’s seat, but I like the idea behind it.

Flight Mode:

Gunrunner himself doesn’t exactly have a vehicle mode, he’s more of the accessory to the vehicle component…

Folding Gunrunner up into...I guess an engine, it can be tabbed underneath the gun turret which has flip out nosecone and tiny wings, and you basically have a min jet,

It’s block and awkward, but it’s a thing.

Final Thoughts:

The concept of a Pretender Transformer which turns into a car is a pretty silly idea; Pretender’s were meant to imitate organic beasts, humans, and aliens.

The actual robot mode of GunRunner is unimaginative and lazy, and the flight mode is boring. However I do like the SUV Pretender shell, and that’s what drew me to this toy in the first place.

In my opinion this toy will never, EVER truly fit in among my G1 transformers, however I think this toy (at least the shell, and the gun turret) would be great among my pitifully unimpressive G.I. Joe collection. Considering the SUV itself can accommodate a driver maybe the Pretender shell can instead be G.I. Joe vehicle with Autobot enhanced weaponry. I wonder if that was the original intent of the toy since GI Joe and Transformers are supposed to be in the same universe...

[rotttnapple]

count: 2,027 tw: an unbearable amount of softness, kittens part 1 | part 3

under a cut for length!

snapdragons & sunflowers @pohocounty

“Jeepers Creepers, where'd you get those peepers? Jeepers Creepers, where'd you get those eyeesss?” Charley sang softly to himself as he carefully dug up snapdragons to replant elsewhere, the one flower Dulu had brought him (almost looked like it was growing out of that huge hand, perched in a warm ball of dirt) was now a multitude, drinking up the warm summer sun. Nearby the coral honeysuckle was making it's ponderous way up the trellis on the side of the house – still unpainted - being visited by hummingbirds and butterflies alike, and farther out in the yard mammoth sunflowers tracked the movement of the sun. A mob of guinea fowl burst from the green stalks, heads swiveling this way and that as they chattered and complained at each other, hurrying across the green to some new destination.

Charley carefully shook a seedpod of one of the snapdragons and gently pinched it off when it sounded the appropriate rattle, tucking it away in a little cheesecloth bag to be put away for the next year's planting. Dulu had been whistling the tune he was now singing this morning, getting it promptly stuck in his head. Charley could've sworn the man did it on purpose, but the only answer he had ever gotten on the topic was a chuffed little laugh and one of those cheeky half grins that Charley couldn't quite decipher. There was an offended bout of clucking as the guineas upset a few of the chickens ranging more calmly about, scattering fat hens this way and that as the simpler minded fowl ran at them full tilt, not seeming to have much of a care if they moved or not. Up on the back porch Dulu let out a low, hearty little chuckle, though if it was because of the birds or the kittens Charley could not tell. The sound made him smile.

The old man was settled back in his rocking chair, a great big thing made of heavy old oak, making Charley's seem like something made for a child. Scampering about on the porch were no less than a dozen kittens, a mixed family of a riot of colors. They were five weeks old now and their heads were full of nothing but nonsense, chasing each other around on the worn wood planks, batting the little toys Dulu and Charley had made for them, play fighting, climbing Dulu's tree-trunk legs and leaping off to pounce on their siblings. Charley doubted Dulu was getting much work done, he had been carving something when Charley set off with his arms full of gardening tools. There were simply far too many kittens in need of being picked up and kissed. The kittens were particularly fond of that long white mane, a source of fascination that needed to be batted at until they spazzed out and tumbled off his shoulders and into those large, soft hands.

Ratta-tat-tat. Dulu's clawed toes on the porch planks, drumming softly and followed by the low thunder of many kitten paws as they all raced to pounce on. Charley grins, shaking his head as he sets another ousted snapdragon into one of the green plastic pots, picking up the tray they all sat in and carrying it to another spot a little farther down in the bed, returning briefly for his spade to dig in the rich soil. He peeked up before getting around to his replanting – there was a kitten firmly stuck to the screen and Dulu was indeed kissing another's little head again, dwarfing it as it purred in his hands. Dulu had helped him replace the old tattered screens back here with a tougher material meant to withstand things like kitten claws (or puppy nails) so the youngsters could scale them at will without worry that they would take a flying leap and simply keep going straight into the yard.

Charley kneeled down to get back to his planting, another one of their feline charges wandering over to butt his head against Charley's hip and melt into a puddle on the ground, purring like a misfiring engine. The old tom sported one eye and three legs, black fur spotted with white scars from countless battles. He had been barely alive when they found him on the side of the road and was still mean as hell. Dulu had been the only one capable of handling 'Slaughter', the only one the cat allowed himself to be handled by. When he came home after his emergency surgery, it was for Dulu that he would eat and drink for. Even weak and bandaged and hurting, Dulu could handle him without concern, the tom had responded to any sort of human touch with teeth and claws and a growl mean enough to make the hair stand up on the back of Charley's neck. Charley had allowed the cat his space, instead instructing Dulu in his care, passing supplies from a safe distance, teaching him how to give shots and coax the cat to take his medications. Even neutered (Charley insisted all their charges have this done, too many babies in the world needed their help) Slaughter relented in his mistrust of mankind exactly not at all.

Slaughter preferred the outdoors to the indoors, bolting out like his tail was on fire the moment he was released from the nursery. He since resided in the barn, lounging among bales of hay, his yellow eyes luminous in the shadows. Charley had sent Dulu out many times after that, fretting about the three legged boy, worried that he would hurt himself out there. Dulu had dutifully checked and returned to assure him that the cat was perfectly fine.

It was months before Slaughter approached Charley, and months more before he finally seemed to relax enough for the occasional petting - not too much, just a little every now and then. Now Charley smiled at the fat old tom, pulling off a glove to give him a gently rub behind the ears before continuing his work. “You've been in the catnip again, hm?” Talking to the kitty as he made a hole in the earth and nestled a snapdragon into it. A bumblebee, only marginally less hefty than Slaughter, bumped into his shoulder before trundling on to sample from the orchids. Charley had planted a 'cat garden' near the barn for their outdoor preferring guests, schlepping Dulu along with him to chat his ear off about the plants as they settled them in. There was the beloved catnip, and cat thyme. There was also licorice root and mint and lemongrass, some of it potted and some of it rooted into the fertile earth, growing among the tiers of cat-towers and hammocks. Slaughter didn't reply, of course, only blinked those bright yellow eyes at him and purred as he puddled there in the sun while Charley gardened. The cat wandered off again before he was finished, still regal despite the loss of his front leg, the bone had been too badly shattered to save. Dulu had been certain to find precisely the car that had hit him and ensured that occupants would never hit another cat and leave it to die ever again.

