#the many adventures of whiskers and shadow

[crescenthistory]

i'm crying, i love them so much 😭 thank you for spotting them for us lovely 🙏

cats and libraries ۫ ꣑ৎ

[hollysoda]

Dragon of Time - one of the largest dragons to be seen in the skies. It is said to be the oldest of its brothers, having been reported to exist in many eras, and was therefore named after its timelessness. Though some doubt whether it truly is a good dragon, for the sharp markings on its face and whitened eyes give off the impression of something dangerous

Wolf Dragon - named for its furry wolf-like appearance. It only breaks the cloud barrier at dusk and roams the night, it’s somber howl becoming a folklore for travellers in forests. Legends say that it was once a friend of the Twili, and it circles around the Arbiter’s Grounds every night

Warrior Dragon - named for the metal plating that covers its back, and for how it only seems to appear before soldiers of pure heart/soldiers down on their luck. It is said that seeing the Warrior Dragon will bless the person with strength and courage, and if a feather from one of its blue whiskers were to fall before a captain they would be ensured victory

Winged Dragon - the rarest of the dragons, for it favours staying above the clouds and roaming the islands in the sky. Unlike most other dragons, it is more bird like, being covered in crimson feathers and sprouting large wings. It’s red feathers sometimes fall to the surface, and if spotted by a romantic couple they are blessed with eternal love. Some researchers argue that the Winged Dragon is even older than the Dragon of Time

Fairy Dragon - this dragon is often seen floating above Fairy Fountains, and it is said that new fairies are born from this dragon’s scales. It too has wings, but these ones are shaped like a butterflies. Some ancient texts read that parts of fairy dragon can heal even the most fatal injury or sickness, and a great evil once sort out the dragon in order to revive their leader

Long-Eared Dragon - an unusually pink dragon, adorned with golden horns and claws and most notably long rabbit-like ears. It soars around the entirety of Hyrule, but more sightings of it have been recorded around Eventide Island than anywhere else. If you are lucky enough to get close to this dragon, there is a sense of great calm in the air around it, as if the spirit within once fought many hard battles and now roams the sky in peace

Wind Dragon - a brilliant blue dragon that is a popular legend amongst seafarers and fishermen. It roams the coastlines, and is even said to sometimes dwell under water as there are stories of large draconic shadows being spotted beneath boats. If you ever feel a sharp breeze steering your sail away from your destination, it is most likely the Wind Dragon warning you of danger. However, the Wind Dragon is also often blamed for dangerous storms

Rainbow Dragon - a remarkably smaller and yet colourful dragon with iridescent scales. It is said to harness the powers of wind, fire, water and the earth combined, making it quite difficult to approach. Legends spread amongst blacksmiths say that if one were to meld one of its scales to a weapon the weapon would become unbreakable, and in an age where smithing is becoming a lost art many pray that they’re lucky enough to see the dragon

Dragon of the Wild - perhaps the most commonly reported dragon, for some claim to have known the spirit that resides within. It flies low around the entirety of Hyrule, but will then also return to the skies to fly with the Light Dragon. Over recent years it has become a staple sight in Hyrule and stories of the dragons origins have been passed down from generation to generation. It has become a commonly worshipped symbol for adventurers and soldiers alike

[entomolog-t]

The Shadow We Cast - 4

Two guys and too many beers leads to more shenanigans.

- - - -

Previous Chapter: Chapter 3

Next Chapter: Chapter 5 (Coming Soon)

Word count: 2998

CW: Adult language, substances (beer/drinking), animal death (fishing/hunting)

It was beyond crazy to me that the most normal I’d ever felt was drinking beers with a weird little man who stood no more than, what, 6 inches tall at most? How many years had it been since the last time I had this much fun? The last time I felt like I could talk and laugh this freely? It just felt so… normal? The thought seemed ridiculous- I mean, the situation was anything but… and yet here I was, thoroughly buzzed and listening intently as if we were old friends.

Sal paraded around the table, reenacting some grand adventure I could only wrap my head around with the help of however many tallboys I’d downed over the past few hours. Tales of hunting monstrous beasts and climbing unfathomable heights. He wove wild stories of a world so foreign yet so familiar… quite literally a world in my backyard.

As I nursed another drink, Sal set the scene, recounting a day-long trek he'd made out to the lake. Mist rose off the water as loons called to one another, their haunting voices echoing off the calm water. He watched intently as they slipped under the water, barely even a ripple disturbing the surface of the lake.

As if he was painting a picture in my mind, I sat enthralled, feeling as if I could feel the crispness of the water washing away the heat of the sun as he spent the day swimming in the shallows. The way he spoke… It didn't feel like I was imagining his retelling from my perspective- but his own. His perspective felt like something … almost fantastical.

"I tried to lure some of the minnows, but I couldn't get close enough to spear them without them darting off.” As if still wielding a spear he eyed the non existent minnows, patiently following some unseen motion as he remained poised to strike. “The bigger minnows seemed slower, but they wouldn't come near shallow enough. I ended up using some of the dried grub rations I'd brought with me as bait, and boy did it work like a charm. I swam I bit farther out with the bait and-"

Spear raised, I could practically see the imaginary impact- watching as the massive fish- or minnow, thrashed against the sharpened twig. I was enthralled- the way his muscles moved with the motion was almost… intimidating, bringing forth thoughts of him human sized, spearing a monster of a fish while swimming in some dangerous Amazonian river. 

“The damn thing was a bitch to swim with,” he groaned, annoyance clear on his face, “For one- it was heavy. But worse,” Sal huffs, “It was still moving.” Despite the exasperation on his face in recounting the ordeal, the man’s face couldn’t help but return to grinning. 

“So then I’m swimming back, right? Honestly more like flailing with the stupid minnow in tow, but I’m keeping above water for the most part… but I keep hearing this clicking… almost squeaking noise? Weirder yet- it's coming from below me.” He pauses, lowering his voice and I’m quite literally reeled in by his story, leaning forward on the edge of my seat. 

“Then- whoosh!” 

Sal grabs at the air. My heart jumps in my chest as the man’s hand lashes out just inches from my face. 

“This monstrous bastard of a creature - absolutely huge,” He pauses, shooting me a cheesy grin, “Second only to you, big man.” I snort and Sal picks right up where he left off, “It was all murky brown with thick these thick… whiskers? And it just sucks me into its mouth with this horrific gulp. Next thing I know I’m being dragged underwater, half in its mouth, pounding on its head just hoping it’ll let me go if I hit it hard enough.”

My breath hitches, a shudder running through me as I make the connection- A catfish. 

“With nothing to lose, I stab it. The spear goes right through its eye and-” Sal pauses, making sure he has my full attention.

“And?”

“Nothing!” Sal laughs as if it was hilarious and not down right horrifying, “That stupid thing didn’t even flinch! I don’t know if it didn’t go deep enough or if I just missed any vital enough part, but it did absolutely nothing!”

He leans forward, no longer laughing as his face takes on a grim expression.

“At this point I start to get worried.”

“Start?!” I scoff. Sal dismisses my interruption with a wave of his hand.

"My lungs are burning, and the thing’s clamped down hard on my stomach. I'm stuck holding that stupid spear for life as it keeps doing this.. this…” He shudders, face twisting in disgust, “-weird gulping thing,” Sal shakes his head as if banishing the memory, “So I ripped that spear out and using everything I had I-” His fist came down, “- drove that spear right back into its head.” 

Sal pantomimed a gruesome show-  stabbing again and again in the world's most horrific display of charades as he brutalised the memory of the catfish. 

“Finally,” He says, voice filled with a mix of relief and exasperation as if he’d just relived the whole ordeal, “it dies.” 

I, stupidly, sigh in relief, as if somehow I couldn't have predicted the outcome with him quite literally standing in front of me.

“My lungs are on fire as I swim to the surface- and man, air never tasted so sweet.” Looking down at Sal, he's beaming, laughing like a kid as he recounts his victory over the massive fish. “And then it hits me- tasted!” 

I furrow my brow, not quite following. Sal continues, frustration returning.

“No spear- and no fucking minnow! As if, after all that, air was gonna be the only thing I’d be tasting!”

After a brief pause I couldn't help but laugh. His smile grew even wider as he raved on, swinging his hands as he continued on about his harrowing ordeal.

“I refused to swim back empty handed after that shitshow- So I spent the whole afternoon dragging that giant bastard back to shore!” 

Fuck. I stare at him, eyes wide. I can’t shake the disbelief as I try to think of what would be the equivalent feat- Dragging an orca back to shore? …Something bigger? I’ve never been an avid fisherman (nor did I have any plans to start) and really had no concept of how big the catfish in the lake got aside from the notion that they were definitely bigger than Sal.

“I get that monster to land- spend about 30 minutes on a fire that just won't start, until I'm finally able to start cooking that beast!” 

He paces along the length of the table, his steps not nearly as sure footed as they had been a few hours prior. Even with his tiny frame I can easily make out the sheer rage simmering behind his eyes.

“And y'know what?” His voice, now starting to slur, is teeming with all the theatrics of a man at his absolute limit. I swallow, desperate to hold back a laugh I know is coming.

“What?”

“That fucking thing tasted awful!” Each word was spat with such ferocity it was as if he was trying to spit out the memory of the creature's taste.

There was no helping it.

With my inhibitions long since drowned, I laugh. I laugh louder than I have in years. I laugh until my sides ache- until tears prick at the edge of my eyes.

And he laughs with me.

“Pond scum! Tha' shtupid thing tasted exactly how pond scum smells!”

My vision blurs, tears threatening to spill over as he continues to rant and rave, but the sound of my laughing completely drowns out whatever critical opinions he was espousing on catfish edibility. 

Wiping at my eyes, my brain takes a few tipsy seconds to focus back on the little man. Still shirtless, Sal had sat back, reclining with his back against one of the many empties as he lifted up what was arguably the equivalent to a very generous pitcher to his mouth with little effort- the relative ease of the action catching me by surprise as I imagined myself fumbling at doing the same. 

He… he was built. 

Quite literally a brick shithouse, if said shithouse belonged to Barbie.  

Broad seemed like a fitting word. Broad chested, broad shoulders, broad smile- Hell, even his legs had a width to them. Sal looked as if he had stepped directly out of an instagram fitness post, with his … excessive biceps flexing under the weight of the shot glass, the act a paradoxical effortless display of effort. Even at his diminutive size, I could tell this man was anything but small. He-

He coughs.

My eyes dart away from his body in an instant, snapping back to his face… accompanied with heat rising in my own. As my eyes meet his, I’m again struck with the absolute absurdity of the situation.

I'm here… getting drunk… with a tiny man… He’s right there- arms reach in front of me… 

And yet he still doesn't seem real.

My hand twitches at my side.

Touch him.

As my hand slides towards him, his gaze quickly flicks from my face to my hand and back to my face again. Confusion flashing across his features for a brief moment before his lopsided grin reappears. My finger tips barely graze him as he sidesteps my hand, shoving my fingers away. 

Huh. There's a surprising amount of weight behind his push. 

“Hands t'yourself, Big Guy.” Sal laughs, “You gotta take me to dinner first.”

It takes a moment for my brain to follow his words, and I snort. 

“Is that not what I did?” 

Sal blinks.

His own brain seeming to lag as realization dawns on him. After a moment's delay, he laughs. 

Sal takes an unsteady step forward, the sway in his weight more noticeable than before. He’s still smiling, but a look of concern crosses his features as he stares at the ground in front of him.

“I feel weird.” 

“You’re drunk.”

He looks back up towards me and I point to the drink. After a moment', Sal nods, seemingly cluing in. Maybe? I really couldn’t tell.  For all I know, that nod might have been him nodding off with how stunted the gesture had looked. 

“It…” He starts his sentence and seems to forget it half way through, taking a long blink in between words “... makes you dizzy?” 

I lean forward to rest my head on the table, starting to feel all too alike. 

“Mmm- yeah, when you’ve had a bit much.” 

With that, I slid the shot glass away from him- An act which was apparently the most egregious party foul ever to have been committed. Shouts of protest erupt beneath me, as he trails after the glass. 

With a laugh, I try to shoo him away, but man, the little guy can move. Despite the sway to his stride, Sal ducks my hand with ease.

“Dude,” I laugh, opting to pick up the glass, “You.. uh, you’ve had 'nough- you're gonna get sick.”

My words feel thick, almost sticky, in my mouth, and the thought crosses my mind that I should probably be taking my own advice.

“'m fine.” 

I snort. The man didn't even know what beer was all of two hours ago, and here he was thinking he knew his limits.

“'s if you’d know,” I chuckle. “You're stumblin' 'round.”

Sal narrows his eyes.

“I am not!”

“Oh really?” My words slur together, thick with condescension and alcohol as a smile down at him. I shove a finger to his chest, I give a little push. Sal shoots glare as he staggers back.

“See?” I chuckle, “You're totally shtumbling!” 

Eyes wide, he stares up at me, brain seeming to short-circuit for a moment before a goofy grin plasters itself across his face. I feel my own face mirror his expression as we break out into drunken laughter. 

The laughter hit me hard. 

I laughed at Sal's near cartoonish drunkenness.

I laughed at how he stumbled with a push from a finger.

I laughed at the strangeness- the reality shattering strangeness- of his very existence.

This... this is really strange...

As our collective laughter died down I took in a deep inhale. I needed to know more. I couldn’t keep up the half assed charade of normalcy. 

“Sal-”

In the brief moment I’d let my guard down, the tiny man quite literally pounces. I yank my hand away a fraction of a second before he lands, Sal stumbling as his weight falls forward. Before his face makes contact with the table, Sal seemingly just… goes with it? Just flowing with the momentum as if stumbling forward had been completely intended. With surprisingly little effort, his would-be fall morphs into a drunkenly graceful forward roll, carrying him to a stand- albeit, an unsteady one. 

