#BUT NOT REALLY i mean that's just a silly little drawing of bro in drip i don't know

[geekabilly088]

warhawk in leathers. whatever, go my freakplane

[mad4turtles]

I have a request it’s a silly one I’ve been meaning to draw myself but I’d like to see your take on it. Can I see your version of a sugared up rotmnt Leo and the chaos that ensues

Oh, this. THIS is beautiful XD

---

Hamato Raphael has few regrets in his life. That's not saying much considering he's lived all of seventeen years, but he can count on his fingers the number of true regrets he has. One of them being—what else—what transpired nearly a year prior with the Krang and the damned portal.

(He's not sure he'll ever truly forgive himself for that, for all his family assure him it wasn't him, it was them. But he does his best to put it behind him nowadays. They're healing.)

His most recent regret, however, is one he could have easily prevented had he been listening to what Casey and Leo were chatting about in the T.V. room. 

Had he not been engrossed in his phone, doom-scrolling through memes on Twitter and Tumblr, he might've heard the future boys' innocent question: “Hey, Leo, what's a... a 'sugar rush'?”

Had he not been snickering at another Will Smith slap meme, he might've noticed Leo looking up to send Casey The Grin. The Grin that spells doom for every Hamato (or anyone associated with or in the general vicinity of the Hamato's). 

If Raphael had just seen The Grin, he'd have one less regret. 

~0o0~

Later, he gets a text from Donnie.

DonTron: Raphael. Did you leave the sugar snacks in plain sight and within reach in the cupboard?

Biggest Bro: … y?

DonTron: Doth thou not hear the caterwauling of the sugar-high devils currently destroying our less-than-humble abode?????

DonTron: Because I can. I have dubstep in my headphones. I can still hear the screams, papa.

Oh god.

Raph all but flies out of his room, skidding to a halt in the kitchen with wide eyes.

“YOOOO TELL YA WHAT I WANT, WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT—!”

Leo is standing on the dining table, basketball shorts on his head and Splinter's fur brush in his hand like a microphone, his face coated in colour splatters of milk, chocolate and sugar that have Raph's nose tingling. 

“SO TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT, WHAT YOU REALLY REALLY WANT!”

Casey is shirtless, Fanta and Pepsi Max bottles strapped to his belt like guns in holsters, empty boxes of Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops taped to his shoulders like armour, the remnants of the food sticking to his face and chest, stomping his bare feet to the tone-deaf beat.

“I'LL TELL YA WHAT I WANT, WHAT REALLY REALLY WANT—!”

Mikey's head is wrapped with tinfoil, Captain Crunch's face cut out like a mask which the box shell has taped to his face, vibrant splatters of paint in every colour of the rainbow staining his body, the countertops and the floor as whips his dripping brushes wildly about like a drunk at a rave party. That explains why Casey has war paint, Raph supposes. 

“I WANNA REALLY REALLY REALLY WANNA ZIG-A-ZIG, AAAAHHHH—!”

Raph watches, frozen, as his little brothers screech like banshees, banging pots and pans like drums and dousing themselves with paint and enough sugary foods to make Raph's teeth ache second-hand. He watches as Leo attempts a backflip, slips on a gummy worm dipped in chocolate sauce and spins twice mid-air on the way to the floor, only to shake it off with his whole body and go right back to screaming to the Spice Girls. Mikey does the Toby Maguire dance. Casey twerks.

Raph watches. Donnie appears from thin air, phone already in hand and filming. When Raph cuts him a glance, he shrugs. “Blackmail,” he says at length.

Raph blinks very slowly. “You don't think that, I dunno... maybe we should intervene?”

“SENSEI! I CAN TASTE THE COLOURS OF THE RAINBOW!”

“YES, MY SON! UNLEASH YOUR TRUE GAY POWER!”

Donnie blinks back. “You ask far too much of me, brother dearest.” He turns back to the mayhem. 