When Charley stripped off his gardening gloves and carried the tray of supplies, smelling of rich earth and sunlight, up to the porch most of the kittens were asleep, piled around Dulu's big feet, in his lap, draped over broad shoulders. Dulu was back at work again, carving a tiny toy, his wide-brimmed hat settled down over his eyes, humming softly to himself in a sound reminiscent of a mother cat's purr. A few still batted at each other, but the actions were sleepy, lazy and calm. Charley was careful not to let the screened door slam behind him, shutting it gently as he tucked the gardening tools on a shelf just high enough to keep little kittens off, just low enough for him to reach. He checked carefully around his owner rocker for kitty tails and kitty paws, scooping a few off the seat to set in his sun-warmed lap.

The farm was peaceful, even in the jabber of noise that came from overly cautious guineas, the thoughtful clucking of chickens, the low call of the goats to one another, the soft hush of wind rustling the sunflowers and corn. The crows were always happy to have a buffet of yellow cobs they wouldn't be chased away from, selecting morsels as it ripened under the sun, taking dust baths in-between the rows. It wasn't always like this, there was still ripples in the green from the truck tires of trespassers, rough men with their harpoon guns, but mostly it was. Charley picks up the glass of tea he had left on sweating on the little side table sips at it, still ice cold, just a little hint of honey and mint. Growing up the sweetest thing he ever had was orange juice, southern sweet tea was like getting hit over the head with a five gallon bucket of sugar. Dulu, thankfully, seemed to have no capacity to taste sugar, and thus did not complain about what would be undoubtedly under sweetened for anyone else.

In Dulu's big hands was one of those little mice, it's shape coming out of a block of ivory. Mammoth ivory, Charley had found it on the internet Dulu didn't quite understand (the man was mechanically inclined, not so much electronically). An ivory body and head and legs, with ears made of soft leather, a tail of long braided string. Later Dulu would cover the ivory with thick felt, brown or grey or white – the sweet old man had took one of the books that Charley kept to order supplies out of, to make blankets and hammocks and clothes, pointed out what it was he had wanted. Automatons, was all Charley could think to call them, because the toys that Dulu made for their feline family ran and scampered like real mice, running too and fro, pausing to nibble at invisible cheese before hurrying on again. The first time one had come racing between his feet Charley had squealed, jumped up on a chair like a Victorian lady clutching at her skirts. It took a full minute (and Dulu's deep, booming belly laughs) to realize it wasn't a real mouse at all, but something for the kittens to pursue. And pursue them they did, honing natural instincts to chase and pounce. The last one Dulu had made actually chittered and squeaked, how Charley couldn't quite figure out, but the kittens about lost their minds over it, playing until they couldn't play any longer and collapsed in sleepy piles.

Charley set his chair at a slow rock, petting over soft baby fur, rubbing behind tiny upright ears, setting his tea aside and tipping back the hat Dulu had made for him – a replica of the wide-brimmed one the big man himself was wearing, just a whole lot smaller. Out in the pasture Speedy and Peaches were grooming each other, two old girls happy to have each other, basking out there in a sea of green. A couple of crows were perched on Peaches' rump, chatting at each other. The old goats didn't move real fast, they sometimes made fine sun-soaked meeting places for the big black birds to discuss the news of the day with one another.

“It's perfect out here, isn't it?” Charley's voice is soft, as not to wake the sleeping kittens. “There's a whole lot of problems out there in the world but here it's just perfect.” Dulu's low rumble-grunt reply, he didn't talk much but that was fine, Charley didn't mind it any; he smiled, reached over and patted one of those tree-limb forearms. Surrounded by kittens, a yard full of fat critters and plants. A best friend, a life partner at his side, Dulu who brought him out of his shell. Dulu who made him feel safe, who gave him the confidence to take on damn near anything that life decided to throw his way. “The perfect place to just be.”

[odinstoyfactory]

Raven on a Tombstone Cutout, Handmade, Unpainted, Unfinished, Freestanding, Ready to Paint, from the Halloween Snazzy Spooks Collection

Buy Now

More Halloween

I make my Halloween cutouts in my toymakers shop using traditional woodworking tools from wood and other materials. Each piece is hand-sanded and ready to paint. I can make these in any size you need.

These are nominal 3/4-inch thick and freestanding. The cutouts will sit on a windowsill, shelf, table, or doorframe. Backlighting with LED tea lights is recommended for a spooky effect.

Unlike many thinner cutouts, these are freestanding and are good pretend toys. They can stand comfortably on window sills, door frames, shelves, or narrow ledges.

I made the first batch of these for my grandson, Odin. He is crazy about anything Halloween-related. They are great Halloween decorations, but for my grandson, they are toys. He builds haunted houses from blocks and uses them as scary occupants.

Approximate Size: Height 3.5 inches Width 3.5 inches Thickness 0.75 inch

Custom colors, sizes, and quantities are available via custom order.

Request Your Custom Order https://www.etsy.com/conversations/new?with_id=81938978&ref=shop_contact_items

Other Items You May Like

Ghosts https://www.etsy.com/shop/odinstoyfactory?search_query=ghost

Halloween https://www.etsy.com/shop/odinstoyfactory?search_query=halloween

Shop Front Page: https://odinstoyfactory.etsy.com

[marsjackstretton-mason]

Wooden robots on Etsy

It's all good creating robots for fun or giving them away for free on beaches but the real skill comes with pricing them fairly on online websites such as Etsy. pricing homemade creations fairly on an online forum or shop is fairly difficult because you don't really know what kind of price people are willing to pay. Because of this there is a whole variation of prices regarding homemade wooden robots.

I'm going to compare 5 different wooden Robots and their prices from Etsy. 

The first robot I want to look at is a simple wood and rope design priced at £32.40 to £46.20 depending on the colour and whether or not you get engravings or not.

image link - https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/842399361/wood-robot-toy-unpainted-natural-figure?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=wooden+robots&ref=sc_gallery-1-4&plkey=d109cfbf44dd5d131e8b49662e757f964beaf005%3A842399361&frs=1&col=1

This wooden robot seems a bit overpriced for a few blocks of wood attached to something cord but that’s only My opinion. I feel like I could probably make it for a lot cheaper using the same or similar materials so ideally I would only buy this if it was a  fair bit cheaper. I can see why they would price it as it is though because they have handcrafted it using their own time and resources and they want to make a profit out of it, still I do think that it is a little pricey for what it is.

