"That's What I Keep Saying!" You Cry. "I'm Mid At Best!"

"Of course," you say, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Her demeanor shifts-- she could tell something is on your mind.

She tips your chin, and you return her gaze with a heavy heart.

"What's wrong, darling?"

"I..." Tears prick your eyes at the idea of anything happening to your beloved. Instead, you draw her close, and kiss her passionately.

A moment of protest, but she melts, her arms wrapped around you languidly.

"If only the rest of the world could disappear," she whispers.

"I want to destroy them," you hiss back. "I want to destroy them all."

She recoils at your ferocity. You try for another kiss, but she holds up her hand.

"Tell me what happened," she says.

You struggle to meet her gaze.

"I was stopped on the way here," you explain. "Do you... Do you know what they call you out there?"

The queen laughs mirthlessly. "They've been saying that since I was born," she says. "Because of my lineage, because of who I love. It is what it is."

"You don't understand." You grab her hand and draw it to your chest. You try to gather the courage to tell her.

She's patient. So patient.

"They called me the chosen one. They said I... I will bring about your end."

She stares.

Laughs. Delighted.

"Oh, you bring about my end every day," she says fondly. "Every time you leave."

She nuzzles your chin. "Don't make me share attentions with the hateful and small-minded. They are hardly worth our time."

You kiss her head and breath in her scent.

You try to forget the words they spoke to you.

Three days.

In three days, you will bring about her undoing. You are the Chosen One.

You could hardly imagine a world without her. Much less, you couldn't imagine a world you wouldn't tear apart for her.

Especially a world that calls her the "Evil Queen".

Your hands meet and intertwine.

"I love you," she whispers.

You vow to crush her enemies.

Even if it kills you.

You, the chosen one, walk into the evil queen's throne room. The queen was sitting gloomily on her throne. She sees you and lightens up. She rises from her throne and kisses you. "Sweetheart, I am so glad you are back."

You're an average citizen who tried cosplaying once and was mistaken for a hero. A villain captures you and you realize a few things about yourself. Now you've become a hero in hopes of being captured by them again.

(or the reverse)

"I can't pay you."

"It appears you did not read the contract."

"I found the cure." You hold up a vial.

"Y-you did?" They smile. "That's wonderful!"

They reach for the vial, but you pull it away. Their smile falters.

"You never loved me, did you?" You whisper, voice raw.

In fairy tales and fantasy, two types of people go in towers:  princesses and wizards.

Princesses are placed there against their will or with the intention of ‘keeping them safe.’ This is very different from wizards, who seek out towers to hone their sorcery in solitude.

I would like a story where a princess is placed in an abandoned tower that used to belong to a wizard, and so she spends long years learning the craft of wizardry from the scraps left behind and becomes the most powerful magic wielder the world has seen in centuries, busts out of the tower and wreaks glorious, bloody vengeance on the fools that imprisoned her. 

That would be my kind of story.

Look, writer’s block is not some giant, mysterious monster. It’s you, in your head, holding yourself back because you’re afraid what you’re writing sucks. And here’s the truth, yeah, maybe it does suck. But you know what? That’s okay. Writing something bad is still better than writing nothing at all. You don’t wait for inspiration to strike, you show up, write the garbage draft, and then fix it later. Writing isn’t about perfection, it’s about getting it done. Even if it’s one crappy page at a time.

You jokingly called it your little Trash Shrine.

Suspended from the window hung little earrings you'd picked up from the ground over the years.

On the sill, glass jars held marbles, seashells, buttons. A planter grew dandelions, henbit, and white clover. A little vase of blue jay, cardinal, and raven feathers. A decoupage box filled with magazine clippings and pressed flowers.

You were just adding to your little cushion full of yarn bits when you hear skittering on the kitchen floor. Something tugs at your pants leg and you flinch back. A raccoon stares up at you with unnaturally glowing eyes.

The little raccoon chatters and skitters up to the countertop. It promptly sits on top of the cushion you were just stuffing yarn bits into.

"Thank you, human," a voice says in your head.

You jolt. "Y-you're welcome?"

"I truly thought I was all but forgotten," the voice says. "Not many of your kind pay homage to the God of Discarded Treasures."

"Oh, well, I didn't know I was," you say honestly. "I mean, I would have if I did know. You seem like a cool God."

