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yannights · 16 hours

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The Caged Truth

Yandere male X winged reader

A/n: Hi, it has been a while, sorry for being absent but I am back with a new story. You can imagine any male character for this story, feel free to choose your favourite.

"A caged bird isn't a real bird. A real bird can fly. Those that are trapped lose all that makes them a bird."

Your statement came as a surprise, so surprising that it caught the attention of your captor as he was reaching to open the bedroom door and leave. He stopped, all movements faltered, and a deafening silence created a sense of unease that could almost make you sick. But you refused to show such emotions and patiently awaited his response. A few seconds went by, and the air started to thicken, as if it was warning you. Had you made a mistake? Had you spilled the wrong words? But you had only spoken the most honest truth. Surely he would understand, given the situation.

He slightly turned his head to the side, showing he was thinking about the words he was going to say in response.

"A bird with one wing chopped off cannot fly as well. Does that not make it a bird then?" He asked.

Those words were definitely ones you were not expecting. A simple question that nearly contradicted your own words. You felt stress rise as you tried to find a way to answer without leaving another opening, hoping to make a better point. You realized that the bedroom had now become an arena, where one of you would come out as the victor, and the other as the loser. Your mind raced desperately. If you gave no answer soon, then he would win, and you would face pure humiliation.

"But at least it is still free. Regardless of its disability, it may not fly, but it is outside, living and not confined..."

"But vulnerable." He interrupted.

Your form moved slightly backward as your eyes widened in shock. He turned around, and by doing so, you could have sworn the room darkened. He faced you with a stoic expression that nevertheless had an apologetic tint to it, as if he understood where you were getting at but was still convinced by his own ideal. He adavnced slowly. You instinctively backed away. He watched you while you avoided his gaze.

This lasted until your wings made contact with the cold wall behind you, which signified that it was short-lived. He finally came to a grounding halt as his chest was millimeters away from your form. He leaned forward and slowly reached his hand out towards you. You flinched, not knowing what he was going to do. You closed your eyes tightly but reopened them as soon as you felt the rough hand caress your left wing.

"A one-winged bird can never survive in this cruel world. It would die as soon as it is born," he said as his other hand reached out to touch your other wing, leaving you completely trapped in his hold, too afraid to move.

"Even a bird in its integrity can fly, eat, sleep, but can also die so easily as it has many predators hungrily watching it, as it has many arrows pointing ready to shoot it down, as it has ways to fall and die."

His hand movements stopped, and he let go of your wings. He moved one to your face and tilted it upwards to look into his stone-cold eyes.

"That is the price of freedom, a price I will not allow you to pay. That is why cages were made, to keep it safe."

The word "it" really meant "you," and you could see the sincerity behind his words. His stern expression softened ever so slightly, but yours only grew sadder.

"But at what cost?" you whispered, your voice trembling. "A life without freedom isn't a life at all. Can't you see that?"

His grip on your face tightened momentarily before he let out a long, weary sigh. "I can see it, but I cannot risk losing you. The world out there is merciless and unforgiving. Here, in this cage, you are safe. With me, you are safe."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you searched his face for any sign of relenting, and in the end, they only spilt down your face. He kissed your forehead as soon as he saw your sadness but did not wipe your tears away. Because tears are a sign of realization...

A realization that you would never leave his cage...

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whereserpentswalk · 2 days

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Having fae blood is weird. Being any time of human effected by extra planer beings is weird, but with the fae you have a very specifically odd place in society. You don't even have the privilege of having it been an accident strangers can feel sorry about, you reached out to the faeries, let them play with your body and make it something more than human, it feels better this way, like you were always meant to have become this. You've heard yourself referred to as a changling a lot, but you're not sure you like that term for people touched by the fae, mabye you don't want there to be a term at all.

You're not treated exactly like other people who've been effected by other types of entities, it's not like you've been touched by eldritch magic, or by demonic or divine forces, or made undead, where you're likely to be dehumanized as a monster. People think of you as being cute in a gross way, mabye tragic, like you were a misguided soul who should have been stopped from becoming this way, and now you have to be taken care of. It's hard for people to accept that you should even be allowed to live a normal life. Every time you look up how to deal with aspects of being fae blooded you always see articles for parents dealing with their fae touched children, like they forgot those children will grow up.

People underestimate you in weird ways. People are suprised to learn that you live on your own, that you have an actual job, that you date. People are so willing to help you or to do things for you even when you explicitly tell them not to. The way people talk to every freind your with like they're your handler. Anyone who has power over you will debate weather to let you do things, or do things on your own, it's gotten to the point where your boss and half your professors act like you're a child whose behavior has to be corrected, they don't treat anyone else that way. You've had to explain to people so many times that you're fine handling your weakness to cold iron on your own.

You know that your body and your behavior is a big part of it. You like how you look, but there are so many traits that make people think of you like something small and cute, the flowers that grow in your hair, your big golden eyes, your pointed ears and little goblinoid fangs, the simple fact that your short and slender and androgynous, it all makes people think of you as less of an adult. Not to mention all those little fae quirks that make your behavior so much less human, that make people want to correct you like a misbehaving child. Sometimes you wish you had become creepier, wish you looked like the type of fae creature people need to be afraid of... You would have hated the body you have if it wasn't so euphoric to inhabit it.

Dealing with other demihumans sucks. A lot of them are nice, but it's hard to get some to understand how you're uniquely effected as a fae touched. Like, you understand that there's just some things that you don't go through, like you know someone whose been effected by demons, whose form is something that most people find incredibly scary, the type of creature that some people want to kill. And how can you explain to him that what you go through is just as much of a problem. You were told by an undead once that you were taking away attention from "real" demihumans, just for existing, just for wanting rights.