The next design I want to look at is a very boxy very Michelin man type robot priced at £21.60. This very cute looking robot I feel is priced quite fairly if not a little low for what it is. I really like this design because it is boxy but still detailed with the individual layers of wood making up the legs. It also is quite fairly priced for what it is. I would personally say that you could price it up at £25-£26 quite easily.

image link - https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/624269380/childrens-handmade-toy-robot-pine-wood?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=wooden+robots&ref=sc_gallery-1-2&plkey=60a93bfd55279baf5cec09e75391483efa0693ad%3A624269380&frs=1&cns=1

If we compare this pricing to the last wooden robot we can see that this robot has been created and priced fairly on the basis that yes it is simple but it has a fair amount of material on it. This is what sets this design apart from the first design.

The third design I want to look at is another boxy cute wood and string design priced at £18. This design is very polished, well made and incredibly well priced for what it is. This little robot differs from the others because the wood looks different because it is a different wood that has also been treated with oil to make it more child friendly. Looking back on this price, this is also another design that I would feel good about putting it up a few pounds in price because of how much detail and thought has gone into this little wooden toy robot.

image link - https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/750083523/woody-the-robot-children-robot-beech-toy?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=wooden+robots&ref=sr_gallery-1-6&organic_search_click=1&frs=1

The fourth design I want to look at is a wooden robot recreation of Bender the robot from Futurama priced at £34.04. I must admit that its pricing is a little specific but it is still priced moderately well for what it is. I only view this as moderately fair pricing because even though it is painted and detailed the detailing is a bit simplistic. However, this isn’t a case of ‘I could make that for cheaper’ because it does have curves in the design and curves are awkward. It's more of a proper thought about buying it rather than going ‘brilliant that's cheap I'll get that!’. In terms of the actual design, I quite like this design because it is of a very notable character and you can clearly see that which I Like.

image link - https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/897636955/bender-futurama-wooden-hand-carved?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=wooden+robots&ref=sc_gallery-1-5&plkey=0ff1ebf08e3c235bf21d9aa6894547c59f3a2afd%3A897636955&cns=1

The final wooden robot design I looked at was a little 2 robot set of very simple and plain wooden robots priced at £8.99. These are great as little presents for a gift bag or a little present for a toddler because they are simple and cheap. In terms of their actual design they are incredibly simple as they are literally just a rectangle of wood cut up into basic blocky body parts and then strung together but that works with the price they are priced at.

image link - https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/818257306/wooden-robot-man-toy?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=wooden+robots&ref=sr_gallery-1-5&organic_search_click=1

Comparing these to mass produced plastic toys like for example either a Lego AT-AT or a plastic model AT-AT these wooden models are daily priced for what they are which is lovingly handcrafted and somewhat detailed little (or large) wooden robot figures. The reason why I would rate these wooden prices fair over the mass produced prices is because a lot of the mass produced prices don't tend to go below £40 or £45 even though they are mass produced. That is a big reason as to why I think that a lot of these handcrafted wooden robots are priced more fairly than the mass produced Lego or plastic model kits out in the market.

image link - https://www.amazon.co.uk/Revell-01205-1205-Stormtrooper-Multicolour/dp/B07JMDY8HH/ref=asc_df_B07JMDY8HH/?tag=googshopuk-21&linkCode=df0&hvadid=218044188140&hvpos=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=3725754208290906650&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=1007160&hvtargid=pla-718659616497&psc=1

[flubzine-blog]

A grave, East of Wales and South of Manchester By Aidan Razzall

The children, clad in blood red football-shirts on cheap bikes and push-scooters seemed to be the only liquefiers of this place, snaking their adventure routes through the rigid grids of bungalows that stretched out like a gauze over the terrain- all pebble-dashed and double glazed.

The cul-de-sacs they rode on baked in the summer heat, undulating like the ventral scales of some tropical serpent, with their tarmac speed bumps and yellow painted borders rippling the scene ever so slightly. The scent of rubber bike tyre on the road, and the boiling, calculated burn of a parked car door under the palm of a child’s hand shrieked out from across the tranquil, seeing brow-beaten men in grey sweat shorts, disturbed from their afternoons in front of the television, barking harshly from across the slabbed drives, their eyes never leaving the screen for more than a flicker.

Uniformed and unified, the suburbia gently slumped out of sight to the fences of the rail tracks in the east. To the west, it reached a crescendo of red-brick workers terraces, the hot July sun beating off the windows and chimney pots and satellites, a technicolour refraction- as if it were a warning beacon, or a wormhole entrance to the long-closed industrial works that lay dormant on the fringes of town. The place heaved out an air of sadness, of histories forged and lost, of lives lived in simple loops, both in the mind and through the post-war visions of the architects who designed its streets, to which there were several municipal tributes, like brass cast statues of bespectacled and suited men in the Town square, clutching reams of paper with names like Boyce, Parkinson and Franklin, to the repetitions of their name on the road signs of Boyce Avenue, Franklin Street and Parkinson Drive, lined sparingly with beech trees sometimes.

The mud-brown clock tower of the council building that overlooked the statues, and of course the sprawl almost entirely, was in some ways a brief respite from the placid lines of 70’s new builds and terraces that shaped the general view. This was aside from the trio of high rise flats that shot up like screw-ends towards the train station, and the skeletal form of the football stadium which crouched sadly underneath their shadows, it’s crimson flags hanging limp in the summer.

Beyond aesthetics however, the town’s commerce was varied, with its population tending to the car dealerships, offices and either of the two supermarkets that peppered the roundabouts and distant retail parks. Cars and lorries, as if almost transfixed, routinely navigated the roads built by engineers of yesteryear, only stopping momentarily when some dog or flaccid polythene wrapping obstructed their path by virtue of feral nature or gentle breeze. People did walk, but only with dogs or zimmers or plastic bags of food from town. The canines and owners mainly made their journeys in the Franklin estate, and sometimes in the tower-blocks, although the zimmer-frames were clutched firmly in the tanned and ringed fists of pensioners in bungalow-land, and of course the bags of food were slung over the wrists of almost all demographics.