For a moment, I’m at a loss for words, and before I’m able to react to whatever odd show of athleticism I’d just witnessed, he’s already at it again, eyes locked onto the shot glass like a cat locked onto a mouse. I move to shoo him away with my free hand, yet I’m met with nothing but empty space as Sal scrambles underneath the gesture. 

Again, he tries for the glass. 

Launching himself at my hand, I feel his hands graze my own before I lift the glass out of reach. Sal lands with a stumble, a lopsided grin sitting smugly on his face as he looks from the glass to me. 

Sal lowers his stance, looking something between a sprinter at the blocks and a mountain lion set to pounce. 

Seeing the gears in his head turning (albeit, slowly), I clue in. Before he gets the chance to scale me for the beverage, I make a grab for him. 

And yet, despite my efforts, somehow Sal winds up on top of my hand. It was like trying to grab at water- with him just flowing out of my grasp. Abandoning the shot glass, I grab at him with my free hand- watching dumbstruck as he drunkenly pivots, turning to jump at my in coming hand.

I freeze- Trying and failing to keep my hand steady as Sal hangs off my fingers. 

With my lack of reaction, Sal takes the opportunity to climb my fingers like some sort of rope ladder. 

To my horror, he climbs all of them, heaving himself to a shaky stand on the side of my index finger- Hands on his hips and grin on his face. 

I meet his gaze and he laughs, his expression smug as he wags his finger at me.

“Too shlow.” 

Arms out in a stumbling balance act, Sal begins walking across the edge of my hand looking oddly similar to a failed roadside sobriety test. Pausing, he frowns, pouting in frustration before bending over. For a moment, I think he’s about to throw up. Instead, he plants his hands firmly on my forearm.  

My stomach drops.  

With no effort whatsoever, Sal switches to walking on his hands- somehow just as drunkenly. Swaying side to side, every “step” seemed to overcompensate for the last, looking as if he was perpetually on the verge of tipping over.

And then he did.

In a split second, I’m sober.

My hand darts out, closing awkwardly around his form with all the grace and fine motor skills of a man marginally less drunk. Unmoving and unblinking, Sal stares up at me, a strange sound escaping him… almost as if a hum got caught in his throat. I could have almost been convinced he was nothing but an action figure with the way Sal went rigid- if not for his heart beating wildly beneath my fingertips. 

My own heart drummed in my ears, and for a moment, just a single moment, it didn’t bother me that he was sticky. 

He swallows. The tiny, but very human action feels uncanny at his size. The rise and fall of his chest, the strangely sizable weight of him in my hands… all of it is just so… strange. He feels solid - tense beneath my grip. Fuck- even at his size he felt strong. My eyes trace over the myriad of scars that marred his skin, gaze lingering over the clear bite mark that covered his shoulder and chest…

I hadn't even noticed my thumb tracing over it until I felt him try and push the digit away.

“Mark-” 

“Oh- sorry.” I adjust my grip into something I assume is more comfortable, opting to hold him in a way that left him semi-seated in my palms rather than awkwardly dangling from a first.

It's a weird sight, seeing a grown man sitting in your hands. Every small movement I make has him sway, his head drunkenly lolling back as he slurs a few indistinguishable words with a chuckle. Up close like this he looks just about as drunk as he sounds- red in the face and eyes struggling to stay open. 

Adjusting my grip, I cringe.

He was more than just a little sticky.

His pants clung to my skin, peeling off as I moved like a Band-Aid being removed. The mental image sends a shudder down my spine.

I consider taking the opportunity to wipe off the concerningly sticky little man while I have the chance, though a more rational voice in the back of my mind argues that a good host doesn’t assault their “neighbor” with wet wipes. 

Below, Sal grumbles something unintelligible, clearly displeased with me as he swats at my fingers. Though despite his attempts, my fingers lingered. 

Ugh- He left a stain on my hand! 

I glare at the dark smear of sauce he’d wiped off onto his pants, silently reconsidering the option of dousing the man in dish soap, let alone wet wipes, etiquette be damned. 

Instead, I opted for another drink.

[sugar-soda]

Friend in a Net

TW: Phyical injuries, blood

Shaun shouldn’t be here.

His dad had already told him not to go under the cliff. He gave tours of the old lighthouse that sat atop the cliff, so Shaun could play on the shore while he worked, but there was a cave underneath that his dad was worried he would get hurt in, so no cave adventures for him.

Until today. He could only wander the shore so many times before he got bored. So he packed his backpack with everything an explorer might need. Snacks, a flashlight, and Band-Aids. He even got a pocket knife from his dad’s bedside drawer.

Now he cautiously stepped into the mouth of the cave. The large opening left plenty of morning light. The smell of salt was so strong it almost caused Shaun to fall over. Stalagmites and stalactites cast shadows that stretched like fingers across the walls. During high tide, the water would flood the cave, so there was no way out, save swimming. Now, it was low tide, so all Shaun had to worry about was the slippery, wet stone.

Yip!

The sound echoed off the cave's walls, startling Shaun with its suddenness. He knew that noise.

“A dog,” he breathed. He didn’t know how a dog would get in here, but he hoped it wasn't hurt. He tip-toed deeper in the cave, getting closer to the sound.

Yip!

A fishing net was twisted around a stalagmite. A shivering mass was tangled in its train. Shaun stepped closer to get a better look.

It looked like one of the seals he saw in his books. It had all the spots of brown, gray and white, with a soft fuzz covering it. It wasn’t a seal though. There was an opening with little buttons on one side right down the middle of its belly, like a coat. At the bottom of the opening, a pair of legs were bound tightly by the sharp plastic of the net. At the top of the opening, pointy shoulders were held fast in place. The shoulders and knees would struggle to get out of the net, but without the arms free, it was useless.

“Yiiiiiip,” came a sad call from the mess of hair.

“Hello? Are you ok?” Shaun asked. The seal-coat-person flinched, having not realized he was there. They wiggled awkwardly, shifting slowly until they flopped over, further twisting the net. The head of the seal fell over the head of the person like a hood.

Shaun moved so the eyes of the seal-hood stared right at him. Hair pooled out of the chin of the hood, wet, dark, and slicker than oil. Gently, he pushed the head up along with it to see the person's face through the net and hair.

The girl underneath had a funny face. Her skin was the same gray as the coat, complete with spots, and her nose looked lost between person and animal. Her eyes had no color, just pure ebony staring back into him in terror. Whiskers poked out of her cheeks.

“Selkie,” he breathed with much more awe than when he thought she was a dog.

“Grrrr,” the seal girl growled, before attempting to bite Shaun's fingers. Sharp pointed teeth nearly caught him if the net wasn't in the way.

“Hey! Don’t bite!” Shaun jumped back. “That’s mean!” She kept growling lowly, wiggling more to try to escape the net. The growl cut off abruptly with another pained yip. Shaun's eyes trailed over the net. Its edges were sharp against her unnatural face. At her ankle, a stream of red snaked its way onto the rocks. The plastic was the tightest there, winding around until blood was cut free from the veins.

“Oh, you're bleeding,” Shaun said lamely and sympathetically. No wonder the Selkie was mean. Her ankle and the blood-slick ground kept her from standing, and her arms were trapped in her coat, which was bound in the net. She was stuck, helpless with no way of freeing herself.

Shaun took off his backpack and pulled out his knife. He opened it, careful not to cut himself. He circled around her toward the rock the net was caught on. She continued growling.

“It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m gonna cut the net and get you out.” The growling stopped at the reassurance, but her dark eyes narrowed into a glare.

The net was hard to cut through, especially with his dull blade, but eventually it snapped away from the stalagmite. The frayed plastic ends fell to the ground with a wet plop. The Selkie let out another whimper.

“Here. Let’s get this off.” Shaun started to unwrap the net, starting with her ankle. It was swollen and covered in agonizing purple bruises where it wasn’t covered in angry red blood. Her legs, and shoulders were covered in indentations turning the same purple. The velvet on the coat was uneven. There were cuts on her face, but not near as deep as her ankle. The cuts produced blood that stuck hair to her forehead and cheeks. The glare had softened into just a blank stare.

“How did you even get stuck? Where are your friends? Granny said selkies traveled in groups like real seals do. Do they know where you are? Can you get back to them?”

The Selkie didn’t answer his questions, just whined and groaned in pain as plastic was removed.

The whimpers increased as the ankle was freed from the plastic. The rest of the removal was awkward, as the Selkie rolled to shift her weight so Shaun could pull it off. By the end, he was untangling it out of her hair.

When the last of the hair knots fell, the Selkie pushed herself into a sitting position.

“Hey!” Shaun warned, squatting next to her, “Be careful! Don’t hurt yourself!”. The Selkie didn’t acknowledge him, pulling her coat back into place. Her previously unseen hands now poked out of the coat’s flippers, which were sleeves. They had the same gray as her face and her nails were sharp. She started smoothing the fur of the coat back into place, fixing the buttons, and adjusting the hood so it sat neatly on her head.

Once she was satisfied with her coat’s appearance, the Selkie and Shaun stared at each other. The stare she gave was blank, her inhuman features and expression didn’t tell him anything about how she was feeling.

“Are you hungry? I got snacks! And Band-Aids! I can put them on your ankle while you eat.” The Selkie didn’t answer, so Shaun took that as a yes. Putting up his knife and pulling out some string cheese and the bandaids, he opened the packages like his dad showed him. The Selkie took big bites out of the snack as Shaun carefully placed the Band-Aids on the cuts.

“These have Transformers on them. I’ll give you the Optimus Prime ones, cause he’s my favorite.” he said. Once all the cuts had been covered, he stood back up and smiled at her. She didn’t smile back, but he was pretty sure he saw a happy twinkle in her eye.

The Selkie stared at him for a moment longer, then looked away to reach into her coat. Digging around in what Shaun assumed was an inner pocket, she pulled out something and held it up to his face. It looked like one of his Granny’s pearls, but instead of white little beads, it was about the size of a bouncy ball and a lavender color. The Selkie made an annoyed noise and shoved it closer.

“For me?” he asked. She nodded and Shaun smiled wider. Not wanting to lose his gift, he put it in his backpack.

The Selkie placed her hands on the ground and started to push herself up to stand. Shaun moved without thinking, tucking himself into her side to support her. He was too small for her to lean against his shoulders, so he just acted as her crutch to lean on. The fuzz on the side of her coat tickled his face.

She clearly wanted out of the cave, hopping forward as quickly as Shaun and her ankle would allow her. The tide had started to come in by now, lapping at their feet as they reached the opening of the cave. The Selkie did not stop there, going further out in the water with Shaun’s help.

He wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she seemed determined to get as far into the water as possible. Eventually, the water was up to Shaun’s waist and the Selkie’s knees. She started to lower herself into the water, scaring Shaun into thinking she was slipping. As she lowered herself, her coat seemed to change.

The hood went further and further down her face. Her hair blended into the fuzz. Her hands were covered once more by the flippers. The tail folded over her feet and swollen ankle. The buttons and seam disappeared.

Shaun was no longer supporting a girl in a coat, and was now staring at a spotted seal next to him. The seal made a face that looked like a smile, the first one the Selkie had given him. He laughed and patted her cold snout. She stuck out her tongue to give his hand a lick, then swam away.

Shaun watched her swim for a while. When he couldn’t see her anymore, he turned back and started toward the lighthouse. He couldn’t wait to tell his dad about his new friend.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 16

The war disrupts Clan routine, forcing everyone to adapt.

[Image ID: Halibutpaw, Graypaw, and Shadowpaw stand on the left with Downstar on the right. Downstar says, “If life wasn’t so chaotic right now, I would put all three of you on trial. But right now, we need you at your best. No more heroics, please. I don’t want to lose another kit.”]

(Halibutpaw: 8, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)

(Graypaw: 8, female, caretaker apprentice, bloodthirsty, careful listener)

(Shadowpaw: 8, male, codekeeper apprentice, adventurous, confident with words)

Apple Cider has decided to join the Clan!

[Image ID: Apple Cider stands in the center of the screen, saying “Hehe, hi again!” Under her, it says LEVEL UP! APPLE CIDER -> APPLEPELT.]

---

There hadn’t been too many skirmishes with AshClan since Downstar’s kits took matters into their own paws, but Oilstripe was still glad Scrubmask led the hunting patrol to the river rather than the border. Carnationspeckle wanted to teach Graypaw how to prepare fish (since Downstar was keeping the apprentices in camp as much as possible), so it was up to the patrol to catch suitable subjects for the lesson. The Great Northern River had turned cold, and Oilstripe shivered whenever the water touched her paws, but she pushed on.

It seemed everyone else in the patrol was far more skilled at fishing than Oilstripe. Burdockpaw surpassed Oilstripe moons prior and now carefully sat on one of the stones jutting out of the river, waiting for fish to bite at the small lure Puddlespeckle built. Scrubmask took to traditional fishing and stared unblinking into the water. Even Locustpaw, freed from their mentor for the day, was totally engrossed in their task and proudly waded through the thinner currents in search of prey. Oilstripe was stuck on a rock near the opposite side of the river without a single piece of prey to show for her time. 

Maybe Oilstripe should take a nap. The river’s hum was quite soothing after all. It reminded her of when she pushed her nest close to Weedfoot and heard her purr in her sleep. There were no ghosts around to bother her and earn weird stares from her younger siblings (she knew cats saw her when she spoke to a visitor, but what could she do?). Oilstripe laid her chin on one paw and closed her eyes as a soft mist dusted her whiskers.

Such rest could not last long, sadly. The gentle crackle of fallen leaves brought Oilstripe to her paws. As she turned, a warm brown figure stepped out of the late afternoon shadows.

“Hehe, hi again!” Apple Cider chirped.

“Oh, hello!” Oilstripe gasped. “I haven’t seen you since the storm last moon! I was worried about you!” She leapt onto the shore beyond RippleClan. Apple Cider’s ears tilted back and they glanced about, unable to lock onto Oilstripe.