You've half given up on dating at this point. Your last boyfriend was a fellow demihuman, but he was eldirch touched, twice your hight and with a massive complex mouth filled with sharp teeth, he kept being called a pervert or a predator for dating you, he had to stop just because of that type of judgment. He was a year older than you. A fully human girlfriend you had before him kept treating you like she was your mother. Most people you meet on dating apps think of you as a kink, like a cute submissive little creature they want to dominate, they're so surprised when you don't have the type of fetish that they think is inherent to your being, when you don't think being called slurs is hot. And than there's the fact that people think you shouldn't be allowed to date, if certain laws had passed in your state you wouldn't legally be allowed to consent to sex. You can barely understand how you'd exist with something like that.

You're entire existing is on shaky legal grounds. It's only because of the state that you live in that you can live on your own, in others you would not be granted such privilege. Even still, wizards, the ones that are supposed to help people like you, have so much power over you. If the mage your supposed to visit for potions, someone you're technically paying to see, decides you aren't fit to live alone you lose that right, if they think you need a spell cast on you or a potion given to to "help" with your fae traits there's little you can do to resist. And if they decide you're enough of a harm to yourself, or to someone else (but in your case it's always yourself) they could send you somewhere very dark, somewhere you would only leave if they took mercy on you.

You've been dressing in a stereotypically fae manner more, and using more accommodations. You don't know why but it makes you feel good. You went to a protest the other day, dressed in traditional faerie robes, you got to actually use your magic to fend off a group of counterprotesters, mesmerizing them with illusions, and sending the crows and hornets to your aid. They looked afraid of you and it made you euphoric, you've been seen as a victim for so long, it feels so euphoric to be a monster for once...

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phoebepheebsphibs · 20 hours

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Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 24: Lost

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

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Mikey just runs.

He has no destination.

Leo calls after him desperately, his voice hoarse and strained.

Mikey's vision blurs from the tears and the infrared that reactivates once he's in the dark of the halls.

Mikey just needs somewhere to go... Not his brothers' rooms. Not the lab. Somewhere private, quiet, somewhere they wouldn't look straightaway...

He finds a door he hasn't been through yet. Perfect, a secret place! The entrance is a sliding door, he pushes it aside and dashes in.

There's something emanating heat on a horizontal surface. It is a small thing, round and chubby... Splinter? Is this his room?

Splinter grumbles in his sleep and slowly starts to sit up.

Mikey scurries and shuffles under the bed, whimpering as he hides.

"...Mmff....whaz... who's in here?" Splinter yawns, looking for the intruder and interrupter of his precious sleep.

Be quiet! Stop crying! You're making everything worse, you woke him up!!

He can hear Splinter climb across the bed and lean over the edge. Mikey realizes that his tail is still out.

"Or'nge....? S'that you?" his father mumbles, reaching down and touching the tail.

Mikey's tail slithers under the bed frame, wrapping around him.

"What is wrong, my son?"

Mikey can't talk, his voice is gone, lost like everything else about Mikey.

Lost... lost... lost...

Splinter climbs down and looks under the sheet at his frightened son. He tries to coax him out, but Mikey refuses.

After some time, Mikey hears feet pattering across the floor in the hall outside. Someone rushes into the room.

"Pops, h-have you seen Mikey?" Leo's voice croaks. "He ran o-off, and I don't... is... is he in here?"

Mikey hears Splinter shush him quickly, whispering an explanation. Soft exhales and susurrations like baited breath. Leo lets loose an anxious exhale. Mikey hears him limp quietly towards the bed, lift up the sheet, and sigh with relief.

"Mikey? Buddy? You wanna come out from under there?"

Mikey shakes his head, curling himself as tight as he can, pressing his knees to his chest and wringing his tail in his hands. His back is to Leo. He doesn't want to look at him. He doesn't want Leo to see him. He wants to be gone and disappear forever so he can't hurt anyone ever again...

"You gonna talk to me?" Leo asks.

Mikey shakes his head 'no' again. He scoots further away from the opening. Leo crawls under the bed with him.

"Mikey, it was just an accident. I'm n-not even that hurt -- I'm not mad or anything, you know that, right? I know you didn't meant to do it. You woke up and got scared, I understand."

Mikey whines. The talk isn't helping...

"Mikey?" Leo whispers, reaching out for him.

Mikey doesn't answer, apart from crying. He's been crying the whole time, but the way Leo says his name... it's too gentle and too kind, reacting like Mikey is a fragile piece of glass, rather than whatever tormented amalgamation of twisted flesh he actually is.

Leo touches his shell. Mikey flinches. Leo doesn't take his hand away, but instead calmly rubs his back. Mikey keeps crying. Leo scooches in closer, being cautious of his baby brother's reaction. Leo presses himself against Mikey, and slowly wraps his arms around him, bringing him close. Mikey whines, but doesn't refuse.

As much as Mikey hates himself and doesn’t believe that he deserves this much affection and gentleness, he can't help but long for it.

Mikey sobs in his brother's embrace.

"M-M-Mikey so sorrrrryyyyy...." he hiccups.

"I know, Mikey, I know," Leo shushes lovingly. "I know you didn't mean to. It's okay, it--"

"I-it's n-n-not okay," he whimpers back, tucking his head behind his carapace. "I-I hurt... you... I'm not... I don't d-deserve..."

Mikey curls tighter as he tries to make himself tell Leo. Just tell him. Tell him how he's so lost, so much more than he's been letting on. Tell him how he's so scared of losing them all over again, of being left behind or forgotten. Tell them how he loves them with all his heart... despite not really knowing any of them.

"Mikey..." Leo sighs.

He gently rolls him over so he can actually look at Leo.

His neck is bandaged up, a quick patch-up job. His leg is also wrapped up in gauze, his pajama pant leg shredded and torn to pieces. Mikey winces and sobs even more at the sight of his sins.

"What, this?" Leo chuckles with a cough. "This is nothing. Just a few scratches, skin deep."

