#keratin garden

[m0th-gh0st]

Draw Story ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ And one day when i have time I'll draw her too

slenders favourite child

#asks #keratingarden #keratin garden #kg #story parker #art #digital art #requests #slenderverse

[theperplexednavigator]

A quick Story Parker.

Greetings to any Keratin Garden fans! I'm only a few episodes in, but so far, this is a really cool series! And poor Story is such a sweetheart that doesn't deserve what Slenderchaos is coming her way.

#navifitz art #keratingarden #keratin garden #horror series #horror fanart #slenderverse #story parker #slenderverse story #keratin garden story #fanart #indie horror #traditional art #small artist #artists on tumblr

[a-flickering-soul]

list of slenderverse women and whether they're butch or femme according to me a femme lesbian

i didn't cover characters i have zero concept of or don't remember, but i did include characters i have seen clips or gifsets of because i can perceive vibes. i want you all to know that i am always correct and never wrong and i will not take criticism on this list <3

steph (everymanhybrid): unaligned and thinks she's superior for it

jessa (everymanhybrid): CLASSIC femme!!! spiritually she's got the long nails and the loving home and the rock of stability vibes

jessie (everymanhybrid): butch butch without a doubt butch and evan's best friend and they are bros

linnie (everymanhybrid): no idea

maryann corenthal (everymanhybrid): also no idea?? maybe femme but in the specifically farm wife who's also an artist kind of way who works with her hands and finds her strength in her work

stormy (mlandersen0): unaligned but femme-leaning in a weird undefined kind of way

lexx (whisperedfaith): femme and a huge bitch i saw one single clip of her being soooo so so mean to the main characters and immediately just felt the bitchy femme energy

story (keratingarden): femme!!! definitely a femme and a weird one too

serena (stan frederick): definitelyyyyy a lesbian but unaligned girl i see those glasses

angel (stan frederick): my best friend my fellow femme of color <3 i saw that bigass yellow jacket and those huge hoops and just knewwwww

jessica locke (marble hornets): she's actually the real reason i made this post. jessica locke to Me has incredibly incredibly powerful butch energy. don't ask me why. she has the strongest butch energy i've seen in a slenderverse woman ever. for sure has a big ol carabiner and multiple pocketknives.

#if ANYONE who's not butch femme gives me discourse abt this i'll BITE YOU this is for FUN and a JOKE #also DON'T even think abt giving me the butch/femme scale i'll BITE YOU AHRDER #anyways <3 i love them #shoutout to women in slenderverse i'd die for you all #emh #mla0 #whisperedfaith #marble hornets #stan frederick #keratin garden #flickerthoughts #i saw an incredibly wrong take a while ago and had so much vitriol in my heart that i had to make this <3 sorry #thank you to everyone who sent me women in sv i love you all #there are so many series i should get into....so many women i have not met.....

[puertoark]

keratin garden is one of the greatest slenderverse series for me personally its so sad it was never finished bc god it was just so interesting

and story was a great protagonist too 💔

#keratin garden #slenderverse #story parker

[eliaswoodt]

It’s sad Keratin Garden never got finished.

One of the few times there was a female lead.

#keratin garden #story parker #my posts #slenderman args #slenderman #if anybody got suggestions for args with a female protag #I would love to know em

[t00thpasteface]

the gafftopsail is a saltwater species of catcatfish named for its elongated, almost whimsical dorsal fin. they are agile and highly active. in the wild, their prey typically includes fast-moving animals like crabs and shorebirds, giving them a strong prey drive and a very playful personality; they can also be trained to run obstacle courses. they're a popular companion for anyone with an active seaside lifestyle, but they're banned from beaches that are popular with birders, for obvious reasons.

the armored catcatfish is a freshwater species named for its tough, keratinous scutes on its back. while still omnivorous, they have a very strong preference for vegetation, algae, and fruit. their lazy, gentle personality makes them popular pets; they get along well with other pets and are good with kids, and their dewclaws are nonvenomous. however, they still have a voracious appetite, and can easily clear out an entire vegetable garden if left unattended.

for more rambling about catcatfish and the key points i keep in mind while designing them, check out this post!

#art #orig #catcatfish #character design #cat #fish #catfish #gafftopsail catfish #armored catfish #pleco #speculative biology

[kinaesthetiqueer]

What These Hands Can Be

Rating: G

Words: 7,174

Pairing: Jaune Arc/Pyrrha Nikos

Characters: Jaune Arc, Pyrrha Nikos, minor Nora, Ren, RWBY, Oscar, Ozpin, Theodore, & Rumpole

Other Tags: Post Volume 9, set in Vacuo, alternating POV

Summary: Pyrrha barely knows what to do with her hands these days. She's been gone so long that everything, and everyone, is so different now. Even Jaune. Especially Jaune.

Author's note: My gift for @ssarkosghost for @remnants-of-rwby-exchange! I am so sorry that is a day late; please forgive me. I went to edit and accidentally added 3k... It is in its entirety below but the AO3 link will be by chapters.

gloved

Pyrrha spends a lot of time looking at her hands now.

Her nails are often chipped, bitten. When she was young, her mother had her wear gloves to curb the habit. They were just thick enough to keep her from nibbling the thin keratin to ragged edges. Mittens helped protect her young hands from bitter Argus winters when she wanted to build snowmen at the park. Garden gloves kept dirt from gathering under her nails as she worked alongside her mother in the tiny flowerbed their townhouse called its own. As she grew older, darker pairs helped to camouflage the tell-tale glow of her semblance in use, carefully hiding her critical advantage. Gloves, for one reason or another, have followed her throughout her life.

The desert is too hot for them.

Without them, Vacuan sands and wind roughen her palms beyond belief. Her callouses toughen, her fingertips thicken, and her palms crack, no matter how much moisturizer she applies after showers. There are other ways to minimize the damage, but to keep one’s aura shield engaged all the time outdoors was one of many marks of an outsider. Pyrrha shrinks at the thought of attracting even more attention.

Most people don’t recognize her these days anyway. Pyrrha runs her hands through her ponytail, much shorter than she remembers. It had been like when she’d emerged from the glowing golden portal, blinking and confused, stepping into what appeared to be a war room meeting of her closest friends and many unfamiliar adults.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Pyrrha had whispered into the silence, rubbing her throat. Her bare feet made little plap plap sounds on the cool sandstone as she took a few unsteady steps forward before stopping just out of reach of the closest person- a young, wide-eyed boy she didn’t recognize.

The portal shrunk, fizzled, and faded into oblivion while she struggled to remember why she’d just stepped into their midst. She fidgeted with the ends of her sash in her hands. Still, the urge to rub her throat remained, as if she needed to warm her voice box before speaking any more. 

The crying and screaming broke the silence first- Nora’s shrieks, Ruby’s choked sobs, Yang’s cracking voice. Then came the questions- Blake’s skepticism, Ren’s disbelief, Weiss’ caution.

Are you really Pyrrha?

Oh, of that, she was positively sure.

What happened to you?

She had died, that was somewhat evident by the scar tissue that twisted and stretched beneath the fabric of her loose linen dress and the horrifying memory of searing heat. Ruby had nearly vomited on the spot at her halting recollection of her death, gaze pinned to the [place that Pyrrha massaged at her collar.

Where have you been?

That question haunts her, even now, a little over two weeks later.

One year, eleven months, three weeks, and five days. The number rolled off Nora’s tongue quicker than it had any right to, but with such fury and despair that no one questioned its accuracy. That was how long it had been since the Fall of Beacon, since she’d been gone, how long she’d been dead to her friends. It’s a massive amount of time to be unaccounted for and unexplainably absent. It had taken a woman Pyrrha had never met to get them to all finally believe that she was herself, that she wasn’t some trick of the enemy or especially vivid group hallucination. 

It was when she’d taken Robyn Hill’s hand that she had first noticed she was no longer wearing her gloves. Robyn was wearing fingerless ones, much like Nora’s, but black. Robyn’s grip was firm, her soft smile reassuring.

“Just tell the truth,” she said.

There was not, and still is not, much to tell.

She’d died. There was nothing. Then there was golden light and they were staring at her. She was herself. She was alive. She didn’t know why her hair was cut or why she had a sash that should be ash, just as much as she should. She answered question after question until they sort of devolved into a distressed, hopeful argument about her existence.

At that point, with the truth told and nothing more for either of them to do, Robyn helped her sit in an extra chair to watch the proceedings. The action of sitting only made her realize how exhausted she was by the affair, even if she wanted nothing more than to be accepted into their fold again.

That being said, the results of their argument mattered little. Instead, Pyrrha finally dared to look over to the one person, out of friends and strangers, that had yet to say a word.

Jaune?

He stared at her, blue eyes wide. His hair was cut in an unfamiliar way and streaked with white that she didn’t remember. The lines around his eyes spoke to an age that shouldn’t be possible, but his haunted expression was more than just seeing his old partner back from the dead. That expression spoke volumes, though he did not.