“About that…” Apple Cider groaned, whiskers twitching, “my humans were out of the den when the storm hit. They didn’t come back.” Oilstripe’s spine shivered. She knew the storm had been bad; it was never a good sign when spirits of StarClan gathered around like they did by the AshClan border that night, as though waiting for a new friend. Still, she had never imagined the storm was strong enough to kill humans. Humans could build grand ships and had a mastery of wood and tools the Clans had yet to figure out. How could a storm take them from this world?

“I’m sorry,” Oilstripe sighed. “I know kittypets can be close to their humans.”

“I wasn’t that close,” Apple Cider stammered. “I was mostly there to catch mice for them. I figured I could stay in the den for longer, but new humans moved in. I don’t think they like cats.” They rubbed a paw into the wet ground. “I don’t want to live alone. I’m not very good at that. I was wondering if I could hear more about your Clan?”

“Yes!” Oilstripe laughed. “I’d love to talk to you! Come across the river with me.” Oilstripe hopped across the slick rocks, glancing about at Apple Cider at each step of the way. Apple Cider perked up and hurried through the water. The pair caught Burdockpaw’s attention before they got halfway across.

“Oilstripe, why are you letting Apple Cider across the river?” he huffed, placing a paw on his fish.

“She wants to learn about RippleClan!” Oilstripe explained as Scrubmask and Locustpaw joined them.

“I’ve heard others say you’re a little strict,” Apple Cider admitted, eyeing each new cat, “but who knows? You might be fun to live with. Do you have any good stories?”

“That’s a historian’s whole job,” Burdockpaw said, sitting tall. “We remember the Clan’s history and tell it to future generations.”

“Can I do that?” Apple Cider asked with a sparkle in her eyes.

“You don’t know any stories,” Scrubmask said bluntly, looking the warm brown cat up and down.

“Burdock and I can teach her,” Oilstripe said, bridging the gap between Burdockpaw and Apple Cider. “Apple Cider can hunt, and we can teach her how to fight! We need the extra paws!”

“I’m not arguing with you,” Scrubmask said, flicking her ears to the RippleClan side of the river. “We need to talk to Downstar. Let’s collect our prey and return home.”

“Oilstripe, Burdockpaw, Downstar…” Apple Cider hummed as Burdockpaw grabbed his fish. “Those are interesting names!”

“They’re designed to be changed as you grow up,” Oilstripe explained. She led Apple Cider the rest of the way over the river. “When I was born, I was Oilkit. When I was an apprentice, I was Oilpaw. Now I’m Oilstripe!”

“I want a name like that!” Apple Cider chirped, gleefully landing on RippleClan’s shores. “New life, new me! No more human names! Call me Apple… uh, Apple…” The brown cat glanced at the other cats, searching for a suffix. She looked at her own fur, and said, “Applepelt! Call me Applepelt.”

“I like that name,” Oilstripe chuckled. With her Clanmates carrying their catches, Oilstripe walked alongside the Clan’s newest historian all the way home.

(Oilstripe: 20, female, historian, charismatic, ghost sight)

(Burdockpaw: 10, male, historian apprentice, loyal, interested in Clan history)

(Applepelt: 25, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

(Scrubmask: 33, female, warrior, gloomy, fast runner, good hunter)

Halibutpaw is left sore after intense battle training.

[Image ID: Halibutpaw stands in the middle of the screen. Under him, it says + CONDITION: SORE.]

(Halibutpaw: 8, male, warrior apprentice, impulsive, quick witted, lover of stories)

Eager to help her new Clan, Applepelt runs head-on into a border skirmish and is injured.

[Image ID: Autumnstar leers in the upper left, saying “If you want this land, you have to prove you-” but Applepelt runs up from the right, incoherently screaming. Under them, it says = CONDITION: CAT BITE.]

(Applepelt: 25, she/they, historian, rebellious, lore keeper)

[apluckedturkey]

The village travelers

A Studio Ghibli esque adventure story I wrote to cheer up a friend, I thought I might share it

Summary: An old timey village of cats has travelers come through, but every time a traveler passes- good fortune and kindness follow.

One cat decides to look for answers, so they follow where the travelers had come from

but they become lost.

Word count: 1660

There was a village, friendly, small, everyone got to knew who came and went, but this was not like any other village you are used to, no- every friendly face had a snout, whiskers, fur, and a tail.

there was many families of what you’d recognize as cats walking on 2 legs, wearing dresses, jackets and/or pants. During the winter they’d wear scarfs, mittens, sweaters, all hand made- or in this case- paw made.

They herded and breed livestock like any other town, milked the cows to give to their kits, shed the sheep to weave clothing to the cold, and invited neighbors in for chicken, and fish which they spent lots of their time catching by the quiet lake.

It was nice. peaceful, but of course there was always excited chatter when news of travelers who came in and went. It wasn’t often they met a new whiskered or patterned face on the street, so meeting them brought trades and goods, stories and gifts, sometimes of course the gifts were meant to encourage them to keep coming, or to stay, settle with them, which was flirtatious on the most part. The last couple of travelers to pass through the town were all the most handsomest felines to have graced the stoned paths and inns.

what was strange though was that things changed in the village after each traveler, regardless of if his, her, its, or their fur were brushed or matted, whiskers bent, twisted, or straightened, eyes yellow or green- no matter the feline, something changed. Sometimes crops would bear more food, other times the fisher cats by the rivers and lakes pulled up more than enough fish, which ended up being prepared and given to the more unfortunate.

of course the cats were perplexed at the phenomenon- confused why each traveler brought not only stories and trinkets, but fortune and kindness after they left. One cat, however, went looking for answers.

They went the way the travelers footsteps came from- mostly unpaved deer paths and fallen trees across streams, mossy stones poking out enough to hop across dense swamps. Soon though- they realized they were.. utterly… lost.

They turned back but the sky had already darkened, and the wolves rang their howls and the owls quietly swooped through hanging vines and branches. The cat decided to follow the owls, who knew where the swampy waters edge was. And was greeted with a purple rose at the edge, they carefully hopped off the last mossy stone onto the damp, muddy grass beside the flower.

They stroked a pink padded paw across a petal and said “hello,” quiet enough so the wolves wouldn’t near.

And another “hello” came across the clearing

The cat’s eyes snapped up, stepping away from the rose as their fur stood on edge just as the sleek figure stepped out from beneath the shadows of an overgrown yellow weeping willow, dusting off their fitted black jacket and patting down their dampened tail before tucking a small book under their sleeve.

“Who are you?” The cat asked this stranger, keeping their voice calm yet stern, straightening their back.

In response- the stranger studied the cat in a peculiar way, as if saying only with their eyes *how did you get this far? How curious…* then smiled calmly “I am only a traveler.” A pause, then “how did you make it across the swamp?”

“I used the stones” the cat was confused, but stepped towards the figure, as if to say * I’m not afraid* though, their spiked fur suggested otherwise.

”the stones..?” The stranger glanced at the thick water, yet there were no stones.

The cat had to turn at the strangers genuine confusion, and they were right- the water was completely uncrossable. And the flower was gone.

”where are you from?” The cat startled, turning to the stranger who now stepped forward, bearing the question.

“I’m… I’m from the village about…” yet the cat turned, they did not know how far their village was, nor the direction. It was strange, but they trusted the stranger enough, or was disoriented enough, to turn their back on the sleek feline.

The stranger paced away from the cat, to the tree, then returned with their book tucked away in a perfectly sized satchel. The stranger only had one item of interest it seemed.

“I will show you the way.” The stranger fiddled with a loose button on their jacket, almost nervously.

​​The cat looked in time to see a tail slip behind a large, thick bush. “But I didn’t say where-“ the cat cursed and raced after the stranger, not eager to get lost once more.

Once the cat caught up, breathing out a quiet, shuddered hiss, they asked “how are you calm?”

“Calm?” The stranger looked down at the shorter feline, shrugging the sling of their satchel higher onto their shoulder before ducking beneath a branch without batting an eye to the rugged, twisted scenery around.

“The wolves!” The cat hissed quietly, looking around as if pairs of hungry eyes were watching.

The stranger merely smiled in amusement. “You won’t find wolves in the trees.” And trudged on.

The cat quickly looked away from the branches overhead.

The sleek figure brushed past vines as they spoke. “They don’t bother me.” They spoke as if unperturbed, or unknowing to how silly that sounded.

The wolves don’t hunt them? Absurd. The savages know no mercy amongst cats.

”Have you been living under a rock?” The cat spoke in disbelief, and annoyance- was this strange fellow trying to be funny? Were they joking about something that shouldn’t be joked about? Being eaten by wolves didn’t sound amusing in the slightest- even if the joke stated otherwise.

The stranger’s whiskers shifted with their snout in contemplation.

“Not literally! I mean- you- you haven’t really been living under a rock have you?” The cat asked, having to backtrack their aggressions.

“I live comfortably in forests” they spoke simply, as if brushing off, or unaware to the tension of the questioning.

It was sad to think of the fellow sleeping under some sloppy rocks- but now studying the fellow- their fur was brushed, their jacket ironed, and only a single whisker was bent at the very tip.

This was- peculiar.

To say the least.

The cat was sure they had seen the stranger's jacket brush against countless vines, leafs, and sticky twigs on their journey, yet their jacket bore no pills in the fabric, bits of leaves, or wet, muddy vines pattered by evenings of dirty rain.

No.

The stranger remained untouched.

Unbothered.

The cats snout ended in an O of silent question and palpable disbelief before finally speaking, looking at the strangers whiskers and eyes for signs of- well- whatever answer they could hint at.

“W-who or what are you?”

The cat hit warm fabric, losing balance before being caught by a soft and clipped paw.

“I apologize,” the stranger let go once the cat was balanced, yet still held genuine concern for the lost one. “I was.. caught off guard by that.” They averted eyes.

“I am- caught off guard by you” they looked back up, holding a more serious demeanor.

The cat furrowed their brow. “Me? Why me? I’m covered in dirt and who knows what else-“ the cat swiped off leaves from their shoulders.

The stranger picked off a sticky vine from the cat’s tail before they ducked under another crooked branch, the sleek feline maneuvered through the overgrown path- no. Not even a path. This was not a path at all! They slipped through the crooked and uneven terrain like it was nothing!

The cat quietly hissed and caught up. “Why aren’t we following the deer paths?! You’re going to get me even more lost!” And as if recalling the unsafe woods, the cat covered their mouth, quieting their rage.

“Deers don’t come this far out, they know better.”

The cat faltered a step at the ominous… statement.

There were definitely no signs of deer… they had walked over a mile at this point, with no sign of… well… life.

There was the owl that led the cat to land, and the wolves that howled in the dark, but no prey. No small critters scuttered under the perfectly thick grasses and weeds which would encourage them to sneak about at this hour

“What made you travel so far from home?” The stranger asked, fiddling with the latch on their satchel.

The cat paused.

Should they tell the truth? It sounded silly- almost crazy- yet quite a few crazy things happened around this… ‘traveler’ too.

They told the truth, hoping the stranger might hold answers.

”Every time a traveler visits our town, good fortune and kindness follow suit. I wanted to follow the source.” The cat stepped over a mossy boulder and hopped over a small… familiar stream.

​​The stranger seemed to mull over the words, taking them into consideration, and slowing as they walked on more even paths, escaping the previous treachery of the swamps.

The cat faltered at the fallen tree over a larger stream, The Larger Stream they had crossed that evening to follow the travelers comings.

”You ever think they’re not cats?”

The cat turned, and the stranger was gone, and the orange of the sun caught through the trees.

The cat stood in silence, surveying their surroundings, confused, distraught, trying to wrap their head around the night.

It was.. a few minutes? It seemed before they padded over the log to the other side of the stream, but an out of place dot of color caught their eye, a single flower, and just like at the swamps edge, this one was also at the edge of the water, this flower was odd though, yellow flowers draping towards the ground, like a yellow willow tree.

And the cat said “hello” before leaving back to the village, making it safely, without speaking a word of their adventures.

[publicdomainbooksdevotee]

Everyone! Have the whole Mehitabel Dances with Boreas poem:

well boss i saw mehitabel last evening she was out in the alley dancing on the cold cobbles while the wild december wind blew through her frozen whiskers and as she danced she wailed and sang to herself uttering the fragments that rattled in her cold brain in part as follows

whirl mehitabel whirl spin mehitabel spin thank god you re a lady still if you have got a frozen skin blow wind out of the north to hell with being a pet my left front foot is brittle but there s life in the old dame yet dance mehitabel dance caper and shake a leg what little blood is left will fizz like wine in a keg wind come out of the north and pierce to the guts within but some day mehitabel s guts will string a violin moon you re as cold as a frozen skin of yellow banan that sticks in the frost and ice on top of a garbage can and you throw a shadow so chilly that it can scarcely leap dance shadow dance you ve got no place to sleep whistle a tune north wind on my hollow marrow bones i ll dance the time with three good feet here on the alley stones freeze you bloody december i never could stay a pet but i am a lady in spite of hell and there s life in the old dame yet whirl mehitabel whirl flirt your tail and spin dance to the tune your guts will cry when they string a violin eight of my lives are gone it s years since my fur was slicked but blow north wind blow i m damned if i am licked girls we was all of us ladies we was o wotthehell and once a lady always game by crikey blood will tell

i might be somebody s pet asleep by the fire on a rug but me i was always romantic i had the adventurous bug caper mehitabel caper leap shadow leap you gotto dance till the sun comes up for you got no place to sleep i might have been many a tom cat s wife but i got no regret i lived my life as i liked my life and there s pep in the old dame yet blow wind out of the north you cut like a piece of tin slice my guts into fiddle strings and we ll have a violin spin mehitabel spin you had a romantic past and you re gonna cash in dancing when you are croaked at last i will not eat tomorrow and i did not eat today but wotthehell i ask you the word is toujours gai whirl mehitabel whirl i once was a maltese pet till i went and got abducted and cripes i m a lady yet whirl mehitabel whirl and show your shadow how tonight it s dance with the bloody moon tomorrow the garbage scow whirl mehitabel whirl spin shadow spin the wind will pipe on your marrow bones your slats are a mandolin by cripes i have danced the shimmy in rooms as warm as a dream and gone to sleep on a cushion with a bellyfull of cream it s one day up and next day down i led a romantic life it was being abducted so many times as spoiled me for a wife dance mehitabel dance till your old bones fly apart i ain t got any regrets for i gave my life to my art whirl mehitabel whirl caper my girl and grin and pick at your guts with your frosty feet they re the strings of a violin girls we was all of us ladies until we went and feel and oncet a thoroughbred always game i ask you wotthehell it s last week up and this week down and always the devil to pay but cripes i was always the lady and the word is toujours gai be a tabby tame if you want somebody s pussy and pet the life i led was the life i liked and there s pep in the old dame yet whirl mehitabel whirl leap shadow leap you gotto dance till the sun comes up for you got no place to sleep archy

[kitty-baby36]

"Four Turtles & A Baby"

(TMNT BAYVERSE)

🐢 Chapter Four 🐢

It had been two months. Two long, but glorious months of raising the sweet baby girl who had captured all their hearts.