"I-I, I h-hurt..." Mikey sobs, tracing his finger over the bandage. "I did this to you... you didn't deserve this, b-but -- and you're being nice, why're you being nice, I don't des-s-er-rv-ve it --"

"No. You didn't deserve to go through the pain you've endured," Leo corrects. "You didn't deserve to get hurt and scared. You didn't deserve to be stuck in a lab for a week. But for every day of the rest of my life, I will make sure you get all the love you deserve, and it will still never be enough. Mikey... I know you're scared and hurting, and I get that. You... might not remember it, but I did this same kind of thing once or twice after the invasion. So did Raph, actually... he went through a lot. We all did. So I get it, I get waking up and being scared and reacting in kind to your fears. I really do."

"B-but... I hurt you... so m-much..."

"But do I look mad?" Leo asks with a kind and forgiving smile. "Do I sound mad?"

"...No?"

"So then, I'm not mad, yeah?"

Mikey doesn't answer.

He wants Leo to be mad. He deserves the anger and the fury and the hate and the fear. It doesn't make sense that he isn't mad now. It's unnerving. The scientists would cause so much pain for something so minute as whining too loudly at night or not finishing his gruel.

But Leo isn't like that...

And Mikey has to trust Leo.

He presses his face into his brother's plastron.

"M'sorry.... m'so sorry..." he wails.

Leo strokes his shell calmly and kisses his head.

"Don't worry, Mikey, I forgive you... it's okay, it's okay... you're safe, I promise... hey, how about we get out from under Dad's bed and go see our brothers, m'kay? Does that sound good to you?"

Mikey nods feebly. Leo helps to pull him out from under the bedframe. Splinter watches them cautiously as Leo carries Mikey out and into the hall.

Mikey holds onto Leo, pretending that they are the same two people from the memory he saw of their childhood. It's hard to believe.... Leo looks the same, acts mostly the same. There's a minute difference, he holds himself and carries himself like some soldier bearing a burden of responsibility that he should not. But Mikey can't be sure if that's it... so it must be Mikey who changed.

Leo makes his way into Raph's room. The door was left partially open, so he can slip in. Raphael is asleep on his oversized bed, starfished and snoring softly. Leo gently sets Mikey down on the freespace of the mattress...

Mikey hopes Raph doesn't wake up. If he disturbs him, Mikey will feel bad. And that will be bad. Or, if he wakes up he'll think something is wrong and that will worry him. And that will be bad. Or worse, he'll wake up, think something is wrong, ask Mikey about it, and Mikey will cry again. He knows he's going to cry again, it's inevitable. Raph could breath on Mikey and he'd start crying again. It's just one of those nights. And that will be bad.

Mikey lays besides Raph as gently as he can. Raph stirs, he looks up and sees his baby brother whimpering by him.

"Oh, hey buddy," he says, rubbing Mikey's cheek. "Wha'z wrong?"

Of course.

Mikey starts crying again, hiding his face in the space between Raph's shell and the soft mattress. Raph doesn't say much after, just strokes Mikey's head and whispers loving shushes and soothing words of comfort.

Leo -- who had apparently stepped out without Mikey realizing -- comes back in, dragging Donnie by the wrist.

"....Nardo, please, I'm not having a very good night --"

"This is important!" Leo whispers back loudly.

Donnie pauses when he sees Mikey.

"Oh. I hadn't realised that we scheduled a turtle pile for tonight..."

"It's a bit impromptu," Leo says quietly as he gets extra blankets and pillows ready for them.

Mikey crawls on top of Raph to let Donnie scoot in the space he previously occupied. The softshell lays himself down, straight as a rail and limbs rigid. Mikey rests his head atop of Dee's stomach. Donatello reaches down and pets him.

Mikey wishes he could stop crying, that the tears would just stop flowing. But they keep leaking out.

Leo clambers onto the bed, laying right on top of Donnie's arm.

"Ow! Leo--!"

"Well, move your big butt over, then!"

Raph chuckles as the two twins argue over who is taking up more space. Mikey smiles softly at the strange sense of normalcy he gets from the scene.

Which is so weird... considering he can't remember ever doing something like this.

The guilt he has over enjoying something that his brothers think he deserves, when in fact.... Mikey has no idea how they are his brothers. The truth, the painful truth, is that Mikey can barely remember their names. He never even actually recalled them, he heard them refer to each other as Leo and Raph and Donnie and he started doing the same. Mikey is slowly recalling moments from his life, piece by piece, but... the hurtful reality is Mikey has no idea who he is. Who he was. How would he remember them, if he can't remember himself? And how is he supposed to know who he is if he can't remember who he was?! Mikey... Mikey is just so... so lost. He's been lost for so long, he can't remember not feeling this way. Not feeling like there's something missing inside of him, not feeling like he is a mismatched puzzle piece in an unfamiliar set, feeling jumbled and mixed up and confused constantly.

They promise he is safe, he is loved, he fits in here. But he can tell that he doesn't. He's not sure who they are waiting for, but he isn't sure if that person is still around... or ever coming back. He desperately wishes he would, he wishes whatever they're waiting for would happen and break the tension. Mikey wishes he was what they wanted. He wishes he wasn't what he is now. He wishes he was better, he wishes he wasn't a monster, he wishes he wasn't scary, he wishes he didn't have so many issues that bother them and bother himself... he wishes so many things. He wishes he could remember who he's supposed to be. Until then, he's only a monster his family re-adopted. And he wonders how much longer he can keep up the charade, the game of make-believe and pretend where he acts like a real member of the family. He wonders how much longer he has until they realise he has no idea who they are and he isn't their brother anymore and doesn't know anything about any of them, especially himself.

Mikey curls up on his brothers as they talk amongst themselves before each one eventually falls asleep. Mikey isn't sure when he falls asleep, but at some point he realises that it's quiet.

Mikey wishes he could tell them about it. He wishes he could have told Leo...

He's lost.

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 23 hours

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Love

People say I'm too sensitive. I take everything too seriously. I laugh too much, and cry too hard. But I must ask them: How could you not?

How could you not love the cheap plastic toy that comes with your Macdonald's meal, knowing that it was the product of a thousand years of innovation? How can your heart not break at the sight of it, holding a miracle of modern technology that your ancestors could not even dream of? How can you not weep, when faced with the badge of progress?