The place was towards the north of the town, emerging out of the tightly packed terraces, some red brick with protruding window ledges and netted curtains, and some coated in 30 years’ worth of unpainted plaster, or plaster painted in tooth-white or beige, but all sharing a unifying badge of honour- those newly fitted plastic doors that promised to be strong at first but seemed flimsy when someone kicked them in. It was an upward slope of green space, marshy in places, and encircled by two main roads that twinned at a traffic lights. It was said to be called the Brooklands, as at some point a natural spring or brook existed there- currently demonstrated by an iron meshed water-tunnel opening, halfway up the slope, that dripped water and oozed mud and roots and rusted rubbish-packets in the summer. Again a street sign, one with the dead end symbol on its left side, alluded to the name, although some of the letters had faded, and long grass concealed the others.

Panning away from the water-grate, the council had recently erected a public artwork next the tarmac footpath that split the Brooklands in two. It was black, maybe plastic, maybe some cross-polymer material and was forked in two like a fish tail or a split hair, so that from a distance it looked like an anachronism, some ancient totem from somewhere else, but on closer inspection the front side was engraved with little icons of hammers, drills, cogs and wheels, motifs of the town’s heritage. The reverse side was blank, aside from hardened gluts of chewing gum stuffed in the recesses by someone in need of a bin. Sometimes people walked past the sculpture, mainly occupants of the Mount Pleasant Women’s Refuge that directly overlooked it and the Brooklands itself.

At the summit of the slope, and with a view over the Refuge, the artwork, and the water-grate, sat the church. It was resplendent in red brick, with ash-grey slate roofs, and a copper-covered spire that had oxidised into a cerulean green over time. The town had a generally secular view, shaped by a life post industry and post-routine, but it was here that some sense of the Divine was present.

In the slow burn of summer, amongst the graves and tombs of the churchyard, a crowd of mourners walked in tandem towards a tiny grave, decorated with Disney toys and lurid flower arrangements, and a small, oval picture frame containing the photo of a child.

[petepaintswarhammer]

On painting, wysiwyg, war gaming and the hobby.

So I think I might be a bit of a snob. Like I'm legitimately worried about this. I don't want to be "that guy". I like playing games where both armies are nicely painted and I even impose a "if it's not painted you ain't using it" rule on myself. I'm the same with WYSIWYG as well. I want you to be able to look at a unit and know what it includes or a Knight and know what weapons it's carrying. I'm not even a fan of counts as either, why use a GW drop pod as a dreadnought drop pod when there is a model available from FW for it? That said if you want to glue the side struts on upside down and call it an Anvilus pattern drop pod I'm all for that. Especially you Chaos players complaining that you don't have drop pods ;) At least it looks like what you have on your army list to the point that I can look at it and see what you did there without any confusion. I played a game of Blood Bowl at the weekend against another human team. The other player was using linemen as Blitzers and I'll be honest I rolled my eyes a bit, I had all the models for all the relevant players, all numbered so my opponent knew which ones had levelled up just by looking at them, once I'd let him know of course. That said his models were all nicely painted AND he had at least written numbers on their bases so that after telling me which numbers were Blitzers all I had to do was look at their bases to remind myself what I was throwing a block into. Also I knew he had the extra models but as they weren't painted he preferred not to use them. I could live with that, not perfect but we still had a great game, loads of laughs. Heck I even defended him when someone came up to the table and tried to call him out for using the wrong models. I felt like an arse when I actually killed two of his linemen and seriously wounded another, winning the game 5-0, that's dice games for you. We shook hands and I'm looking forward to playing him again sometime later in the league, karma is going to kick my arse in that game I'm sure! I strongly believe in that social contract between players and I'm not just painting them for myself I'm painting them for you my opponent or you my ally. We in this hobby are all playing with little plastic soldiers, toys some call them. But to me they represent an opportunity to relive a battle or fight in a new campaign forging a narrative, bringing these little fellas to life, writing their sagas. By bringing unpainted models you are breaking that illusion for me and in a way making me feel like all that time I've spent painting my models, impatiently waiting for that model, squad, vehicle, army to be complete before I bring it to a table top was wasted time. Look back through this blog, I waited until I had a fully painted Tau army before I played my first game. Same with the Space Wolves, Ogres, Orruks and Dwarves. I still haven't played a game of Silver Tower because all the minis aren't painted. Same with Execution Force, I painted everyone of those cultists, traitor marines and spell familiars to the same level as the Assassins even though I know I'll never ever field them as an army, I'll only use them on the rare occasion I get to play Execution Force. Think of it like this, you are a football/soccer fan. You are going to a big Manchester United game, you walk out onto the terrace in your nice kit bought from the club store and then you notice everyone else is wearing crummy red t-shirts with player names and numbers clumsily draw on them and then out come the players wearing mismatched tracksuits, t-shirts, shorts and trainers. That's how I feel when you upend a plastic butter tub onto the table and out pours a load of unpainted half built models, "these guys? Yeah, I'm using them as devastators". Me, internally, "but they have no guns at all, they are unpainted and a couple of them are just legs because their torsos have broken off in your 'carry' case." Me, vocally, "yeah, sure, that's cool." because I want to play a game, because I don't want to make a thing of you not having painted models, because I don't want to be that snobby guy. At the end of the day we are just playing with toy soldiers right? It's not even like my models are works of art, I'm just a guy who takes his time and paints just as well as anyone else could, no better, I'm not going to win any painting competitions, my models won't stand out amongst the crowd, they just look nice and that's all. I'm more than happy to sit down with you and talk you through the basics as I've learnt them, point you in the direction of more talented individuals to learn from. I truly, honestly believe that with a little bit of time, support and some patience you can paint as well as and probably better than anything I can do. And if not? If painting truly isn't your thing? Give them to me. A squad/vehicle/character at a time and I'll paint them for you. I won't ask for anything in return, I'll accept payment (I'm not a saint) but I won't ask for it. This hobby is EXPENSIVE. Please don't make me feel like I've wasted my cash, time and effort on it. Does all this make sense? Please don't judge me too harshly. Am I really that guy? I'll play, chat and support anyone in this hobby if you want to chat or shoot the breeze anytime. I'm all about trying to suck some of the hostility out of this game and this community I don't want to add to it.

[optimusphillip]

OptimusPhillip Reviews 15: Transformers: Generations Hot Rod (Titans Return)

I’ve been covering a lot of Siege toys lately, and while it probably has earned that amount of coverage, being the current toyline, I figured it was time to take a break and look at something different, but that I feel is still relevant. So I opted to cover Titans Return Deluxe Hot Rod. Not Rodimus: Hot Rod.