The brothers gathered in their underground lair, prepping for their nightly patrol. The smell of pizza lingered in the air. Raphael paced back and forth, his brow furrowed with concern. He kept glancing towards Thora, who sat playing with her oversized blocks in the corner. Her soft blonde hair was sticking up everywhere, a side effect of having just finished a two-hour nap.

"I don’t like this," he said, scowling and folding his arms over his chest. "We can’t just leave her here. What if something happens?"

Leo was finishing up polishing his weapons. "C’mon, Raph... What could possibly happen? It’s just a night at home, no different than the last two dozen nights..."

Raphael was not amused. "It is different! Before, one of us has always been here. She’s just a kid, Leo. What if the Foot shows up?"

"What? You think they're just hiding out in the tunnels, waiting for us to leave so they can come kidnap her?"

"See? That shit right there is why I'm worried!" Raphael tossed his bag down. "That's it, I'm not going out!"

Leo rolled his eyes at his brother's unfounded paranoia. "She'll be fine, Raph. Now come on, we have a job to do."

Raphael glanced back to the corner of the room, but all he saw was an empty space amongst the blocks.

"Thora?"

On the opposite end of the room, Michaelangelo strode into view wearing a bulky, oversized jacket. He looked like he was whispering to it. Leonardo and Raphael both eyed him suspiciously. As he got closer, they could make out more of what he was saying:

"It’ll be super fun, like the best adventure ever! Think of it like the whole city as your secret playground."

Raphael's eyes widen. "Mikey...who are you talking to?"

Mikey jumped, chewing on his bottom lip, something he only did when he was trying to be sneaky. "What? Who? Nothing! I'm not doing anything!"

"What's with the jacket, twerp?"

"What, this? It's called style, broski. You should try it sometime."

Leo narrowed his eyes at his youngest brother. "Mikey..."

Michaelangelo sighed, slowly unbuttoning the jacket to reveal Thora strapped to the harness across his chest. Raphael's shoulders stiffened, a protective growl bubbling up from his throat.

"Are you out of your damn mind?! You’re not taking her out there on patrol!"

"But....what if she gets scared?"

"What if she gets hurt, or worse, because you do something stupid?"

Suddenly, Donatello walks in, holding a tablet and wearing his goggles. He's distracted and looking at the screen. "Guys, I just finished updating the new security system. Thora’s gonna be totally safe here."

Raph raises an eyebrow. "You mean the fancy-smancy camera thing you installed?"

"Not just a camera!" Donnie said, excitedly. "It’s a fully-integrated system! We can monitor everything from our phones!"

"Yeah, that sounds great, Don - MIKEY, IF YOU DONT PUT HER BACK DOWN, SO HELP ME..."

Splinter, who had been quietly observing from the shadows, stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. He glanced cooly at Michaelangelo, who had been trying to sneak Thora into his duffel bag. With a lightning-fast flick of his tail, he hooked the collar of Thora's onsie and lowered her gently into his own arms.

"It is best that she stay here where it is safe. I will keep her company until you return."

Raphael visibly relaxes as Splinter cradles Thora, the worry on his face slowly fading.

"You sure, Sensei?" Leo asked. "She’s - "

Splinter held up a hand, his black eyes twinkling as a small smile grew beneath his gray whiskers. "I have grown quite fond of little Thora’s company. Besides, I possess ample knowledge of many fascinating tales and games with which to pass the time."

Raphael crosses his arms rebelliously but can’t suppress a slight smirk. He sighs, half-heartedly admitting defeat.

"Fine!" he grumbled. "But if the Foot show up, I’m dragging the whole team back here—nanny cam or no nanny cam."

..

They returned hours later to find Splinter asleep in his chair, the top of Thora's head peeking out from underneath a thick crocheted blanket. Donatello inched forward and a quite snoring confirmed that Thora was also asleep.

"See, Raphael?" Leo whispered. "She's fine, just like I said she would be."

"It still makes me uncomfortable to leave her," Raph replied.

"Nobody's gonna hurt her, bro. Not on our watch. I promise."

"I know, Leo. Because if anyone ever tries... I'll kill them myself."

💠

[neonseperatedau]

25k Celebration - Short Story

NEON Short Fluff Fic: “Eavesdropping”

Hey guys, to celebrate my fic NEON – A Separated Sibling AU reaching 25k hits, I wrote a short fluff story that puts you in the shoes of the rat-man himself and shows you how he has been feeling about the newest addition to the fam. You don’t need much pre-knowledge to enjoy this story. Basically, this plays after the events of ‘Shadows of Evil’ (or chapter 20 of my fic) and sees a Leo who grew up with Draxum losing his odachi, learning about the Hamato clan and slowly adapting to his new life in the lair. (Thank you to my twin @leonrose55 for suggesting this prompt! This wouldn’t exist without you!) A million thanks to everyone who has been supporting this fic, you guys are the best, and I hope you enjoy this respite! ;)

For every parent comes the day when they must admit to themselves after they believed to know everything about their children that this simply wasn’t true anymore. Ever since my three sons started to act and think and say things, I couldn’t anticipate I had to accept that they were on their road to becoming their own independent…well…turtle mutants. I found it curious that for the newcomer to our lair, it was quite the opposite. From the beginning, I had no idea what to make of Leonardo, and each action he took only unsettled me more. I was never completely at ease when he was around, anticipating him to be a mere extension of one of Baron Draxum’s plots when all he in fact did was eat and nap and sometimes crack some worryingly violent jokes. Routine can change many things. As we started our training so he could learn how to wield two katanas, Hamato style, I had plenty of time to not only study his movements but also his subtle reactions. What face did he make when he had been close to winning? How would he react when he was exhausted and continued the workout anyway? I didn’t unlearn his patterns like with my sons, I learned them from its fundaments, and I got the sense I was far off from knowing even the basics. And all of this I noticed because, on this particular day, his focus had been off, and I was quite taken aback by myself because I could immediately tell. I swiped him off his feet, swords clanking to the ground. “Shit, not again,” Leo grumbled, getting up and grabbing for his weapons. The way he complained non-stop yet never actually stopped with his training reminded me so much of myself. (Admittedly, I hadn’t been the best of students.) “Your stance is off,” I pointed at his left foot, “and are you aware that you’re holding one sword with its backside up?” The turtle blinked and stared down at his hands. “Oh,” he mumbled and quickly corrected himself. I sighed. Some days simply be like this. “How about we do something different for today’s training?” I suggested and Leo’s eyes widened behind his black bandana. “No, it’s fine, we can keep going,” he insisted. Sheesh, I thought Purple could be ambitious about his projects at times. This one was on a whole other level. It was like failing wasn’t supposed to be part of his dictionary. “I’m not saying we will stop training. We are only changing up the pace…Have you seen my amazing Lou Jitsu adventures where I use dual sword fighting? Jell-O Jell-O Rush 1, 2, and 3?” I puffed up my chest. Leo blinked at me with an unchanged expression. “Uuuuh, no?” Stroking my whiskers I made my way to the tv room. “I know you have your reservation about how efficient it is to learn from the source materials, but I assure you these are worth your time! I also think Raph never finished his pack of wasabi peanuts yesterday and it’s lying around here somewhere.” I anticipated him to complain, at least try a counteroffer, or make a snarky comment about my acting career. All of those things had happened before… That’s probably why I needed a moment to process that Leo immediately picked up one of the big cushions, snatched the snack packs I mentioned, and settled down in front of the projector. Were the therapy sessions with Orange showing their effect? Or did Donatello do some brain-altering experiments on him? (I wouldn’t put it above him to mess with our ‘guest’ like that.) He noticed I kept standing at the entrance of the room and threw a glance back at me stating: “Hey, I learned my lesson about human movies and how they can teach you cool moves to fuck shit up a while back, I ain’t complaining.” I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that and since that was usually the case with Leo, I shrugged and accepted this as a rare instance where the fates seemed to have pity on me. “Plus,” he threw two brightly green-coated peanuts into his mouth, “stolen snacks taste the best.” The almost childish-mischievous gleam in his eyes oddly enough made him look more like his age and so I couldn’t bring myself to chide him for such comments. There were too many other moments where he visibly locked up and the iron-clad harshness in his demeanor made me believe that he had seen and experienced things, a teenager shouldn’t have. I made my way to my precious chair that had just the right dent from years of sitting in the same spot and selected the first installment of the ‘Jell-O Jell-O’ saga.   For the first half an hour or so, Leo was looking at the screen and it couldn’t have been more obvious that he wasn’t focusing on what was going on in front of him. But once my previous incredible human Self picked up the swords and hacked through the multi-colored jelly, Leo got transfixed to the projector. He took in those combat movements like a cake sponge that was soaked in cocoa. (Memo to myself: stock up on sponge cake) By the time we had moved on to the second part, the turtle was hooked just like the other three would be invested in their favorite Lou Jitsu moving picture. (I loved their debates on what movie they preferred and why especially before I revealed my identity.) “The way Lou Jitsu used the swords like a twirling staff,” Leo mused out loud, “that’s brilliant! So effective against backstabbers! I hate backstabbing except if it’s done by myself.” Yeah, sometimes I just plain-out worry about this kid… “That’s a technique from Yagyu Shinkage-ryu. A style that focuses on disarming your opponent and getting the upper hand, rather than killing them,” I explained and surprised myself by remembering the official name. Seemed like some things my grandpa taught me stuck with me even after all these years. “Huh, never heard of it. Doesn’t sound very useful…in the movie, it looked really strong though,” Leo popped the last peanuts into his mouth before adding: “Can you show me some more of it in the next training session?” This was, without a doubt, the first time he had ever directly asked me a favor. I needed a heartbeat or two during which I said nothing, and he apparently also realized what he had done. He hectically crumpled up the empty pack and went on without any pause between the words: “I mean, it’s whatever. You don’t have to do that.” I couldn’t help but return with a smug smile, “I’m not sure if you’re ready for such advanced techniques, still! Let’s see what we can do.” “Fuck, I shouldn’t have asked,” Leo grumbled drawing his legs closer to his torso, “just start the next movie already.” “Sure,” I snickered. I must admit that as we had filmed this final part of the epic Jell-O saga we had run out of ideas for the plot and so I wasn’t even offended when I heard low reverberating snores and saw Leo leaning against the leg of my couch, mouth half-open and drooling in his sleep. “Do you intend to watch the rest of the movie from beyond the door, dear son?” I called out and my fine hearing made out familiar steps approaching me from behind. “Sorry,” Raph apologized in a hushed voice, “I was looking for the snacks that I left here yesterday and then I saw you both talking, and I didn’t want to intrude and then I…” I waved my hand at him to signal that it was all good. “We tried something else for training,” I explained, and with a glance to the ground to my right I added, “he seemed a bit out of it. Did anything happen recently?” The big turtle shrugged even if his eyes had a very slight nervous twitch. He had developed that habit after I had told them all about the Hamato, which made me wonder if that had really been such a good idea. “He is more focused,” Raph began, occasionally pausing between words, “in a good way, I think. Since he lost his odachi he’s forced to stay at the lair much more. Because…no portals.” Even if he wasn’t the most eloquent of the bunch, which was Purple no doubt, he was often on point. “Oh,” Red appeared to remember something else and told me: “We talked about going out for pizza for April’s birthday tomorrow. He wanted to come with us but commented on how he didn’t understand human birthday traditions and after we explained a few things to him, I guess, he wanted to say something else about that and then didn’t. Left to train with you before we could ask him. Maybe he wanted to comment on how yokai birthdays worked?” “Perhaps,” I mused, “even during my years in the hidden city, I never learned much about their cultures. I assume he knows a lot more than I do.” In the background, a giant Jell-O monster exploded on screen. The special effects budget had been tight for this production, so looking back at it was a bit jarring. “Did you hear that?” I questioned my oldest, “how he asked me to show him more of that fighting style? I’ve never seen him interested in anything except for what Mikey cooks for dinner.” Raph cocked his head a bit and returned, “yeah, well, he keeps catching us off-guard whenever he listens to anything we say. Wish it would be the other way around, though.” The credits rolled, and we both regarded the red-eared slider. His bandana slipped off on one side a bit and slightly covered his eye. It was quite a silly sight to behold. I wondered, not for the first nor for the last time, how things would have been if I would have left with four instead of three small turtles that fateful day. How differently he would have turned out if he would have grown up amongst those who had been mutated along with him? Would he have then no scars and know fewer cuss words? Maybe he wouldn’t always carry several hidden blades around with him because he feared he would be ambushed and killed. And maybe he would have more time to grow up. Imagining such a different reality, I mourned for the loss of something that had never existed. A special kind of melancholy was reserved for those who tend to dwell on the ‘what-ifs’. “What do we do with him? Should we leave him here?” Raph asked and tore me away from the thoughts that I had slowly sunk into like quicksand.   “I wanted to watch a show at 10, it’s the semi-final of the Great British Bake Off.” I wasn’t keen on missing that and I wasn’t sure Leo would appreciate waking up to see humans baking cakes in the most stressful ways possible. “I think if he keeps leaning against your chair like that, he will wake up with a stiff neck and then he will curse a lot more and there are words I don’t want Mikey to know about yet,” Red considered, showing so naturally concern for his younger siblings, it made my heart brimming with pride. “How about you try to carry him to his room?” I offered. “I guess Raph could do that,” he said slowly, walking around to bend down and scoop him up. Awkwardly he extended his arms and readjusted his position before he got one arm under Leo’s knees and kept his back upright with the other. That whole scene reminded me of when Raph attempted to approach the various cats that would sometimes sneak into the lair. For some reason, they didn’t like the snapping turtle. Leo kept snoring and I followed both out and to the troublemaker’s room. We dimmed the lights and once the big guy had settled the smaller turtle into his bed, I put his blanket over him with deliberate and ever-so-careful motions. “Wow, he’s really out of it,” Raph whispered to me as I moved a step backward. “Guess it shows that he’s making an effort, to train and go on your missions and be a part of our little group. Not that he would ever admit it,” I returned. “Nope, never,” Red grinned. We sneaked out of the room, and I wished my oldest son a good night. Returning to my tv room, I hummed a pop song from my youth to myself and thought about my worries that we couldn’t read Leo at all. Based on my conversation with Raph, it seemed like we could tell what was going on with our newcomer quite well already.