Raph stares at him a moment longer. He turns back just as Leo clambers onto the table again and pops open a bag of skittles, to the delight of Mikey and Casey. “NOW EVERYONE'S MY BOYFRIEND!”

Raph feels like doing a lot of things. Screaming, crying, laughing, all three at once. Smashing something almost tops the list, but he settles for the next best, and least destructive, thing. 

“I'll get the hose,” he sighs and stomps away. Donnie hums and continues filming. 

Raph returns just as Mikey finishes a butchered rendition of Memory from Cats, and he feels nothing when he aims and fires streams of freezing water at the three shrieking stooges. He doesn't stop until they're out of the kitchen, screaming curses and sopping wet. Then he looks at Donnie. “Is your phone waterproof?”

Donnie cocks a drawn brow. “It's everything proof. Why?”

“Just checking,” Raph says and sprays Donnie in the face.

~0o0~

What goes up must come down, and when the boys finally crash, it's a pitiful sight.

Raph is keenly aware that their suffering is deserved. But he's just as at fault for not nipping Leo's hairless-brained scheme in the bud or for forgetting to properly hide the sugary goods April had brought from their last hangout from Leo and Mikey's grubby little hands. The guilt from that (minor though it is) and years of Big Brother instincts compel Raph to hold Casey's hair back as he hurls in the toilet, help Leo scrub his shell in the hard-to-reach areas, and wrangle Mikey's limbs into his pyjamas. Then he's lugging all three into the living room, where the inflatable mattress and blankets have already been set up.

Once they're all tucked in, he stands up with a huff and crosses his arms. “So,” he begins sternly—bleeding heart or no, he's still tired and mildly pissed. “What have we learned?”

“Sugar is Satan,” Casey whimpers in his blanket cocoon. Leo huffs a tired snicker. Raph bites back his own.

“A bit extreme, but okay. What else?”

“Always remember the wise words from Jeff Goldblum,” Mikey croaks.

“Which are?”

“We could, but we never stopped to think if we should,” Leo groans. “And also this whole situation is one big pile of shit.”

Raph nods. “Exactly, but language. And what are we not gonna do from now on?”

“Indulge in sugary sin?” Casey moans.

This time Raph snickers. “What's with the Bible stuff? You prayin' for a quick recovery?”

Casey sends Raph a withering glare. “If God was real, he'd have stopped us.”

“Nah, man,” Mikey shakes his head and shuts his eyes, cuddling deeper into the blanket and Leo's side as he shivers. “Why d'you think he stays in heaven? He's hiding from Leo.”

Leo's face cracks a stupid grin. “That's me, slayer of pink alien bitches and feared by God himself. Bow before me, mortals.”

Casey swats at him weakly. “I'd sooner bow before the toilet again. I'm never listening to you again, you asshole.”

“You asked me, though.”

“Then I'm an idiot. Which says a lot about the guy who raised me.”

“Go for the throat, why don't you.”

Raph rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright, that's enough.” He bends down to tuck the blanket snugly around them again. “Get some sleep. I'll be in the kitchen, cleaning up your mess, so holler if you need me. If you gotta puke, bucket's next to the couch.”

Leo's hand peeks out from the blanket burrito and holds Raph's finger. The snapper looks at Leo's mask-less face as it gives way to something devoid of all pretence. “... 'm sorry, Raphie.”

And just like that, all irritation leaves him in a sigh shaped like a smile. He squeezes Leo's hand. “You're good, little brother. Just don't do it again, aight? I can only take so much of you, dum-dum. Don't need you converting Mikey and Jr, too.” Freeing his hand, he raps his knuckles against Leo's forehead. The slider giggles tiredly and swats back playfully, missing by a mile as Raph stands. “G'night, fellas. Hope your dreams at as wild as Casey's twerking.”

Raph has a few regrets in his short life. But picking up after his idiot brothers in the wake of their childish antics as they howl with hysterical laughter in the other room isn't one of them. 

