#i’m not above saying i could be a raccoon girl that digs around in trash

[luxeslore]

könig wouldn’t have a cat or puppy girl. he’d have the misfortune of finding a raccoon girl that spends weeks fighting him and he has to somehow domesticate.

[thewritewolf]

Two Cursed Detectives in Paris Chapter Three: Cats and Raccoons

Connor struggles under the weight of the secret and spends quality time with Adrien.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 (Final)

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

The sun was only just starting to dip below the horizon, but you wouldn’t know it sitting inside Connor and Eerie’s hotel room. The black curtains were drawn shut and the lights turned out except for a bedside lamp. A crime show was playing on the television and Connor watched it with narrowed eyes. His attention was divided between the show, brushing his tail with a vintage silver brush, and worrying about his recent discovery.

“You figure out who the murderer is yet?”

Eerie glanced up from her book with pursed lips. “I’m trying to read here.”

“I saw you peeking at the TV. So what’s your guess, boss?”

“Well, boss,” she said as she closed the book. “It’s pretty obviously the old man at the lighthouse.”

“They aren’t even subtle about it.”

“Honestly. Amateurs.”

They fell silent again. Neither of them were particularly tired, but this was going to be their only chance to get some sleep before the stake out tonight.

But would he be able to get any rest if he didn’t get this off his chest? Eerie was the most dependable person he knew. If he couldn’t trust her of all people to share this secret with him, who could he trust? Deciding to put his faith in her, he started talking before he could chicken out.

“Hey, can I-”

“I need to-”

They cut each other off and Connor snorted while Eerie concealed her smirk behind one well-manicured hand. Maybe they’d gotten too in sync with each other.

He motioned to her. “Go ahead, Eerie. I can wait an extra minute or two.”

“Thanks.” She smiled gratefully before a serious expression settled over her face. “Do you know about the situation in Paris? With the superheroes and everything?”

“More than you might think,” Connor said, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I meet Ladybug.”

“Oh wow, that’s-”

“I know who Ladybug is,” Eerie added in a low voice, as if there were people listening in. Whatever reaction she was expecting, Connor busting out laughing didn’t seem to be among them. She pouted, her hair poofing out like an owl’s feathers as she got up to loom over him. “This is serious, Connor!” She smacked him with a pillow.

“Trust me, I know. After all, I found out who Chat Noir is, so I understand the kind of pressure you’re probably under”

“Oh, good.” After a moment’s processing, her eyes widened. “Wait, what?” She sat down on the edge of his bed.

The next half hour was spent catching each other up on their adventures earlier that day.

“I guess we’re better detectives than we thought, huh?”

“And that’s saying something, given how much you talk yourself up.” Eerie rolled her eyes with a smile. “God, this was a crazy day.”

“No argument from me.” Connor stretched, tiredness starting to creep up on him. “So what are we going to do about it?”

“What do you mean?” She got off his bed and walked toward hers. “Doesn’t sound like we need to get involved, does it?”

“Well… I was just thinking… Chat seems pretty fond of Ladybug…”

“Connor,” she said, her tone reminiscent of all the times she’d found him digging through dumpsters or rifling through trash cans. “We are here to catch bad guys. Not play matchmakers for two fifteen year olds.”

“But you have to admit that they’re cute together!”

“I’m not having this conversation.” She turned off the lamp. It was purely a symbolic gesture since they both had night vision.

“...Fine. Good night.”

“Night,” she said as she rolled over onto her stomach.

“Sleep tight.”

“Mhm,” she hummed into her pillow.

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“Connor. Go to sleep.”

“You’re right. Nothing to worry about, really. This is Paris after all. It’d be the fanciest bed bugs of them all. You’d thank them for biting you.”

“Sleep. Now.” She did her best to put on the Boss Voice, but he could hear the undercurrent of amusement just below the words. He smiled contently as he rolled over to cuddle his banana body pillow.

“Sure, boss.”

------------

Connor suppressed a yawn as he tried to focus on the game in front of him. The night was both incredibly brief because he got to spend it mostly goofing off with Eerie as they poked around for clues, but also unbearably long as night turned to morning.

His character was soundly thrashed, the irritation being just about the only thing getting through how fuzzy his brain was at the moment. Adrien turned toward him, a smug grin on his perfectly punchable model face.

The smirk vanished when he saw Connor’s expression, replaced by a look of concern. “You okay, Mr MacThomas? You seem a little, um… Tired.”