“Hey,” Jaune says now, knocking on her open door “You ready to go?”

Pyrrha looks up from the creases in her palms, the unbroken lifelines and calloused fingertips, the bare nails and chapped knuckles. The tanned skin there is some of the only exposed skin she has. The rest of her is covered in brown, sheer compression arm and leg sleeves, a burgundy athletic romper, copper vambraces and greaves, and long boots and UV goggles, both suited for the sand. Her sash flows to her calves as she stands and reaches for Mellon and Tora, bringing them to her side with just a thought.

Her red gaiter hugs her neck, making it difficult for her to reach up and massage her throat. Jaune nods and turns into the hallway without a second thought though, so it’s not as if he needs to hear her say anything.

Pyrrha pulls the fabric up over her nose and follows Jaune without a word.

2. clenched

Pyrrha is dead.

Three words, one truth. Through the past years, it’s the one thing he has forced himself to believe and remember, despite the pain it causes. He had promised to fight in her memory, to do what she would have done. The tattered remnants of her extra sash always hug his waist, taut when he twists or bends and flaring out when he leaps or falls. Its flowing length reminds him that its owner lost her battle so that he might win a war. Isn’t that the truth of it? Such things are unchanging, immutable. Decades to reckon with that truth and now here it is undone, just as surely as his aching bones and rusted armor.

Pyrrha is back, Jaune thought when she stepped out of the glowing portal. Pyrrha is… alive?

Her bright green eyes, darting with uncertainty and anxiety, were as expressive as ever. Her hair was shorter, though still a ponytail in that same brilliant red. Her crown was absent, though its charms hung from her ears. With the white linen dress and her sash wrapped around her waist, she looked a bit mismatched, contrasting youth with a world weary frown he often saw in the mirror.

Two weeks and three days ago. 

Jaune’s own tally picks up where Nora’s left off. 

He can hear Pyrrha’s footsteps behind him as he winds his way through the cool hallways of the Shade Academy dorms. Her footsteps don���t sound like he remembers them, less assured. He tries not to listen and focuses on finding the way out. Another quirk of Shade was a particular aversion to exit signage; early on, it was helpful to stick with some of the other students, whether those from Vacuo or those who chose to attend Shade after the Fall. Now he’s that person for Pyrrha, leading her to the open common area that exits to the main campus.

I bet Pyrrha could probably just use a compass to get out.

His chuckle dies in his throat. No longer is it a hypothetical. What once might have been a bittersweet thought is a plausible reality.

Pyrrha is alive. She’s right there. Right behind me.

His thoughts echo her name relentlessly, a plea, a prayer, a petition. It’s caught between his ears in a way that he can’t force it past his lips. 

It’s a trick. It’s just another trick- Jaune swallows, closing his eyes briefly to steady himself. In his mind’s eye, he can see Pyrrha behind him, cruel joy in her emerald eyes, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. He can almost feel the pain of Miló slicing through the gaps in his armor again. 

No, it’s not. She’s here. We both are.

He takes a deep breath, holds it, and exhales. He hears Pyrrha step around him, approach his left side, and take a deep breath of her own.

“You… didn’t actually explain… what are we supposed to be doing?” Pyrrha murmurs, brushing against his side. The gesture can’t be more than an accident but suddenly it feels like every eye in the common area is on him and her, together.

He sidesteps, awkwardly covering the flinch by heading toward the doors again. He does remember the stilted text he’d sent; it’d taken nearly three hours to compose it.

> Need you ready for combat in fifteen. I’ll come by your room.

“Oh yeah, right. Headmaster Theodore got a transmission from a couple of miles out that a relay tower was damaged badly by the windstorm last night. He wants you to clear and organize the metal before someone actually fixes it.”

Jaune times his shove of the door with the end of his explanation and hopes that Pyrrha will not ask the obvious question. They step into the hot afternoon sun. Jaune squints, but Pyrrha just lowers her goggles over her eyes. She looks even more Vacuan than some of the townsfolk. While the so-called Beacon Brigade students, like teams CFVY and SSSN had to earn their respect at the ‘Skirmish of Shade’ and Jaune and RWBY came upon their respect with their efforts in Atlas and beyond, Pyrrha managed to curry the favor of a fair number of Vacuans simply through her sacrifice at Beacon. Her new outfit, her weapons, even her rudimentary scroll- they were all gifts from local shops. In a way, she belongs to this desert kingdom more than anything or anyone else.

“Jaune?”

He flinches too hard to hide it this time, but her expression is unreadable.

“Yeah?” Jaune swallows bitter bile, waiting for the inevitable question.

“Where are we going?”

We. Right.

“West, out of the city. Come on, we’ll be faster on the rooftops.” Jaune heads for the closest wall gate, desperate to leave his thoughts behind him.

“Jaune, please accompany Pyrrha on this mission,” Oscar had asked simply this morning in Theodore’s office. Before that, Jaune had been unsure why he had been summoned; Oscar’s text had very few details. Probably because he would have already been walking in the other direction, soulless desert be damned, if he’d known what these three had planned.

Headmaster Theodore, Professor Rumpole, and Oscar- yes, actually Oscar, judging by the slightly guilty expression- watched him expectantly.

“A squall came through last night and the Western relay node has gone offline; we need the wind damage cleared before we can actually repair it,” Theodore explained further. “That’s where you come in. I’ve sent coordinates to your scroll. Clear the debris and report back.”

Jaune casually adjusted the straps of his chest plate, trying to conceal the hitch in his breathing. “Oh, well, I was supposed to-”

“Xiao Long has been reassigned to a different mission with her teammate Schnee. Mr. Daichi and Ms. Scarlatina are handling your original mission,” Professor Rumpole raised an eyebrow up at him. “You’re clear to help your partner with this.”

“I mean, sure, but what about back up?” Jaune swallowed, nervous. “I’m sure Nora would love to help! They’ve been pretty close, right? Oh, or Ren! Grimm have been really nasty in that part of the desert, yeah? Wouldn’t it be better if-”

“If her partner stopped avoiding her?” Rumpole finished, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “We’re spread too thin to have full teams on small jobs.”

The room was silent for a moment.

Professor Rumpole wasn’t quite as terrifying as Professor Goodwitch, but eventually, he still looked away.

“Fine. We’ll get it done,” he muttered, already turning to go. He could see Oscar making a face out of the corner of his eye. Good, he could stand to feel a little guilty about it. There’s no doubt this was his idea.

I don’t want to… not yet.

“What’s the problem here? Stop spitting into the wind!” Theodore retorted, standing from his chair, pressing his gloved hands to his desktop and peering at Jaune. “Didn't you miss her?”

He froze, a wave of rage passing through him. He clenched his teeth and fists as the feeling filled every crevice of his soul and simmered into a boil. Then, just as quickly, the wave receded, drawing back until he was hollow once more.

“Of course, sir.” Jaune turned and left without another word. 

It’s not as if anyone else would understand.

3. hesitant

Jaune leaps from rooftop to rooftop, with his only objective seeming to be to get out of the city in the westward direction. By the time Pyrrha’s moisture wicking underclothes have soaked up a gallon of sweat, they’re finally on the outskirts of the capital. They’re heading into the blazing sun, which isn’t relenting as it sinks lower toward the horizon.

Not once does he look back at her, only opting to look once she’s at his side in the shifting sands. Even then, he only glances at her and nods once. He pulls his scroll out,much higher tech than hers, and orients them with a map. In the distance, a blue objective waypoint blinks steadily. She nods and he puts it away as they set off.

Her words stick in her throat, like they so often do these days. As they jog through the sand, heat waves shimmer. The trick to running through the desert, as Fox Alistair graciously advised her last week, is to never give the sand a chance to know you’re there. Pyrrha springs from step to step, lightly pressing on the hundreds of grains under her sole for just a moment before pushing off again. Jaune runs alongside her, much more fit than she remembers. It almost makes her laugh, to see him so seriously engaging in exercise that would have had him gasping or swearing at Beacon.

Almost.

The sun has sunk lower into the sky by a few degrees by the time the mangled tower comes into view. Pyrrha almost skids to a stop at the sight of it, slowing her gait as they approach.

“Badly damaged?” She croaks out as they slide down the dunes that have been blown into formations around the structure. Once the sand settles under her, she takes a long drink from her water pouch. Jaune does the same, moving into the shadow of what’s still left standing.

“Emphasis on badly,” Jaune quips dryly. Then he looks over, startled, when Pyrrha snorts. The sound surprises her as well. She clears her throat and busies herself with another drink of precious water.

“Blueprints?” Pyrrha asks, conserving her words. 

Jaune passes over his scroll. She peers at them, looking up at the twisted metal structure. Some of it can be bent back into shape, mainly the huge looming top half of the tower that hangs at a seventy-five degree angle. Other pieces scattered around are definitely just scrap now.

As she looks over and over the structure, she circles it and memorizes the appropriate shapes. Scattered shrapnel gathers into a pile without much thought, neatly pulled from the sand before it can pose a trip hazard. On her third circuit, Pyrrha dares to look up at Jaune.