All part of being a big brother.

---

This was an absolute BLAST to write. Feel free to send more requests :)

Reblogs are very appreciated <3

[myeyesarenotblue]

Hey @rewouu​ guess what?? I was your secret santa ❤️

I wrote a silly little thing, hope you’ll like it!!! @secret-santa-klaus

Read on AO3

Ben shuts his bedroom door behind him.  

He sighs, taking a deep and heavy breath, after. He shrugs his jacket off. It’s like Dad doesn’t even care that since December rolled around it’s getting nearly impossible to stand outside for two minutes too long without freezing their asses off. He still makes sure they spar, and train, and run around in circles like idiots. Ben hates it.  

He never listens. One of them could say, “But Dad, there’s a gym in the basement! We could easily spar there!” and then Dad will reply, without exception, “The fresh air will do you good”  

It could be, “But Dad, we could run laps in the big staircase!” and then, “You’ve done enough of that already, you should know your regimes need variety”

Or, “But Dad, do we even have to train? We know all the moves already”  

And Dad says, “One can never know too much”  

“You asshole, it’s fucking snowing, we’re gonna get fucking hypo-”  

“You’ve just earned ten more laps, Number Four”  

He never listens. Ben hates it.  

He’s tired, and worn, and he’s pretty sure there’s a big chunk of snow melting somewhere in his underwear. He’d like to blame Diego, but truly, truly, he can only blame himself. He thinks he should remember by know, that going against Diego and making the rookie mistake that is not letting him win after two seconds always results in an array of random objects being thrown into places they shouldn’t be thrown in. He should remember by now.  

But he’s an idiot like that, and he didn’t. There’s snow in his underwear.  

He sighs again, long and heavy and hard, just because he can- and even if there’s no one to listen to his moping, it makes him feel the tiniest bit better.  

He considers turning back into the hallway and taking a shower like a normal person would do, but immediately decides against it. He’s too tired. He’s too tired, and the thought of doing anything at all but letting himself fall face-first into his bed and sleeping for maybe a decade is a little too much to handle at the moment. So he does just that.  

He lays haphazardly across his bed, not even bothering to take off his shoes. He resolves to sleep and sleep and sleep, and plan exactly how surprised and oblivious he’s going to act when Diego’s favorite knife goes mysteriously missing. It won’t exactly be hard, he thinks, to fall asleep after the day he’s had- even the creatures are tired, humming quietly and displeased under his skin.  

Tired, tired, tired.  

He lets the ever-present quiet lull him under, the tap-tap-tap of melting snow dripping down from the roof and into the courtyard. He thinks he can hear Vanya practicing that new song she’s been working on somewhere in the house. He breathes deeply, content, comfortable, resting.  

He’s just about to fall asleep when-  

“Ben!”  

Knocking on his door.  

Ben groans, rolls over until he’s lying on his back.  

“Ben!”

More knocking, gliding into pounding. Ben snaps his eyes shut and makes the very smart choice of ignoring the noise and hoping it’ll go away.  

“Benny!”

It doesn’t go away.  

“Ben, Ben, Ben!”  

Ben pats blindly for a pillow and pushes it tight against his face, hoping it’ll muffle even the tiniest little bit of the noise by some miracle.  

It doesn’t.  

“My best bro, Numero Six! Benny-boy!”

The knocking grows into pounding, and then the pounding sounds like straight up kicking and punching and whacking, and there’s just one person in the academy who’d do that after waiting for exactly five seconds, is there not?  

Ben huffs, annoyed, but not surprised.  

He drags himself off the bed long enough to unlock his bedroom’s door and then plops right down again, this time kicking off his shoes and tucking himself under the covers.  

Klaus strolls inside, looking all smug and proud, and not even a speck of guilty after nearly kicking down his door. But that’s to expect. What’s not to expect, though, is that Klaus is carrying something with him, something hidden behind his back, unseen.  

