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“This’ll solve your problem in no time,” Epel said with a smirk. He zipped his jacket and threw one leg over the seat of the blastcycle. He revved the engine, and his smirk widened. “No one can be on a blastcycle and not look cool.” 

Idia coughed to muffle his muttering. Yuu stood next to the blastcycle, not looking nearly as convinced as Epel thought she should. “I’ve seen the abundance of wipeout videos saying otherwise.” 

“That’s just the people who don’t know what they’re doing.” 

“And you think I do?” 

First off, instead of regular fairies and winter fairies, it's now fairies vs pixies (which are different things why do people keep putting them in the same pile).

Fairies have many types some of which are;

Dust keeper (default)

Wind (from fast flyingand storm)

Water

Flora

Fauna

Fire

Earth (tinkers play around with metal. I think it fits)

A fairy can choose and change if they so please, however it is a very arduous process to change from one type to another.

Some higher ranking fairy types are;

Royal (highest)

Seasonal (spring, summer, autumn, winter)(these guys are special little dudes, they've spent most of their lives as one type of fairy. There's also very specific criteria for fairies to turn seasonal)

Fairies and pixies are thought to be from the same ancestor the Fae, which were much bigger than the small lil guys they are now. Fae were big. Tall. Taller than the average modern human. Mischievous but mainly chaotic neutral in nature. Somewhere along the line, and with the help of evolution, they split into fairies and pixies. Fairies who are helpful, though shy and cautious around humans. And pixies who are tiny fuckin hooligans that just mess with you bc fuck you.

Now onto Pixie types;

Royals (highest)

Humors (based on 4 humors; blood, bile, black bile, and phlegm if i remember correctly)

Jesters (regular)

It doesn't matter what type of fairy they once were, all negatively affected fairies turn into jesters. Unless they are Seasonal or Royal. I think you can put the pieces together. Different Humors torture differently. I have notes on these but I'm too lazy (and it's too late) to grab my book so I'll reblog this later. Just gonna put an * here.

Some misc notes on this:

Fairies have more butterfly like wings while Pixies have more moth like wings

Fairy dust doesn't just allow you to fly or float, different fairy dusts allow users to do different things. Pixie dust (Chaos dust) is very unstable and far too dangerous and complex for humans to use. It also makes you go crazy so.. don't do drugs, kids.

I'll reblog with more information.

Until then, g'night

"...Eirin says that the recovery time from this would be 6 to 8 weeks, so it'd probably be safer to go for 7 weeks... Considering the mess the place was in after I took 3 weeks off for the last surgery, I would not want to leave the place without a head butler for such a length of time, nor would I expect my Mistress to go without a head butler."

“Your orders, Master..?”

Nix sat up with a gasp, trying to calm herself down. “What in the world is going on now..? I thought I was finally free of these weird dreams..”

Splinter was anxious. The lair was too quiet for his liking; he was alone. His sons were gone on their missions, April had left the lair for the comofrts of her own home, and Cassandra was out having fun with Sunita. Splinter found himself wandering. First into Raphael’s room, and then into each of his sons' rooms in turn. Touching their stuff, smelling their familiar scent. Closing his eyes and imagining he could still hear their voices. Still feel their touch. Imagining that they were still there with him.

He couldn’t take the silence much longer. There was only one day left until the two week deadline. They would be home soon, he tried to tell himself. Back in his arms, back in his care, where he could love them again and not just from afar. His boys would be home! But for tonight, he was alone, and he didn't want to be.

Splinter’s aimless wandering around the lair brought him eventually to the zen room. He had to pry off the police do-not-enter tape before he was able to get inside. The light still worked, located dead center in the middle of the room, illuminating the walls in shadow and sending several startled rats scattering. The room had been sealed for nearly a decade, untouched by everything except for cobwebs and dust. In the center of the room was a single pillow positioned on the edge of a shallow pool, green with lack of care. Splinter had told himself he never wanted to step foot this room again, yet he never had the heart to get rid of it. He was glad he didn't now, because he needed it more than ever.

Trial and error proved that the old candles didn't work anymore, so Splinter had to go back out into the lair to get replacements, positioning them around the pool and pillow and lighting them. When the lack wick was lit, he turned off the light, and the room beyond the reach of candle light was cast back into darkness.