Car Mode

Hot Rod transforms into a... well, hot rod. Right off the bat, this toy does a lot to set itself apart from the Classics Rodimus figure, who turned into a modified version of the real world Dome Zero car. Here, he’s without a dought the G1 car mode. The central arc, the two dips on either side, and of course the triple exhausts on either side, all scream the G1 cartoon. The biggest deviation mold-wise is probably the spoiler, which is much more like the G1 toy’s spoiler. It’s a bit odd, mixing the aesthetics like this, but I guess Hasbro wanted to make it look a little bit more realistic.

The thing that’s probably going to bug most purists, however, is the color scheme. Both the cartoon and toy versions of G1 Hot Rod depicted him as being a maroon color. The Titans Return figure, however, opts for a much richer red color. This may turn some people off, but honestly, I think it suits him. As for details, it’s rather sparse, but most everything that needs to be here is. Orange hood with yellow flames, of course, and for those concerned about the contrast, don’t be. The flames stand out really nicely against the orange hood. Orange headlights, black and gray on the grill, silver on the engine block, and an Autobot symbol on the hood round out most of the paint accents visible here. The rest of the paint goes to making the spoiler yellow, and trimming the clear blue canopy. There’s a bit of an oddity though: the canopy has window columns sculpted in to match his original version, but they’re left unpainted here. That’s it for paint apps, the rest all comes from molded plastics. It’s sparse, but like I said, the essentials are all here. If that doesn’t satisfy you, you may want to go for the Takara Legends release.

In terms of functionality, he rolls, of course, and his wheels are pinned in, so it moves very smoothly. In addition, you get a port on either side for his two guns, as well as a pair of grooves on the engine block. This is for his combined weapon to mount, a la his G1 weapons. We’ll talk about the guns more in robot mode. But of course, this being a Titans Return toy, the cockpit can open up, revealing a seat for the Titan Master.

Titan Master Firedrive

I’m gonna level with you: Firedrive is probably the weakest Titan Master in the whole series. He’s molded very nicely to match the G1 Targetmaster Firebolt, but he’s entirely cast in gray plastic, with no paint whatsoever. Without the face on his back, he’d look like a protoform. It’s obvious this was just a token addition to make Hot Rod fit in with the line-wide gimmick, with how little effort was put into him compared to the other Titan Masters. Even the ones that didn’t get paint at least had a differently colored torso or limbs.

Oh well, it’s not like you’re buying him for the Titan Master anyway. At least Firedrive is still posable like the others. Ball joints in the neck and shoulders, plus forward hips and knees. All in all, the kind of posability you expect from a figure that small.

Since he uses the universal Titan Master engineering, he can of course pilot Hot Rod, or any other vehicle mode figure, as well as the various Titan Master weapon pieces, such as Hot Rod’s combined weapon. All in all, Firedrive is kind of forgettable (I’ll actually sometimes forget to take him out of the cockpit during conversion), but at least he’s inoffensive.

Conversion

Hot Rod has the kind of transformation I like. Simple enough that I can pick up and mess around with, but not so simple that it becomes monotonous. His arms transform the way one would expect, forming the sides of the car mode, but the legs are where things get interesting, with the side chunks of the car folding inwards to fill out the gap left by his thighs, and to clean up the look of the legs a little bit. And of course, Firedrive simply folds in half to form Hot Rod’s head. Even the hood chest is given a slight variation with a collapsing bumper, though this is technically optional if you don’t mind leaving things untabbed.

Robot Mode

While not the spitting image of his cartoon self, Hot Rod manages to evoke his classic appearance decently enough, with some of its own clever tricks. I in particular like how the kneecaps form extra exhaust vents in car mode. The biggest deviation in his silhouette would probably be his shoulders, which are much taller than his G1 self. My best guess is that this is meant to evoke his Lost Light body, but that’s a bit of a stretch, considering he has practically nothing else in common with that design. Also, between this and the more subdued spoiler, it’s hard to see his iconic rear fin from certain angles. It’s unfortunate, but not a huge deal to me.

In terms of coloration, he more closely follows the G1 toy than his cartoon model, with red shins, orange hands, and unpainted wrists. I think it looks good, but cartoon purists will probably take issue with this. Again, I direct you to the Legends release, which not only casts him in more show-accurate colors, but remolds his chest to hide the engine block in robot mode.

Focusing in on the head, the face sculpt is undisputably Hot Rod. From the fin-like forehead crest to the round pieces on the sides of the head that even extend onto the Titan Master arms, everything captures the cartoon look really well. Sadly, however, the rest of his head is a gray block for the sake of the Titan Master gimmick. You could justify it as a call-back to the G1 toy having the engine block on the back of his head, but that’s a flimsy excuse for a simple shortcoming. Also, mine and other figures has a slight mold defect, where there are a couple of small bumps on the corner of Hot Rod’s mouth. I personally never noticed it until I saw someone mention the defect on TFWiki, so it’s obviously not a huge deal, but if you’re OCD like that, it may be a problem. For the rest of us... we’ll probably make a dirty joke or two, and move on.

Posability wise, he’s got all the essentials. Ball-jointed shoulders and hips, with extra transformation hinges to move the shoulders outward, bicep and thigh swivels, 90 degree elbows and knees, and a waist joint mean he can assume a wide variety of poses. Firedrive’s neck joint carries over into robot mode, but his collar kind of restricts it to rotation only. Also, my figure’s hips are a little loose. Not enough that it affects stability, but they do move a little too easily for my liking. Yours may not be like this, however. That’s just my luck.

In terms of accessories, Hot Rod comes with a pair of guns based on his G1 weapons. I really like how they turned out, especially with how the functional tabs end up mimicing the fins on the original toy’s guns. They’re symmetric with one another, which is inaccurate, and there’s also a big gap on the side, but it still gets the point across, and they still look really good in his hands. It helps that he’s so well articulated, and can get into some really good gunslinger poses. His guns can also combine to form a Titan Master-manned turret, which (as stated before) can be pegged onto his vehicle hood, or onto the various base-bots.

Final Thoughts

Titans Return Hot Rod is probably the best G1-style Hot Rod figure to date. As good as the Classics version was, it wasn’t nearly as accurate or posable as this figure. Some details may alienate the purists, but for me, it’s more than sufficient. Plus, between the high articulation and the fun accessories, it’s just a fun toy to mess around with. Firedrive, sadly, will go ignored, forever relegated to being hidden away, either as a head or inside the cockpit. I’d say he’s definitely worth your while to seek out, especially considering what just recently released in Siege.

[gri1987]

The key to having a fit hamster is to keep it exercised and healthy. A good selection of hamster cage accessories is a necessary element of successful care for your pet hamster.