“You don’t need to sugar coat it, I know I’m not at my absolute most handsome today. I just didn’t get a lot of sleep last night since I had to do some detectiving.” Explaining Connor’s real reason for being in Paris hadn’t taken that long. He stretched, reaching his hands high above his head and flexed his fingers. “Not all of us get to jump straight into the beating up bad guys part of the whole fighting for justice gig.”

“It’s hard to believe you’re here undercover…”

“What? Just because I’m cursed that means I’m somehow less qualified for stealthy missions?”

Adrien’s eyes widened and he raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Wh-what?! No, I didn’t-”

“Relax,” Connor said, punching Adrien’s arm. “I’m messing with you. And hey, it wasn’t easy coming to grips with you being a super- MMH!” Connor glared at Adrien as the latter covered his mouth with both hands.

“Sorry! Sorry. I just - can we talk about something else? It’s really weird talking about that with anyone but my kwami, especially here at home.” Once Connor nodded, Adrien returned to his side of the couch.

“Why don’t you tell me about your friends, then?”

“Well, I don’t have a whole lot of them…”

“Oh come on. You’re a sweet kid and not half bad at video games, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of folks beating down the door to be your bud.”

Adrien smiled. “Thanks. I guess you could say I’m friends with most of my classmates, but there are only three that I hang out with much.”

While Adrien was staring off into space thinking about those friends, Connor’s fingers inched ever so slowly toward the unopened bag of cheetos nearby. “Sounds like you really care about them. What are their names?”

“Well, my best bro is Nino. He was one of my very first real friends when I started public school. I couldn’t ask for a better friend - he even got akumatized because he got so mad for my sake once.”

“Uh huh,” Connor said, quietly opening the cheetos. He still wasn’t super clear on what akumatization meant, but it sounded bad. “Sounds like someone who always has your back.”

“Definitely. Although we don’t hang out as much as I’d like - I’ve got my schedule, and he has a girlfriend. Who is another of my friends, actually. Alya, she likes superheroes and journalism. It’s been… interesting being her friend while being Chat.”

“That leaves one person. Best for last or is this the one you aren’t as close with?”

Adrien smiled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Kind of both? She’s absolutely amazing, but I think she mostly hangs out with me because she is Alya’s best friend. I wish we were closer.”

“Well, well, loverboy,” Connor said while nudging Adrien with his elbow. “It looks like you’ve got a crush. What’s the lucky girl’s name?”

“It’s not like that!” Adrien sounded a little exasperated, like he’d had this argument before. “She’s wonderful and cute and all that, but my heart belongs to Ladybug.” He sighed. “Marinette is just a good friend is all.”

Connor’s eyes bugged out and he sputtered in surprise, but with his mouth stuffed full of cheetos, he ended up doubled over into a coughing fit.

“Um… Mr MacThomas, are you okay?”

“Water,” Connor managed to croak out between coughs. In the minute that Adrien was gone, Connor’s mind whirred as it came to grips with this revelation. If he weren’t busy choking to death on snacks, he’d have laughed. What were the odds that they’d both go to the same school, let alone the same class?

Probably pretty good, now that he thought of it. They were probably picked by the same guy after all.

Adrien returned with the water and Connor eagerly gulped it down.

“Connor, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“Mr MacThomas is way too formal, kid. Just Connor is fine.”

“Okay… Connor.”

“Anyway, I think we were talking about your future girlfriend, Marinette.”

Adrien sighed patiently. “I told you, I’m in love with-”

“Ladybug, yeah, got that part. But you realize you can have a crush on multiple people, right?” True, just not in this case. “Just because you have feelings for the Bug doesn’t mean you can’t feel something for Marinette.” Adrien seemed about to say something, but Connor covered his mouth with his hand. “And I notice you didn’t deny having feelings for this Marinette girl.”

Whatever Adrien was trying to say was muffled by Connor’s hand over his face. His attempts to pull it off were to no avail.

“Yes, yes, I know you are madly in love with her, it’s very obvious. But we have to stay on track.” Connor felt something wet on his palm and raised an eyebrow. “Wow, you really are an only child.” At Adrien’s confused look, he added, “I’ve got a bunch of brothers and sisters - this is far from the only time this exact thing has happened.” Connor leaned back, letting Adrien’s face go free and wiped the spit off his glove onto the couch.

“I’m not in love with Marinette.” When Connor scoffed loudly, he folded his arms and pouted. “What? I’m not!”

“Really?” Connor smirked and settled into a relaxed slouch. “You care about her a lot, right?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Do you look for excuses to be closer to her?”