He still sits listlessly in the tower’s shadow, sand pooling around the ankles of his boots. He has his arms folded across his knees, chin on his arms as he watches her work. Their eyes meet briefly before his gaze darts away. Still, he remains angled toward her.

Pyrrha points up at the twisted spires where the forces of nature had torn the metal apart. “Some of these are too big for me to adjust–”

“That’s fine,” Jaune says quickly. “Do what you can and we’ll–”

“–by myself?” Pyrrha finishes, trying not to look too hurt. The face coverings help with that. Nothing can hide how her shoulders curl in for a moment, betraying how much she wants to shrink under Tora and let the sand cover her.

“What am I gonna do?” Jaune snaps bitterly. His anger carries like sand on the wind. They stare at each other for a long moment, at once a few feet and a million miles away. Pyrrha coughs, reaching beneath her gaiter to massage her throat.

“You could… boost me?” Pyrrha suggests gently. No sooner than the words have left her mouth does she regret them.

Oh… I should have let him tell me. She frowns, licking her lips nervously. Would he have though?

Blue eyes snap up, wide and betrayed. Jaune’s eyebrows furrow, putting the pieces together. His accusation is swift and accurate: “Nora.”

“She’s been catching me up on what I missed,” Pyrrha says apologetically, clearing her throat again. 

That was a bit of an understatement. Nora had spent an hour or so each night in their shared room rambling about JNPR’s misadventures after Beacon. Even though Nora falling asleep mid sentence was somewhat normal for them, she’d still double checked with Ren that she was okay, or at least close to it. They hadn’t yet gotten to the part where Nora earned the sharp, spider-webbing scars that adorn her skin now; Pyrrha hasn’t been sure if she’s allowed to ask.

“It has been a rough few months for us, Pyrrha,” Ren had said over mugs of cactus leaf tea, squeezing her hand kindly. “Let her enjoy talking to you again.”

It’s hard not to enjoy their late night talks. When the desert is dark and cold and the Shade dorms cool down enough for a light blanket, it’s positively cozy to listen to Nora ramble on about events she can only imagine. Besides, Nora doesn’t expect her to talk; she doesn’t need Pyrrha to clear the scratchy, annoying feeling in her throat to contribute. Her simple hums, sighs, and giggles do just fine.

“She’s mentioned it a few times so far,” Pyrrha explains as she fidgets, twisting her bare fingers around each other until her joints ache with the strain of contortion. There’s no escaping this awkwardness. There’s only the two of them, the blistering heat, and the dead reception tower for miles.

Jaune gets to his feet, stiffly approaching despite stumbling down the small remaining dunes. She watches him flex and clench his hands as he nears, until he’s just inches away from her, standing shoulder to shoulder. He stares up at the relay tower while she stares at the smooth expanse of his cheek.

Her fingers twitch.

“Yes. I can boost you,” he says finally, after they’ve stood there for a moment. She nods. After hovering with hesitation for a half-second, Jaune puts his hand on her shoulder.

Pyrrha gasps, reeling from the sensation.

Once before, she’d felt this power- the clear, pure, and deep well of Jaune’s soul. Back then, it had been just a moment, a passing awareness. Now, Jaune’s aura flows through her, intense and all-encompassing. It’s a cool stream, a fresh snow, a crisp mint leaf, an ocean wave-

“Hey, hey,” Jaune snaps, suddenly in front of her. He steadies her by the shoulders, searching her eyes with panic. “What’s wrong?”

Pyrrha surprises herself by laughing, joy as clear as wind chimes. When she lifts her goggles to wipe the tears of mirth from her eyes, they evaporate from her skin almost immediately. He lets go of her shoulders and steps back, swallowing hard.

“I was right,” Pyrrha gasps, trying to catch her breath. “You do have a lot of aura. Jaune, that’s amazing!”

For a moment, Jaune’s face is open and hopeful, beaming with something close to joy. Then something shifts; his expression shutters as surely as the city of Vacuo before a sandstorm. He takes another step to the side, keeping his hands to himself.

“It’s… well, yeah.” He sighs, looking up at the defunct lights that line the vertical beams of the tower. “I’m not the same stupid kid I was at Beacon.”

What?

Pyrrha opens her mouth but nothing comes out. She squeaks, furious at her voice for abandoning her. She reaches out for Jaune, but draws back almost immediately. He side-eyes her, gaze dropping to her hand, then to the sand at their feet.

“I can do less, if it’s easier. Just figured you’d want to get back to campus as soon as possible, you know?” Jaune continues, concentrating until his hands shimmer with aura. “I also don’t have to touch you. I should have asked. That’s on me.”

She frantically massages her throat with both hands, trying to get her fingers to find purchase on the sweat-soaked skin under her chin. Jaune frowns at the ground again, hand hovering near his belt now.

Finally, her voice struggles free. “Jaune, I–”

He hushes her. Somehow, that hurts more than anything else.

“Do you feel that?” He whispers, hand firm on the hilt of Crocea Mors now. Pyrrha feels anger swell and flare in her heart at the dismissal.

“Jaune, this is important–!”

It doesn’t matter how important what she needs to say next is. 

The ground beneath them explodes.

4. sweaty

Beware sudden dunes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Jaune shouts as the burst of sand sends him flying several feet into the air.

The brisk advice had come from a fair number of people, namely members of CFVY who he'd tagged along with on missions in the early days of their return. The vagueness was purposeful, as any number of wildlife, geographic features, ruins, weather, or worse, Grimm, could cause new sand dune to arise. Velvet had at least elaborated with a story about a huge family of mole crabs.

This was no mole crab.

Jaune recovers midair, twisting to get his bearings as huge claws flail menacingly, reaching for purchase and prey. In mere seconds, the creature uncovers itself, shaking off sand to reveal its inky black carapace, ashen boney plates, glowing red markings, crimson eyes, and golden stinger.

“Deathstalker!” Jaune calls out, unsure where Pyrrha is. He expands his shield and lets its hard light wings catch the wind, carrying him out and away from the relay tower. He stumbles into a run at the far edge of the crater made of dunes. Now that he turns around, frantically sweeping his gaze across the landscape, it’s relatively obvious that the dunes that allowed the tower's full height to be revealed were hiding something dangerous. Relay towers didn’t sit in craters of their own making, not in this ever-shifting landscape.

Not again. No, no. Where is she?

He searches for bright red among the settling sand cloud, shielding his eyes as the Grimm hisses. It swivels its body toward the communication tower. Jaune’s heart sinks as he sees the object of its focus.

Pyrrha crouches within the twisted spire of the relay tower, precariously balancing one of the remaining beams. Her newly forged weapons, not too dissimilar from Miló and Akoúo̱, glint in her hands. The blade of Mellon, in its short sword form, retracts on its cord as she watches warily, making the sound that the creature hones in on. Though she is still, the whirring is like catnip; this Grimm is on the hunt.

“It can hear you!” Jaune shouts to her, running down the dune to the fight. Nothing else is likely to be here, right? A Grimm this big shouldn’t tolerate too many others. But a Grimm this big shouldn’t be so close to the settlements either! …I guess anything’s possible with three Kingdom’s worth of stress calling every Grimm on Remnant.

As he’d expected, the Grimm swivels toward him, its beady red eyes glimmering in the sunlight. With the scattered sand settling, the heat becomes oppressive again. He ducks and parries the pincher that swings toward him with his sword, then blocks the other with his shield. The impact nearly squashes him, but he activates his shield to force it back. His timing is perfect, almost instinctual now.

“Jaune!” Pyrrha shouts from above. As the deflected claw rears into the sky, a swarm of shrapnel attacks the creature’s face, piercing its eyes until they weep black and red sludge. Jaune scrambles out of the way as it flails and screeches in agony. Pyrrha clambers down the ladder-like structure, face unreadable behind her goggles.

The sand explodes in front of them as the Deathstalker slams its stinger into the sand where he’d just been standing.

“Great!” Jaune shouts bitterly as they sprint away from it, putting the relay tower between them and the monster. “Now it’s pissed and blind!”

“I’m sorry! It was about to crush you!” Pyrrha cries out. “What else was I supposed to do?”

He rolls his eyes and doesn’t answer. What else indeed.

The Deathstalker screeches behind them, drowning out Jaune’s harsh bark of laughter. Still, Pyrrha looks at him oddly, tilting her head. He ignores her, looking around. The Grimm itself is nearly half the size of the crater. The only thing nearby is the tower, its twisted metal, and the concrete platform that anchors it in the desert. Above them, the bulk of it twists to the side like a misshapen crane arm.

“Get us up there!” Jaune demands, gratified that Pyrrha questions neither his order nor his tone. She immediately crouches and launches him off her shield. Carefully composed as he soars upward, Jaune grabs one of the steel beams and pulls himself onto it. Pyrrha follows, wrapping Mellon’s grappling cable around a piece of metal a few feet away. It carries her to safety for the second time today just as the Grimm scuttles over, ramming its stinger into the sand again. Its struggle to remove the stinger conceals the sound of the cord retracting this time.

