Been awhile since I posted anything here! I recently wrote a short bit of something or other as a writing style experiment, so I decided to share. Not that anyone cares lol. Once upon a time, there was a young princess in a town. She was in a town because reasons. And because, if she stepped foot inside her castle, she would be instantly smote by the evil enchanter who had taken up residence there. So, the princess stayed in town.
Now, when I say young, I mean young like late teens young. Not an adult, not a kid anymore, it's an awkward time. So I just call her "young". But anyway, she's just old enough to like boys. Yeah, she's at that stage. The teenager stage. Like I said, awkward time. It's also important to note that just because she's a princess doesn't mean she's some sort of beautiful goddess. She still had acne and awkward fashion sense and emotional instability. So boys didn't like her for her looks so much, although maybe that's a good thing. But the not-good thing is that they did like her for her title. A princess with acne was better than a peasant without, I suppose, but then again all the teenagers in the town had acne too, so there wasn't much of a choice so far as clear faces go. Except for Alexandria. She got cursed by the enchanter to become a fox, so I suppose her face is all right, although not entirely human. But anyway, boys liked the princess because she was a princess, or they didn't like her at all, or they thought of her as a friend. But she liked boys, and wanted them to like her for who she was, even if she did have a red spot on her cheek. Or two red spots. Or even a set of freckles' worth of spots. Now, I know you're all thinking this: sure, she likes boys in general, but who's the ONE boy? Who's the cruusshh?? Well, I'm not telling you. She told me not to. These things are secrets, you know. (I'll give you a hint, though: he's not one of the village boys.) You're also probably wondering where her parents are. Well, the enchanter got 'em. It was too bad for them, but he turned them into foxes too, and it looks like Alexandria is okay, so hopefully they are. Someone should really do something about that enchanter guy, or the princess might end up marrying one of the village boys once she gets over her crush on- that other guy, and who knows what kind of king a village boy would make? Although I suppose if the enchanter's still there by then, he won't get to be king anyway. He'll just be married to a princess who got kicked out of her own castle. If you leave out the last part, though, that's still pretty cool. But anyway, that's the whole princess situation. More on that later, I suppose.
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The dirt road seemed to stretch out endlessly before him, but Bolin trudged on. The beautifully setting sun would have cheered and inspired him on any other day, but this day had been long, and left him feeling rather dry of motivation. The one worry that pressed his mind the most was that of Lola. Creativity is a part of me. If Lola can’t love that, she doesn’t love all of me. But Bolin shook the thought away. Of course Lola loves me. She just has different interests, and that’s okay. An out-of-place noise broke into his thoughts. It sounded almost like a sheep, but good grazing areas didn’t lie upon this path; only overgrown meadows of unclaimed land. Could a sheep have strayed and gotten lost? Bolin strained his ears and was rewarded when the sound repeated, louder. He swiveled his head in the direction it came from. Sure enough, a sheep stood upon a hill a ways down the path, baaing forlornly. It’s certainly a long distance from home. Bolin turned and strode towards the animal. It would need to be returned to its owner, which was a bother that Bolin didn’t want to deal with, but if he left the sheep it likely wouldn’t survive on its own. So Bolin hurried after it, searching for a tag on its ear as he drew closer. The sheep skittered and turned away, disappearing from the hill for a moment before Bolin caught up to it. However, Bolin was entirely unprepared for the sight that greeted him at the top of the hill: dozens of sheep, a great white mass, were gathered not a quarter mile off and appeared to be making their way northwest. The sheep from the top of the hill was skipping over to join the rest of the herd. Not just a lost sheep, then. What’s a whole herd doing in these parts? He thought he saw an unusual bright speck of color at the back of the herd, but he couldn’t spot a shepherd anywhere. For an instant Bolin considered turning back and heading home again- for surely if there was a whole herd here, there was an unseen shepherd somewhere, which would nullify his need to help- but his curiosity overwhelmed him and Bolin trekked down the other side of the hill and began trotting after the stray sheep. He hoped to find a hint of where it had come from, but from what he could see, the sheep wasn’t wearing a tag on its ear as was typical for the domesticated livestock. Instead, one ear appeared to have been entirely dyed, like an array of watercolors splashed on a grey paper. As Bolin approached the herd, the baaing of the sheep became louder. However, another noise grew as well: the sound of singing. He couldn’t pick out any words, but Bolin could hear the lilting tune sway up and down, a cascade of clear notes. When he finally came close enough to see the individual sheep, Bolin realized that the song didn’t have any words to begin with. It was simply notes weaving together to create a tune that pulled him in. He headed towards the song’s origin at the back of the herd. Bolin stopped in his tracks. Behind the sea of white strode a tall, willowy figure enshrouded in colorful cloth. The colors appeared to ripple across the fabric, a constant river of hues blending in a rainbow of pigment. The woman held a shepherd’s crook, with colors flowing in a similar fashion, like the scepter of a ruler. Her sharp violet eyes gazed over the flock of sheep as her long, jet black hair swirled behind her without tangling or brushing against her face. The woman’s smooth skin was nearly completely white, with only a hint of pink in her cheeks. From her maroon lips emerged the wordless song. Bolin blanched, then flushed. “E-excuse me- ma-madam,” he stuttered. The woman gasped, her song breaking off, and everything instantly disappeared. Hope you liked the second chapter! If you read it, let me know and leave some feedback :D Note that I don't have Chapter 3 written yet, so it may be awhile before it makes its appearance. I'm a terribly slow writer.