I must stop to listen to the off-tune jingle of the supermarket, because it is the product of a thousand musicians dedicating their lives to building and discovering musical theory. I must hug my friends every time I see them, because out of the millions of people in the city, we found each other. I must photograph every cat I see because I was lucky enough to see them from this angle, at this time.

Life is a swarm of chaos, of an infinity of worlds and combinations and choices, and somehow I ended up here, at this moment and in this place. Can you not see how astronomically unlikely it was? Each of us, and the world we have been born into, is a miracle in and of itself. The fact that just the right sperm and egg matched for a thousand generations is beautiful enough to bring me to my knees.

That this is on your screen right now should be enough to crack Earth itself apart with emotion. So much went on behind the scenes for these words to live in our minds. To think! We had to invent language, give meaning to scribbles and lines. We had to invent electricity, and its children, social media and wireless transmission. You had to scroll through and see this post out of the millions of others circling the web right now.

Even the worst irritants and pains in the world are beautiful. Those rock pigeons crapping on the floor have feathers that shimmer like a peacock's tail. The morning traffic jam is hundreds of people living in synchrony, tied together by fate and chance. The morning alarm clock that wakes you up was made by a forgotten soul in a faraway factory long ago, a soul who is connected to you by one thing: that clock.

So I will love the adverts on the walls, because we are a species who somehow managed to bring meaning to those squiggles and lines on the wall. I will love the rotting garbage lying on the sidewalk, because we have the abundance in this world to waste food in any amount. I will love you, and myself, and even the people I despise, because we all somehow ended up in this world together, and met each other against all odds.

Companion piece to Envy and Rage.

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@ramitola, @urnumber1star, @fortunatetragedy, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn (Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

#writeblr #writing #my writing #creative writing #writerscommunity #writing community #spilled ink #short story #nonfiction story #realistic fiction

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strangelittlestories · 15 hours

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The knight knelt in the Temple of Ideas.

The altars around them were decorated with various symbols, rough primary coloured designs on the shiny white temple surfaces. This hastily scrawled iconography would be wiped clean at the end of the day, so that the next day's ideas could begin to be worshipped in the morning.

The knight had chosen one of the tomb-like alters that stetched along the floor on either side of the temple's walkways and she had drawn upon it all the things that had been taken from her on her adventures.

After hours spent scribbling, she began to address the drawings:

"Dear Loss,

In my time following your path, I have lost much. Friends. Lovers. Enemies and innocents. Faith and fear and hope and rage.

I have painstakingly put aside every part of myself - sacrificed all that I had to give and more for something greater.

And, as I am all that's left, I can only assume that the greater thing was me.

After all, have all that I have lost not made me strong? Have my scars not become armour? Do my arms not bear the strength of all my grief?

Is this, Oh Loss, what you were trying to teach me? That it is my place to rule, since I have lost so much and thus proved myself to be great?"

Of course, ideas can be many things at once and they are not always what we first think them to be. Still, it was some surprise to the knight when the colours on the altar began to swirl and spell out an answer.

"Nothing is gone forever.

All that you have lost, has simply been given to someone else. Or become something else

Or gone somewhere else, to spread the lessons they learned from you in other places.

You cannot cling to everything forever, good Knight. That which you call Loss, others simply call Experience. Or, perhaps, Adventure.

And Adventure loves you. And will love you still more, if you can find her again."

And the Knight's interest was piqued by this, so she asked:

"And where might I find the Lady Adventure?"

And the ink began to shift again and if you looked closely, you would have been able to see a smile in its swirls.

When it was done, the ink was in the shape of a map.

The knight smiled slightly. Then she stood, and set off on the path that had been shown to her.

She would lose still more on this journey. It would be hard. For, despite what she thought, there is always more to lose, just as there is always more to learn.

And she was about to learn so much.

And she would never meet Lady Adventure, but would keep searching for her all her life. And thus, even without meeting, the two of them found a way to spend their lives together.

#writing #microfiction #flash fiction #short story #writeblr #wtwcommunity #loss and learning

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lifestruestories · 2 days

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#blog #history #short story #true story #Elephant #animals #education #new blog #today i learned #writing

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reidiot · 11 months

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don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude

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agirlwiththoughtsandnegativity · 3 months

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”oh so how did you get into writing?-“ no, writing got into me. Actually it infiltrated my brain, starting with the slow takeover of my room with books to the extremely fast claiming of my notes app and now there’s no way to stop it and no way for me to stop.

#short story #writing #poetry #books #fiction #orginal writing #writer #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing memes #writing humor #writing problems #writer problems #writer stuff #writers life

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bearsockz · 1 month

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Part one

#artists on tumblr #artwork #digital art #digital illustration #digital painting #drawing #painting #portrait #sketch #furry #comic #comics #comic art #mini comic #short story #short comic

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thestuffedalligator · 1 year

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The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin. They both looked down at the crumpled shape of the Overlord, His Unholy Majesty, in his obsidian armor.

His final spasms had been mesmerizingly acrobatic. The fall down the steps leading up to his iron throne had pretzelled his body quite impressively, both arms folded behind his back and one leg bent at a jaunty angle.

The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.

"Shit," said the goblin.

"Shit," said the orc.

"We're likely to get blamed for this," the goblin said. She walked over to the head of the glittering mangled heap and started pulling the helmet off.

"It's not our fault," the orc said. "It's hard to help someone choking when they wear two-hundred pounds of spiked armor at all times."

"Yeah, well," the goblin grunted. The helmet came free, and the bald head of the Overlord bounced on the stone with a hollow, coconut noise. "You know how it is in this bloody country - thieves get their heads cut off so they can't think about thieving, and all that." She fished in the Overlord's mouth with a finger and pulled out the obstructing olive on the end of her claw.

She popped it into her mouth and chewed. "What do you reckon they do for a regicide?" she said.