“Of course! She’s my friend-”

“Uh-huh. And how often do you think about hugging this ‘friend’ or wanting to hold her hand? And remember,” Connor added, waggling his finger in front of Adrien’s face. “You might be able to lie to yourself, but I get paid the big bucks to know when you’re not telling the truth.”

He was quiet for a few long heart beats. “So… you’re saying… that’s not normal for friendships?”

“Not usually, no.” Connor ignored the treacherous part of his mind that was thinking of Eerie. “I’ve seen a lot of cases of love sickness in my time and buddy, let me tell you - you’ve got it bad.”

“How bad is it?” Adrien squirmed worriedly in his spot.

“Bad.” Connor scooted closer and put an arm around his shoulders. “But hey! Don’t worry, I’m here to help.”

Adrien eyes widened and he stared at Connor as if he had all the answers in the world. “Really? You must have tons of romantic experience, right?”

Connor flashed back to his last romantic experience, a kiss in middle school from before he was cursed.

“Absolutely.”

[savannahsdrabbles]

Encounters - Part Two

rating: G summary:  How April met the ROTTMNT turtles.

notes: 6k fluffy turtle tot fic with just a touch of angst.  Part one can be found here, and Ao3 link here!

“Phew- finally!” April O’Neil heaved a sigh as she pushed the door closed and slid to the floor, her head drooping with exhaustion. A pepperoni slipped from the bun on the top of her head, rolling down the front of her uniform and skittering to a stop at her feet. “That was the last of them.”

“Thank goodness,” Mrs. O’Neil called wearily from the living room. “Remind me to not host your girl scout meetings at the house ever again – or at least until Gabriella’s mom learns to control her child.”

           “Will do.”

           “Hey – grab me some more cleaner while you’re in there, please.”

           “Okay,” The eleven year old sighed tiredly as she heaved herself back to her feet and reached for a bottle underneath the kitchen sink. She dug for a moment, shaking one bottle experimentally and peering at its label, tucked a roll of trash bagas under her arm, and then wandered into the mess of their living room. The usually neat, tidy room was almost unrecognizable beneath the layers of garbage and first aid materials that had been scattered across the floor. To a stranger, it might have looked like a party gone horribly wrong. To anyone who had been to a scout meeting before, this looked like a normal Tuesday night with twelve hyperactive young girls. Paper cups and plates were scattered on almost every flat surface, some still holding half eaten pieces of pizza or balancing haphazardly on the arms of chairs. Rolls of bandages and tubes of Neosporin were strewn amongst them, along with the printable instruction sheets that had been their guides for the evening. April held the bottle out in front of her. “Here ya go.”

           Mrs. O’Neil was currently on her hands and knees in the center of the room, scrubbing at a red patch on the carpet. The older black woman smiled gratefully as she reached out to take the bottle, then dumped a liberal amount onto the rag she held in her other hand while making a tsk sound under her breath. April knew that sound – it meant she would be hearing about the other girls’ lack of manners for the next week and a half. At least she’d gotten her first aid patch tonight – she might have to use it later when her mom’s head exploded.

           “I swear, I think Anaya’s mom put ink or something into that batch of fruit punch – it’s refusing to come out of the carpet.”

           “Sorry about that,” April pulled a trash bag from the roll she’d tucked under her arm and began dumping paper plates into it. “I think all of the sugar got Gabriella a bit crazy tonight – she’s not usually that clumsy.”

           “Well in that case, you guys are getting carrot sticks for the next meeting.” Mrs. O’Neil huffed. “And water – at least that won’t stain my carpet.”

           April hummed in agreement as she continued to fill the bag and then tied it shut. “I’m gonna go ahead and run this outside.”

           “Okay, hon. Oh – and could you knock on Mrs. Meyer’s door and ask if she has any extra cleaner? I think we’re almost out of this one.”

           “Sure thing!” The girl hefted the bag of trash onto her shoulder and then raised an eyebrow and giggled. “I’m taking out the trash – at night.”

           “Was that a Spongebob reference?”

            “… Maybe.”

           A smile broke through her mom’s frustrated expression, making a warm glow run through April’s veins. The woman reached up to pat April’s hip, then shoved her lightly. “Alright, goofball. Hurry along – it’s already dark outside.”

           “Yes ma’am!” the bespectacled girl hurried back into the kitchen, trash bag bouncing at her side, and grabbed her tennis shoes from the shoe bin. She was still in her girl scout uniform – tan shorts and a white t-shirt hidden beneath her green vest- but she decided it would be fine for a quick trash run. Her fanny pack bounced on her hip as she walked, keeping rhythm with the tails of the yellow bandana tied around her neck.