I've started a new lengthy-ish story! Typical, I know, starting another before finishing my fanfic... but I do hope to finish the fic too. This story just sprung up on me and I had to grasp it. So, without further ado, the first chapter/section/mission/quest/thing! Bolin studied his painting carefully, searching every inch for flaws. His critical eye caught many, but none that he could yet fix. So he sighed, unsatisfied but knowing there was nothing more he could do to improve the work that evening, and gathered his paintbrushes.
A red flash burst from the alleyway and Ladybug vaulted towards the sounds of fighting.
“If I don’t deserve your attention, you don’t deserve to have any performances ever again!” A small figure clad in bright, gaudy fabrics with a theatrical mask was transforming people into stage props left and right with a wooden crossbow. Ladybug saw Chat sneaking up on the villain from behind and devised a split-second plan. “That may be what you think, but I think they’re about to get quite the show!” Ladybug shouted, spinning her yoyo as she emerged from the shadows. The akumatized victim refocused his attention on her, shooting an arrow of green light from his crossbow. She blocked it with the yoyo and continued to advance. “Ladybug! I was wondering when you would join me,” The villain twisted his masked lips into a sneer as he shot bolt after bolt. “I would never miss such an exciting performance!” She taunted before attacking, throwing her yoyo around his wrist. “Grab the bow, Chat!” Saying his name reminded her of what she had seen, but she shook the memory away. No time to dwell on that now! We have to get the akuma! Chat’s clawed hand snatched the weapon away and broke it in half, but no butterfly emerged. His eyes widened in surprise and he jumped away, but not before the villain had grabbed hold of his belt tail. His green eyes bulged as Chat was yanked backward. Ladybug switched tactics and wrapped her yoyo around the villain, pinning his arms to his side and preventing him from further harm to Chat. However, the villain’s hand managed to hold onto Chat’s tail in the midst of being tied up, until Chat’s flailing made it slip from his grasp and Chat flew through the air from his own momentum. Ladybug rushed in and grasped at the villain’s mask, her next guess as to the location of the akuma, but the akuma victim had loosened his bonds and dodged away. Ladybug, exasperated, finally executed the unfailing Lucky Charm. A small, red, fluttering bird came to rest on her hand. Upon closer inspection, Ladybug noticed it was mechanical, but it had all the workings of a live creature and appeared to be able to fly. Narrowing her eyes, Ladybug surveyed her surroundings. “My lady, he’s exiting stage right!” Chat shouted to her as he began pursuing the fleeing villain. She jumped to the rooftops with the help of her yoyo and followed the chase from above, cradling the bird in her hand. Suddenly, a white paste appeared on her arm, and she looked at it in alarm as she ran. It appeared that the mechanical bird had just let loose a gob of paint in lieu of bird droppings! Ladybug grinned and began to form a plan. Side note: so this is mostly a battle sequence of sorts, and I'm trying to incorporate as much realism to the show as possible; for example, making references to the villain's situation, not activating the Lucky Charm until attempting to solve the problem without it even though legit every single time there's an akuma it isn't caught until the charm used, and completely arbitrary things being the Lucky Charm. I was going to have an actual live bird be the charm, but I thought about it and I don't think that the Lucky Charm is capable of creating life. Correct me if I'm wrong; it's been awhile since I actually watched all the episodes. Hope you enjoyed! (And hopefully I'll get the next chapter out in a more timely manner...) Marinette was rooted to the ground, disbelieving her eyes. The akuma was all but forgotten; screams and havoc faded into background noises. Her brain had come to a standstill.