Here are the five principal rules you ought to consider whilst selecting cage accessories for your hamster cage.

1. Exercise

Make a point to find accessories and toys for the cage that are good for health along with entertaining. Ones that make exercise enjoyable are very beneficial. Therefore you might perhaps grab a hamster exercise wheel, a hamster see-saw and also a hamster maze which are often used outside the cage as well.

2. Size Matters

It is easy to get over excited selecting great goodies for your beloved hamster's cage. However, do not forget to consider the size of your little friend's cage. Keep in mind to leave space for the basics like toilet area and house.

3. Safety first

Think about little Harry and his fragile body and legs and then look again at the cage accessory you were about to buy. Is it safe for your hamster? Will he get any of his legs trapped? Will he get harmed by it? Exercise wheels are a good case in point-buy a solid not spoked one. You really do not want to get a limb trapped in a spoked wheel. It isn't nice. Don't take a chance with his safety.

4. Variety

Variety is the spice of life and keeps everyone busy. Mix up those for running, investigating or entertaining. Purpose built tunnels and tubes, like those by Crittertrail are fantastic. This variety is going to give you both fun and him fit. It is always satisfying and sometimes amusing watching a hamster play. Seeing him investigate and work out how to use something you have put in his cage

5. Multifunctional

So what do I mean by this? Well, for instance, if you get a plastic hamster house, it will be functional and could get chewed a lttle bit, but there will be always the fear of pointed plastic edges. Wooden hamster houses are a much safer alternative whilst still being good teeth stuff.

Straightforward unpainted blocks of wood are great for climbing and perching on top of. On the other hand it can also be a great healthy chewing block too.

cage heaven chinchilla cages

[caveartfair]

Understanding Charles Ray through 8 Pivotal Artworks

Sculptor Charles Ray employs varied media—from ink to marble, photography to wood—to depict anything from a car wreck to clothing or a human figure. Indeed, it can be difficult for both newcomers and studied critics to describe just what exactly defines his oeuvre. If anything, it’s always an inventive meditation on sculpture itself.  

Ray’s wry poetry extends across the body of work he’s made since the 1970s, when he studied at the University of Iowa (he later attended Rutgers University for graduate school). Born in Chicago in 1953 and now based in Los Angeles, the artist is better known for taking early morning hikes and building his own boats than he is for making appearances at major art world events.

While he’s chosen to live outside the limelight, major institutions still avidly promote his work. The Whitney Museum of American Art has featured him in its biennials five times. A 2015 retrospective at the Art Institute of Chicago introduced fresh eyes to his labor-intensive pieces, including an oversized sculpture, Huck and Jim (2014), which depicted the protagonists of Mark Twain’s most famous novel in the nude. At the moment, Matthew Marks Gallery in New York is showing five new works by the artist in “three rooms and the repair annex,” including a massive steel nude and two painted steel sculptures of tiny mechanics.

Ray’s own body has often figured prominently in his practice—he’s photographed and sculpted himself, including most memorably in a 1992 piece, Oh! Charley, Charley, Charley…, which features eight onanistic sculptural approximations of the artist. Ray’s output is small, as it can take years to complete a single work. Some pieces can be relatively simple, like Ink Line (1987), where a steady stream of ink flows from the gallery ceiling onto its floor, daring viewers to reach out and touch it. Others—such as Unpainted Sculpture (1997), a sculpture of a bashed-up four-door sedan—require a wealth of planning and expertise. Here are a few other highlights from the sculptor’s preeminent contribution to contemporary art.

All My Clothes (1973)

All My Clothes, 1973. Charles Ray Phillips

“The interesting thing is the repeating of the blue jeans,” Ray tells Artsy about this early work from his college days: a linear photographic series in which the artist wears different configurations of all the clothes he owns. “I had more shirts than I had pants.” The serial aspect, he says, is particular to the era. According to him, the work’s “documentary nature,” along with the fact that the figures are lined up in a row, gives the piece away as a product of its decade (conceptual photography projects of the time often had a serial nature, as in the work ofRobert Kinmont). Additionally, Ray produced the work at a time when images of young men lining up in a row were common: The draft for the Vietnam War finally ended in 1973, its legacy preserved in pictures of youthful soldiers standing side-by-side in much more formal, mandatory dress.  

Plank Piece I-II (1973)

Plank Piece I–II, 1973. Charles Ray Gagosian

Throughout college, Ray made sculptures with heavy materials, such as sacks of cement and stone blocks. “My body was always present in the activity of the studio,” he says. “What was important to me, looking back now, was how close at hand my body always was.” He’d lie in his bathtub, considering how his own body itself might become part of one of his pieces. In this diptych, Ray captured performances in which a wooden plank fixed him to the wall, first by the backs of his knees, and then by his midsection. When he was young, he denied empathetic readings of Plank Piece I-II that considered how painful it must have been to pin his body to the wall. He used to tell people that it was much more impersonal, merely “a relationship between a wall, a plank, and a body. I was very dry about it.” Ray is less dogmatic about the work now. Indeed, Plank Piece I-II can read as embodied artistic strife: a creator becoming overwhelmed and dominated by his material.

Pepto-Bismol in a Box (1988)

This sculpture is quite literally what its title implies. Artist Mike Kelley once wrote that the work “seems to conflate minimalist sculpture and the vomitoriums of ancient Roman arenas.” Kelley focused on the rarity of the color pink in contemporary work; in his mind, Ray’s brightly hued sculpture implies a perversity, and an unmasking of the art world’s “masculine orientation.” Ray offers a more prosaic story. “I think one season there was a bad flu around,” he says, simply. “Marble was ubiquitous at the time: in counters, bathrooms, and stalls. Pepto-Bismol is a popular cure for nausea—and the sculpture, that volume of [the medicine], kind of causes nausea.” Is there an irony that something that was supposed to cure nausea would then induce it? According to Ray, if that’s the case, then the piece failed: He wants his sculpture to transcend irony. In all his work, he aims for what he terms “sculpturalness” to surpass any literal reading that would too easily allow a viewer to derive a clear, one-note message from a piece. The meaning, he says, should simply derive from the sculpture itself. “The poetry I’m creating is sculptural rather than verbal,” he explains.

Firetruck (1993)

Charles Ray, Firetruck, 1993. © Charles Ray. Courtesy of Matthew Marks Gallery.