With a quick tug on the heels of her shoes to get them in place, April was off. The girl scampered out into the hallway and headed towards the stairwell, still mumbling Spongebob quotes under her breath. Taking the steps two at a time, she made it down to the bottom floor quickly and pushed open the back door that led to alleyway next to their building.

           A single lightbulb flickered to life over her head as she leaned into the night air, then rapidly began flashing. April groaned as the bulb seemed to fight for life before finally blinking out. The maintenance workers at their building were bad enough about changing the lightbulbs inside - she guessed she shouldn’t be too surprised that they had neglected to keep up with the ones outside. Still, that made her mission feel a bit more intense.

           Taking a deep breath and forcing a look of determination onto her face, April shoved the door with all of her might. The metal door swung outwards and crashed into the outside wall with a clang, but it did the job – light from the stairwell spilled out into the alley and created a direct path to the dumpster. With her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, April darted out the door and cleared the concrete steps before her in a single bound. If she could just move fast enough, she should be able to make it back inside before the door -

           Her goal was cut short, however, when the door suddenly swung back on its hinges and plunged the alley into darkness.

           Fantastic.

           April squinted at her surroundings and blinked until her eyes could adjust to the new lighting, then continued to walk in the direction of the dumpster she’d been heading towards. No big deal, just throw the bag in and then head right back the way she had come.

           Then she heard it.

           Pounding and whining were coming from within the dumpster, accompanied by the occasional yelp.

           April jumped backwards in alarm and then hesitated, frowning. Her mom had complained about raccoons digging through the garbage before, knocking over the smaller trash cans and nearly giving passerby heart attacks in the process. Supposedly they were pretty mean creatures by nature, but based on the sounds coming from the dumpster, the creature within sounded like it was more fearful than angry.

           She over the shoulder and towards the door, considering going back upstairs and telling her mom that it was too dark to take the trash out. Mom would understand, but she was stressed enough about their dirty apartment without having to deal with a bag of garbage sitting around until the morning…

           Making up her mind, April took a deep breath and forced herself to stride closer to the bin as she called out. “You know, a dumpster probably isn’t the best place to hide, Mr. Raccoon.”

           The noises suddenly cut off, replaced by a tense silence. April kicked the bottom of the bin with her shoe, causing a deep, warbling echo to reverberate through the dumpster. Whatever was within made a sharp noise, but didn’t growl or let out any other sounds of aggression. In fact, April could almost swear she heard a crunching sound as the creature dug itself deeper into the garbage. She glanced around, spotting a stack of cardboard boxes on one side of the dumpster. They didn’t look super sturdy, but if she stood on top of those she would definitely be able to reach the lid.

           “I think I see how you got in there. I’m going to climb up and get the lid open for you, but you have to get yourself out, ok?”

           The shuffling resumed as April dropped the trash bag she was still holding onto the ground and hoisted herself up onto the nearest box. It wobbled briefly, threatening to crumple under her weight, but ultimately held firm as the girl gained her balance and continued her upwards trek.

           “Do raccoons have rabies? I think I remember Mom saying that they did. So you have to promise not to bite me, ok?” April grunted a little as she finally pulled herself onto the top box and crouched on her knees to peer back down. It was a bit disconcerting being up this high – a tumble from this height would seriously hurt. “I’m going to open the lid now, and you have to climb out and go back home to your family, ok?”

More rapid shuffling, and a small whine.

“I’ll take that as an ok.” April gripped the edge of the lid and braced herself. The light above the door to the stairwell suddenly flickered back on, settling her nerves a bit. At least now she would be able to see if the raccoon ran towards her. Shifting herself into a squatting position, April grunted and then surged upwards. “One, two, three!”

With a heave, she flung the lid wide open and then pressed herself against the brick wall as the lid slammed against it, thankfully not bouncing back and closing the dumpster a second time.

She expected an explosion of movements at this moment – a bundle of fur clawing its way out of the bin and hissing wildly as it vanished into the night. However, she only got one of those things.

April’s mouth gaped as she stared down into the dumpster.

A small, green creature wrapped in a filthy orange hoodie scrabbled at the side of the bin, its eyes flickering towards her and chest heaving as it hopped desperately on one foot. Even with its frantic attempts, April could tell that there was no way the creature would be able to pull itself out – especially not once she caught a glimpse of the foot it was attempting to keep from touching the ground. Broken beer bottles lay in the corner of the bin, catching the light as the trash bags beneath them shifted and buckled.

“Oh. My. Soup.” she gasped and dropped to her knees to get a better look. The creature yelped in surprise and stumbled backwards, dropping onto its bottom and then clambering in a backwards crab walk to put more distance between them. “Are you an alien?”