Small mercies.

Pyrrha looks over her weapons in her hands, perched next to him. “Jaune-”

“I’m thinking!” he hisses, watching the beast howl with frustration as sand sprays up into the air and its stinger comes up empty. 

She yanks her neck gaiter down to her collar and lifts her goggles into her bangs. “Listen to me!”

“What part of thinking-”

“Jaune,” Pyrrha cries out. “I’m not going to lose you again!”

“You didn’t lose me, Pyrrha!” Jaune snaps back. “You can’t lose something on purpose.”

This high in the air, the hot, dry wind whips around them. Pyrrha licks her lips, expression pinched in a rare moment of irritation.

“What?”

The tide within Jaune swells. The wave crests, but it doesn’t break. He looks away, trying to spot the shimmering mirage of Vacuo city in the far distance. At this time of day, it’s too hazy with the darkening sky to see much of anything.

“I thought you remembered everything,” he mutters. Then he swallows, “this isn’t the time for this.”

Get it together.

“I fail to see any other time for it!” Pyrrha exclaims, voice cracking. “Why is it that it takes mortal peril for us to talk to each other?”

“No way! You don’t get to put this on me!” Jaune snarls, unable to quell the vicious bite in his voice. “All I ever wanted to do was talk to you! You couldn’t even let me return the favor! You kept me going at Beacon, day in and day out, but when the time came for you to actually trust me, you shoved me away! You didn’t even give me a chance-”

“Ozpin didn’t even want us fighting her!” Pyrrha puts her shield on her back so she can balance better, coiled like a spring on the precarious perch. Jaune mirrors her, except he sheaths his sword instead. Old, buried anger comes to the surface. He’s kneeling amongst the rubble of Vale again, trying to make sense of the locker he’s just crawled out of and hoping against hope that he’s having a particularly bad nightmare.

“Exactly! Ozpin died fighting Cinder! But you thought you could do it by yourself?” Jaune laughs bitterly, all too aware that there are tears streaming down his face. “Do you know how many times I’ve defended you and your last choice? Surely, I thought, surely my partner didn’t ship me off and go get herself killed in a fight she knew she'd lose! Of course she thought she stood a chance! Of course she just needed to get me out of her way!”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. Even the Grimm is quiet beneath them.

“Did you… Did you just think I thought you were in my way?" Pyrrha shouts, eyes wide in disbelief. 

Jaune doesn’t hesitate to snipe back. “What else was I supposed to think?”

Pyrrha’s face twists with pain or anger; they’re so unfamiliar on her countenance that it’s hard to tell. She clenches her empty hand, pressing her fist against her thigh. 

“I was protecting you!”

“I didn’t need you to protect me!” Jaune counters, as the wave of anger finally crashes to shore. “I needed you, Pyrrha!”

5. gentle

In two weeks and three days, Jaune has not once said her name.

His initial silence was unsettling. His surprised stare was unyielding. After all of the excitement and questions had settled, he’d finally spoken, cutting across the chatter.

“Robyn, could you?”

She’d taken Pyrrha’s hand again, almost apologetically, then nodded at Jaune. He’d taken a deep breath, before looking her in the eye, seeing her and not just past her. She’d shivered, feeling undone by his intensity.

“What are you?”

Those three words inspired nothing but confusion. “I… I don’t think I understand. What am I? I’m… a huntress-in-training? A girl?”

Your partner? 

She’d kept that one to herself.

Despite wanting to puzzle out the expression on his face, she glanced down in time to watch Robyn’s aura shimmer from pale purple to bright green. She looked back up at Jaune, at Ruby and her team who looked between her and him with varying levels of disapproval and understanding. Finally, Jaune sat back in his chair and sighed, apparently content with that answer. The tension still did not leave his shoulders.

“Alright then,” he said quietly into the silence. “Welcome back.”

The greeting felt hollow, especially since he went out of his way to avoid her from that moment onward. In fact, between her miraculous return and their current mission, she could count their conversations on her fingers. 

Now, she rubs her fingertips on the woven texture of her compression tights, savoring the distracting sensation. There’s nothing else to say but the truth.

“I knew I was going to lose you,” Pyrrha insists, using the word that had started this entire argument. “But I wanted you to at least be alive if I had to.”

Jaune is pale, his fury waning by the moment. The tear tracks on his cheeks dry almost as quickly as they’re created. “What did that matter? We could have both made it out. It wasn’t… You didn’t… Damn it, Pyrrha.”

“Jaune, hear me please. Running would have killed me, even if I still drew breath,” Pyrrha swallows nervously, but the lump that has plagued her all these days is completely gone. She continues, “I thought if I fought, I might survive. I could live or die with that, if you were okay. I hadn’t abandoned my duty and I hadn’t failed you.”

“But you made me abandon you.”

Pyrrha smiles, just for a moment. “That was selfish of me, wasn’t it?”

“It was!” Jaune shouts, flinging his free hand out so hard he nearly loses his balance. Pyrrha flings her own hand out, yanking his breastplate toward her with her semblance. He yelps as he stumbles forward over the metal trusses, nearly colliding with her. He flails for a moment, but quickly regains his balance.

The tower groans. With both of them tipping the scale away from the base, its stability compromises rapidly. Pyrrha glances down at the scuttling Grimm beneath them, still wandering in the fugue of its own rage and agony.

“Yes. It was,” Pyrrha whispers. She relaxes her semblance, allowing him to move away from her. 

Jaune doesn’t budge. Neither of them do, knelt precariously across from each other. Her hand hovers between them, still outstretched and bare. Gently, she places her hand on his cheek, expecting him to flinch. But he doesn’t. He leans into it, sighing and letting his eyes slip closed. His skin is rough to the touch, with soft barely-there hairs that tickle the ridges of her finger pads. It’s a wonder all of its own, the feeling of her skin pressed to his.

“I have always loved fighting by your side, Jaune,” Pyrrha murmurs, stroking her thumb along his cheekbone and wiping his tears away. “It terrified me that you might die by mine.”

“Then let me choose that,” Jaune whispers. “You owe me at least that much.”

The metal scaffold beneath them shudders, nearly throwing them off. Pyrrha keeps them both pinned to it, gasping with the force of the continued ramming. Below them, the Grimm has finally given up on trying to reach them directly. It slams its pinchers into the heavily fortified poles at the base, screeching in frustration. They gawk at it, then at each other as the metal beneath them begins to creak and sway even more. The Deathstalker screeches and turns in a circle, viciously  stabbing into the stand with its claws.

“Okay,” Pyrrha promises quickly, though the thought of it seizes her heart in a familiar vice grip. “I swear I won’t… I won’t make that choice for you again.”

Jaune nods into her hand, closing his eyes briefly. He sighs.

“To be clear though,” Jaune says with a tiny, watery laugh, “I’m not trying to die by your side anytime soon. Or ever?”

Pyrrha responds with a tiny giggle of her own as the Deathstalker begins to slam the tower again, jostling them. “So not today?”

“Definitely not today!” Jaune yelps. “Fight and live?”

“Fight and live!” Pyrrha repeats, pulling away to put Mellon back in her belt. They scramble to their feet, running for the main tower as the metal twists and groans beneath them. Jaune turns back to grab her hand, helping them both stay steady as they leap for the tiny grate that acts as a service platform within the main body of the tower. Some twenty feet below, the Deathstalker continues to bellow and batter the foundation, its single-minded hatred fueling it beyond reason. That fury makes it dangerous to fight up close, but in a few more hits, they won’t have a choice.

“Jaune?” Pyrrha shouts over the cacophony of bestial rage and structural collapse. He tears his gaze away from the furious Grimm and raises an eyebrow at her. She squeezes his hand and grins. “Help me?”

He smiles in understanding. This time, when Jaune activates his semblance, Pyrrha is ready for the burst of power and energy that flows through her. She flings out her free hand toward the huge piece of tower that had been their perch, seizing it and flipping her wrist to twist it off the main structure.

The motion shakes the tower, but Jaune catches her by the waist, anchoring them both by clinging to the foundation beam nearby. Pyrrha gasps her thanks, then continues to focus on the task at hand. She lifts the huge chunk of metal as easily as a handful of ball bearings, then crushes her fist, shaping it into a wicked javelin of steel.

Then, with Jaune holding her steady, she flings the makeshift weapon at the Deathstalker’s back. The Grimm screeches in agony as its carapace rips in two, expelling viscous sludge several feet into the air. Flailing its stinger, it struggles where it's skewered into the sand, then finally goes limp. It, and its sludge, dissipate, carrying black ash onto the wind and into oblivion.

They both relax their semblances as one, exhaling with relief. Still Jaune doesn’t let go of her; she makes no effort to move away. Further beyond the relay tower, the sun sinks below the horizon, throwing reds, oranges, and dark purples into the sky.