"I am the rain reclaimed from refuse," the voice says. "The rainbows left by gasoline spills. The flavor of raspberries left by castoreum--"

"I'm going to stop you there," you say. "I mean, I can't be the only person who likes to creatively use trash. What did I do differently?"

Silence.

The raccoon turnes and analyzes the shrine, and skitters over to the decoupage box. They nudge the lid off with their nose, and dumps out the little clippings that lay inside.

"It seems you invoked me accidentally," the voice concedes. "The clippings you have in this box just so happen to perfectly match the words to summon me, if left in the right order." It laid out the passage letter by letter.

"Deus Quisquiliae, exaudi orationem meam, benedic mihi thesauris abiectis."

"Well, no wonder no one summons you," you sigh, sipping your tea. "Most people don't speak Latin these days. Maybe some linguists, Catholics, or doctors. God of... I don't know that word. Hear my praises? Exaudi like, exhalted? Benedict Cumberbatch something me something something."

"There are others that would work. Discarded languages. Discarded treasures. The prayer asks that I bless you with the items that deserve a second life."

You took a picture of the Latin phrase in your phone. "Well, I could make this a daily thing. Do you show up every time?"

"Not in ways you might see, but yes."

"Well, okay. Thanks."

In the following days, you find money in the parking lot. A barista offers you a scone they couldn't sell. The persimmon trees drop their fruit as you come near. You find a discarded chair after yours falls apart. You slip down a hill and find a bed of natural clay that you form into shapes and bake in the hot sun.

Perhaps it's not what everyone would consider a blessing.

Some may even think of it as a curse.

Nevertheless, you set aside a little time each day to thank the little Trash God for their bounty.

You are a person who covers your counter space in clutter and inadvertently makes a shrine to a long forgotten god who shows up to thank you.

"I have something of yours."

"I know. You can keep it."

“I don’t know how to reconcile that my favorite piece of media was made by someone awful.” Because they’re a shitty person who made something good. It’s not that rare of a phenomenon. Shitty people make good things everyday. A piece of art being made by a terrible person does not make its effect null and void and making good art does not redeem a terrible person. People who are irredeemably nasty can say something true and honest on occasion. To reevaluate a work after finding out more about the artist’s horrendous biases and actions and still find things that are honest and true even when consuming it through a critical lens, that is a beautiful thing. If the artist’s actions and words completely destroy it for you and distort the meaning you once found, it’s okay to feel a sense of mourning and loss at that.

This is not to say that you should continue to lavish social and financial capital on the artist because you enjoy their art but to say that enjoying art made by horrible people does not mean you are in some way unclean.

The Monster crawled out from under the bed. "You saw that, right?" He asked in his low, scratchy voice.

He skittered towards the light in the back of the closet, now dim. He felt along the edges of the wall with his claws and growled, "The portal's already closed."

Rainbow Panda stared at the closet, breath caught in his fuzzy throat. "We need to go after him."

The Monster's lip curled. "We? You want to work together with me?"

Panda sighed, world-weary. "I don't agree with your methods, but..."

"But you admit I was right," The Monster finished, a somber edge to his voice. "I tried to make him more afraid, more cautious. Now he's been taken who-knows-where."

"Oh, just admit you like scaring people," Panda scolded. He adjusted his bow-tie, a habit for whenever he was agitated. "If he wasn't so desperate to prove himself, he wouldn't have ignored his gut."

The Monster shook his head and pulled back the clothing in the closet, looking for a seam or crack left over from the portal. He seemed to be lost in concentration, and didn't reply. "We can return to our squabbling after the boy is safely home," The Monster said finally.

Panda bowed his head. "You're right." He slid off the bed and hobbled over to the closet. He picked up a small keychain flashlight from underneath a pair of discarded socks. "What even was that?"

The Monster shook his head. "I have lived in this house for many years," he said. "I have seen all kinds of imaginary creatures manifest into being, but I have never seen one promise a life reborn in a new world. Much less see a human take that promise at face value."

The teddy bear stopped in his tracks. "Isekai. Portal fantasy," Panda explained, voice quivering. "He's been reading webcomics and watching anime."

The Monster stopped to look over his shoulder. "Web... Comics?" He grunted. "How do humans use webbing in comic-making? That sounds made up."

"Do you not-... Wha--... That's not important!" Panda shrieked. "The boy is in grave danger! A key component to most isekai is being reborn into a fantasy world after dying!"

"But... How do we find him? Where did he go?"