"We should run," the orc said. She had started bouncing her leg. "I hear that there's some places in the Alliance where they just kill you and let you stay dead. That's got to be nicer than what'll happen if we stay here."

The goblin started to nod - and then her gaze fell on the helmet.

It looked like a pineapple designed by a deranged blacksmith. It was all thorns and spikes and hard edges, as though the maker had been very determined to not let pigeons roost on it. The only bits that weren't solid iron were eyeholes. Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face.

She held up the helmet and squinted from it to the orc. One of the thorns had been bent badly in the fall.

Nobody had ever seen the Overlord's face...

"Right," she muttered. "Right. Could work - or."

The orc had a sudden vision of the immediate future. "No," she said.

"I mean you're about his height-"

"No."

"It would just be for a-"

"Absolutely not."

"Just hear me out," the goblin said. "Outside of this room are two-thousand men and orcs and goblins who are absolutely gonzo about this man, and there's a whole country of them outside of the castle, and at any moment someone's going to walk in that door and see one dead tit in black armor and two unbelievably dead idiots next to him.

"Or." She tossed the helmet up like a basketball to the orc, who fumbled and tried to find somewhere to hold it that wasn't a knife's edge. "We chuck him out the window now, walk out the door in the armor, and ditch the armor as soon as nobody sees us."

The orc had started bouncing her leg again. "They'll know something's up the second I walk out of the room."

"No worries," said the goblin. "Leave that to me."

---

It had been a very strange year for the Empire.

Change had rolled across the land as slow and inevitable as a glacier. Roads and bridges carved the gray, blasted wildlands, and a number of social reforms had made the country a place where you could be miserable, yes, but miserable in comfort and safety, and that was an improvement.

Barely anyone got boiled alive in molten metal, and even if the disgusted sun never rose to light the Empire, at least you had a roof over your head to protect yourself from the acid rain.

"Your empire flourishes, Your Unholy Majesty," the magician said over her wine glass. She looked down from the tower's balcony over the gleaming stone battlements. Some work had been done to line the castle and surrounding city with sizzling, crackling alchemical lights at night. The whole thing glowed like something dangerously radioactive.

The suit of armor waved a languid, glittering gauntlet over to the goblin, who bowed.

"His Abominable Gloriousness Thanks You," the goblin recited. "The Prosperity Of His Empire Can Only Be Achieved Through The Prosperity Of His People."

"If I may be so bold, I am quite pleased that you had chosen to take my counsel under consideration," said the magician. "We have accomplished many things together."

Another wave. Another bow. "The Overlord, May His Presence Swallow The Sun And Stars, Thanks You As Well."

"It was quite gratifying to see you change your mind, after so many centuries of denial." The wine was swirled. "Tell me, what was it that finally gave you cause to listen to me?"

There was the slightest hesitation. The goblin's eyes flicked to the armor, then to the magician. She puffed out her chest. "Do you question the wisdom of His Austere Lugubriousness?" she asked.

The magician looked at the goblin. She looked at the armor. She tipped her head back and drank the wine too quickly.

She looked back at the armor. "I know you're the orc, you moron," she said.

The room went deathly still. An alchemical light fizzled.

The orc pulled off the helmet, sending long, untied hair down tangling, and said: "How could you possibly-"

"Because you're both idiots!" the magician said. The goblin jumped. The orc jumped with a noise like a dropped stove. "What kind of a plan was this?! If it wasn't for me, you would have been turned into fertilizer months ago."

She closed her eyes. She took a long, dramatic breath. She set the wine glass down on the balcony rail.

"How did the Overlord die?" she asked when she seemed like she had gotten a hold over herself.

"Choked on an olive," said the goblin.

"Threw his body out the window," said the orc.

"You don't have to mention the window," said the goblin.

"Right," said the orc. "Sorry."

The magician looked out over the city, hand curled thoughtfully under her nose. "Who knows about this?"

"Just us. And, uh. You. Apparently."

"And why did you accept my counsel?"

The orc blinked. "Sorry?"

"Why did you accept my counsel?" the magician repeated.

"Well," the orc said. "Well - you seemed like you had good ideas-"

"Great ideas!" the goblin said with an edge of desperation. "Don't know why the old bastard didn't listen to you!"

"Right - right," said the orc. "And when we figured we were stuck doing this - well, it just made sense, really."

The magician seemed to absorb this. She nodded. "All right," she said, striding between the two and grabbing the crystal decanter.

"Um," said the orc. "Sorry. What happens now?"

"What happens is that you two will continue to serve as Overlord," said the magician. "You will continue to take my counsel. We will continue to reform this bloody country, and gods willing, we will turn it into the crown jewel of the world by next Midwinter."

The orc looked at the goblin. The goblin looked at the orc.

"Really?" the goblin asked.

"Oh yes," said the magician. "I've worked hard to be counsel to the Overlord, and I have no reason to stop now. And besides-"

She looked the orc up and down with a deliberate slowness, poring over every microscopic detail, eyes tracing over every jagged line, and grinned like a panther.

"You look much better in the armor than he ever did," she said. Dark robes swirled like a becleavaged thundercloud, and she strode out through the high iron doors, decanter in hand.

The goblin looked at the orc. The orc looked at the goblin.

"Shit," said the goblin.

"Shit," said the orc.

#short story #fantasy writing #narrativia #10k

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a-kind-of-merry-war · 2 months

Text

A guy doing marine research into phytoplankton is far out to sea and waiting for the samples to be ready when he spots a fast-moving ripple in the water up ahead.

Fully aware that this spot is home to a migratory orca pod, he assumes he's stumbled across an orca hunting a seal and settles against the railing to watch, because it's not every day you get to see that.

The ripples get closer, the shadows in the water more defined, the water choppier, and suddenly the orca and its unfortunate prey are zooming directly towards the boat and he's waiting, breath held, for them to duck right underneath--

When the water breaks, the ocean sprays, and he's suddenly smacked fully in the face by a very wet, very confused, and very pretty merman, throwing them both down onto the deck while the boat rocks as a confused and now quite hungry orca dives beneath it.