---

…Eight…Nine…Ten. I opened my eyes as their footsteps grew more distant. I dared to breathe deeply and unevenly and drew my blanket up. What the hell just happened??? I had dozed off during the last movie and when I woke up, I heard Raph and Splinter talking. And not only that. Their topic of the day had been el yo. It felt like awful timing to be like: ‘Hey I’m awake now. No, I have no idea you guys been chatting.’ I was sure they would have believed I had faked it from the beginning. But still, I wouldn’t have expected things to escalate, and for Raph to pick me up and carry me to bed. I almost blew it at this point. Feeling all the blood in my body rush to my head I flopped around to lie on my belly and press my face into my pillow. Gotta be honest with you guys. I had seen my opportunity to catch them red-handed. I’m mean things like talking shit about me, complaining about me, or admitting to eating my secret cookie stash. (SOMEONE seemed to know about it, whomever that fucker was.) Instead, they only said nice things. What a bunch of weirdos. Perhaps they were testing me? Seeing how long I could keep up the act? I turned my head to the right to get some air since my pillow was slowly suffocating me. From my toes up to my nose, everything was kinda tingly and the corners of my mouth moved up without me actively wanting to. This had been a great birthday, after all. Their talk about April’s celebration coming up made me unsure of what to expect of such a day. At my old place, this date merely meant I would get a yearly examination of my vitals and another entry in my experiment file. On the surface, it sounded like such a hassle to organize and execute and ‘something you should look forward to.’ That last point was Mikey’s words, not mine. After what happened today, I think I knew what he meant. Birthdays, even if nobody knew about them, could be days where you get to just sit down and watch action movies and get to steal snacks and didn’t even have to walk and sleep as much as you like. I could get used to this. Feeling my smile expanding and with Splinter’s and Raph’s words resounding in my head, I huddled deeper into my soft bed.

[spacemonkeysalsa]

God of Ambivalence

Very short chapter. The Artificer who's save Gale runs into the second githyanki of his life. Becuase when two pretty ladies love each other very much, they steal an egg to raise.

Pairing - OC/Gale & Shadowheart/Lae'zel but there will be more as it goes on.

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

or read Chapter Four, below

Dismissed, Elion took a moment outside of Shadowheart’s study to check himself. He breathed in the rejection, knowing it wasn’t rational, that he shouldn’t take it to heart. 

He leaned against a nearby pillar of stone, in the darker corner of the sanctum, and wasted a moment brooding.

Feeling unwanted was a sore spot for him, but that wasn’t the cleric’s fault. She was excited to have her wife back. They had clearly been apart for some time, and it didn’t have anything to do with him.

Nothing ever did.

He rolled his shoulders and took a quick glance around the sanctum. It was quiet and empty today, besides the cats. He wasn’t sure how many Shadowheart had—she’d brought some with her, and others had joined the clowder as the weeks wore on. She also had an enormous wolf that acted as a (hopefully) unnecessary guard at the front gates.

The stone pillars reaching up into the dark ceiling were about the only thing still in good shape from the original build. The sanctum’s unique design, borrowing right into the side of the mountain, meant that portions of it were more cave-like than anything. But it had grown on Elion in the months since he’d first arrived to start his apprenticeship with Master Faydor. The steps were uneven and crumbling, the walls pocked and rough. There was so much work to be done.

Where was Master Faydor? Elion knew he should look for him, make his excuses. He was pretty sure he’d be sent right back the way he came for more rock.

What about the cambion? Surely, it wasn’t safe. out there He wasn’t sure if it was his prerogative to go any further with this little adventure. He’d saved the man, brought him to the cleric. Had he mentioned the cambion? He couldn’t remember much of the last few minutes. Watching Shadowheart perform her strange surgical procedure—so deftly—and then the arrival of the shocking githyanki woman had quite overtaken his experience. He was sure he said something. She'd know better than him what to do about it.

If the man survived—no, not if. When he survived, for Elion felt sure it couldn’t end, not now that they’d both done so much to preserve his life. When he survived, Elion could talk to him.

The cambion could have been looking for him specifically. That was what worried him. He’d mentioned it to the cleric, he was sure, but should he go back to the ravine and ensure that he was dead? Would it be safe? What was he meant to do if the cambion was still alive?

He wished Arabella hadn’t run off like that. She’d seem afraid, but also, like she knew much more than she was saying.

He heard the soft whisper of someone calling out a lure; the type of soft-voice wordless trilling meant to attract an animal, not a person. 

Sure enough, one of the cleric’s cats floated around the pillar. It weaved toward the lure, with its tail straight up and its whiskers inquisitive, eyeing the sanctum’s entryway.

A shadow stretched from the entryway staircase, and precluded a stooped, wiry figure with long fingers and hands, fitted with clawed fingernails, not unlike Elion’s own. The young man had golden skin and spots, another gith.

His face came into view as he completed his descent of the staircase, and enticed the cat closer with those clawed fingers. The cat, an especially fat tabby with bow-legged white paws, rubbed against the gith and consented to being stroked and scratched with his long claw-like golden fingers.

This must be Xan, the expected child of the cleric and her gith wife. Elion resisted the urge to dwell on how that worked. He knew better than most, it just did, sometimes.

Similar to elves, Elion found that this gith man and his mother had a sort of weight to their presence that seemed to hint at their vast lives; though they were not vast in the same manner as an elf. This man might have already lived many times Elion’s years, and would still be walking the planes long after he died. Like his githyanki mother Xan had black markings on his face and throat, simple symbols that seemed to depict three figures gathered around a pointed round hollow where the bow of his collarbone descended under the folds of his simple monk’s robes. The lines of the figures’ long limbs curled down over his shoulders and tapered off, as well as snaking up his jaw to line his cheeks. Like his half-elven mother, he had green eyes with a soft affect. His head was shaved, his beard trimmed neatly, though he’d braided his mustache with small silver beads.

Elion realized that though he could see Xan, he was positioned in such a way at the top of the dark staircase, that he probably couldn’t be seen in return. It might be unwise to startle a monk. He cleared his throat, but stayed a ways off, getting Xan’s attention without approaching.

Indeed, Xan’s brow lifted and he rose to his feet. “Well met.”

“Well met,” Elion descended the staircase. “Shadowheart is with a patient, Lae’zel is helping, though I doubt they’d mind an interruption.”

Xan frowned at the door to the study, where Elion had indicated. “I’ll give them a moment,” his narrow eyes searched Elion, “Construction accident?”

Elion almost laughed, the assumption that they might actually have a crew working on the construction with enough activity that accidents were a threat was immediately frustrating to him in a way he hadn’t expected. He tried not to dwell on it. “No, much more difficult to explain.”

“Well, as a weary traveler, I am in need of a drink, a place to sit, and some light entertainment. Do you think you could oblige me?”

Definitely an older gentleman then. In Elion’s experience, younger people weren’t so quick to impose—but, Xan’s imposition was welcome. It gave him an excellent excuse to avoid seeking out Master Faydor yet.

[ren-c-leyn]

The Shackles of Time Chapter 8: The First Quest Part 2

Chapter 8! Amazing that it's come so far ^^ Our merry little team is leaving the guild hall to go talk to their first client, and we get to explore the POV of a different character.

As far as trigger warnings go, there's really none that I can think of. No death, violence, or gore, or even swearing this time around.

This chapter ended up being roughly 2,300 words long.

 Looking for the next chapter, or new to the series? Here’s the chapter master list for you!

And with that, happy reading.

Zephyr lingered behind the group as they started down the road. Arlen led the way, information in hand, with Merle peering over his right shoulder and Glenn over his left. A few strands of the dark hair slipped from Glenn's bun as he pointed something out to Arlen on the page and gestured up the road. Giving directions to the place, no doubt. Probably somewhere they had been before. There wasn't much of the neighboring villages they hadn't seen before in their years at the guild, after all.

Night walked a small distance behind the trio, fiddling with her box, over and over again. The pieces clicked, slid, and twisted, but there was something more to it than that. He had sensed it when she first arrived at the guild with it tucked safely away in that pouch. Some sort of magic, no doubt, though not from a tradition he knew of.

He was curious about it. Most of the mages in the guild whom had sensed the slight aura of magic were. What could he say? It was interesting to have a new magic tradition walk through the door. But she never let any of them close enough to it to get a good look at the box. Anytime someone got too close for her liking it disappeared, back into the pouch. None of the few whom had been brave enough to ask after it got more than that cold, colorless stare, no matter how charming or polite they were about it.

Maybe she didn't know, maybe she didn't want them to know. Fair, either way, but it only made him more curious about it. Still, it was her box, and therefor her business.

He half listened to the clicking of the box, half listened to the conversation up ahead about the best route to get to the client's farm, and partly listened to their surroundings. Normally, he would have been more alert. Listening for the slightest whisper of movement to their sides, or watching for eyes in the bushes, shadows in the sky, that sort of thing, but this road was never dangerous. With all of the adventurers constantly coming and going, bandits would be fools to set up here. Monsters rarely survived more than five seconds of entering the guild's territory. Wolves and other wild animals weren't much of a problem, either, preferring to stay away from the well-traveled roads and hunt in the richer, more bountiful hills away from the noisy adventurers.

No, these roads weren't particularly interesting to him anymore. So many years of wandering up and down the same paths, and he had seen it all before. The willow tree at the corner, the wild rose bushes growing around the gnarled trunk of a fallen oak, the siren lilies and rabbit whisker grass swaying in the breeze. It was beautiful and serene and the same as it had been every other day he had walked this way.

No, he was far more interested in how the rookies were handling things. Night's gaze was constantly shifting. Swift, subtle movements, likely observing their surroundings. He had heard rumors that Shade-kins had keen eyes and an extra sense, though he wasn't sure if it was true or not. He had considered asking Night about it, though he found it hard to broach even simple topics with her. The only two he had seen successfully navigate a non-guild related topic conversation with her were Arlen and Cassandra, but Arlen mostly carried the conversations and Cassandra was good with everyone....

His mind flitted back to the hollow look in her eyes as she talked about the few brutal rookie jobs. It always stuck with him, the way she worried over everyone's first outing. Sometimes, he thought he'd like to know the stories of why. Hear the horrors that she had witnessed, learn the names of those who never came home to the guild, if only so his dear friend didn't have to carry the weight of the memories alone. Other times, he wondered if it wasn't better to let her leave the past where it lay.

The sound of bubbling water and hearty laughter pulled him back into the present, the now. Merle and Glenn were laughing, Arlen shaking his head while Cherrenth groaned. They were crossing the bridge now, the farm houses starting to dot the horizon. He could hear the sounds of sheep and goats starting to mix in with the crisp breeze. Little black and brown dots of cattle could barely be seen grazing on a hill on the horizon. Not much longer until they got to see their new guild members in action.

They had done a good job coaching them. They would be fine. Merle was strong and a stubborn survivor, Night was vicious and clever, and Arlen was patient and well-learned. It was a good team, a fine balance of different skill sets and knowledge.

Still, Cassandra's voice echoed in his mind. He shook his head, dispelling her anxiety. That was, after all, what he and Glenn were here for. They may not be The Time Keeper and Frostblade, but they could handle most things. They had handled everything the world had thrown at them, and they'd do it again without mercy or second thoughts if this went badly. They'd guard them like Wyindulin and Riya had guarded them when they were rookies. It would be fine, he would make sure it was fine.

They turned down a familiar dirt road and Zephyr grinned. On the boarder of the thick forest was a house Zephyr and Glenn knew well. The one where they had taken on their first quest. It was built in the older style of a time gone by. Simple pillars of stripped logs supporting a balcony framed the entrance. The house itself was weather-worn, paint and stone chipping away and shudders a little crooked. One of the window planters sagged a bit, and the wooden door had some surface cracking, but it retained a cheerful feeling. Probably because of all of the flowers neatly groomed and crowding the flowerbeds. There were more of them than the last time they had visited. It was still so peaceful....