How could Adrien be Chat Noir? Adrien, the sweet, thoughtful, serious boy she was infatuated with couldn’t match up to the pun-spouting, goofy partner that flirted with her at every opportunity. And yet she had seen him hide behind the tree- a bad hiding place, although she could hardly judge from some of the places she’d had to resort to- and transform before her very eyes. He had jumped away immediately, but her eyes still saw him transform over and over. Her overloaded brain’s thoughts were interrupted with a jerk as Marinette found herself flying through the air, black leather-coated arms encircling her. Chat! I can’t deal with him right now! Not when… Her face heated. If she hadn’t just had a hallucination, she was in the arms of Adrien! Adrien- Chat- set her down in a nearby alley. “Stay here! It’s not safe for you out there, Purrincess,” he said cockily before leaping away again, giving her no chance to respond even if she could have found any words to say. There is no way Adrien would ever say something like that. It was a hallucination for sure. But it was so real, and she’d never had anything like that happen before. Tikki flew out of Marinette’s purse. “Come on, Marinette! You need to transform!” She squeaked. “Oh no! Of course! I just… what with seeing Adrien transform, and Chat dropping me here, I totally forgot about the akuma- and there’s no way they could be the same person! Adrien’s so nice and Chat can never be serious! I mean, I guess they do look alike, with the green hair and blond eyes and- I mean, green eyes and blond hair! But how-” “You saw Adrien transform? Into Chat Noir?!” Tikki interrupted the waterfall of words flowing out of Marinette’s mouth. “Yes! Right behind a tree! I had been heading to a tree myself because of the akuma and all but there he was except there was a black thing flying around and-” “Marinette, calm down. Whether Adrien is Chat or not, you still need to help him with the akuma! He’s probably wondering where you are.” Marinette sighed and focused on the problem at hand. “You’re right, Tikki. Spots on!” So this is a pretty short chapter, but I tend to write that way. The next chapter is in the works! Please leave feedback :D (You can already see this is a reveal fic I'm sure) (It's my first fanfiction so I figured I'd start with mainstream, but I'm trying to make it as realistic as possible ^w^) mima ♥ Tears streaming down my face, I slowly raised my head. How could it have ended this way? All of my careful plans! Ruined.
In the blink of an eye. I surveyed the wreckage on my hands and knees, dusted with chunks of gravel and streaked with dirt. I watched him strut off, flaunting his victory. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen! The hero always wins! I slowly rose to my feet. I had been forgotten for now. Everything I had worked for was destroyed and all the monsters had to do was destroy me. But I had been defeated, and that was enough for them for now. A light shone in my eyes; the sun peaking through the clouds of haze. I would conquer them yet. I would restore everything to how it should be. A matter of perspective, that’s all, just one side or the other through their eyes. Savior, enemy. All focused on the perspective, the self, the one whose eyes are being seen through. All focused on the self. A woman rose from the gravel. She had lain until they left, defeated but not destroyed. In the eyes, the self-focused eyes, was enemies and destruction of good. The eyes. All showing the focus, the focus, the self. Everyone focuses on the self, the eyes they see through. All, all. Self-focused, selfish. But who, who, how can everyone be focused on the self at the same time? If all is self, there is not enough room for all in the world. Self is all there is, no other, none but they who please the self. And then only for as long as they please the self, then gone and forgotten, all but a scar. Scars and tears and self-focus. That is what comes of it. Who, who, how? She stumbled home, tears down the cheeks, tears from the eyes that see from the self. She started over, building up again as seen fit by the eyes that see from the self. Who, who? He smiled grimly as he recounted it. What he had seen from the eyes that see from the self. The woman was a villain, He spoke as he saw from the eyes that see from the self. She destroyed the city, No mention of the help that he gave to the destruction. Takes two to fight. Two sets of eyes that see from two selves that disagree. Clashing. Destruction from the eyes that see from the self. It stepped forward, timidly.