The merman, it turns out, thought that the boat was an ice float and didn't realise his mistake until it was too late. But he's very thankful for the impromptu rescue, and wow don't you have nice arms, and holy shit you've got legs, can I touch them? Is that weird? Can I touch them anyway? And your hair--

So of course they get to talking because they're both utterly fascinated with the other, and soon the sun has set and the samples are long-since ready and the moonlight is making the ocean look black and they part with the knowledge that they'll never meet again, and a kiss, and a lingering look over the shoulder for all the things that can't be...

And the researcher gets back to land, moors his boat, readies his samples. He packs up his things, shoves them into his bags, and prepares to go home. He steps onto the jetty boards and thinks of the merman and the solid wood beneath his feet seems to sway for more than one reason.

There's a splash. He turns, pulled as if by the tide, and there's a ripple in the water. A face. A pair of eyes made black by the moonlight.

And this is how the researcher acquires a merman boyfriend who helps him find samples and the merman acquires a human boyfriend who rescues him from whales.

#short story #i guess?#original fiction #merman #mermaids #queer #fantasy fiction #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writers #guess what suckers this is just a one night in hartswood AU!!!!#mer!penn 4 LIFE #this is NOT a prompt lmao #im happy for you to use it with fanfic or w/e tho #but not original fiction #on account of how its my idea for a book

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phoebepheebsphibs · 21 hours

Text

Double-Mutated Mikey

Chapter 22: Running Low on A Ninja's Greatest Weapon

Continued from the short story written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

Including a short blurb also written by @boots-with-the-fur-club

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Food is slopped into a meager bowl and tossed into the cage. Mikey flinches at the clattering sound, and how the mushed-up, mashed-up slimy brown gloop splashes onto his arm and foot.

"Mealtime, beastie," the worker says.

Mikey retches at the smell and consistency. But he won't get anything else. He drags himself over to the bowl and starts licking it up like the animal he is.

The food makes him gag, he almost vomits. Mikey starts to cry. He doesn't want to eat this disgusting slop, it makes him sick. But if he doesn't eat it... he'll starve. Mikey sobs as he forces himself to choke the gruel down. He manages to finish half the bowl before he feels the bile start to rise up his throat.

No more. Can't do any more. Can't eat anymore.

Mikey pushes the bowl as far away from him as he can. He has to lie down now. Has to stop the awful sick feeling in his stomach.

Mikey curls into himself and cries silently. If he makes too much noise while the humans are in here, they will hurt him. With the ice gun, with the cattle prod, with their boots or bare hands. Mikey can't cry too loudly. But he cries all the same, silent tears trickling down his cheeks.

He wants to leave. He wants to go home.

“…Please… when can I go home?”

“My poor, delusional creature… this is your home, now.”

Raph smacks the back of Donnie’s head.

“Stop messing with Mikey! He’s already hurtin' enough with his teeth!”

Donnie rubs his head and grumbles.

“All of you made me think I was a bird with mine! I knocked over everything in my lab!”

“Mikey is way too sensitive, you know you can’t-”

“Home,” Mikey interrupts Leo, making grabby hands towards Donnie.

Donnie’s heart squeezes.

“….Okay. That got me. Sorry, Michael.” He walks over.

Mikey pulls him into a hug and presses his swollen cheek against Donnie’s.

“Home.”

The memory washes over Donatello like rainfall, soft and slow and sad.

He's playing a few of the videos of Mikey's wisdom teeth removal from before the Shredder's attack last year. They'd discovered a clinic in the Hidden City that would do it for them, using mystic anesthetics to numb the face and put them into a comfortable sleeping spell. The spells were basically exactly the same as a medical anesthetic, just without the shot or the fact that they had to not eat for 8 hours before. But the after effects were hilarious and lasted most of the day.

Raph had gone first, and his reaction caused him to be clingy and cuddle everyone he saw, refusing to let go. After he'd recovered, Leon went next, and that was how they discovered Leo was a crier when under the influence. He sobbed all day, blubbering at the littlest things -- like when Mikey gave him soup, or Raph tripped and stubbed his toe in front of him, or while watching a Lou Jitsu movie with his family, etc. Once Leo could eat solid foods again, Donnie had his wisdom teeth removed. He'd been on the moon, wild and boisterous and incredibly susceptible; apparently his brothers had taken advantage of this and pranked him into believing that he'd been transformed into a majestic bird. Mikey's reaction was somewhat similar, he'd been very loopy but didn't talk as much. He hallucinated a few things, and was incredibly invested in everything that he was handed, everything felt like a new discovery.

Donnie smirks at the video playing, where Mikey is holding him loosely and rubbing his cheek across Donnie's face.

Tears start dripping off of his chin. He sniffles, rubbing his nose to keep the snot from getting on his keypad.

He needs to get back to work. He needs to make the fix for Michael...

It's been a rough couple of days for him. He feels like he's been neglecting poor Angelo, but this is for him! It's... it'll all be worth it in the end...

It was a huge step for him to admit that he couldn't figure it out on his own and needed help from Draxum. After all, he was the original mutator, he'd have some advice on the process, wouldn't he?

He'd taken a look at Donnie's samples and analysis of Mike's DNA, and had noted that the formulas they used to initiate the mutations were eerily similar to Draxum's oozesquitos. But they were missing key ingredients, specifically some mystic components and a certain action star's DNA remnants that helped to create the humanoid features and keep their sanity.

Which explained a few traits Mikey had been showing.

But Draxum gave some... rather disappointing insights as well. And Donnie has been considering these insights...

...He needs a quick break. Donnie walks out and grabs another coffee mixed with energy drink. The over-caffeinated beverage was outlawed by Splinter and Raph years ago, but Donnie busts out the contraband on special occasions where sleep must be avoided at all costs.