It took some time for Splinter to convince his body to cooperate with his wishes, and when he did manage to achieve the lotus position, it was at the great strain of his knees and back. Sitting up straight after slouching for so long, especially with a body that had endured as much abuse as his had, proved difficult and painful. Still, he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the burning pressure building in the base of his spine.

“Ergh… my body’s not as flexible as it used to be.” Splinter groaned as he pressed his hands into his back to try and stretch the undertrained muscles. “Come on. You can do this.”

He breathed in deeply, focusing on the air as it filtered through his chest and stomach, and then slowly exhaled again. Had concentrating on this task always been so hard? He couldn’t remember. He found his hands stimming with the pillow, pinching and rubbing the corners of it to occupy his body so that the yelling in his mind wasn’t so severe. Reaching the meditative state proved difficult, but not impossible.

Splinter’s eyes fluttered open when the calm washed over him; it was a sensation that even years of abstinence could never quite erase from his mind. He found himself in a dark room floating on air that felt heavy like water. Looking around revealed three other presences in the mindscape staring back at him.

“The Council of Heads?” Splinter’s nose scrunched up. “I was expecting one of my ancestors.”

“Are we unwelcome?” The middle head rumbled.

Splinter gave a low laugh. “Right now, I would talk to just about anyone.”

“What troubles you?” Asked the left head.

Splinter took a deep breath. “I am missing my sons more than ever. I am concerned that Bishop may have led them astray! It is almost time for their return. Could you please reassure me that they are alright and… and that I did the right thing by trust Bishop?” His eyes flicked constantly between the three members of the council.

The left head hummed. “The solution that Bishop provided for you was the right one, but the intentions he had in mind were wrong.”

“Bishop advocates for total separation of yokai and human.” The right head drummed, “He is a very cruel man.”

“I knew it.” Splinter snarled, but then anger turned to fear. “Have I made a terrible mistake?”

He knew he couldn’t trust Bishop! He knew, but he sent his sons to him anyway! He trusted Bishop’s words even as they made his fur stand up on end and his heart skip beats. He was a terrible father, and there was no telling what could have happened to his sons under Bishop’s flawed guidance—

“Ease.” The middle head said, and Splinter felt a calm wash over him.

“It was the right mistake to make.” The right head bellowed, “Sometimes wrong choices lead to the right outcome.”

“Just please!” Splinter pleaded, “Please just tell me my sons are okay!”

But the heads had already gone and Splinter was sent crashing back down into his body.

****

“GOONGALA!”

Cassandra busted into TCRI. The guards, caught off balance by the attack, didn't immediately have the sense to reach for their guns. This gave Cassandra advantage enough to land a hard blow against the two that stood watch at the entrance, slamming the shaft of her naginata against their stomachs to send them flying into the wall. She hadn’t been counting on the receptionist, who ducked under the counter and came back up to aim a gun at the vigilante.

Cassandra reached into the inside pockets of her hoodie and hooked four throwing stars onto her fingers, flinging them out blindly at the receptionist. Two of them missed their mark, a third grazing the enemies side, and the last found its hold and sank in the enemies thigh. She screamed as her leg buckled under her, still firing off her gun but now it was aimed at the ceiling and not at Cassandra. This sent a crash of suffocating debris falling down on them, making the stunned guards pull back further to take refuge in the dust.

Cassandra had her naginata at the ready in her right hand and another handful of ninja stars in her left. She kept on a constant swivel, searching for the attackers. Then one of them came down on her with all the force and speed of a mutant. She felt a searing pain rip through her side that sent her stumbling. The Kunoichi lashed out with her left hand, the sharps of the stars acting like daggers and slicing through the guard just as easily as a knife would. The guard shouted and reared back. Cassandra took the opportunity to grab at her side where she had felt the blade hit her, and she was relieved to find no wound, though her hands did come back bloody. She decided it must have been from the guard as she jumped back into the frey.

***

An alarm sounded. Bishop took a few more slowly, automatic steps before he stopped and looked toward the flashing red lights that swallowed the room. April only grinned and laughed while Bishop scowled and looked around, his nostrils flared and eyes like slits.

“That’s probably them now…” April said in a slow, taunting voice. She grinned even wider when she heard a loud ding that told of an elevator arriving on their floor.

Through the flashes of red, Bishop eyed the slow opening elevator. He reached into his pockets and pulled out his gun, wasting no time with firing shot after shot into the elevator.

“NO!” April cried.