Merle stepped up and gave the old door a few resounding knocks before stepping back in line with Arlen and Glenn. The trio stood together, swaying or bouncing on their heels like children. Zephyr let out an affectionate sigh before shaking his head. This really was Wyndulin's revenge, wasn't it? He was sure that the Frostblade would get a good laugh, seeing Glenn and Merle standing side by side with the same silly smiles on their faces. Beside him, Night slipped the box back into it's pouch just a moment before the door swung open.

An older woman stepped out. Her striped, gray fur was beginning to gain white flecks to it, and her tail crooked at the end. Her whiskers twitched as she took in the sight of the strangers in front of her before her bright green eyes settled on him and Glenn. They widened and a smile crossed her round face, revealing the pointed teeth.

"I thought I smelled trouble on the wind," she teased with an affectionate purr. "When I asked for adventurers, I didn't think they'd send you two troublemakers again."

"Good to see you too, Bella," Glenn replied with a laugh. "I see you're still finding yourself in strange situations that require troublemakers' help."

She sighed.

"First my lily stolen, then the merchant I ordered seeds from robbed, and now this," she replied with a shake of her head and a flick of her fluffy ear. "I thought country life was supposed to be relaxing!" She laughed. "Well, I suppose an adventure once in awhile isn't so bad, particularly when I make friends like you two out of it. But, oh, there's new scents and faces with you. How rude of me. It's nice to meet you three. New members of their team?"

"New members of the guild," Zephyr replied, "they're the ones who are actually taking your job today. It's their very first quest. We're mostly here to observe."

"Is that so? Well consider me honored, being the client for two team's first quest." Bella's ears perked up. "Ah, but I've been keeping you from it. Come in, come in! I'll show you where the tunnel is. You have excellent timing, I've just caught an odd scent from down there."

"An odd scent?" Arlen asked as he followed Bella.

Merle followed closely, her full attention on Bella as the farmer nodded.

"Yes, something like flowers," she replied, leading them to the stairs. "Varieties I don't recognize. I caught it once last night, and again this morning when I was putting away the latest batch of strawberry jam. It's not constant, just a little scent that catches my attention once in awhile."

"Perhaps a breeze passing through it?" Arlen suggested.

"Could be," she replied as she began the climb down into the basement. "Could also be a monster or a curse for all I know. That's why I've hired you."

 At the bottom of the stairs was a clean room carve right out of the stone. There were rows of shelves, though many of them were empty, waiting to be refilled for the next winter. A small stock of preserved foods remained. Bags of flour, jars of jams and pickled foods, among other things rested neatly in their places. Herbs hung in bundles from the ceiling. Baskets of potatoes and other long-lasting produce rested on top of the shelves. Bella guided them to the back of the room where there were two noticeable gaps in the rows of shelves, as well as the gaping maw of the tunnel. Bella patted her apron, staring down the tunnel before looking back to the group with a muted smile.

"Well, I suppose this is where were part ways and your adventure begins. Be sure to tell me what you all find down there, won't you? I've been dying to know."

"We'll tell you the entire tale, from start to finish, don't you worry," Glenn replied with a smile before turning to the group. "Alright, so you three are going to need to figure out how you want to proceed. Zephyr and I will stay at the back and out of your way. This is your quest, but if things for wrong, we're going to be here for you."

The trio nodded and Zephyr couldn't help but smile. It was so long ago, but he still remembered. That was almost exactly the same speech Wyndulin had given them when they first came to this house. It was funny, the way fate worked. Here they were, where their journey had begun as mentors at the start of a new team's journey. He wondered what Wyndulin and Riya would think of it. Maybe he'd tell them this story when they got back.

At least, he hoped they'd both be coming back. It had been awhile since anyone had heard from Riya. He hoped she was okay. Glenn came to his side and gently squeezed his shoulder. Nothing was said, but he knew Glenn understood. The same thoughts had probably crossed his mind as well. How could they not? As thick as nostalgia was here, it seemed impossible not to think of it.

His mind wandered as he half-listened to Arlen and Merle talk over a general strategy. There was a mild complication regarding the fact that humans couldn't see in the dark and Arlen needed his hands free to help with spell casting. Arlen was also concerned about her spear in tight quarters. Merle snorted, biting back laughter when he brought it up.

"If you know what you're doing, you can use a spear anywhere."

Arlen nodded.

"So, I assume you'll be going first then?"

"i will go first," Night cut in sharply, already standing in the mouth of the tunnel, her back nearly to the rest of them. "I'll scout ahead of the rest of you. I don't need light to see, so I can move easier without giving myself away."

"Are you sure, Miss Night?" Arlen asked, concern ringing in his voice, "You'll be putting yourself at risk by moving alone."

"Not so much," she replied blandly as she stepped into the tunnel. "This is very similar to what I did before. If I see trouble, I'll return. Count to fifteen before you follow."

Then, almost as as if she were truly a shade, Night seemed to dissolve into the darkness. Her pale figure blended and blurred with the shadows until Zephyr couldn't see her any longer. A long string of questions flooded his mind instantly. Was this a trait of the Shade-kin? A spell? An effect of the box? Or just some sort of trick of the eyes caused by how she moved? He wasn't sure, but he found it fascinating. Hopefully there'd be a chance to get the answers soon.

 Merle ran her thumb up and down the shaft of her spear while Arlen swayed a little. Then, on the count of fifteen, Merle stepped to the mouth of the tunnel. Her shield was stowed on her back, and a torch lit in her hand.

"Ready?"

"Ready," Arlen echoed.

"We're ready whenever you are," Glenn replied calmly before looking to him. "Do you want rearguard or middle?"

"Middle, I hate being stabbed in the back."

Glenn snorted.

"You weren't stabbed, she just poked you with a stick."

"A cursed stick! I couldn't use my magic properly for weeks after that."

"It wasn't so bad, the pink sparkles were fun to watch."

Zephyr shook his head at his lover's teasing.

"Then you'll have no problem taking the back, see if the pink sparkles are so fun when you can't swing a sword."

"I have no problem with taking the back. After all, I love watching yours."

Glenn winked at him and Zephyr sighed, but caught himself smiling anyways. Really, this man never changed. And neither did the way he make his heart flutter.

Merle nodded once the order was confirmed.

"Alright, we'll leave the back to you. Let's get moving before Night gets too far ahead."

"Afraid she'll get into trouble?" Arlen asked, following her into the tunnel.

Merle snorted.

"No, I fear she'll take all of my fun and glory."

Taglist, feel free to ask to be added or removed at any time:

@catinthesun2​ @dragon-swords-prophecies​ @helathorloki​ and @thelaughingstag​

[pexterambles]

Could you tell us about ur handaconda?

(sorry for the muddy image in advance)

My Handaconda's is called Claw and is Sergio's number one understudy, among other things.

lets see.. what counts as fun facts....

claw and lup (my stapler) are besties.

based off of an eel! can stun people. and grab em.

lives in the shadows. when mario meets claw, claw pulls mario into the shadows and they fight in there. claw can slither out of the shadows if they so wished, but- there is just so much Body which means you have so much mass and that makes slithering is so SLOW. so they prefer travelling via dark.

an extremely distorted shadow of what once was & a very cryptic embodiment of buried memories.

mouth is angular. never curves. so they're always just :< and :> and the like.

very curious about Sergio, especially since they're sort of... melded? connected? something like that. unlike the other soldiers, claw has always been a figment of something in Sergio's mind and just so happens to become reality. their whole world revolves around him as his creation.

body patterns can glow!!

i dont know if you can see it very clearly, but claw has many hands on their body. one pair around the neck, one around the ribs, and one on the hip. those can MOVE. they can extend those ,, i guess imagine doctor octopus but less robotic and very much connected in the body. so all in all they have eight arms!

their main two arms are very floppy. like wacky wavy inflatable tube people but they can control it. literal noodle arms on a danger noodle.

uses Blue (the big blue eye at the end of their hair) to look around, cannot see through their face as it was purposefully ripped. not to worry though, Sergio still has that ripped piece somewhere on him. claw also uses Orange (the eyes on the back of their head) to see who's behind him. the other green eyes are optional.

Blue can also move around! it's always in an upward stance like the picture above.

the... what are those things. i guess antennaes? you know those long one piece strands? those are used as sensors for surrounding as well as hearing (as it's their ear. or part of it). think of whiskers, but really long.

has a big ol hand at the end of their huge tail. its huge! and claw often buries themselves in their tail. so. just picture the game handaconda but with the image of claw upside down, don't worry though. they're comfortable.

claw and sergio knew each other for a loong time. sergio just hasn't come to terms with it yet.

speaking of their bond, its very strange! sergio acts like he don't care and looks the part, but nah, he is there for claw. he's intrigued and fearful of claw's spitting image. but he isn't running away from it. he would love to bring claw for the long haul unless claw wants to leave his side. except that might never happen as claw feels so much sympathy for sergio.

did you know? claw is normally looking after tivonne. they push his wheelchair wherever it needs to go despite it having an automatic function for it to move.. and wheels. but sergio insists on having at least someone there that tivonne can trust as backup and protection while tivonne kicks ass.

oh my god lads you have no idea how many times i brainrotted over claw third wheeling tivonne and sergio. its so sad and hilarious but so cute. they are very supportive.

that yellow line on their body can open up!! it normally shows a lot of hands and eyes and tentacles and generally just body horror stuff. the only person who has the same messed up alive insides is Erebus, but with more horrifying implications, who has eyes and mouths n stuff. people ponder over what helps these two stand..

can see the in the dark! obviously.

really really excited to play any sort of hand games!! or physical games! they love talking to others and learning more about the world around them. they want to adventure across the lands and go on journeys.. they have a very optimistic and curious view on the world.

has very broken grammar. they say stuff like "very nice. me like that too" and "you play game with me? want? yes!" ...hm... imagine razor from genshin impact.

huehue

i like claw a lot

[catsafarithewriter]

The Disappearance of Haru Yoshioka (Part 11)

Part: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [fini]

x

Haru’s voice sudden dries, and the words that peel themselves from her lips are cracked and hoarse.  

“Are you... me?”

The other woman - the other Haru - gives a smile. “In a fashion.”

Unbidden, Haru’s gaze runs over the uncanny valley stranger, her eyes quick to note the dissimilarities that set them apart. For while this woman bears the same body, the history carved into her bones is alien to Haru. Her eyes are the same colour, but they are wearier, the bags beneath them weighted from long shifts and tight budgets. Her skin is duller, paled from too many hours spent indoors, and instead of a wedding ring there is a scar running along her left hand. 

“You’re... the Haru from the other reality,” she says. 

The other Haru gives the same half-nod, and Haru realises it is the same motion Toto gives so often. “I’m more like... an echo. There is a part of you that still remembers the life you lost, but it is distant. This is all that remains.”

“Can you return my memories?”

The other Haru shakes her head. “No. The only way you’ll be able to regain your memories is if you choose to go back down that path.”

“But how am I meant to decide if I can’t remember what my life used to be like?”

“Well... I guess that’s where I come in.”

She sees Haru’s curious gaze, and laughs loosely and runs her palm over the scarred hand. “I always told the Bureau that I would never get involved in any of their cases, but the cases didn’t always afford me the same courtesy. Being an associate of a Bureau that likes to stick its nose in other people’s business comes with its own risk.” 

“It looks like it took its toll,” Haru hazards, but she only receives a light laugh for her cautioned comment. 

“Life does that.” 

Less for me than you, Haru thinks, but does not say it. Evidently she doesn’t hide it as well as she’d hoped, for there is that same echoing laugh. 

“Oh, what’s the matter, Ikewaki? You don’t like how your other option looks?”

“Is this when I make my choice?” Haru asks, pushing onwards. There is a smile in the other woman’s voice as she calls Haru by her married name; a strangely impersonal address from an echo of another life. 

“No. You’ll know when the time comes, but for now... I guess this is a waiting room.” The other Haru wrinkles her nose, as if twitching whiskers as she thinks. “Or perhaps an interview room. Regardless, when you feel ready, the choice will open.”

Apparently her other self had picked up a flair for the dramatics. Probably from Baron, Haru decides. Well, if this is indeed a place for questions, she can oblige. “Is there a right answer?” 

The other Haru - Yoshioka, Haru can’t help but think of her - shrugs. “Well, my reality does pan out better for the Cat Kingdom,  but... I don’t think that’s what you’re really asking, is it?”

Haru reddens, uneasy with being seen through so easily. It is difficult to think in terms of people she has never met, whom she cared for in another life, but in her reality she has a different family. She has a husband and friends and a life she has nourished and cherished. “Is it true what the spirit said?” she asks. “Am I happier now?”

Yoshioka gives a Muta-like snort. “There are ways your life is quantifiably better than mine. Financially. Vocationally. Romantically. For that, I will not argue, but on the concept of who was happier... I could not say.”

“You were working a dead-end job in a tiny flat.”

Yoshioka smiles. “True. But have you ever seen the diamond horizon of the midnight world? Or spoken with giant lionturtles? Have you heard the first songs of the sky whales? There are ways in which my life was richer than yours, just as yours has its.”

“I suppose.”

“I won’t lie to you; the life I made wasn’t glamorous or comfortable.” Yoshioka chuckles. “I did my fair bit of running from monsters, however much I tried to stay out of it, and there were opportunities I missed because I was too busy wrapped up in the Bureau’s world but... every life has its trade-offs. There is more than one way to find happiness.”

Her fingers brush almost tenderly over the scar that mars her left hand, tracing the raised skin and circling where it ends, and now Haru sees what she had missed the first time around. There is a steadiness in the other Haru’s gaze, an easy confidence in the slope of her shoulders, and she realises the scars are not a sign of a near-failure, but of something survived. Something she was stronger than. Something she lived through to learn for another day.

Again, Yoshioka follows Haru’s gaze, and her fingers slow. That same easy chuckle rises in the back of her throat. “Oh, I know. A little bit Humpty Dumpty, isn’t it? Turns out humans get damaged a lot easier than cats and Creations.”