They sat in silence, wheels turning.

Quietly, the teddy bear hobbled to the bookshelf. "We need to read," he said. He shook the bookshelf, causing some of the books to fall off.

The Monster groaned. "You read. I'll keep looking for a way to get through."

"These stories always start with a character feeling powerless and inferior in life," Panda said. "Oftentimes isolated."

"We should like such stories, then," The Monster laughed. He crawled under the bed and returned with a box of crayons.

"I need you to take this seriously. He followed that... That charlatan because he didn't see other options," Panda huffed. "What are you doing with those crayons?"

"Drawing a portal," The Monster said. "I know not of these new webbed comics--"

"Stories," Panda corrected. "Just say stories."

"--but I know of the old tomes, and the old tomes drew doors with crayons," The Monster finished.

He gently pulled out a red crayon between thumb and forefinger, and drew shakily over the moulding, an imperfect straight line up to his height. The line sloped angular, then back down. Finally, a doorknob, jaggedly circular.

"Did it work?" Panda asked, uncertain.

The Monster pushed on the door. It pushed in, ever so gently. The doorknob, like a writhing ball of yarn, floated from the wall.

Panda abandoned the book and padded over to the makeshift door. With bated breath he tried the knob, and sure enough, the door opened.

"O-oh," Panda said. "It... It opened."

He seemed to hesitate at the opening. The Monster tilted his head. "Are you afraid?"

Panda nodded, and grabbed his hand. They jumped into the abyss together.

Down, down they fell.

Swirling around them were strange lights and discordant sounds.

Laughter.

Music.

At the end of it, a large field of grass.

The boy was hunched in the center of the field, shaking.

Panda ran to him. "Wait! I'm here! You don't have to be afraid."

The boy turned, tears in his eyes. He was... Laughing? His smile died seeing the small stuffed bear.

"What are you doing here?" The boy said. Annoyed.

A girl and boy around his age emerged from the long grass.

"What is that thing?" The girl said.

The Monster backed into the shadows of a tree and hissed at the sunlight.

"We came to save you!" Panda said proudly, chest puffed out.

The new boy snickered. "Save him? He just destroyed a lich, and you think he needs you?!"

"Maybe the little bear is going to save him from loneliness," The girl said with a snarky smile. "Oh, wait, he doesn't need you for that, either."

Panda, taken aback, looked back at The Monster helplessly. The Monster shook his head.

"This world is dangerous," Panda tried.

The boy huffed a laugh. "So is my old one. At least in this one I have the power to fix it."

Panda wilted. "You... You can change the old world too," He whispered. "We could change."

"I'm not a child," the boy said. "I'm sick of being treated like one."

"But--" Panda grabbed his arm, and he pushed him back.

"I'm not going back," the boy growled, and pulled out a sword. "Back off or I'll run you through."

Panda backed away, tears in his eyes. Then, stupidly, foolishly, he lunged for a hug. "I'm not letting you--"

The boy was true to his word. The Monster watched from the shadows as the sword pierced through the back of the stuffed toy. Panda went limp.

The boy laughed, high-pitched.

"That was a bit dark," the girl said, a little disapprovingly.

"Well, he did warn him," the new boy said snidely. "Besides, he was probably a spy from the Iridescent Wastes. Why else would he look like a rainbow puke bear?"

The boy discarded the teddy bear, and the three left the field towards a path to the edge of a small town. The Monster rushed to the stuffed toy and clutched him tightly.

"My old friend," The Monster moaned.

Panda did not respond. His little bowtie lay crooked, held on by a string.

The Monster sobbed, because how couldn't he? He was alone in this strange world to save a boy who didn't want saving, and lost the closest he had to a companion.

The sun melted into the horizon and cast long shadows over the grassy fields, and The Monster craved his little hideaway under the cozy bed. He crept to the edge of town, skittering across cobblestone streets. He knew well how to camouflage, and that he did when townspeople passed by with their oil lanterns.

A small tailor's shop sat at the corner of a long strip of shops, and The Monster scuttled over to the rich fabrics and glistening buttons in the window. He clutched the teddy bear tightly, and crawled in through the open door. The tailor, done with his long day, closed the shop door and locked it. He blew out the lamps that lit his workstation and proceeded to bed.