He roams aimlessly through the halls... well, that's not true. He has aim. He just feels lost as he walks to Mikey's room. He takes the jar of glowing purple slime and starts rubbing Mikey's head with it. Mikey moans in his sleep, saying something or other about a 'test'. Dee's not sure, he doesn't really hear it... he wanders out once the glow vanishes and Mikey absorbs the salve.

Donnie stumbles out of the room and past Raph and Leo's traincars. Raph sounds like he's doing something in his own room. Leo's traincar still hasn't been repaired yet, despite Dee's promises to fix the giant hole punched there by Raph months ago. The curtain is half-open, and he can see Leon pulling his striped pajama bottoms up as he gets ready for bed.

Donnie half wants to talk about what happened the other night. He knows they did 'art therapy' or something, but no one has told him what said therapy entailed. He doesn't like being kept out of the loop...

He takes a deep swig of his unholy caffeinated beverage and hisses from how it burns his throat. Ah well, he can ask them later. He has work to do.

Donnie meanders back into his labs, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.2.0 is waiting for him.

"Yo, dude! You got more of that sludge, huh?" he says as he hovers over Dee's shoulders.

"It's not 'sludge', S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N., it's my life-giving antidote," Donnie corrects.

"Whatever you say, Donnie," the robot says with an eyeroll. "I guess this means another all-nighter?"

"...I have to find the cure," Donnie grumbles, plopping himself down in his chair with a slouch.

"That's three nights in a row, Dee," S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. nervously informs. "That's not exactly healthy, bro..."

"I'll be fine," Donnie argues impatiently. "I just... need to find... the fix..."

Raph went to check on Mikey after he realized that he forgot to administer the memory-sauce-thing.

He quickly goes into Mikey's room and starts massaging the purple goo onto Mikey's head. The little brother murmurs something in his sleep, his brow furrows softly. Mikey's grip on his blanket tautens. Raph wonders what memory Mikey is seeing now... he shrugs it off, giving Mikey a quick kiss goodnight and sauntering away. Raph doesn't usually wake up this late, but several days of stress have caused a grueling sleep schedule.

He takes up an old habit he started a few years ago, of checking in on his brothers when they sleep.

Mikey is fine. A bit tense in his sleep, but otherwise cucumber cool.

He looks in on Leo. His insomnia is as cruel as ever, and he's laying in bed reading comics.

Next is Donnie, and though Raph hopes for the best, he knows that the self-proclaimed genius is probably in his labs. He peeks into his room. The bed hasn't been slept in for days.

Dang it, Donnie.

"Don? Donnie? Yo, Dee, wake up."

Donnie wasn't asleep. Was he? His eyes were open, but... he wasn't paying attention.

Raph is shaking him by the shoulders. He looks concerned.

"Oh. Raphala. When, uh... when'd you get here?"

"A minute ago," he says softly as he examines Donnie's eyes. "You okay? You look like a vampire."

"I will be... I am fine," he groans, rubbing his fingers between his brows. "Just... you don't have to stay, you can leave..."

"Donnie, when was the last time you got any sleep?" Raph questions.

Shoot. Frick. Dang it. All the cuss words he's not allowed to say. Of course Raph would ask, and Donnie can't lie to save his life. It's even worse when he's sleep deprived.

"...Come back tomorrow, and we'll try to get to you at our earliest convenience..."

"Donnie. That isn't an answer."

"Okay, uh... I don't... I don't remember... I slept a little this morning."

Raph's Raph-Chasm furrows exponentially.

"Dee. Maybe we should take a break and give it a rest for tonight?"

"I can't," he says quickly, returning his focus to his work. "I have to finish this line of data..."

"It'll still be there tomorrow. But for now you're going to bed, mister."

"I CAN'T," Donnie hisses at him. "I have to fix this... and..."

"You can and you will," Raph says, pulling Donnie's chair away from the desk as a warning. The next threat is he will physically carry him over his shoulder to bed like a disobedient toddler. "Bedtime. Now."

"No, Raph, you don't understand, I-I can't do it..."

"Sure ya can, all ya do is lie down horizontally on a comfortable surface, preferably with a pillow and blanket --"

"I CAN'T DO IT!" Donnie suddenly explodes, slamming his fists down and smashing the keyboard, keys and buttons flying in all directions.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.2.0. makes a digital yipe and flies under a desk to hide from his creator's tantrum. Raph takes a step back as Donnie's pale face goes red with anger and he continues to yell.

"I CAN'T DO IT, OKAY?! I've tried and tried, and I can't figure it out! I don't know how to cure him! I don't know how to fix Mikey!! Okay?! Is that what you want me to hear?! I can't do it, and I've been trying for days to understand it!!"

Raph pauses. He... he doesn't know what to say...

"...Oh, Donnie..."

"I'm... I'm trying," he whimpers, dejectedly resting his head against Raph's chest. "I've looked at it from every angle, and... it's just not possible..."

"What... whaddya mean?" Raph asks, hushed terror in his voice. "It has to be possible... right?"

"...It's merged with his DNA," Donnie explains tiredly. "The alternate genes have reconfigured his entire system to fit it. He's... evolved, for lack of a better term."

"Can't ya just... take it apart, piece by piece?"

"That's... that's not how DNA works," Donnie says, a little baffled by his brother's lack of knowledge. "DNA is so minute, so microscopic... trying to put something in is one thing, but taking something out? And something like genetic coding? That's... that's scientifically impossible... I can't just go into one cell and take it apart like a puzzle and then rearrange it again, it doesn't work like that. It wouldn't fix the whole body, it would just fix the one cell, in the best case scenario. Most likely scenario, it would destroy the cell. Worst case --"

"I don't wanna know worst case," Raph mumbles nervously. "Thanks, though. But... isn't there anything you can do?"

"...No... the one foreign DNA I think I could eradicate would be krang, but... that would kill him."

"Kill...?"

"Assuming he could survive the insurmountable pain of destroying parts of him like that, the krang DNA is the catalyst of the mutations. It's... like glue that holds the other mutations together properly. If I remove it... his DNA could fall apart. And, well, I won't tell you the ramifications of that happening, but it's bad. Really bad."