“Uh, well… if headmaster Theodore asks…” Jaune clears his throat, looking down at the metal carnage below them. The Grim had completely destroyed every bit of the distribution box and shredded the cable connection. CCT technicians, they were not, but anyone could see it was beyond hope. “It was like that when we got here?”

Pyrrha snorts once, then again and again until she’s howling with laughter. She turns and throws her arms around his neck, gratified when he hugs her back with the same intensity. The tower trembles a little underneath them, but it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Neither are they.

She’s been back for two weeks, three days, and a handful of hours, but only now does Pyrrha feel that she’s home.

“Hey, Pyr?” The love in the nickname punches the wind out of her lungs. She nods into his shoulder until he continues. “The next time you want me to leave, just ask, okay?”

She nods again, clinging to him even tighter. However, she knows, just as well as he does, that she could want nothing less than that. She pauses, concerned.

Does he know? Please… I need him to know.

Choked, Pyrrha murmurs, “I never want you to leave me again, Jaune.”

She can hear the tears in his voice as he replies, “Okay, good, we’re on the same page then.”

Let’s stay that way.

Their trek back to Shade takes much longer than their breakneck outgoing pace. They take down small Grimm here and there, chatting about pasts both separate and shared, walking shoulder to shoulder in the cooling desert. He hugs her before leaving her at her room door, promising breakfast together. It’s both the most normal and oddest thing that has happened in her whole second life.

Exhausted, Pyrrha showers and crawls under her blanket. Whatever missions she had today, Nora isn’t back yet, though it’s plenty late enough for their nightly life updates. Somehow though, she knows she wouldn’t be able to listen for very long. Her eyelids droop shut and she snuggles into her pillow, grateful for its softness.

“I can only do this for you,” whispers the memory of an unfamiliar voice, just as she’s drifting off. “You’ll arrive just when you’re needed and you’ll arrive just when you need it. You’ll say what you need when the time is right to say it and you’ll listen when you need to hear. Everything beyond that is up to you.”

When she wakes the next morning, it’s because Nora is bouncing on the end of her bed.

“Pyr, wake up! It’s Friday! It’s five-thirty and it’s already hot!” Nora announces gleefully. Moreso than other mornings, she can’t help but notice her energy seems more genuine than usual, more like the joy she once had at Beacon. “Get up, get up! I want breakfast!”

Pyrrha sits up slowly, combing her fingers through her hair. Small grains of sand fall to the blanket. She also has the distinct sensation of a dream slipping through her fingers. She frowns, grasping for the memory to no avail.

“Pyrrha?” Nora asks, coming to rest on her knees in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

She blinks at her friend and smiles. “I had a dream I think… I just can’t remember it anymore.”

At this Nora beams and crows, “Dreams, scheams! Who needs them? We have the whole day ahead of us!”

Her hope and enthusiasm is contagious. Pyrrha grins and sweeps her into a tight hug. Nora squeaks and hugs her back, obviously startled but not unhappy about it. When she finally pulls back, neither of them mention the tears on the other’s cheeks.

“You said something about breakfast?”

Nora takes her by the hand and drags her out of bed, then throws her combat outfit at her face. She catches it easily.

“Yep! And it waits for no one! Come on, we have so much to do today!”

Pyrrha can feel her heartbeat quicken with joy, tugging her lips into a smile.

Today, and everyday after that…

It’s a life worth fighting for.

-

Epilogue

Thursday Evening

Theodore sighs. “Oz, this is a risky gamble you’re taking.”

The nickname makes him twitch a little bit.

Half a dozen conversations have come and gone, not to mention a host of different people needing their audience. Oscar makes no decisions without Theodore’s council and he makes none without Rumpole’s. They’ve been in this office for hours, and yet there’s no question of the gamble to which he refers. It’s been a few hours since he’d called Jaune in for a mission assignment.

“Oscar,” he reminds the headmaster. True, it was Ozpin’s memory of JNPR’s initiation shenanigans that had given him the idea, but it was a plan all of his own. “And it’s nothing they can’t handle.”

 “How long do you think it’ll take for them to realize we’ve sent them to a defunct relay tower with an active Deathstalker den?” Rumpole mutters.

“Hopefully longer than it takes for them to say what they need to say to each other,” Oscar replies, sipping his cactus leaf tea.

Rumpole is even shorter than Oscar, but her unimpressed glare manages to make him shrink into his chair a bit, chagrined.

“I may… also have Ren and Nora on standby at the current Western relay node, just a half mile way?” Oscar admits, flushing. “If something goes wrong, they’ll handle it.”

This made Theodore laugh loudly, his voice booming in the tiny office. Oscar winces at the sound, but it’s impossible to escape it. By the time the older man finishes, he has tears in his eyes.

“Ah yes, the other partner duo famous for currently getting along!”

“How convenient,” Rumpole drawls, dusting off her vest with a roll of her eyes.

“Two Nevermore, one bullet,” Oscar quips. He salutes them with his teacup and heads for the door.

Well, you certainly seem rather pleased with yourself, says Ozpin, amusement plain as day.

Oscar smiles into his tea, a small smile just between them.

By magic and miracles beyond his own power, Jaune, Nora, Pyrrha, and Ren had each other once more. With these little nudges, team JNPR will surely ride again, changed but whole.

It’s the least we could do, don’t you think?

#arkos #jaune arc #pyrrha nikos #rwby #rwby fic #remnants of rwby: fanworks exchange #kina updates #i am unreasonably proud of this one i really hope you like it! #ssarkosghost

[thetauntinghydra]

King Abispa's Folley (TotSS/Wings of Fire Fic)

Based on a challenge for the WoF RP server I run.

Chapter 1

The Nightwing’s talons felt cold, surely, pressed up against the hard stone like that. Flattening to the wall, he recoils like a creeping vine, all too desperate to shrink away. His claws, now sore, scratch against the coarse grains as he inches further, chipping the keratin of his only lingering weapons. No one could imagine he had much fight left within him, after all, not after the show in the Mirror Gardens. This, of course, only emboldened the hissing guardsmen, who seemed to fill whatever vacuum the escapee proposed. The twilight’s dreary helios barely lapped the sunken wall, illuminated moreso by the desperate fires– now mostly put out– than by the echoes of day. In this, the dark-scaled dragon watched his reflection in the pearly Hivewing spears, only catching a glimpse whenever a new cloud of sparks wafted overhead. 

It all seemed so calm now, despite everything. The ash could meander over as it pleased, drizzling through the space like dying fireflies. Yet Beholder was still forced here, pinned to watch as the Hivewings quickly reverse his frantic bid for revolution. ‘Sanctuary,’ he remembers thinking, ‘what a joke.’ It was in that moment, too, where the ‘savior’ finally reared himself. Abispa, and his gnat of a sidekick glimmered in the dim firelight. Lasius, talons coaxing tighter against her dagger’s heel, seemed to bore into his very being- sharp and sure. Beholder couldn’t help but try and avoid her glare, his eyes dashing instead to the still-bleeding gash on the King’s scarlet neck. Ironic, it was, as he stared into the dribbling sore, how a single lesion would likely be the only lasting wound in his rally for change. “Finally caught up with him?” Abispa starts, his signature lofted tone quite a bit more breathless than usual, “Good. Damned Animus nearly burned down half of Borer. Put a muzzle on his snout before he starts spitting spells again.”

A pair of guards had already been holding one, of course, only ever chomping at the bit. They buzz their wings anxiously- scoffing something in the Hivewing’s nonverbal language, no doubt. They take a few tentative steps, testing the metaphorical waters, and watch how he only ducks away further. Sneering now, they lunge on him, the shrill metal and rough leather caging in around Beholder’s maw even as he stretches away. His teeth flattened painfully against his gums, squeezed against the binds. His only lasting autonomy was his eyes now and his racing thoughts, which raged against the very concept of Abispa’s creation. “Perfect”, the King sighs, a cruel smile twisting across his face, “You won’t be able to mutter a single syllable now, thank you very much. Music to my ears, honestly. Well, save for that awful crackling.” The Hive King huffs to himself, tail lashing. His tone, save for his hint of furious inflictions, was more akin to scolding a dragonet than facing down an escaped prisoner. “A necessary evil, I suppose. All forseen. Better to work out the kinks of the Armada now, before your kin try anything fancier. Inciting a riot, my word, Beholder, how unoriginal.” It's then that Abispa slinks closer, shoving his face mere inches from the cowering Nightwing. His black teeth gnash violently, barely containing the rampant grin across his sniveling features. “You’re all just a single drop in the basket, Nightwing. One… stupid star in my constellation of perfection. Soon you will see… soon everyone will see- the true power of an Animus Army at my very talontips.” He recoils harshly, the cold air filling Abispa’s wake. “A shame I won’t see you on the front lines, but then you were never quite remarkable anyway.” Taking a breath, he stares down the failed attempt before him. Beholder: the firstborn of Shatteredmind, the second animus of the Hive, the third to rebel. Eye twitching in it’s socket, he shoots a poisoned glare to his deputy, spitting his final order. “Lasius, remove the muzzle from the mutt. I want to see if this valiant martyr has any last words for his King.”