The creature fumbled away as she reached out a curious hand, and then suddenly – like spaghetti being slurped into a mouth – pulled its head and limbs into its hoodie.

“WHOA!” April nearly tumbled off the pile of boxes in surprise, her arms pinwheeling to keep her balance. “That’s so freaky- are you like a turtle alien?”

The turtle alien let out a small, pained whine from within the hoodie in response, and April suddenly remembered its foot. The ground beneath the creature was streaked with blood, clearly spread out in his desperate attempts to escape the metal prison. She felt a sympathetic twinge of pain – she’d cut herself on glass before, and knew that it hurt like all heck. To have a cut like that and have to put weight on it sounded awful.

For a second time since coming outside, April considered running back to the apartment to get her mother’s help. Then she had a sudden realization.

“Hey, I’m sorry – are you ok? It looks like you’re bleeding pretty bad. I have some bandaids and stuff in my fanny pack that might help. If you come over here, I might be able to pull you out.” No response. “Don’t make me come in there.” Still no response. “Ok then, here I come.”

Swinging her legs over the edge of the dumpster, April grimaced and then allowed herself to drop down into the dark depths. Her hands brushed the edges of the bin, helping to steer her descent and allowing her to remain upright. As soon as her shoes touched the bottom of the bin, the alien creature exploded out of its shell and held up its own arms to cover himself.

“No no no- stay back!”

April yelped and stumbled back obediently until her back pressed against the wall of the bin. “Wait - you can talk?”

The turtle alien kept his arms raised, but peeked through them to give her a slightly offended look. “F’course I can! I’m not a baby!”

“I didn’t mean to say that, I just – so you’re not an alien?”

The creature shook his head and finally dropped his arms to gesture at the shell peeking out of the bottom of his hoodie. “No, I’m a turtle.”

April could feel her shoulders slowly untensing as the creature – ok, turtle – spoke. He sounded young, perhaps slightly younger than herself. No wonder he’d freaked out when she approached him out of the darkness. “I’ve never seen a turtle like you before.”

“Well I have! I-“ the turtle started excitedly, and then snapped his mouth shut and turned away as if he suddenly remembered that he was speaking to a stranger and had said too much. His eyes flicked back towards the edge of the bin far above their heads, then towards April, and he shifted backwards slightly. “Never mind.”

So maybe he IS an alien. April bit the inside of her cheek and considered the information. He didn’t seem dangerous, especially with that wounded foot.

“It looks like you stepped on some glass – I can still help you out, if you’ll let me. I just got my first aid badge,” she proudly pointed to the circle on her vest, and watched as the turtle’s expression morphed into one of curiosity. She took this opportunity to slowly stretch her hand out and smiled when he didn’t immediately back away. “I’m April O’Neil.”

The turtle stared at her hand for a moment in confusion, and then reached out his own tiny one to shake. “I’m Mikey.”

“Nice to meet you.” April smiled warmly. It was odd – the sight and feeling of a green, three-fingered hand wrapped in her dark five-fingered one – but somehow it also felt right; like she had made a new friend. The two shook hands, and then April used her foot to clear a spot on the ground before lowering to her knees. Thankfully the trash can didn’t smell too awful at the moment – garbage day yesterday had assured that the can was relatively clean. “Now let me see that foot.”

Mikey extended his leg, wincing at the movement, and allowed April to cup his heel in her palm. The cut didn’t look as bad up close, but it would still likely need stitches. April frowned and stated the fact as she unzipped her fannypack and reached inside. “I can’t do stitches myself, but I can at least clean up the cut and wrap it to keep it from getting more hurt.”

The turtle nodded solemnly, though April heard his breath hitch slightly as if her were fighting back tears. “My dad has done stitches before – he can fix it.”

“Oh – is your dad a doctor?” April pulled a few cotton balls from her pack and dabbed the blood away from the cut, then withdrew a tube of Neosporin and applied a glob to the wound – this would have to do for now. Reaching back into her fannypack, the girl pulled out a few small pieces of gauze and a tiny roll of Ace bandages.

Mikey shook his head and screwed up his face as April continued to handle the injury. “No, he’s a rat.”

“Oh.”

The bin fell silent for a moment as April wound the bandages around his foot and then pulled her bandana over her shoulders. Mom would be upset that she had ‘lost’ part of her uniform, but this was more important. She undid the intricate knot and then tied the fabric around the turtle’s foot, just tight enough to hold the bandages in place. Rocking back onto her heels, April studied her work and nodded. “It’s not great, but this should help with the bleeding until your dad can take care of it. Oh – and here!”