Then she saw that there was nothing in the elevator, turtle or otherwise. Bishop smelled the air deeply, trying to draw in any sense of what his would-be attacker could be. The only scent that came to him was a peculiar scent of sharp lime. He approached the elevator, peeking his head inside while the dust of his shots still cleared.

“Where are you…?”

“Right behind you, poser.”

Bishop spun, his gun aimed, but all he got was a quick glimpse of April, her binds undone, and a lime-green googly yokai at her side smiling smugly. Then he was met with a shart strike from April’s fist that knocked the thoughts out of his head and ushered into unconsciousness.

“WAHOO!” April cheered, pumping her fists in the air as she danced around. Mayhem was at her feet but immediately jumped into her arms, where she hugged him tightly “MAYHEM! You found me! Aww~”

Mayhem immediately started to cover April in kisses, his tongue long like a dogs but like sandpaper as a cats would be.

“How’d you guys find me?”

“Mayhem did.” Sunita said, “Also, me and CJ may have broken into your apartment, just a little bit!”

“You what—?”

Trigger warning!! PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR! Food horror, vomiting, bugs, blood, suicidal thoughts, gore,

He couldn't take much more of it. Any time he’d close his eyes, his dreams were haunted with nightmare images of snakes and vines reaching out at him with sharp hooks and fangs. He would be running while an invisible force forced him back the other way toward an endless drop, and he would fall, but he would always wake before he hit the ground. If there even was a ground.

Every time he would drink, the once clean water would turn to sludge in his mouth. Thick, suffocating, and bitter— impossible to swallow. He’d have to spit it out, and when he did, he’d find it normal and clear. He had water— he had so much water! But he couldn’t drink. He was so thirsty…

Donatello brought an apple to his mouth and bit it. It tasted okay. It tasted… well— like an apple. The juices relieved the dryness of his throat and for a minute he’d thought he’d actually be able to eat! Then he made the mistake of looking to the fruit. Decay seemed to spread throughout the treat, making it brown and practically melt in Donatello’s hand. He could feel the apple fall apart! He could feel the sensation of writhing, living maggots eating the thing! He gagged and coughed, spitting out his mouthful and tossing the apple as far away as he could. The moment it collided with a tree, the apple was normal, if a little bruised.

The evil laughed.

Was it the next day? Or had several days passed? Donatello knew there was light, but he also knew that he could never trust the light. That it might turn off again at a moment’s notice, leaving him in blackness that swallowed the moon and stars. He was so hungry he had to risk it. It was just a banana, surely he could eat a banana? His hand shook violently as he picked up the fruit and started to peel it. One peel, two peels, and the banana held firm. The third peel, and it turned black, falling to dust in his hand. Donatello sucked in a breath and gave a soft whimper. Then the banana was back again, whole and untouched.

He swallowed his fear and brought the fruit to his mouth to take a bite of it. It tasted okay, at first. But then it started to move, and when he opened his mouth, out came what must have been hundreds of flies. A whole swarm of them! What remained of the banana followed the same pattern. Donatello vomited.

The evil laughed.

It was dark again. Donatello held his bo staff tightly to his chest, so tightly it hurt. But he didn't care. It helped even if he had yet to figure out what its power was yet. He didn't risk going far from the camp; just far enough where hopefully the evil couldn’t watch him as he relieved himself.

There was a great boom. Donatello fell back, hugging his mystic bo tightly and giving a choked whine. The auditory horror had happened so often he wondered how he wasn’t used to it by now. Sounds like grenades exploding or a jet plane flying overhead or an air horn sounding—women screaming in the woods, the yell of wild animals, the roar of fire! Fire? That one was new—and it was eating his campground fast! It had already eaten away at his tent and was spreading to the rest of the campground.

Donatello scrambled to his feet, grabbing his bucket of melted snow and tossing it over the fire! Then the fire was gone. No burns, no embers, no ash. Just a drenched tent destroyed by the water damage.

The evil laughed.

This wasn’t right. This couldn’t have been right! This nightmare had to end soon— it had to have been two weeks already, right? If not longer! They should have been here by now! His brothers, Bishop! To take him away from this hellhole that was eating away at his very mind! From that laughter that plagued him night and day without end! He wanted it to stop!

Donatello looked at his weapon. More specifically, he looked at the bladed part. He brought a finger to touch the very tip. It was sharp. Sharp enough to prick his finger and bring forth the tiniest speck of blood. Then he looked down at his wrists and screamed as a waterfall of blood pooled from them! He hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t, he would never— he didn't! The blood was gone in between blinks, and the wounds gone too. And the evil laughed.