The Monster waited until the coast was clear, and searched around for an appropriate needle and thread. He wasn't adept at stitching, having only seen it as a small Monster many years ago, but gently he poked the stuffing back in and jaggedly stitched closed the hole in Panda's chest. He took a small piece of ribbon and wrapped it around his wrist to keep his small friend secure.

The Monster waited for the tailor to retire to bed. He crawled underneath, holding the stuffed bear aloft. He hoped the Under-the-Bed network worked in webbed comics. He felt around with his clawed hands until they grabbed onto the crook in the wooden floorboards. He smiled, sharp and toothy, as a jagged passage revealed itself to him.

--

Panda woke up in a sweat, which was strange because he had never once sweat before. He shifted in bed, and felt strange, like he was much, much too long. His fur was all on top of his scalp, the rest replaced by soft, smooth flesh. His eyes had lashes, and his little bowtie was replaced by a pajamas.

"What am I?" he asked, and even his voice was different, less squeaky and more... Human?

"We await your orders, my Prince," a soldier announced from the door.

"Prince?" Panda repeated. "Prince of what?"

The soldier looked at him with mild concern and embarrassment. "Apologies, it is early still. I will ask your personal attendant to assist you."

Suddenly a whole team of people were poking and prodding Panda, and he remembered idly how he got passed around and brushed and dressed and tossed about during a birthday party once, and wasn't this sort of similar?

He was brought down to breakfast, and that was a little more out of his depth. He didn't quite have a mouth, or teeth, or any sort of involvement with food before. He pushed the food around with a fork, trying to judge what was and was not supposed to be part of the food. The cloth seemed safe enough, but he got strange looks trying to nibble that. Thankfully the attendants assumed he had no appetite, and he was able to skip the whole thing.

In the drawing room, scary-looking men were peppering him with questions. "I believe we are at a disadvantage trying to flank them from the west side," the General said. "I say we sacrifice the new recruits to get them off-guard, then head them off in the mountains. They'll think they're winning and get sloppy."

"S-sacrifice people?" Panda said. "No! Don't do that!"

The General gave him an odd look. "My Prince, are you well? You yourself proposed the idea."

"W-well, it was a bad idea," Panda said, eyes sparkling with tears. "It sounds like we have a lot of big feelings, but we should use our words when we're hurting. Not hurt other people."

The General crinkled his nose. "My Liege, are you mocking me?"

Panda crumpled into tears. "No! No, no no and I don't get what's going on!" He wailed.

The military commanders and lords looked helplessly at the Royal Advisor, who in turn looked upon the Prince with a mixture of morbid fascination and disgust.

"Perhaps you should retire early, my Prince," the Royal Advisor said.

Panda grimaced. He looked over the map before him and whimpered. He tried his best to be brave, but this was far outside his element. The Royal Advisor gently guided him out the door.

"Perhaps he has... Reverted to a more child-like state as a result of the accident?" one of the Lords in attendance murmured.

"The Prince did take quite a fall," another agreed.

The door shut behind them, and the Royal Advisor guided Panda back to the Prince's room.

"Rest now, sire," the Royal Advisor said. Panda nodded uncertainly. The door closed and he dropped to the floor.

"...Monster?" He called from below the bed.

It was silly to half-expect his old friend to be underneath, but-- apparently not silly enough. From the floorboards appeared the telltale fanged creature, long claws climbing up from a set of endless Nightmare stairs.

"Monster!" Panda cried, and threw his arms around the beast, who flailed and hissed at the unexpected embrace. The Monster slipped out of his grasp and fled to a far corner, wild-eyed and heaving. The teddy bear slipped from the ribbon and fell to the floor.

"Who are you," The Monster said, baring fangs, "Who calls upon a wretched creature such as I."

Gently, Panda picked up the teddy bear and tilted his head. "You... You kept me," he said softly. He hugged his old body close. "You do care."

A low, beastly rumble from the back of the beast's throat. The Monster slowly lowered his shoulders, anger and fear replaced by curiosity. "...Panda?" he asked, uncertain, "Is that you?"

"Yes, Monster. I explained isekais to you, right?" Panda explained. "Death in an old world, and rebirth in a new one!"

"But you died in the new world," The Monster said. "Are you trapped here?"

Panda shook his head. "I don't know. What's important is getting the boy to safety. We'll figure the rest out later."

A child goes missing late one night after investigating a light emanating from their closet. The Child's teddy bear and the monster that lives under the bed must put aside their differences and form a truce in order to rescue the child.