Facing it, the other laughed, looming over the first. A glint of defiance filled its features before the other struck. Opening wide, the blades sliced through the fragile fibers that held it together and it lay, slain, defeated. A single piece of paper became two, then three, then a flurry like snow, too many to count. The other’s rage was complete. Gladiator champion. The audience cowered in fear as the dual blades, fixed in place by the great red handles, raked their gaze across them. Who was to be the next competitor? The scissors grinned, already tasting the cut paper between their teeth. For who could cut down the scissors? Shoot. The only word to describe it. The way it came to the clearing in the palm of the universe. It shot. Through the air and onto the scissors, crushing them, it shot. And then again. Up and down, and no way for the blades to retaliate, for its skin was hard and uncuttable. The scissors scraped against it in vain, but it was not long before they lay bent and broken like so many of their victims had before. The rock rose above, victorious, and the crowds cheered. Until it looked upon them with its cold, hard eyes, inviting the next competitor with a grim eagerness. The rock, unsmashable, uncuttable. Flurries. Flurries in the wind. Dancing, bent to the wind’s will, the flurries of broken paper flew. Suddenly whole again. Mended and prepared, once more, to fight. The rock rose up against it, but the paper laughed its merry, high laugh, and knew that there were no blades to cut it now. Up it flew, and it settled over the rock like a blanket of white, pristine cotton. The rock stumbled, but it could not see; it smashed against the ground, trying to rid itself of the cause of its claustrophobia. But the paper was resilient, and the rock was not. It crumbled with each smash, until it lay unmoving and scattered, like bits of paper in the wind. For power, alas, does not last. because somehow i was like "rock, paper, scissors. philosophical gladiator wars" I stretched my hand up to the sky. The grass was cold and wet against my back, but the night was warm. A blanket of dark blue stretched in an endless expanse above me. So many stars.
A light flickered in the distance, a tiny pinprick in the corner of my eye. Far, far away. I am alone. The light is far, far away. Or so I tried to convince myself. I closed my eyes. If I did not see light, I could pretend there was no light. The idea swept through my brain and I squeezed my eyes tighter. All is black. Stars don’t shine. Lights don’t shine. All is black, black, black. Black. Alone. I am alone. That was all I ever wanted. Alone. I felt it within me. Alone. Lone. Lonely. All I ever wanted. All I never wanted. Lonely. Alone. I am alone. Disclaimer: this came from the abstract side of me that imagines emotions that I don't actually have. Useful for acting, but can be a bit... strange at times. Imagination's Playground was aptly named, I can assure you. I surveyed the room. Everyone was hanging out in their various cliques. Typical. Outcasts on the edges. I remember being one of them.
Another party my sister dragged me to. And promptly abandoned me in the middle of. I hunched and searched for a solid wall amid the cloud of people. Something to hold onto. Something that wouldn’t judge me. What was it with judgement, anyway? You can never see it. They never make it obvious. And yet it is. The quirk of an eyebrow- that’s all it takes. All it takes to tell you you’re out of it. Once you know that, a thousand of your flaws will flood your mind. Overtake you. Get me out of here. I shook away the memory. Those were the old days. I could never fit in. But if you don’t fit in, what do you do? You stand out. Use it. I watched him strut into the room. The instant he entered, the room was his. I don’t know how he did it, but every eye was rooted on him. He wasn’t wearing anything that could have remotely considered being in a magazine, but he wore it like it was better than any flimsy, waxy paper could portray. He owned that room. You stand out? Use it. “Heey, who’s feeling it tonight?” I rumble. Power. You gotta communicate it, or they’ll all quirk their funny little eyebrows. Power. Use it. Cheers from everyone. I’ve got the power. I own the room. Stand out? Use it. I watched him strut into the room like he owned it. Said something cheesy, everyone cheered. I rolled my eyes. Who does this guy think he is? I slink away from the wall I had been hunching on. The room stank of cheap perfume and barely concealed sweat. I could almost taste the fakeness. Fake. Everything was fake. I edged around the room filled with empty masks. Who knows who these people could have been if they didn’t have to put up a front? I closed my eyes for a moment, bowing my head as I slipped through the door. Artists, architects, who knows? But they’re out of childhood too early. A childhood of television and terrible role models. Wasted. I scrunched my eyes tighter and leaned against another wall. Society put us here. We grow up to be society. Repeat. How do you change that? Wasted. Not if I can help it. |
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