She reached back into her pouch and withdrew a smaller adhesive bandage, which she quickly unwrapped and pressed onto a scrape on the turtle’s knee. “There ya go- all patched up!”

Mikey leaned forward to inspect the bandage and then gasped in delight. “A Lou Jitsu bandaid? He’s the coolest! My brothers and I like to watch his movies!”

April grinned at the bright smile on her patient’s face. “Oh yeah? I’ve only seen a few of his movies – I prefer Jupiter Jim stuff personally.”

Mikey nodded, his head bobbing excitedly. “He’s cool, too! I just wish that –“ His words were cut off by a loud gurgle, and he quickly wrapped his hands around his front. “Oh – I’d forgotten I was hungry.”

Before April could say anything, the turtle rolled to his knees – careful to keep his injured foot off the ground – and reached back behind one of the trashbags to withdraw a familiar looking pizza box.

April’s eyes widened. “Is that why you ended up in here?”

“Yeah – someone threw away almost a whole pizza!” The turtle shook his head in disbelief as he opened the box and looked in at the half-eaten food. April could hear his stomach gurgle a second time, but the turtle closed his eyes and forced himself to close the lid again. “Can you believe that? This is enough food to feed my brothers and I for at least – “

A sudden burst of movement exploded outside of the bin, and the two children immediately clamped their mouths shut and looked at each other nervously. Several moments passed, before a panicked whisper echoed through the alleyway. “Michelangelo?”

“Daddy!” Tears sprung to Mikey’s eyes as he let out a quiet shriek, causing April to jump in surprise. Before she could register what was happening, a shadow fell over the top of the bin and then something long snaked in and wrapped itself around both children. Suddenly April found herself being whisked up and out of the dumpster, arms flailing for a moment before she was unceremoniously dropped on the concrete and watched Mikey being pulled into the arms of the new creature.

“Oh, Michelangelo, my son, my child, my dear boy,” the rat cradled Mikey in his arms as he sniffed the boy all over and pulled him against his chest. “Don’t you ever wander out of my sight again.”            The turtle sobbed quietly, arms wrapping around his father and clutching handfuls of fur as if his life depended on it. “I’m sorry Daddy, I didn’t mean to – I was trying to help –“

“Hush now, we can discuss that later.” The rat suddenly glared in April’s direction, as if just remembering that she was there. “And who are you? Speak, Child – did you harm my son?”

April’s mouth felt dry as cotton as she searched for an answer. From her point on the ground, the rat seemed to tower over her – though in the back of her mind she estimated that she herself was slightly larger in height. Even in the low lighting, she could see the creature’s tail thrashing threateningly on the ground – one wrong word and he clearly did not seem afraid to use it. “I – I, uh-”            “No, Daddy, she helped me!” Mikey finally spoke up, his voice still trembling and muffled from where his face was pressed into his father’s fur. “I was trying to g-get pizza, and I fell a-and stepped on glass. She said my foot needs stitches, but she helped me – see?”

The rat cast another glance at April and then gently took the turtle’s foot in his hands, whiskers twitching as he sniffed the wounded area. After a moment of inspection, April could see his fur starting to flatten back against his body and the tension release from his limbs.

“Hm. I see. Then she has done a great deed, for which I am grateful.” The creature bowed his head towards April. “I am sorry if I scared you, Child. You will understand my concern should you have children of your own one day.”

April breathed a sigh of relief and slowly rose to her feet. “Uh, it’s no problem – I’m glad I could help. And I think I might be able to help another way.”

Turning on her heel, April felt her way back to the trash bag she had dropped on the ground. Reaching inside, she withdrew a second pizza box and turned to hold it out to the rat. “This one isn’t as full – I think it’s mostly crust – but Mikey said you guys were hungry and I thought…”

           A small gasp sounded from the shadows, followed by a hissed “shh! She’ll hear you!”. April hesitated, eyes searching the darkness for a moment and then turning quizzically back to Mikey and his father.

           The rat seemed unsurprised as he turned and called into the shadows. “Raphael, please take your brother for me.”

           A larger turtle much bigger than Mikey ran out of the shadows and held out his arms to accept the smaller turtle. April watched as Mikey clasped his hands around the larger turtle’s neck and let out another sob of relief. The bigger turtle hugged him back equally as tightly, and then drew back into the darkness where April could see two more forms dog piling onto their brothers and frantically patting Mikey’s cheeks and shell.