The gray Hivewing wastes no time in fulfilling Abispa’s order, skulking forward to slip the leather mask off of Beholder. Almost instinctively, he takes a greedy breath, barely noticing the choked-out smell of smoke. There was little pity in her doings, ghosting along the floor as he'd pant. Her expression wasn't prideful like Abispa's, but cool and calm, her ambition simmering deep within. Stepping back, she only glowers at the Nightwing, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.

“Speak,” Lasius commands, “Do not let your final breaths fall silent.”

Beholder, his chest heaving, stares down his insectoid pursuers, matching Lasius’s glare with dying ferocity. The stale air buzzed with false anticipation, eyes shifting and staring.

Licking his drying gums, he forces a sigh.

“Your army will never work, Abispa,” rasps Beholder, “Everyone outside your stupid hive knows it.”

He heaves his wings, bracing them back against his scabbing shoulders. The deputy raises a dangerous eyebrow, tapping a message to Abispa on the floor. It takes such effort to step forward, but the look on the Hivewing guard’s faces was all worth it. 

“It.. it won’t be long until the others know it, too,” Scowls, the night dragon, hatred burbling in his core, “Moons… most of them already do. You think I did all this myself? That I’d throw my life away for my own sake? Nah… that's foolish, and you're a fool, too, if you think I’m the only one. The animi are waking up, Abispa, they're learning what you want to do.”

Another step forth, another tightened grasp on the spears. 

“Even now they're watching… listening… learning from my mistakes. Next time you piss us off there won’t be just smolders… but bodies… bodies of you and your soldiers…” His gums flash pale… he knows he doesn’t have much time left-

“But I need to buy my dragons time. Abispa, you wretched nymph, I enchant you to disappear— to dissolve to a time where magic no longer exists! Go there– now– where you can’t harm another animus ever again–!”

The uproar was immediate, but not immediate enough. In the flash of spears and tongues and scales, The Hive King snaps his jaws in a desperate bid for retort— but his words fall flat. In fact, his whole being does, his essence condensing and warping, flung through existence and time.

Chapter 2

Tides are the sand’s best friend, which swoons against the lagoon’s flattening dunes. Lazily lapping, it provides the perfect ambiance to the Summer Palace’s lunching ambassadors. Across its lofty decks, Silkwings, Leafwings, and Seawings snacked above windswept maps. Curling in the breeze, dappled lines and dotted points adorned the scrawled-out LeafSilk Kingdom, its borders’ ink still damp. Few eyes seemed to be upon them, however. Instead, the dazzling indulgence of the midday meal distracted both sight and stomach. Huge platters adorned the nacre laminate, stacked high with aromatic delicacies. Smoked webfoot octopus, stewed softshells, algae poppers, and chia pudding endowed the salty air with enticement.

 To Sundew, who sprawled across one of the driftwood chairs, it was all a bit too salty for her taste, despite her mother, Belladonna’s, ravings. She poked at a serving of shark tartare with a half-thought talon, choosing instead to trace her glances around the smooth oval table. 

Ears pinning up towards her horns, she mayed herself in the conversations of chattier dragons. A small cohort of Silkwings seemed to drone on with a dappled Seawing prince, their words swinging between topics as varied as their scale colorations. Others, like her mother’s, never seemed to deviate much from the topic of their new home to the point where even Sundew was starting to bore.

The clatter of tongues, teeth, and talons, however, only added to the otherwise still atmosphere. That was, of course, until a matt of scales skids across the table. Abispa seemed to collapse from the sheer sky, slipping on his very wings and crashing against the plates. The cacophony sounded through his pinned ears, mirroring the uproar mere seconds before. His lungs seemed to wail against the salt-saturated air, begging for the breath that was knocked from him.

His tail slides across his newfound pedestal of platters, trying to shake the coconut cake from his scales. His eyelids squeeze with a wince, auditory senses returning to the shuffling of dragons. Yet, he wasn’t the first to react, not until the familiar scale-feel of steel slid against his bruising jugular. “The Hivewings sent spies!” cries a grizzled voice, forcing Abispa’s eyes alert. Shuddering from the blinding radiance of Noon, a blur of dark green and gleaming grey forces his head against the table. Blinking fiercely, what could only be described as a Leafwing bores down upon him, albeit slimmer– leaner– meaner. Soon, she wasn’t the only one, her fervor matched by the gang of unusually plump Seawings.

His thoughts were cresting upon him only once he was completely surrounded, a dire turn of events that brought Beholder’s words to the very forefront of his mind. “R-remove your talons at once!” hisses the Hive King sharply, attempting to rise but slipping on seafood, “I am Abispa you fools! Profound Hivewing royalty!” His demands hover in the space a moment, but are only met with the guards' growls and puzzlement from the council before him. Glares flicker between them towards the Hivewing and each other, before turning from Abispa entirely– much to his dismay. “He must be one of the Ladies’ husbands,” announces a paperwhite Silkwing who, to the King, looked rather misshapen and worn, “Look at the jewels… Bloodworm’s perhaps?”

“I am nobody’s husband-” recoils the King, “How DARE you reduce me to such a trophy–” “Who are you, then,” a broad-shouldered Seawing demands, “Hivewings aren’t welcome at this conference. Well, besides Treehopper– but that's not the point–! Introduce yourself. Now.”

“I am King Abispa, you fools!” he roars, “By the moons- Asterope would be broiling by now. Oarfish, even. Now, I DEMAND you remove your claws from my face before my dragons–” He pauses, voice caught in his throat. No one else had fallen with him… no one else had been enchanted by Beholder. “Damned Nightwing-” he jeers curtly, reluctant to finish his threat, “B-but my demand still stands. I am King Abispa of the Hivewings, you WILL unhand me.” Once again, the shout only lofts through the room, hanging in the breeze like a stale vapor. The Leafwings’s jaws clench, and the Seawing’s grips tighten, their eyes falling upon Abispa with deep uncertainty. “You never mentioned a ‘King Abispa’, Belladonna,” the Seawing growls, boring into the King with a startling lour. “There isn’t one,” replies this ‘Belladonna’, “He’s trying to ruse us, Princess. Wasp’s supporters must’ve sent him– I’m sure of it– and this oaf thinks pulling the royal treatment will garner him some sympathy.” “What do you recommend, then, Tsunami?” The paperwhite Silkwing returns to the side of the others– missing her harness– yet gaining a knowing glare, “Do you have somewhere here we can keep him? Question him, maybe? If there's one spy, there might be others.” “I am not some– insolent spy–” huffs Abispa again, rolling his neck in indignity, “If you listen to me, I am simply here by accident– an accident I will QUICKLY remedy once I return to my hive.” Gaining fervor now, he takes a try on his binds– roiling against the Leafwing’s grip, but only met by a flurry of spears. “Stay still,” Belladonna bristles, “You aren’t returning anywhere. Tau, alert your Silkwings, we may be staying longer than anticipated.” “You will do no such thing!” He gasps, jerking again, “I. Am. King. Abispa. The leader and monarch of Borer, the Hive King, the Gilded Throne! I am warranted respect!” With an indignant snarl, he lunges forth, blitzing his wings and slipping the spearhead from his scales. His face curls into a darkened snarl as he frees his head, ebony teeth gnashing. Despite the sudden flashes of silver, he doesn’t relent, racing all the way up to his feet.

Salt wasn’t the only thing stinging the staredown dragons, tension thickened the air like dribbling ichor. Where once sat a council now stood a bracket of warriors. Whatever sort of sick trick that Nightwing played was starting to lose steam, and Abispa- now surrounded by spears, felt the venom seep out of his and the Leafwing’s conjoined stare. These dragons weren’t going to let him go– the prospect swirls in Abispa’s mind as he slices the sight with his stare. Yet, even now, the room itself seemed to favor the King. In the open adornment, he could fling himself out of one of the many balconies, catch himself on the breeze, and fly westward. Even if he was in a different time, as Beholder enchanted, surely he could find a Hivewing willing to help their historic King. ‘Yes-’ his brain hisses, ‘Seawings… Silkwings… Leafwings… they aren’t very good fliers, are they? Slip out the window and lose them in the clouds… then find your subjects…’ The plan seemed simple, the only thing left was to be fought over with talons and teeth. Ambush. Be swift.