“Do they... hurt?”

“There’s always a few aches and pains.” She motions to her knee. “The scar there always itches just before a storm which has its uses, sometimes.” A laugh. “And they hurt like hell upon the receiving, but...” and she gives a soft smile, “the Bureau always puts me back together again.” 

Haru can’t find it in herself to return the smile. She tries to imagine living the life Yoshioka has done - to imagine choosing that life when a kinder one is taking - and finds she cannot. They are more than simply two variations on a person; they are different people, shaped by the choices they have made. 

“Would you...?” Haru falters. “If I choose to keep my life, what happens to you?”

“If you choose to stand back, I think your reality will return once more and what’s left of the old reality will disappear for good.”

“Including you?”

“Including me.” Yoshioka smiles sympathetically. “Oh, don’t look so sad. I am merely the echo of a life that once was; you’ll forget me along with all the other remnants of what once was. If you choose your current life, everything will go back to how it was before Baron turned up at your window.” Another smile, bittersweet this time. “I think even Baron will forget this time around. I’m glad. It will be a kindness on him to have the last few years erased.”

Haru hesitates. “Do I have to? Forget, that is?” 

“I’m afraid you’ll have no choice. You cannot truly live the life of this reality with the past shadowing you. You will be happier not knowing what you might have had.” 

Maybe so, Haru thinks, but despite everything - despite the chaos, despite the stress, despite the difficulty of balancing everything - she finds she does not want it to simply vanish. “I think I understand you a little better,” she says. She looks up into the other Haru’s eyes, and sees behind the tiredness lies a boldness that she had missed before. “You didn’t just stay for the adventure, did you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You stayed because of the Bureau. Because of... of Baron.” 

The faintest blush colours Yoshioka’s cheeks. “Yes.”

“You love him, don’t you?”

“Yes. And maybe the spirit was right. Maybe that’s why I kept making stupid decisions, clinging on to a world I don’t belong to, just to stay with him a little longer.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No. Baron is...” and her other self pauses, but not from doubt. The smile that crosses her lips is achingly familiar; it is the same smile Haru gives her husband in their small quiet moments. It is a smile of surety of where she belongs. “He’s reckless and dramatic and flawed and many other things; things you’ve come to know well enough in your time with him, I’m sure. But he is also kind and determined and brave. The way he sees life - not as an end goal to success or productivity, but as a chance to help others - it changes you. It helps you see the little things, to understand even the smallest choices can make the biggest differences.” She inhales curtly, giving the ghost of an amused snort. “But I guess I don’t have to tell you about that, do I?”

“I guess you don’t.” 

There is a click from behind Haru, and Yoshioka glances past her. The smile that flits across her lips cannot hide the sadness. “I guess that means you’re ready to go. Any last questions before you make your choice?”

“Only one. If you were in my shoes, would you do it all over again?”

“Yes. In a heartbeat, yes.” Yoshioka’s gaze softens. “But, in the end, it’s your choice. It has to be yours.” 

“Thank you.” Haru turns, and there is an old wooden door behind her. She reaches out and finds the handle unlocked, the door already gently ajar. 

“Haru?”

She lingers. “Yes?”

“Whichever path you take, you will be happy.” Although Haru isn’t looking back, she can hear the affectionate smile in Yoshioka’s voice. “In the end, the only question is what kind of happiness do you want?”

“I think I know now,” Haru answers, and she steps through the door.    

x

Part: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [fini]

[lastluvbug]

Okay I've got another one! How do you think Leona, Vil, Rook, Idia and Malleus would react if their fem reader asked them to dress up as the beauty and the beast for Halloween BUT! She wants to be the fem!beast and them as the male! beauty. Will they agree? And how will they dress up? Thanks!

Is This My Trick? (Feat. Leona, Rook, Vil, Idia, and Malleus)

Rook Hunt-

How fun! You want to dress up as the beast to his beauty? He’d agree without a second thought, believing you to be beautiful no matter what you wear.

He’d sweep you into the bathroom, where you two would do the other’s makeup and hair, a sweet melody of compliments streaming from Rook’s lips as he played with your locks, and you his. Let’s say only one of you took the night seriously, and it wasn’t Rook.

You’d given him a wide smokey eye, blended with a little gold to flatter his hair color. For a little extra pop, you painted his lips with a clear gloss, and his cheeks with a fair anount of blush, making him look more princess-like than princely.

There wasn’t much you could with his hair, so you settled instead with curling it slightly, giving him waves instead of the pin straight bob everyone knew.

His outfit was fantastically flamboyant; an indigo colored overcoat with a tail that split into two ends, with matching colored trousers leading to black dress shoes. A vertically striped vest was beneath, covering a button up white dress shirt, a blood red bow tied around his neck.

“You’ll be almost as spectacular as Vil when I’m done!” He’d clap as soon as you were done marveling at him. And with that, he set to work.

He’d tease you mercilessly, throwing you for loop after loop as he sung little rhymes laced with complex adulation, just to turn around and lightly poke fun at you. At first, he painted on a cute little button nose over yours, with whiskers flaring out over your cheeks, biting his lip as he tried and failed to muffle his laughter at your shocked face.

Wiping it off, he’d truly go all out, giving you the face you desired after you shrugged on your dress.

It was so spot on, you almost questioned if he’d done something like this before. Your eyes had been framed in a dusty black eyeshadow, creased with white to bring out your elongated lashes. Your face had been shaped with blends of browns, blacks, and white, making your cheekbones and jawline appear sharper, the makeup around you nose connecting down to your lips in a V shape.

Your dress was almost as exquisite. Long sleeved with mesh gloves, it was an ombré of blue to black, coming to a soft v-neck across your chest that was half concealed with the same mesh as your gloves. The skirt was knee length, folding over itself to create the twirling look. And, to point out your waist, a thin black belt looped around you, the same color as your boots.

As soon as you were done thanking him and gushing over your makeup, Rook bowed as he laughed, extending a hand towards you.

“Your beauty far surpasses that of a beast, but just for the enchantment of the night, let us play the roles of prince and cursed princess! We shall sweep the crowds off their feet!”

Vil Schoenheit-

Excuse me? Did—Did he just hear you correctly? You want to dress as a beast for Halloween? No, absolutely not!

It doesn’t matter how much you beg or ask, his answer remains a solid no. He can’t afford to be unsightly, and neither can you. Though, he can’t help but feel bad when you disappointedly walk away, so he comes up with a compromise.

He’ll take your hand and lead you into his extremely large bathroom, and as soon as the perfumey smell hits your face, you know something is about to happen. “I can’t allow you to walk out of my dorm looking like a beast, but I can allow you this very special offer,” he’d say curtly, sitting down before his mirror, “only for tonight, you have permission to do what you please with my cosmetics. Do it well enough, and I’ll give you the opportunity to style my hair.” He’d grin, reaching for his makeup remover to give you a clean slate to work with.

You were ecstatic. Vil never let anyone into his room, let alone do his makeup! You eagerly set to work, using his brand name materials and trying to keep yourself from bursting.

It was a little insufferable, as Vil would criticize you ever two minutes over the way you held the eyeliner, and how hard you were pressing against his skin, and—oh, for the love of the queen, stop shaking!

At the end, he deemed it of passing quality before allowing you to style his hair, of which you accepted without question. You were quite proud of how it all turned out at the end, and honestly, you didn’t really care what Vil thought.

You’d given him a thick cat eye, using a black mascara to extend his lashes and bring out the highlight of the look; the golden eyeshadow. You’d picked up a few tricks here and there, and had executed a flawless glittery eyeshadow that blended into a dark crease, the vibrant color dotting the inner area while circling under the eye. You went plain with his hair, styling it into a sleek looped updo and letting down a few strands of hair to finish it off.

Vil was in charge of dressing himself, which he’d done prior to your little makeup adventure. He’d chosen to wear a jacket of stark white, a black silk button up shirt under and a frilly cravat tied around his neck. He’d slipped on a pair of lace cuffs, the thin mesh falling around his hands, similarly to the way his white trousers fell over his golden heels, risen a good five inches from the floor.

“Don’t worry dear, you’ll be the starlight bright princess to my prince soon.” He’d smile, raising your hand to his lips as you resisted the urge to kiss him right there.

He’d use a gross amount of pink shaded items, some for only a second, and others for what felt like an hour. Though, after all of the materials had been piled onto the countertops, he’d announce that he was finished, much to your delight.

You were astounded by his skill, though really, what did you expect? This is the Vil Schoenheit, anything below exceptional was an insult!

He’d used a rose gold eye shadow to color your eyelids, darker towards the outer ends before shading into a more salmon-esque color. He’d used the tip of his finger to dab on silvery glitter, emphasizing the natural sparkle in your orbs. Your lips were covered with a petal pink, matching your dress, which of course Vil had chosen specifically for you.

It was more of a ball gown than a costume, with a billowing ankle long skirt and a tightly fitted bodice, flowy sleeves falling around your arms while nature-esque embroidery was threaded into the torso. You looked close to a fairy, practically radiating glitter and light as you excitedly clung to Vil’s arm, thanking him up and down.

“Anything for my little forest flower. As my princess, I promise you to give you an evening that will be magically gorgeous.”

(Of course, he wouldn’t really do anything. He has to keep his skin baby soft, and that hair? Oh honey, you wouldn’t know the half of it.)

Idia Shroud-

He’d be against it at first. He really didn’t want to leave the comfort of his room, especially on Halloween, where there’d no doubt be a huge party just waiting to grow his anxiety ten times bigger than usual.

Seeing your expectant face paired with Ortho’s encouragement was what broke him, though he was reluctant to dress up. “Babe... do I have to...? Can’t we just stay here?” He’d uselessly try as you’d pull him into the bathroom, Ortho bouncing happily after.

Neither of you listened as Ortho went searching through Idia’s closet, looking for the clothes to suit the occasion, while you pulled out your makeup, both of you smiling wickedly as Idia sweat dropped.

One busy hour later, Idia stood self consciously in the mirror, inspecting himself as you and Ortho made the room glow with your smiles.

You’d given his eyes a cut crease look, using a metallic blue-blended-with-gold to compliment his hair, as well as hide the bags created from too many night stayed awake playing video games. You’d chosen a mauve lipstick to match, making his lips appear full and plump.

Ortho dressed his older brother magnificently; he chose a pair of high waisted tights that hugged his hips and calves, four golden buttons glinting off the light. His shirt was rather decorative, with a frilly collar and chest, the sleeves flowing over his pale skin before being trapped in the tight wrist cuffs.

“Hmm...looks nice. But I’m not going to be the only one doing this.” He’d grin, mischief written on every frame of his face.

Against all of your protests, Idia would refuse to allow you do your own makeup. He’d snag your pallets and anything else you brought, laughing out loud when you finally sagged in defeat. In short, it was a mess.

The dress you wore, probably the only thing that wouldn’t draw a laugh from onlookers, was plain black, with a fitted off-the-shouldered top and lacy sleeves that wrapped around your arms. The asymmetrical skirt fell down to your calves, before looping back up to reveal your legs as it stopped around mid thighs. Your midnight shoes lifted you about three inches, though you were still shorter than Idia.

Now you’re makeup... that was a completely different story. Since Idia had insisted, he gave you a cute little pink nose, a line of black leading down to your lips that were colored a dark red, black dots sprinkled across your cheeks as a set of three whiskers flared out across each one.

Idia made you a cat! A cat’s not a beast, at least not usually!! When you complained, all he did was laugh and drape his arms around your shoulders in a hug from behind.

“Sorry... I just painted you as you are. You’re too cute to be a beast... I love you for it though.”

Leona Kingscholar-

No. No no no no. Nuh uh. No way.

He’d honestly be a little offended by the question, though he’d be a dead man before he let you know that.

“Isn’t the trickery supposed to wait until later?” He’d nonchalantly ask, tail whipping in the air. He may be a royal lion, but dressing in those tight clothes was an absolute no-no. He was the beast here, he even had the ears to prove it.

It would be near impossible to convince him, but after enough of your wide eyed attempts, he’d eventually break, allowing you to waltz him into the bathroom so you could tame that wild mane and dress him however you pleased. It took a long, long while before you finished, but it all was worthwhile in the end.

The result was breathtaking, in your opinion. You managed to tie Leona’s hair into a half-up half-down style, embellished with a rose pin, a simple product threaded into his locks to create waves and curls instead of the frizz you were so used to.

He was stuffed into a yellow blazer over a long sleeved white dress shirt, the laced cuffs brushing over the middle of his palms. To compliment, a pair of black pants with a gold strip down each leg followed, black dress shoes finishing the getup.

“If it were anyone else, they’d be running for the hills right about now. Let’s see how beastly you can be, my little mouse.” He’d growl, clearly unamused by your laughter as you ran a hand down his arm.

Leona would stand by, watching curiously as you transformed yourself into the beast to pair with his beauty. After you finished, he’d quite literally be speechless, even more so blown away by your choice of dress.

The makeup wasn’t anything special, you just used a little bit of eyeliner and black facepaint to paint over your nose, dragging a slim trail to your lips, which were covered in black lipstick. You used darker browns to blend around your cheekbones, and made your eyes look a touch larger than they were with a risky cat eye that paid off in the end.

Your dress was magical, to say the least. Floor length, with silky fabrics of gold and blue twisted into elegant arched and loops over the gown, the bodice fitted and off-the-shoulder to expose your collar.

By the time you were done, you caught Leona’s intense stare, maybe a hint of a blush darkening his already tan cheeks. When you said something about he, he’d merely pout before taking your arm and pulling you close, so that his cologne and your perfume mixed into an entirely new scent.

“I don’t know if I’d call you a beast, my beautiful little herbivore. Let’s go, I’d like to show off all this work. And for the record... you better give me my treat later.”