           “Thank you for taking care of my son, Ms. …?” the rat’s voice drew April back to attention, and she reached out to place the two pizza boxes into his open claws.

           “O’Neil. April O’Neil.”

           “Ms. O’Neil.” The rat bowed his head graciously. “I have been called many names, but you may call me Splinter. I am forever indebted to you for watching over my boy in a time of need, and for the help you are offering. You cannot understand how much it means to me to see that there are people willing to overlook our differences and show genuine kindness.”

           April blushed, heat rising to her cheeks as she shrugged. “Like I said, it’s no problem. I’m just glad to help.” Glancing back down at the trash bag still clutched in her hands, the girl lowered her voice to a whisper. “I should probably go now– my mom is going to be looking for me soon. But is there any other way I can help? Or can I see you again?”

           “Perhaps.” Splinter nodded back towards her building. “I don’t believe that any kind deed goes unrewarded, but perhaps we can discuss that another time. For now, I don’t wish to keep you from your mother. She might be getting worried about you.”

           Before April could respond, the rat snapped his tail once on the ground and then – as if they had never existed – the creatures were gone, and the alley suddenly felt much lonelier.

           “Yeah,” April scuffed her sneaker against the concrete and called out into the night, hoping that maybe her new friends were still near enough to hear. “I hope that I can see you again.”  

[tytovertigo]

Tempest Prose WIP

I can see bits of the refugee camp through the trees. Past my windows, far into the woods, I can see the small splashes of uniform colors that nature can only imitate when it snows. And even then she can only build white or black. Sometimes I see animals out there. Like squirrels, a raccoon once. I almost see people. I hear them. Close my eyes and imagine bodies to go with the voices that echo off the trunks and naked branches. I imagine them warm in thick coats with fur lining made from the rabbits that burrow near the camp. They wear heavy boots, and their noses are always red from the cold. If they have a beard, then ice is forming in it from their breath drifting down as puffs of steam until they solidify. I imagine men turning into snow. Standing in the cold until their skin is rough with frost and their eyes are as pale as the ice on the lakes. Standing until their bones freeze harder than the boughs of pine needles hanging above them. I imagine them dying. Choosing to let their insides slow, slow, slow, and stop. Allowing the chill to seep into their veins. It moves like cancer. It filters through your blood until it eats you from the inside out. It gets in your kidneys, in your lungs.

When its inside your brain its too late.

It’s in my belly. It burns cold. I’m always so fucking cold. Fire can lick my skin, burn my fingertips, melt my hair from my scalp and I will shiver. Yet my skin is cracking and hot like the dried mud of a desert. I melt the snow where I stand. If I sweat, it’s steam. Can you imagine this? Can you feel the cold that rests inside of you like a tumor gnawing at your stomach, and still somehow leave scorch marks on your mattress when you manage to fall asleep. Spontaneous combustion doesn’t come from the heat. It’s the cold your body combats. Overcorrection. Driving into a ditch to avoid that pothole. Careful. You could explode.

I’m not alone out here. These concrete floors, these metal shelves, they are my home and my girls’, and Skaph’s. My girls’ are growing strong, stronger every day. They love the heat that I exude. Tropical weather keeps them happy. And when they’re big and strong, I’ll pluck the flowers from their leaves, and I’ll get so high I can’t see straight. Yeah, they’re those plants. Skaph complains about the smell. I don’t know how he can tell what it smells like, he wears a gas mask. I’ve never seen his face underneath. His goggles glow, and somehow emit no light. When I first met him, I hoped that his benefit would be a flashlight that I don’t have to hold. Not the case. It’s like his eyes aren’t reflecting the light, but sucking it in. Taking every color and warm glow out of the world so it’s all he can see. No wonder he’s so fucking happy all the time.  

He wakes me up every afternoon. He’s always sitting in front of the old TV, watching anime. The show reflects in his goggles. He sits cross-legged, back straight, and his hands on his ankles. His hood is always up. Flies crawl out from the edges of his mask, fly out of his jacket and sleeves. His fingertips are black like frostbite. And hairy, like a bug. He giggles constantly. I don’t think he speaks English, but I’ve always understood him. There’s two voices that come out of him. A small one, and a large one. They talk at the same time.

“Tempu-chan!” I don’t know what this means. I don’t care. “Tempu-chan, are you awake!” He looks over his shoulder to ask me, shouting at me from the other end of the store. I flip him off. Hello Skaph.

“Good Morning, Tempu-Chan!” When he jumps to his feet it looks like a dance move. Some half clumsy, half graceful twirl that puts him with his arms up. He leans back when he runs so his hands drag above him until he jumps onto my bed.