This 12-by-46.5-by-8-foot replica of a toy fire truck, made from painted aluminum, fiberglass, and plexiglass, turns a child’s plaything into life-sized artifice (and art). Ray has generally chosen to park the sculpture out in front of museums, such as the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and the Whitney, where the sculpture’s presence begs the question—where’s the fire? No matter what kind of metaphorical blaze the truck could potentially put out, it’s incapable of doing anything besides sitting on the street: After all, it’s just a sculpture (and modeled off a toy, no less,branded “Tylink” with the words “Metal Muscle” across its wheels). The work evokes all the action that would attend a real fire truck’s arrival on-site, while reveling in its own inefficacy. These considerations bring the viewer back to a central question within Ray’s work: What can sculpture actually do?

Family Romance (1993)

Charles Ray, Family romance, 1993. © Charles Ray. Courtesy of Matthew Marks Gallery.

Ray isn’t a fan of Freudian, psychological readings of his work. Yet eying this painted-fiberglass and synthetic hair sculpture of four naked family members at disconcerting scale—the children enlarged and the adults shrunk, so that everyone stands at roughly the same height—it’s difficult not to consider what kind of complexes an analyst might ascribe to the whole thing. With hands clasped, the figures form a familial barricade; the viewer can only walk around the quartet, which turns them into a single, impenetrable system (which is kind of how contemporary post-Freudian therapists think about families anyway).

Hinoki (2007)

Charles Ray, Hinoki, 2007. © Charles Ray. Courtesy of Matthew Marks Gallery.

This sculpture of a giant, fallen tree, when situated within a gallery space, evokes both the natural world’s destruction and art’s preservative powers. The piece began with a dead oak tree that Ray spotted while driving along California’s central coast. Ray retrieved it in order to cast its form in silicone and fiberglass. He then employed woodworkers in Japan to carve a replica from a Japanese cypress, or hinoki tree. After 400 years, it’ll decay—sharply at first, and then more gradually. The final work, then, is two layers removed from its original source material. Ray, whose casts were doubtless impacted by his own emotional response to the object, allowed a disinterested party on the other side of the world to render the final piece. (Plenty of sculptors use fabricators, but the coldness of, say, a Jeff Koons balloon dog or a Donald Judd box is replaced here with something warmer and earthier.) For millennia, philosophers have wrestled with the idea of “tree-ness,” or just what constitutes the “form” of a tree. Ray’s art—sculpture about sculpture (and, in this case, about life and death, too)—grapples with the same issues. What makes this carved hinoki wood a sculpture, while the original fallen oak is not? Will Hinoki still be a sculpture (or the same sculpture) when it decomposes?

Young Man (2012)

Charles Ray, Young man, 2012. © Charles Ray. Courtesy of Matthew Marks Gallery.

Far from the idealized male form we traditionally associate with figurative sculpture (see Michelangelo’s David, 1501–04), Ray gives us a shaggy-haired guy who bulges a bit at the hips. Like most of Ray’s figures, he’s not on a pedestal, but merely standing barefoot and naked in the gallery on the same level as his viewers. His weight is real, though: The solid stainless steel work clocks in at 1,500 pounds. The model for the piece is Ry Rocklen, a Los Angeles-based artist who is a former student and friend of Ray’s. Smooth, shiny, and grounded, his likeness is far more approachable than anything from antiquity.    

Reclining Woman (2018)

Charles Ray, Reclining Woman, 2018. © Charles Ray. Courtesy of Matthew Marks Gallery.

Made out of a machined block of steel, Reclining Woman features a smooth, shiny sculpture of a woman lying on a large steel box. The work took Ray seven or eight years to complete. “I’d look at it and think about it, change a direction, think about a toenail, think about an involuntary gesture of the toes in relationship to her squint,” he says. The extensive process required photographs and casts of thesubject; computer modeling; real clay and plaster mock-ups; a machine-foam prototype; and many assistants’ hands. The final piece asks the same question with which so many artists are still consumed: Is there anything new to do with the female nude? This time, thejust-larger-than-life woman gets a solid steel pedestal that’s even larger than she is. It’s as though Ray conjoins two different sculptures: one minimalist and abstract, the other figurative and uncanny. But it’s the body we remember.

from Artsy News

[rachelmorris305]

A ’70s Basement Turns into a Happy Family Room

A New Jersey basement transforms into a spot for music, lounging, and laundry

In 2015, Cristiana and her husband fell in love with a beautiful old house in Glen Rock, New Jersey (Bergen County). Original details from 1918 had been preserved, and the space was just right for the family of four. While the above-grade spaces were solid and charming, the basement needed some serious TLC. It featured outdated finishes from the 1970s, low ceilings (a big problem for Cristiana’s tall husband!), and a damp, musty feel. Cristiana knew that the valuable square footage could be turned into a family room, with space left over for wine and pantry storage as well as an updated laundry room. They turned to Sweeten, a free service matching renovators with vetted contractors, to convert an uninviting subterranean cave into a cozy and comfortable spot for the whole family.

Guest post by Glen Rock homeowner Cristiana

Two years ago, we were moving from a 750-square-foot apartment in Hoboken, New Jersey, which felt like it was bursting at the seams. When we purchased our early Craftsman Colonial home, we knew there would be lots of work to do. But it felt solid, had the right number of bedrooms and bathrooms and great, livable space. Plus, the original unpainted chestnut moldings and leaded glass built-ins throughout the new house made any renovations that we needed to do seem bearable.

Before we were able to move in, we needed to completely rewire the entire house because it still had knob-and-tube wiring. This meant demolishing the ’70s-style finished basement. We weren’t that upset about losing the brown paneling, damp rug, and linoleum-tiled laundry room, and we were saving a lot of money by allowing the electrician free access to the walls and ceiling of the basement. The space had to be refurbished before it could be used for anything besides storage. After a couple of months of rewiring, patching, and painting, we temporarily relocated the toy storage and our TV to the enclosed front porch and began working with an architect to rethink the space. We came to Sweeten to find a contractor to execute our architect’s vision.

Our plans included moving the laundry room to free up the main living area for toys, creating a craft area, and carving out a wine room. An old phone booth left behind by the previous owners was relocated. We hoped to move as many pipes in the labyrinth hanging from the ceiling to provide more headroom for my 6’ 4” husband and our two future six-footers—our sons, currently ages six and eight. New windows were installed and additional waterproofing was added throughout the space.