Abispa rears, baring his fangs in a braggart roar, clawing down on the Leafwing with a searing strike. The smell of hot crimson stings the senses, but the Hivewing doesn’t care, following quickly into another snapping bite. One– two– his teeth gnash breathlessly against the emerald frill, tainting their vivid color with liquid pain. He swirls around sharply, feeling the hot breath of a Seawing soldier against his nape. He jerks his claws against their gills, thrashing through violently. He was about to strike another blow when Abispa got his own, the blade tip of Tsunami’s spear shone through his membrane- forcing a diving swirl from the King. He snaps at the wood of it, snapping the grain between his teeth and– Crunch crunch

A Silkwing’s dagger digs into bone before Abispa has a chance to think. The pain sears the dire strain straight to the Hivewing’s skull– before another wound opens, and another–! Whoever had a spear, sword, or dagger at that moment was using it– every sharpened blade and coaxed brand trained on Abispa’s form. He lets out a vile hiss- a rapturous howl dripping ire. Soon, it wasn’t his enemy’s blood in the majority, but his own, his very footsteps leaving scarlet wakes. This was bad– what vigor left he had to use to flee– quickly–! This possession of will was wilting from the King, replaced by the hollow of his wounds. Maybe it was blood loss that tore him, maybe it was another shrieking stab, but in that instant, Abispa felt once again as if he was falling– falling and falling and falling– until the scent of flame engulfed him once again.

Chapter 3

“Tap tap taaap, click tap tip tap, bzzzzzt”“Sliiiiiiither– stomp, tap tap bzzzzt, chk chk!”“Chk tap tap chk! Bzzt dmmm sliiithering now… Lasius– there's another one here– one under his wing, too.”“I've got it. ‘I enchant this wound to close like the others… I enchant this wound to close, too.’ Any others, Louse?”“Not that I can see… that's seven countings... Oh– wait, wait a second– Sir? Sir– Your Majesty, can you hear me?”It's rare for a Hivewing to be unable to understand their nonverbal language, but expressing trauma– like nearly bleeding out– would usually be considered atypical circumstances. Even now, as Abispa lays against the familiar– yet different cold floor, he revels silently in the smell of salt dissipating from his nostrils. “I can hear you… yes,” he wheezes, barely gaining consciousness of his own breath, “Where… where am I now–?” “Borer, sir,” the one named Louse replies, “I.. we don’t know where Be– the prisoner– took you… but he's been disposed of. Lasius took care of it.” “How did I return-?” continues the King, weakly peering now. “That was Lasius too, my liege. It took a minute to deconstruct the spell, but Lasius was able to undo it in time. W-we’re sorry it took so long– sir– I understand if… erm, my station lies elsewhere now–” “No…” mutters Absipa, “That isn’t necessary…” The hot basin Absipa lays in quickly dries, magically so, and the scent of his own blood quickly banishes itself from his senses. His wounds, where once searing, now stood still, his tendons and bones barely bruised.

The brain fog of bloodlessness didn’t help, of course, but in that moment– surrounded by his soldiers– Belladonna, Tsunami, Tau… they all felt like figments in a dream, dematerializing to the memories of a dreary midnight gaunt. Better this way, Absipa considered it, even as he adjusted his chin against the cold ground and spread his woundless wings. He can consider the prospects of it all later. For now, he just wanted to rest.

#wings of fire #wings of fire rp #wof #wof oc #oc story #oc lore #writing #wrestling #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #dragon story #fanfic

[m0th-gh0st]

Splendorverse Story and Hector?? 💛💛

this is very overdue

#pine moment #art #digital art #asks #requests #keratingarden #keratin garden #story parker #i cant remember if hector had a surname OUJREISDGES

[theperplexednavigator]

Oh, Story...

On episode 22, and man...

Never a good thing when the horrors decide you're an intriguing fella.

#navifitz art #keratingarden #keratin garden #keratin garden story #story parker #slenderverse #slenderverse story #slenderverse series #horror fanart #fanart #traditional art #small artist #artists on tumblr #gel pen art #slenderman #indie horror #slenderverse fanart #slenderverse fandom #horror art #slenderverse women #slenderverse female characters #i care her greatly #cw scopophobia

[red1sg0n3]

Deeper Depths Brings Deeper Feelings

Red's Sculk AU

Takes place in-between 1.18.2 and 1.19 with mentions of 1.16

It was dark, it was wet, and it was cramped.

Her wings were tightly pressed against her thighs to avoid the possibility of the Elytram's wings scrapping against the sides of the cave.

Red had been down here for a few hours; The lantern previously attached to her hip now held tightly in hand, lighting the area in front of her.

["So you're just going down there alone!? Are you insane?"]

Her wings twitch with barely concealed ire.

["We don't know what's down there-" "Exactly, we don't know, which Is why I'm not risking others getting hurt." The mothling's fingers curl in agitation.]

With lips twitching downwards, Red's hooves dig into the gravel and dirt as she marches forward through the cave. She doesn't have the time to be distracted by unnecessary events; it was only going to be a quick trip anyhow.

Her job, as a scientist and an Admin, was one she took seriously.

According to the report, there was a sighting of strange fungi growing out of the cracks in the deeper part of the caves. Red's immediate thought was this was caused by the strange new generation that's been occurring across worlds; information gained of course from the Hub.

While she hadn't heard of a fungus, it wasn't completely off the table with how special mushroom biomes seemed to now be present within the nether; as if the nether wasn't dangerous enough with the new generation there.

As much as Red wished to just send one of her eyes down here, she wasn't particularly in the mood of having to take the time and energy creating another one if anything happened. Better her than a feeble extension of herself, she supposed.

["You aren't invincible, you can get hurt just like the rest of us!"]

She breathes. She needs to focus.

Her talons scratch against the base of her horns, relaxing only for a minute before stopping.

Because she feels it before she sees it.

Souls. Souls upon Souls packed in a small space, almost familiar to a mob farm if it weren't for the sheer agony that resonated from the dark, starry block. (Like the spider lily's now wilting in her garden.)

Her wings, tight against her shoulders, visibly convulse before settling. She blinks, watching the dark block blink back at her.

(It reminds her of the void in a way, of the eyes of her species' counterpart)

Red shakes her head, forcing her feet to move forward, her hooves creating that familiar click-

SCREECH

"Aa-" The teeth of her wings crack against the roof of the cave as wide, blood-red eyes stare at the fading cyan ovals from the block in front of her. Frozen; she waits, glancing down at her own keratin covered feet and glancing back up towards the very loud noisemaker.

Carefully, she puts her other hoof in front of the other after meticulously dislodging the points of her wings from the cave roof, making sure they didn't click against the cold stone. Nothing.

‘Alright. Noise Sensitive.’

Creeping up towards it, she stops only a meter away from the block. Peering at the top of it, her face contorts into a grimace, her suspicions (Not really suspicions, her mind supplies. She could practically sense it.) were confirmed. Two visible souls could be seen swirling in the dark, glistening pool, surrounded by what looked like bone.

Mentally sending the poor things a wish of safe returning to the void, she summons her netherite pick as silently as she could before quickly dismantling the block, only jumping slightly at the sound of clicking.

A small, half block of dark cyan…whatever, had four appendages at the top of it that swayed back and forth. The dark cyan fungi beneath it was far more spotted than the rest of the odd blocks she's seen.

Red squints, and chirps, watching the spires of fungus respond in kind with more clicks and movement. Quickly, she summons the book and quill she had brought with her. She wasn't sure what to call the odd blocks, so she simply settled for "The Cyan Cave Fungi". It'd do for now.

["You could get seriously hurt, would it kill you to just put your work aside for a second!"]

Carefully, she continues down the cave, finding more of the Fungus across the tunnel in concentrated amounts; The Elytram resisted the urge to run her talons against the walls, only fully pulling away as she spots an opening at her right.

She could only sputter as her eyes settle on the sprawling ruins before her.

“What in the nether-“

SCREECH

Red flinches, her head snapping towards the noisemaker only a few blocks below her. Her wings droop behind her, crimson tipped feathers brushing against the deepslate floor.

Slowly, she made her way down the small slope towards the odd city; Her hooves had almost got caught on the small cracks of the stone, if not for a quick, careful opening of her wings.

It would've been fine If not for the very loud block, once again, yelling at her. A sharp 'Crack' had been her only cue that she'd fell before the searing pain begun to eat at the Elytram's wing. "⎓⚍ᓵꖌ! ↸ᔑᒲリ ╎ℸ !"

Then begun the cacophony of sheer noise, dozens of noisemakers going off all at once, and she feels it.

Rising quickly from the ground, taller than both her and the pillar beside her, emerges what she can call nothing but a beast.

Before it can fully lift itself up from beneath the surface, she picks herself up from the floor and books it, her wing seizing in pain as it jostles and drags against the floor; Black feathers tipped with Red getting torn from their proper places as the beast slams its fist against the wall beside her, sending her falling once more down a slope.

"∴⍑ᔑℸ… Are you…?"

Her breath shuttered in what could only be described as sheer Hysteria. The detached sleeves once covering her forearms were now torn through from the sharp rocks on the small hill she slid down; The deep bleeding scratches littering her arms and legs burned as she struggled to get up.

The beast had jumped down the small incline and having no time to dodge before it let out a sickening cry, the Elytram’s wings take the brunt of the soundwave’s force. Red could feel the ligaments in her wings tear and the soft, downy feathers become torn, being broken by the impact.

It was over as quick as it started, and it begun to sniff her out. She couldn’t move her legs, her knee having popped out of place and she knew if she tried the sound of her own agony would be far too loud.