“It’s a new day, Tempu-chan! New day! You’re not gunna lay around all afternoon, are ya’?” he almost sings. The lilt like a roller coaster to his exaggerated holds and staccatos.

Yes. Yes I am. And you can’t do anything about it. While he whines I dig through the piles of trash beside my mattress. Among the rolling papers, ashes, chip bags, and fingernail clippings are little pills and capsules and I need them. Piles of them. Bottles. Bags. A lifetime supply for everyone in the refugee camp. Maybe a year or two for me. No. I’m not sharing.

I didn’t steal them from the camp. They have their own things. Enough of them? I don’t know. I’ve never been over there. They don’t know I live here, in this old gas station that had probably shut down long before everything else did. Crump’s is my home. The old faded pictures on the walls suggest it was a family business. The skeleton in the back, with the bullet wound in its head and the spatter on the wall suggests that the family isn’t around anymore. They know this place exists, but they keep away. It’s haunted. It’s sacred. The body in here, the bodies that have existed around it, the people who have lost their lives on these grounds, on this concrete. It keeps the living away, either out of respect or fear. I never understood. The dead are dead. What’s the point in respecting that which can’t tell its being respected or otherwise?

Four white pills, little circles that’ll give me my freedom. Swallow those, and some grape juice with it. Juice. It’s wine. Water goes bad, alcohol doesn’t. My lips and teeth are purple now. I was less concerned with a toothbrush during the apocalypse as I was my life. Afterwards, I just became more concerned with sleep than anything else. You don’t feel hunger when you’re asleep. You don’t feel the cold, or the heat. You don’t feel the cancer eating through your stomach. It can’t paralyze you.

I’ve stared at these walls for a year. I know every chip in the cinderblocks, I know every scratch of graffiti. I couldn’t tell you what any of them say, I’ve never bothered to actually read them. I just know they’re on the wall. Etched into the shiny white paint like caveman drawings.

Skaph sighs and steps off my mattress. Seeing that he’s not going to get my attention any time soon, he goes to sit in front of the TV again. “You’re useless, you know that?” he spits.

Yup. Sure do. A time bomb with no other purpose than to sit here until my time runs out. Except I don’t know when that is. And I’m getting tired of waiting for it. I’m just so tired. So to wake up, I smoke some pot. I crush up amphetamines and snort those. Grab my bucket and start to scoop snow into my plastic storage tub. When it’s full, I put my hands inside. The ice feels almost warm around my wrists. But as it melts from the fire under my skin, the almost heat turns into a burning cold. Soon it’s not snow, but boiling water, and I still shiver up to my elbows in it. I peel my shirt off my back, and let my underwear slide off my hips. The tight black fabric around my breasts digs hard into my ribcage. When I manage to pull it off, I have scars and imprint patterns of hatred that scream red across my flesh.

I hate me. I hate me. I hate me. The skin that coats my muscles, the muscles that wrap around my bones, the curves and the folds of every part of me, I hate it. If I could combust I would do it. Melt them away from my skeleton, and become the grim reaper himself.

Skaph hates it when I’m naked. He shrieks when he realizes I’ve stripped and pulls the strings of his hood so tight that just the filter from his gas mask sticks out. “Tempu-chan!” he shouts. “No! No no no! Warn me, tell me, let me leave, I don’t want to see that!”

Then don’t look. He huffs and folds his arms across his chest. He still can’t see. “Look, I get you gotta’ be clean ‘n stuff, but do you have to be naked to do it?”

When I sink into the tub, I glance at him. He’s peeking out from underneath his hood. If I could see him blush, I’m sure he would be.

“S-sorry!!” he blurts and covers his eyes.

If you’re so disgusted, then why are you staring, Skaph? But I don’t need him to answer, I already know. How many times have we been through this? Always from him, it’s “Oh, I just forget sometimes that you look… like that.”

Like what. Like a girl, he always says. And I tell him. I’m not a girl. Then the questions. The interrogations. How? What are you? You have a vagina, don’t you? Breasts. A uterus. A period. Blood running down my legs once a month to remind me who I’m supposed to be. Who Skaph can only see me as.

But I always tell him. No. I’m not a girl. I’m Tempest. I’m a raging storm inside of skin, and just because I look like this doesn’t make me what you think I am.

Doesn’t stop me from looking in the mirror and pulling at my flesh. Wishing my skin reflected my storm. Dark gray clouds and lightning that arcs through my veins, plasmatic fires started in dead trees that make up my nervous system. Why can’t I be that?