Raph steps back and sits on the floor. Donnie slumps into his chair, though he goes limp and slides down to the floor as well.

"I showed Draxum everything when he visited. He... he basically confirmed my suspicions. There's... nothing we can do to reverse the mutations. Maybe if we'd been able to get to him sooner, or... I dunno. I don't know. But... anything I try to do now... I can't."

Raph and Donnie sit in silence for a while.

Raph doesn't move. He watches Donnie, who sits and twiddles his thumbs.

Raph opens his mouth to say something --

Donnie bursts into tears. He just starts crying, still fidgeting with his hands as his shoulders shake and his eyes water and the tears drip down messily and slip off his scrunched-up face and plop against his knees.

Raph reaches over and pulls him in for a hug. Donnie doesn't object. In fact, he does the opposite and starts to climb into his brothers lap as he sobs. He wraps his arms around Raph, who gently starts stroking circles onto his shell.

"It's okay, Raph's got ya..."

"I-I tried so hard," Donnie whines. "I did everything I could t-to... I-I did, I did, I worked s-so haaaarrdd, Raaaph...."

"I know, Donnie, I know..."

"But nothing works! I failed him, I f-failed Mikey, I failed, failed, failed..."

"You didn't fail."

"I-I can't make the fix.... I can't fix it... I... I'm so sorry..."

Raph shushes him, resting his chin against his head.

"H-how am I gonna tell him?" Donnie whimpers. "Or Leo? Or Papa, or April... how can I face them? I promised him... I gave him my word, Raph, that I would fix him... and I can't. W-what am I gonna do?"

Raph sighs.

"...I dunno, Donnie. I don't know... but... for now... I think you need to give yourself a rest. You'll find a way to help him, I know you will. Even if it's small, even if you can't undo the trauma or the physical changes. You'll help him. But you can't do that if you don't let yourself have a break for sleep."

Raph hoists Donnie up and carries him out.

"I'll help you out in any way you need. We'll figure it out together."

Donnie gives a measly nod in response, allowing Raphael to carry him to bed.

Leo gets bored of just sitting in bed and reading comics. He tries watching videos on his phone. It palls after an hour.

Wait, did he give Mikey the memory salve?

Leo might as well give it to him now...

He quickly heads over and splashes some of the glowing goo on him. Mikey squirms and moans, his tail thrashes a few times. He looks uncomfortable... hang on...

Leo takes out his phone and texts the group chat.

LEO: HEY, DID ANYONE REMEMEMEMBER TO GIVE MIKEY THE BRAIN SLIME?

DONNIE: I DID.

RAPH: I DID

RAPH: WAIT WUT

CASEY: I GAVE IT TO HIM EARLIER WHEN HE WENT TO BED...

LEO: =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇) AH GEEZ OK (ᵕ•_•)

RAPH: SO WAIT DID WE ALL JUST GIVE MIKEY HIS MEMORY SAUCE????????????????????!?

LEO: ...UH I PLEAD THE FIFTH

Leo looks down at his brother as he squirms uncomfortably in his hammock.

This... this'll be fine, right?

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the-modern-typewriter · 5 months

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Imagine a villain straight refusing to fight another member of the Hero Team just cuz his hero archnemesis is not present

"Where are they?"

"Oh, not again." The protagonist could feel a headache coming on. "Look-"

"-Are they hurt?" The villain's eyes went dark and dangerous. "Who hurt them?"

"They're fine! Oh my god."

"Then where are they?"

The protagonist definitely had a headache. "It's their day off."

"They didn't tell me they had the day off. What's wrong?"

The really concerning part was that the hero probably would tell the villain which days they were working and which they weren't. The two of them were as bad as each other! The hero was going to be unbearable when they came back and found out that the team had fought the villain without them.

"Can we just get this over with?" the protagonist tried.

"No."

The protagonist sighed. They pinched the bridge of their nose and took a few deep breaths. "Okay," they said slowly. "But you realise I'm still going to have confiscate your nightmare robot."

"It's not for you. And don't think I didn't notice you dodging the question!"

The protagonist considered their options; lies, truth, everything in between.

The villain's nightmare robot hunkered down a little more pointedly in the middle of the bridge. Several people honked their horns. It was, honestly, embarrassing for everyone involved at that point.

"Their grandma died."

"Oh no." The villain's whole face softened. "Grandma L or Grandma P?"

Of course he knew the hero's grandparents. Of course he did. "Look, about the robot-"

"-I'll reschedule," the villain said.

"I can't let you keep the robot. My boss would have my head."

"That sounds like a 'you' problem. I have flowers to send."

The protagonist's eye twitched. "If you try and walk away with it-"

"-Do you really want to traumatize this entire bridge of innocent civilians?"

"I'm sure they're traumatized having to listen to you two idiots on a weekly basis."

"I'm taking the robot. When are they back?"

"They haven't said," the protagonist said, through gritted teeth. "As you know-"

"-They'll be doing all the funeral arrangements. Yeah. You know what, give me their number. I'll text them."

"I'm not giving you their number."

"Why not?"

"It's against policy."

"I'd like to express my condolences."

The protagonist looked them dead in the face. "Mm. That sounds like a 'you' problem. I have a robot to confiscate."

The robot slammed a fist into the bridge. It wobbled precariously.

The protagonist raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. They folded their arms across their chest.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" the villain snarled.

"I hate you too, don't worry."

"I should kill you."

"They'd have so much paperwork when they got back from the funeral. It would really improve their month, you killing me."

They ended up glaring at each other.

"If I give you the bloody stupid robot, will you give me their number?"

The protagonist smiled sweetly. "That's the only smart thing I've ever heard you say."

Everyone, generally, preferred it when the hero was around.

They all made sure it didn't happen again.

#heroes and villains #villains and heroes #hero x villain #villain x hero #short story #writing snippet #story snippet #ficlet #villains #heroes #idiots in love

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