#inkywrites

In the dimly lit confines of his lab, Donatello sat slumped over his workbench, his three-fingered hands absentmindedly fiddling with a broken gadget. The familiar hum of machinery and the gentle flicker of screens, once a source of comfort and inspiration, now felt hollow and distant. The lab, which had always been a sanctuary, seemed more like a tomb tonight.

Donatello, the brilliant and ever-resourceful Turtle, had always prided himself on his ability to solve any problem, to invent any device, to overcome any obstacle. But now, he faced a challenge no amount of genius could surmount. Y/N was gone. His partner, his confidante, his best friend in the world, had died in an accident that his mind replayed over and over, each time wishing he could find a way to change the past.

He sighed deeply, the weight of grief pressing down on his soft shell. His brothers had tried to comfort him, but how could they understand? Each time they tried, Donnie would retreat further into his work, hoping to find solace in circuits and codes. But even the most intricate inventions couldn’t fill the void you had left.

His gaze fell upon a half-finished project – a small, sleek drone that you had helped him design. You had insisted on painting it a bright colour, a stark contrast to his usual preference for dark, muted tones. He picked it up, the memory of your laughter as they argued over the colour choice bringing a faint, fleeting smile to his lips.

“Y/N, what am I supposed to do without you?” he whispered, his voice cracking. The silence of the lab was his only reply.

Lost in thought, Donatello didn’t notice the soft footsteps approaching. It wasn’t until he felt a hand on his shoulder that he looked up to see Leo standing beside him, concern etched across his face.

“Hey, Donnie,” Leo began gently. “I know it hurts. We all miss her. But isolating yourself like this… it’s not what Y/N would have wanted.”

Donnie’s eyes welled with tears, and he quickly looked away, embarrassed by his vulnerability. “I don’t know how to move on, Leo. She was… everything.”

Leo crouched down, looking Donnie directly in the eyes. “Y/N was a part of our family. She wouldn’t want you to shut down. She’d want you to keep fighting, to keep creating. For her.”

Donnie nodded slowly, knowing his brother was right but struggling to accept it. Leo gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before leaving the lab, giving Donatello the space he needed to process his emotions.

Alone again, Donnie took a deep breath and looked around his lab. He saw not just the tools and machines, but the memories and moments he had shared with you. The laughter, the debates, the breakthroughs – they were all here, embedded in every corner of the room.

He stood up, a newfound determination coursing through him. He couldn’t bring you back, but he could honor your memory by continuing their work, by ensuring that your spirit lived on in the projects they had started together.

With a trembling hand, Donatello reached for a screwdriver and began to tinker with the drone. As he worked, he felt a strange sense of peace. He wasn’t alone; your spirit was with him, guiding his hands, inspiring his mind. And for the first time since your passing, he felt a glimmer of hope.

The road ahead would be long and painful, but Donatello knew he could face it. For you. For his brothers. For the family they had built together.

The sudden motion of flame snapping from Jesan's fingers to the tinder startled Guilbert. He restrained from jumping to his feet but felt his legs still tense up as though they had wanted to begin running another direction regardless.

Jesan said nothing save that his eyes gazed apologetically.

"To tell you the truth," Guilbert said with an exhale. "I am nervous. There's nothing in the world that could prepare me to meet the familiar stranger that is my brother."

The two chuckled lightly as though not to disturb the renewed flames crackling in front of them.

"I know the feeling. I don't know what I'm going to say to my sister once I see her again." Jesan began messing with his hair, running both hands through to push the strands back out of his face. "She left a few years ago and I haven't seen her since."

Guilbert frowned. "Where are the two of you from?"

"We're from Skingrad." Jesan simply said.

Guilbert slightly cocked his head to the side. "What were you doing all the way over in Cheydinhal then?"

This time, Jesan sighed before speaking. "I have to get my recommendations. Even though I already miss the fields and strolling through the streets smelling Salmo's next batch of bread. I was going to go to Anvil after Chorrol but meeting your brother at the tavern… I knew I had to help out."

"Thank you." It was said with much warmth, for Guilbert could see the earnest pain in Jesan's eyes. "I hope you find your sister, Jesan. If I was not about to have my hands full with my own brother, I'd gladly offer to accompany you to search."

Jesan chuckled. "The pleasure is mine, Guilbert… though I think I'll be fine. I know she's out there somewhere. My sister is a tough sort— honestly, I'd accept your help if I wasn't unsure she'd want to tie you up like some sort of livestock."

Guilbert blinked. Tie him up?

Jesan laughed again. "She's—! Miraina's a bit of a ruffian, but the kind you can't help except to love. She's knocked out some of my teeth, but she's knocked out plenty more teeth from those who tried to hurt me when we were children."

"Out of the two assigning tasks for me at the Riften Fishery… I'm not sure who's less talkative," Faune said to her fishing pole. "Viriya or Swims-In-Deep-Water. They both certainly know what they want at least…"

She fished up a lantern and began unhooking it with a sigh. "When I took up work in Riften to get experience, I didn't have the faintest idea that I'd be working with two of the stoniest-faced people in all of Skyrim! At least Bolli and Wujeeta are friendly…"

Faune tossed the lantern to the side, wincing as it clattered loudly against the two empty wine bottles she had also fished up so far. She was starting to have the faintest idea that she had scared all of the fish away already. Or… that the three small river betties she had fished up first were all she was going to get.

Miraina walked into Weatherleah to see Ysuha'Ko kneeling over a downed Reynald and profusely apologizing over his body. She was about to drop the supplies in her arms and scream when she (thankfully) noticed he was still breathing.

"I leave you two alone," Miraina inhaled as calmly as she could. "For HALF AN HOUR--" Never mind, she was already bellowing.

"--so sorry, so-- M-Miraina!" Ysuha'Ko leaned up from where she was massaging Reynald's stiff arms. "I can explain!"

"Explain, Ysuha." Miraina sat the groceries down solely to join the two idiots on the floor.

"Reynald offered very kindly to let me practice spells on him, saying that he would be able to resist most of the spell." Ysuha'Ko stammered, resuming her massaging of Reynald's arms. The technique seemed to be working a little: his fingers were oh so slowly curling up and down as she did so. "So I was practicing my magic on him... most of it wasn't this dire until I tried the paralysis spell."

"He let you paralyze him?" Miraina's gaze turned to Reynald. "Reynald you loveable idiot!"

wip 1

Despite the rest of the crew shouting I ran fast-- wobbling and feeling weak in the ankles-- towards the chute. Oakes was sliding but it appeared that he was feebly holding on and still sliding because of his sweating hands.

wip 2

“One of the knives is missing.” Wallace came, scowling and stoic as ever, into the main taproom where Lydia had been polishing a glass. She looked up, partly nonplussed. “Knives? You mean a kitchen knife or--” Wallace made a gesture with his hands. “A carving knife.” 

wip 3

Folmarv heard a voice pipe up from behind Delacroix. “Alphonse you bleeding heart! Let us not go about giving the younger soldiers hope that a mewling babe could survive a war!” Goffard Gaffgarion, a man fast becoming known for his ruthless manner on the battlefield, was at best six years older than Folmarv himself.

wip 4

Whether Julienne's alembic exploding was or wasn't his fault; that was beside the point now. Now? Volanaro had to worry about being relocated all the way to cold, blustery, miserable Bruma. How would he survive?!

wip 5

Feeling an exhaustion he hadn't known existed before, Baurus sat under the shade of the avatar’s wing-- leaning against its stony foot and staring forward.

wip 6 :3