Malleus Draconia-

Oh? You want to dress up as a beast? He’d done his fair share of research on this human tradition, and had wanted to try it out for an embarrassingly long time, so he had no problems agreeing.

He didn’t have much of a designer’s touch, so he watched with an intrigued grin as you excitedly ran around gathering your materials. “Careful, we don’t want to waste that energy before the party, do we?” He’d laugh, sitting on the chair you brought and allowing you to do your work.

He was a little jumpy, but by the end, it didn’t matter as he marveled at the outcome of your delicate work.

You’d expertly woven his thin black hair into a loose braided crown that fell around his horns, half of it still cascading down his shoulders and shining in the artificial light. His eyes were rimmed thinly with eyeliner, accentuated with a dark eyeshadow.

He was dressed in a deep blue overcoat, a white button down dress shirt underneath. Around his neck was a pristine white cravat, the ends laced with black, matching his dress pants and shoes. It was rather simplistic, but suited Malleus all too well compared to his usual attire.

“Stunning. I can’t say I’m upset with how you’ve pampered me, dearest. What ever shall you do next?” He’d grin in a closed eye smile, sitting patiently as you worked on yourself.

You worked diligently, applying so many different types of makeup that he’d become a little dizzy trying to wrap his head around the names and colors. When you were done, you hardly looked like the same person. You’d used an assortment of greys and browns to rim your face, two lines cutting down your cheeks to create pronounced cheekbones. You’d painted your eyes in a thick layer of black, shimmery silver blended up to your eyebrows and highlighting your irises. Your lips were a delicious fuschia, so bright against the rest of your face.

Your dress was immaculate, a single shouldered black-and white apparel. The sleeve was made of a thin line of black lace shaped like various flowers, snaking over the colorless bodice and skirt before rounding over the hem. It was rather short, ending just above mid thigh, a calf high pair of strappy boots at least five inches tall doing basically nothing to promote your height compared to Malleus.

When you gave him a little twirl as you put away your cosmetics, he let his eyes wander over his every part of you, thoroughly enjoying the temporary view.

“My, my... You’re truly a sight, dearest. Come, let’s show them all the beauty that will surely make history.”

There we are! Honestly, it was so fun designing all these clothes, except Rook’s. Sorry loves, I had no brain juice left and could only think of his Ghost Marriage outfit.

Thanks so much for reading, and thanks to @blackstrawberrynightmare for the ask! I hope you enjoyed!

Stay lovely!

[coutelier]

WIP - Irongate

Many fairy tales begin with a child. Broken, orphaned, rejected, then found by a seemingly magic being that will grant them any wish. Many fairy tales, and this is no exception. Dreams become reality, but there is usually a price, terms, conditions. And dreams can be twisted into nightmares. This is a fairy tale, but not everything is as it seems.

Previews: Chapter One / Chapter Two

Genres: Science Fiction, Mystery, Adventure. Elements of horror and quite a bit of action, plus a lot of inspiration and reference to fantasy, folklore, and mythology.

Themes: Growing up, found family, parents, real monsters.

Warnings: Violence and death. One character is seen abused by her mother in the beginning. Some mild swearing.

Kaya Cade remembers a time when the world was young and days lasted a thousand years. Just over a decade later and those days seem light-years away. She finds herself in a tedious job having in that decade made a complete mess of her life, her friendships… There is no magic in this world. No adventure.

That’s what she thought until, it turns out, faeries are real and plucking out the eyes of any who look on them without permission, as she now has. The only ray of hope is a rumor that a witch lives in a lighthouse on a hill near Irongate, but when Kaya goes there this ‘witch’ is someone she betrayed in the past. Will she put aside her grievance to help solve a mystery in the present?

Meanwhile, there is a girl who won’t sleep until she’s exacted revenge, a powerful man determined to cover up his mistakes, and a Queen who sees it as the natural order that parents should die to make way for their children.

Irongate is a story about friendships, family, growing up, hidden people zealously guarding their privacy, and about a world undergoing great change. Things that were once only dreamed about are suddenly becoming real, but twisted into nightmares by the irresponsible and reckless. Monsters hunt men, while in the shadows future Gods lie teething.

Check out the story with pictures coming to this site and Youtube.

Irongate is a sci-fi adventure mystery set in a contemporary-ish world - think X-Files/Doctor Who/Scooby Doo/Ghostbusters (more 1984 than 2016 in terms of character and humor).

Characters:

Pythia - AI created by Meridiem, meant to predict rises and falls in share prices, but has grown far beyond her original programming.

Tenley Tych - Perpetually angry tween. Tenley’s mother made her learn martial arts practically from the day she could crawl. And now, after meeting a strange woman in the woods, she’s become pound-for-pound one of the deadliest warriors of all time.

Titania - Proclaims herself Queen of the Forest, and the hunt. Clearly not human, with her deep black eyes and skin that constantly shifts in color and pattern.

Lilian & Ella - Titania’s lieutenants. Not much is known about them, but it seems they were orphans who ran away together. They were found by the Queen and became Changelings and remain fanatically loyal to this day.

Jennifer Airhart - Lives in a lighthouse on top of a hill. Brainy, very good at taking things apart and sometimes putting them back together, but lives in her own world and would prefer if everyone else stayed out.

Kaya Cade - Punk, guitarist, and thief. Kaya’s strained relationship with her family led to her taking a mean turn in her teens. Now as an adult she’s realized she’s been taking her frustrations out on the wrong people and is trying to change for the better. But is the past willing to let her go?

Doctor Jana Sarkis - Biologist, Geneticist, and all round super woman. Jana knows her employers will do all they can to exploit and profit from her work, but still believes it will benefit all humanity in the long-run.

Oshiro Sayuri - Runs a General Store and drummer in The Killer Aqua Bunnies. Selfless and kind, but is she hiding a dark side?

The Dibbles - Francis Daramy and Chauncey ‘Chance’ Delainy. They are cops (good cops; not bad). Maybe a little too soft on certain miscreants.

Groups/Factions/Places:

Meridiem - Shadowy Mega-Corporation with a hand in many things, and will go to extreme lengths to cover-up their mistakes.

Irongate - Former mining town now home to a university and severl technology and R&D companies.

Short Stories (these are some shorts that mostly take place after the main WIP so may contain spoilers):

Why They Cry - Tenley Tych faces old memories and enemies as a Cold-War experiment tries to get inside her head. (Wattpad).

Rats & ROBOTS - Jennifer Airhart faces a home invasion of the cheese-munching whiskered variety. (Wattpad).

Another snippet that I’ve not given a title to.

[delldarling]

flirting with danger | harper & peregrine pt. i

female faerie x gender/body neutral reader x male faerie 1.5k words sfw | a single nuzzle and a bit of hand touching

People do odd things when chasing adrenaline. Jumping out of planes, climbing mountains, hang-gliding or triathlons - but those are expected. The general populace might still think it’s crazy, but it makes sense. You’re chasing adventure! That involves big things and grand gestures. Photographic evidence and guides or trainers.

Walking the streets at night?

That’s never smart. That’s not chasing adventure, that’s asking for trouble. Flirting with danger.

It’s frustrating, hearing those words over and over. You’re not chasing danger or walking aimlessly through the streets after all. You’re looking for music. 

The rhythm of car tires over a dip in the road. The breeze whistling through the trees in the park and whipping the power lines into a frenzy overhead. It sounds like- you can close your eyes and nearly see the music, caught in the air like a bit of floating thread.

You scrub your hands over your forehead, trying to keep from gritting your teeth. You just need to find it for real. That refrain, that tune. You can remember it so clearly, can hear the sweet notes- until you think about it too much. It flits just out of reach when you try too hard, like a child teasing a cat. You keep trying to hook just a single finger into it and yet-

It’s maddening. No matter how long you’ve searched, no matter how many times you’ve gone wandering, eager to find that song, it stays forever out of reach. 

You've been walking for about a half hour tonight, not particularly hopeful, but still unwilling to give up the search. You kick at a pebble as you follow the beaten down sidewalk. It's cracked and corroded, weeds springing from the seams where it meets the road, spots shining iridescent in passing headlights. Oil spots, you note, and more that you likely can't see at first glance. 

Up ahead is an overpass, covered with graffiti, looking dangerous and dank in the flickering streetlights. It's not though. Dangerous, that is. It never has been, or it hasn't ever been for you.

Sometimes new art is scrawled over the walls, but you've never seen anyone out here to paint it. They just appear, as magic as the half remembered tune in your head, endlessly on repeat, urging you to seek it out. You hope that's what brought the graffiti, that same urge sitting heavy in your chest, that someone finally found that spot to paint and everything fell into place for them. Easier than pie. 

You stroke a hand over a particularly vivid looking butterfly, smiling when your hand comes away yellow with dust. Is it.. is it chalk? That would explain the frequent variety. As soon as you rub your fingers together though, smearing the glimmering yellow over all your fingertips, a soft noise catches your attention. 

Sweet and poignant, familiar, but not… not exactly what you're looking for. The fiddle playing is still more than enough to capture your attention, to draw you away from the dizzying spiral of butterflies hidden in the shadows of the overpass. 

You follow the music, trailing your hand along the diamonds of the wire fence stuck haphazardly into the shallow dirt between the overpass walls and the sidewalk. The fiddle becomes… friendlier, the closer you get. It's the only way you can describe it, as a sudden lightness fills your steps. 

When you finally spot the fiddle player, busking in the overgrown dirty weeds on the side of the road, you can't quite make sense of what you're seeing. 

She's straddling the great tear in the wire, one foot on the cracked, weeded sidewalk, and the other firmly in a patch of bramble looking branches behind the fence. You might have passed her by if she hadn't been playing, but it's not her music or the strange way she's standing that makes you stop. 

It's her face.

Her hair hangs in messy ringlets framing her cheeks, tumbling down over her slight shoulders and back, and she's crowned with dandelions - and other weeds you don't think you can name. Her eyes are closed, all her focus on the music she's playing, but it's the small dark nose, the whiskers… the needle sharp cats teeth gleaming in her mouth, that make you stop and stare. 

The longer you look, the more sure you are that she's hiding pointed, furred ears under that riot of hair, but she still hasn't noticed you. Or maybe she doesn't care that someone is watching. She's wearing a gauzy looking dress with overall clasps, thin arm weaving back and forth with her bow. You think she might be sporting prickling cats claws as well, and you dearly, desperately want to ask her what party she came from, to dress in a costume like this and then be abandoned on the side of the road to play for her supper. 

The song comes to a close and you scrounge in your pockets, spying the open fiddle case at her feet. Yellow-green eyes flicker open and settle on your face, her arm lowering until her bow is hanging limply at her side, fiddle still resting underneath her chin. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t open her mouth until you set down the paltry few crumpled bills and coins you found in your pockets into her case. 

“It wasn’t I that called you first,” she says, clearly confused by your presence. She doesn’t seem displeased by your company though, hasn’t moved to step away from the gap in the fence. 

“I heard your playing, back by the overpass. It echoes down the road for a bit,” you explain, heart beginning to speed when you notice her strange narrowed pupils focused on your face. She looks.. Pleased. Hungry, almost. “It’s lovely,” you add, suddenly afraid that she might up and leave.

“I know,” she says simply, finally lifting her bow back up to her fiddle. “Tell me then, have you heard this one?” She starts playing again and singing, slow and haunting, and it feels like cotton is gathering in your brain. That’s… That’s the song. It’s the song you’ve been looking for, if you’d heard it from far off, from under water. You sway, and as soon as you take a step, she halts her playing, ceases using her sweet singing voice. She purses her cat lips and blows out a slow breath through her nose.

“How long has it been?” She asks, like she understands.

“I- years,” you finally say, staring at her in wonder. “How did you know? How did you- where did you learn that song?” You take another step closer, but she flicks her wrist and then her bow is just barely touching your chin. It’s a clear warning: Stay back. 

“Did you ever meet Peregrine?” She asks, tilting her head to the side, the burnished gold of her hair tumbling over her shoulder. “Or did he play his song and leave you behind like a lost duckling?”

“Peregrine?” You answer, helplessly confused. “I’ve no idea-”

“Harper,” she says, sudden as a whip crack, bowing at the waist and flourishing both her fiddle and bow behind her. “Would you like that geas thrown off? Or do you enjoy the endless searching?” She asks, straightening back up. “Wait,” she says, when you open your mouth. You shut it promptly, amused when she rolls her eyes at herself. “When Peregrine last played these streets, he played a reel, laid a geas over the music to draw out-” She stops, and you can’t help raising your eyebrows when she licks her lower lip. Her tongue too, looks much like a cats, rough and pink. “Well, it drew out you. Got a bit lost on your way though, didn’t you?” 

Harper packs away her fiddle, slinging the case over her shoulder with a strap that looks like it’s been woven of thick, golden flower stems. White blossoms twine strangely around the case, the breeze almost making it look as if they’re breathing. She offers you a hand, mindful of the curling claws and smiles when you hesitate.

“I’ll only scratch if asked nicely, and you’ll have to dance with me thrice before you can ask.” She wriggles her fingers, waiting, but impatient until you set your hand down in hers. “Now, off we go. The ear for it though,” she says, like she’s explaining everything, “that won’t leave you. Only the compulsion will fade when Peregrine stops his endless calling.” She purses her lips again though, glancing down at her feet, placed so carefully on either side of the fence. “But as you answered me too-” Harper makes a considering noise and then motions her head towards the foot she has in the brambles. “One foot on that side, yes?” She holds on tight, and you’ve no idea why you’re listening to her, why the strangeness of her face is so entrancing rather than unsettling. “Ready?”

“For what?” You can’t help asking, letting her take your other hand in hers when your feet have mirrored her as best you’re able.

“Like a lamb,” Harper teases, laughing and standing on tiptoe to press her dark nose to yours. “Ready to cross the bridge?”