“Your brothers have forgotten you.” The voice taunted, and it was inside Donatello head. Donatello tried to force it out, hitting himself in the head until his mind spun, but the voice remained. “You’re been here for years, and you are never leaving.”

No. No, that wasn’t true! His brothers would come for him, his brothers would never forget about him. They would come, they could come, they would come…

“The...r...rift is… s-still… closed.” Donatello managed to stutter out, his voice weak from lack of use and terrified, “S….so y-ou’re still trapped…”

“How do you know?” The evil purred, “After the things you’ve seen, how do you know that this isn’t just another illusion…?”

“I-it’s not…” Donatello gasped. “It’s not…”

“How sure of it are you?”

Donatello couldn’t answer, and the evil laughed.

Another day of torture passed like a month. He felt filthy, and he wanted to wash himself. The trails changed day to day, and this was one of the lucky days that he was allowed to go down to the river. He dipped a washcloth into the water and started to use it to dab the grime off of his skin, and then quickly dried it with another cloth so the water wouldn’t freeze. At first, the water was cold, but cleansing. Then, after the third gentle swipe of the wet cloth, it all changed.

The swipe of the cloth started to slough off Donatello’s skin. He couldn’t feel it, but he could see it. Skin and fat and muscles being scrapped off of him and leaving him bare to the bone. He screamed and tossed the rag, not thinking before he used his hand to try and wipe off the remaining water. Where his hand touched, even more of him came off. The flesh on his hand— on his arm!

Donatello collapsed on the bank, hugging his plastron as it also fell apart with his touch. He was never a religious creature, but in that moment, he squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for this hell to end because he just wanted to go home.

“Why are you sad?”

Donatello opened his eyes. He looked down at himself, and the flesh was repaired. Then he looked up. His eyes met with a golden kirin staring down at him, slitted golden eyes soft with pity. The yokai looked like a centaur might, except his backside was more deer than horse, and more impossible shades of color. His tail was like a lion, long and tipped in a dark red prickle; fur of a similar shade, much longer than the gold of his pelt, was detailed over his elbow joins and his tail. His back was covered in blue and orange scales and his torso was almost human if not for the deer-like ears and animalistic face. On his head, surrounded by the dark red of his mane, was a curved branch-like horn.

The kirin tilted his head again. “Why are you sad? The Sea of Trees is a happy place.”

Donatello didn't care to stick around to hear anything else the yokai had to say— if it even was a yokai and not another illusion. He grabbed his rags and stomped back off down the trail quickly, slouched over and hugging himself to provide some sort of security. He got back to camp, and tried to get through another cold, sleepless night. His stomach gave an unsettled gurgle begging for sustenance that Donatello couldn’t provide.

The tent lit up a bright gold. Warm, gentle and safe. Donatello closed his eyes to enjoy it before his exhausted mind snapped him back to reality. He spun around, gripping his bo staff and ready to attack whatever vision the evil had planned for him.

The kirin was back, eyes just as soft and concerned as before and hands carrying a basket of berries. Donatello didn't lower his bo for a second, not even as the kirin put the berries down in front of him and slid them over with his front hoof.

“Don’t be sad.” The kirin said, “Eat. Your brothers will come soon.”

“I don’t want your food.” Donatello grumbled.

“It’s good.” The kirin insisted, “It is food he cannot touch. It is real.”

Donatello swung the bo at him when the kirin stepped closer. “Stay. Away.”

The kirin blinked slowly, and then gave the slightest laugh, “You should know I am telling the truth. You have the future right there in your hands.”

Donatello looked down at his weapon, and then up at the kirin. “What do you mean?”

The kirin didn't answer the question. “The evil is strong, but it can only lie. The rift is the truth, and the rift is still.”

The kirin left the berries and backed up. When his backside met the end of the tent, it phased out of reality, disappearing slowly as he backed through an invisible rift. Donatello watched the place the yokai had disappeared, waiting for some cruel punchline that never came. Then he looked at the berries, tantalizingly round and fresh, coated with dew drops. Just there, taunting him and his empty stomach until he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed a handful of berries and immediately shoved them in his mouth, swallowing them quickly so he wouldn’t have to go through whatever torment the food would bring.