When we got started working with our Sweeten contractor, we tried to determine where waterproofing was necessary and figured out what pipes could be moved and what had to stay. We ran PEX pipes for water in the walls and were able to run all electricity through the ceiling. We had to leave our steam pipes for our original but completely functional heating system because it was cost-prohibitive to move them. Our contractor also created easy access points for a (hopefully not so distant) kitchen renovation. In the end, the ceiling in the basement was raised from under six-and-a-half feet to over eight feet tall—a huge improvement and a crucial part of the renovation.

Once the not-so-glamorous phases of waterproofing, plumbing, and electric were completed, we began to see the new rooms take shape. We were surprised by the space that needed to be left between the block walls and the drywall for fireproofing but decided to incorporate built-ins for board games as well as arts-and-crafts supplies. Our contractor also built a custom shelving unit under our TV to help prevent kids from walking into the corner of the TV when it was pulled out from the wall. The area under the stairs turned into a fort for the boys. For the walls, we chose a warm gray paired with a soft white trim. The floors are COREtec, which looks like walnut but is actually an engineered plank that’s perfect for below-grade spaces. This was one of our contractor’s best recommendations—a floating floor that is easily replaced if it gets wet, feels great underfoot, and looks amazing. We love it, and have gotten a ton of compliments on it!

We installed IKEA kitchen cabinets and laminate countertops in our laundry room, which were big cost-savers and resulted in a sleek and lovely place to do laundry. A wall-mounted drying rack is one of my favorite features. My kids and husband have turned the storage room into a music room, but as long as they don’t mind playing next to our second freezer and extra Cheerios, it works for me!

That’s about it for the first phase of our basement renovation. Of course, there are still items on the to-do list. We are planning to turn the wooden phone booth at the bottom of the stairs into a fun space for the boys—it has working electricity, so we are hoping to wire it with wifi or as a charging station. We will also either paint it red (Londonesque) or blue (Doctor Who!), and add a plaque on the top with our last name. Next to the phone booth is a door that leads to our unfinished wine room, another project for the future.

For now, though, we love spending time in our new basement—and getting dedicated storage for the toys, drums, and storage off the main floor! It’s become a great family room for us to hang out in, and for the boys to play with their friends. Working with our Sweeten contractor was an amazing experience. He was cooperative, made great suggestions, and brought the project in on budget.

Thank you, Cristiana, for showing us the fabulous transformation of an often-overlooked space! We can’t wait to see what you do next.

BASEMENT RESOURCES: Blackstone Oak COREtec flooring: COREtec. Laundry room cabinets and countertops: IKEA. Dolphin Fin wall paint: Behr. White Dove trim/ceiling paint: Benjamin Moore.

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With extra square footage and some smart space planning, you can add a laundry room to your home.

Sweeten handpicks the best general contractors to match each project’s location, budget, and scope, helping until project completion. Follow the blog for renovation ideas and inspiration and when you’re ready to renovate, start your renovation on Sweeten.

A post from originally from Sweeten

[paulcleonard]

Buying toys for your pets is like buying toys for your toddler. You need to watch for dangers in every toy, no matter how harmless it looks to ensure your pet’s safety.

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Catnip and honeysuckle-stuffed plushies are among the most common and popular toys for cats, and what dog doesn’t enjoy tearing apart a stuffed squirrel or old slipper? Ferrets like to pretend to hunt down stuffed animals three times their size, and conures love to have a “lovie” to snuggle with.

All these soft toys seem harmless enough. After all, what can a plush toy do? However, even the safest-looking toy might harbour a risk to your pet’s health and safety. As a responsible pet-owner, it’s your job to make sure your pet’s toys are safe, just as you would check every toy for a small child.

Pointy Parts

Cats and ferrets like to chase soft toys that dangle on a string which, itself, dangles from a stick. The contraption looks like a fishing rod. These types of toys are great to play with when you’re there controlling the stick, but they are not good for unsupervised play as the pointy ends represent a very real risk to your pets eyes, mouth and body.

Strings

Then, there’s the string on that dangly toy. Balls of wool and toy mice with long tails also have long, stringy parts. These run the risk of strangling or choking your pet. Worse, if a string is swallowed, it can cut open your cat’s intestines. This is a medical emergency that represents a real risk your pet’s life and, should it occur, will require a visit to your nearest emergency veterinary clinic.

Tinsel and fake “icicle” drapey, like those you find on Christmas trees, are also dangerous to your pets. So is the cellophane grass that is sold to line Easter baskets.

Small Parts

Another choking risk comes in the form of small eyes and noses on soft toys. Quite often, these are glued onto the toy, and it takes very little time for Misty or Fluffy to get them off. Sometimes, these pieces are simply lost. Other times, they are swallowed or inhaled. Tiny felt bits are less likely to be an issue than the plastic pieces. The plastic can break apart, leaving sharp edges which can cut tummies.

If toys need faces, safe paints are the best bet. Sturdy embroidery is the next best choice.

Paints and Dyes

If you’ve been paying attention to the news over the past few years, you’ve probably heard about recalls of children’s toys because of lead, cadmium, cobalt, and mercury in the paints used to decorate them. This is actually a larger problem in children’s toys than it pet toys, but you still need to be watchful. If there are painted designs on a dog’s soft-rubber chew-toy, that paint is going to come off and end up in your dog. Choose an unpainted chewy.

The main issue with pet toys and paint will show up when you are shopping for parrot toys. The safest choice is to stick to food-grade dyes for any parrot toy that is painted.

Stuffing

Over the past few years, the companies that make pet toys have started offering un-stuffed plushies for dogs. As a tug-of-war toy, this is perfect. Fido can rip and tear to his heart’s content, and you don’t need to worry about him accidentally swallowing the stuffing.

Stuffing can be made of any of several substances: cotton, kapok, polyester fibres, plastic beads, and so on. Any of these can be risky if they get out of the plush toy. Beads are a choking hazard. The polyester fibres are like the string we already discussed. Cotton and kapok can block your pet’s digestive tract.

Stuffed toys can still be used, of course, but keep a close eye on the seams. Once the seams start to give way, replace the toy.

Pet Safety Starts with You

Keeping your pet safe is very much like keeping a baby safe. Check all new toys as if you were going to give them to a toddler. Could a piece be pulled off and swallowed? Are there any sharp, pointy bits? Does that look like lead or cadmium paint? If so, choose a different toy.

Some toys are fine for supervised play, such as those “fishing pole” cat toys. Put those in a cat-proof cupboard when you aren’t around to watch. Browse the range of dog toys and choose something that suits your dogs personality.

You’re the responsible adult in the house. It’s your job to keep the pets and children safe.

The post Picking Soft Toys that are Safe For Your Pet appeared first on Love That Pet.