All she could do was stare at the beast, it only getting farther away before returning, a cycle she knew could only repeat so much before she ran out of time.

So she collapses against the wall behind her, the now barely attached wing getting pinned behind her as the other did its best to cover her with fading warmth.

The Hybrid could only let out a low laugh as she hears the beast rushing towards her. Faintly, she could feel something crawl against her face as sight begun to fade

Oh. Oh how Red loathed being wrong.

CRACK

1,040 words

5,804 characters

note | edit: I forgot to redo this lmao

#minecraft #Red's Sculk AU #minecraft sculk #whump #whump drabble #does this qualify as whump? #who cares #blurb #Red’s Sculk AU #sculk #deep dark #minecraft warden #Reds Sculk AU #rsau

[ridenwithbiden]

Cincinnati Zoo & Botanical Garden

Violet's quills are made of keratin, the same as our hair and fingernails. The unique thing about crested porcupine quills is that they all have different purposes. Some are really long and not sharp at all, those just make her look bigger to predators. Above the base of her tail are the big sharp ones which she would use to back up and poke into predators. Also, at the very end of her quills she is growing her hollow quills. She uses these to rattle together and it sounds just like a rattlesnake! She is just getting used to using them and sometimes will rattle them when she gets the “zoomies” and is excited to play. She cannot shoot her quills, that is a myth.

[selamat-linting]

literally why didnt i notice until now over how many similarities the slenderverse series (mh, emh, tt, and the like) have over homestuck like :

-both are a multi-media experience with cryptic puzzles and mysteries that took some thinking and fandom collaboration to fully understand. marble hornets spesifically, was so influential that almost every slenderman mythos is based on their own take of it. literally the blueprint that changed a subgenre of unfiction series forever.

-oftentimes blurs the barriers between canon and reality/fanon. especially with everymanhybrid's HABIT trials

-dealt with themes of being doomed from the start, predestination, and dealing with forces beyond your understand in good and bad ways

-has a time loop plot but the humans are mostly very fucking powerless and if they want to gain a bit of power they must shed their humanity (tribetwelve)

-either ends in a tragedy that makes you cry like a bitch because you held out hope for everyone even though you know theyre all fucking doomed or it has no proper ending at all (im still sad over keratin garden oof)

-some bullshit about sessions are occasionally involved (emh and tt)

-character gets possessed by a demon, is purple-coded, kills almost everyone in the cast, and do passive agressive hatecrimes (tribetwelve 'he KNOWS im jewish he's mocking me' scene)

-speaking of tribetwelve, noah kinda reminds me of karkat with his inability to stop saying cocksucker every five seconds

-insufferably dorky film nerds

-somehow makes everyone who watch it gay or transgender

-faceless piece of shit in a suit manipulates people to kill and maim their loved ones

-the fandom thinks theyre hot even though the cast are the most ordinary people you'll ever meet in a gas station

-bonus : embezzlement drama insane shit happens in the fandom. like, i know exactly two murders where the perpetrator was a child obsessed with slenderman.

#slenderverse #homestuck #everymanhybrid #marble hornets #tribetwelve #oh look! my interests colliding

[sunnyzinha]

Intro to the Blog

Hey! You can call me Sun, Sunny or Ella!

I'm still a minor, but almost coming of age

I write an AU that mixes Creepypasta and Slenderverse, my focus on this account will be to tell about this AU and the characters I have in it

I accept questions, Headcannons about characters and my ocs, drawing suggestions and asks about my ocs (there are ocs from my friends in the AU, but they only reply if they want to)

I use the She/Her pronouns

I'm an artist too! I draw mostly from my ocs and occasionally from friends, I don't accept requests but suggestions (there's no guarantee that I'll fulfill them)

I'm completely passionate about horror, although I don't write "terrifying" things in my eyes (just inexperienced at it yet)

I am a Brazilian, use the translator and what I know of English, so don't mind any errors or anything

Things I Like:

Horror

Creepypasta (stories, not fandom)

Slenderverse (like the series)

To write

Drawing

Listening to music (Billie Eilish, Melanie Martinez, Nirvana, Slipknot, Ashnikko, Lesley Gore etc)

Steven Universe

Sally Face, Fran Bow, Cube Escape etc

RPG (I haven't played tabletop yet, despite the desire, only text via discord)

Welcome Home

Walten Files

Five Night's at Freddy's

The Slenderseries I like are Everymanhybrid, TribeTwelve (I don't support Adam Rosner) and Marble Hornets (not finished them, but in my way to do. I know others like Dark Harvest, MLAndersen0, Keratin Garden and WhisperedFaith, but I need to watch)

Other things can be added after I remember them, maybe told in the future. Topics I put "etc" are because they have too much to say

Things I Don't Like

Any kind of prejudice

Hate comments 🤨

I don't really like the Creepypasta fandom, at least that part we all know

I'm not really into romance in general, the category has always bored me

Things I Will Write:

Headcannons

Canons about my ocs

Some small scenarios that come to my mind

Backstory of my ocs (will contain trigger warnings)

Stuff about my AU

Maybe at some point write requests (only about my characters or Creepypastas/Characters I have headcannons on)

Alphabets of my ocs

Maybe some nsfw one day (again, my ocs)

Diversified themes (still, I'm not experienced with gore and the like)

Things I Will Not Write (Requests)

Non-con

Dub-con

Incest

Pedophilia

Furry (Sorry, I just can't)

Anything that might make me uncomfortable

Here's some userboxes I made that I relate to

#creepypasta #creepypasta oc #creepypasta original character #oc #tribetwelve #everymanhybrid #marble hornets #AU #slenderverse #slenderman #my au #introduction #blog intro #introductory post #original character #alternate universe #writer

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

Hi! I saw had did Slenderverse ARGs whitelisted, and I was wondering which ones specifically, if possible. I wanna see if I can surprise some sysmates with random things :].

hello!! i know everymanhybrid and marble hornets best, but am also somewhat familiar with dark harvest, keratin garden, and whispered faith. the only one i will not take requests for is tr.ibetwelve due to the creator’s… criminal activities, we will say.

#💫paging mr morrow

[valena-nedela]

The humans, however...

Humans are peculiar.

It’s a common enough opinion, though everyone has their own reason for it.

For some, it’s their openness to surgical, cybernetic, and even genetic body modification. Baseline humans are one of the least phenotypically diverse species, with little variation beyond a limited range of sizes and dermal coloration, or the shape and color of keratin filaments. However, with their modifications, they are instead among the most varied of species, with the notion of dividing them into subspecies a regular subject of academic debate. The humans, however, are strictly opposed to such ideas.

For others, it’s their bizarrely flexible pack-bonding instincts.

And for others, it’s their almost-universal fixation on centuries-old pop culture.

None of those people have ever dealt with human engineering.

Those who have, know that the strangest thing about humans is their inability to truly grasp large scales. It’s as though they have a certain limit, above which the actual numbers involved lose all meaning and the project simply becomes “big”, with no upward bound. Thanks to this, they see no problem in taking on efforts that saner species would dismiss as wastefully extravagant.

Allow me to provide some examples.

For most sapients, the fact that stellar atmosphere is an effective lasing medium is interesting trivia. The humans, however, turned their home star into a laser.

For most sapients, the idea that one can artificially create a singularity by pouring enough energy into a small enough volume is an amusing thought experiment. The humans, however, needed something to do with their “stel-laser”.

For most sapients, quantum entanglement technology is sufficient for space travel and communication, despite its delicate setup process and other limitations. The humans, however, prefer the flexibility of their Q-drives, which send a superluminary ripple through the fabric of space itself and permit a ship to “ride along” within the shockwave. The power demands for this are obscene, but fortunately humanity has a supply of miniature black holes that they can allow to evaporate to the point of instability and erupt into a small nova.

As an aside, I originally took the name “Q-drive” to be yet another reference to ancient pop culture, but it is, apparently, a severe reduction of the name of the theorist who first proposed the method.

For most sapients, planetary engineering (“terraforming”, in human terms) is a centuries-long effort that demands more resources than most people can imagine, and is widely disregarded as fanciful. The humans, however, have apparently begun efforts to siphon heavy elements from their star’s mass and use those to turn the second and fourth planets of their system into new garden worlds.

As best as anyone else can tell, in the earliest stages of their study of their neighboring worlds, that is what they mistakenly assumed those planets to be. The reality eventually proved to be disappointing. The humans, however, came to resent that, and opted to eventually resolve the matter to their satisfaction.

And now, the latest news from within human engineering circles has me particularly concerned, though others are dismissing it as a joke or “meme”. I am unconvinced. I have seen what manner of projects the humans consider reasonable, and how they approach the ones that they want, but consider unreasonable — that being, they just do it anyway.

The following question has been “trending” within human discussion spaces:

If you were going to disassemble a planetary body to construct a ring habitat in its orbit, which one would you disassemble?

I desperately wish to know what it means that Earth is currently leading the polling.

#hfy #humans are builders #my writing #writers on tumblr #scifi #yes i watch isaac arthur