Ben squints, tilts his head and just barely makes out a sharp edge, wrapped in red.  

He throws Klaus a questioning look and immediately regrets it.  

Klaus squeals a high noise, full anticipation and excitement, and before he knows it, he’s jumping right into his bed. It’s half a second, and he doesn’t have any leverage with his hands behind his back, but somehow, he still manages to make his knee land right somewhere over Ben’s ribs.  

“Ugh- Klaus! Watch it” Ben moans, clutching his stomach while straightening up and scooting over to the side, because apparently, they’re having a sleepover now, whether he wants it or not.  

Klaus sits there, and unsettling expression on his face. Far too giddy for his liking. It can only mean trouble. “Ben,” Klaus gushes and doesn’t say another word, instead of explaining himself. He keeps staring on and his eyes are- sparkling.  

Ben narrows his eyes, “Klaus?”  

He sort of wants to ask if he’s high, but he doesn’t really think that’s it. Drugs tend to make him fuzzy and slow and compliant (at least the ones he usually takes, anyway) and right now he seems far too energetic to be anything but his usual sober self.  

“Hey, Ben” Klaus blurts, giggling like a maniac.  

“Yeah?”  

“Guess what’s behind my back”  

Ben frowns, makes a face. He doesn’t like surprises. And besides, besides, “How are you not tired?”  

“Oh, no. I totally feel like I’m gonna pass out any second” Klaus mutters, but he’s chewing- his tongue, or his cheek, or something, and he’s jittery and frenzied. Ben starts doubting that drug thing, but then- “I drank like, half a pot of coffee an hour ago”  

“I thought you hated coffee”  

“Yeah, fuck coffee! That thing tastes like shit”  

Ben blinks, very carefully doesn’t ask where the hell Klaus even got coffee since Dad absolutely loathes the thing and doesn’t allow it in the house. “Yeah,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “Yeah, it tastes pretty awful”  

Klaus nods along, but then he seems to remember he barged in into his room for a reason. “You haven’t guessed” he moans, pouting. “Guess!”  

“Uh, I don’t-”  

“Fine, I’ll tell you”  

Klaus doesn’t waste a single second, and in the blink of an eye, he’s pulling the something he was hiding from behind his back and shoving it all of two inches away from Ben’s face. Ben scrambles backwards instinctually, nearly falling off the bed, but he manages to keep his balance just in time to look up, and then-

And then he sees it.  

Shiny red and pretty, a little rectangle wrapped in craft paper.  

He’s left blinking dumbly at it, again, and again, and again, and for the longest, most embarrassing moment, he doesn’t quite understand what he’s seeing, doesn’t understand the carelessly thrown pieces of glitter, or the giant green bow, or the crude little drawing in the corner, all sharpie lines and messy scribbles, of what can only be a reindeer sprouting tentacles in place of antlers. 

“Merry Christmas, Ben” Klaus says, smiling softly, eyes twinkling.  

Christmas.  

Ben’s-

They’ve never done Christmas. Ever. They’ve never done Easter, or Halloween, or Thanksgiving, or any of those pretty and entrancing theme days- holidays, those ones from the movies and the billboards, the ones where everyone looks happy and relaxed and loved.  

They’ve never done any of that.  

They barely do birthdays. Dad hands them some pen or some journal or some keychain with an engraved umbrella, all wrapped up in the dullest paper, and that’s it.  

Ben’s-

Ben stares up at the shiny rectangle, stares up at the big bow.  

He always did wonder what those children in the movies and the billboards were feeling when they found a present under their Christmas tree. They always look so unexplainably, unmistakably, irrevocably, plain happy-  

Overwhelmed and overjoyed, entranced.

Ben never understood.  

He thinks he understands now.  

“Klaus, you-” Ben starts, amazed, eyes wide, but he thinks he’s been staring dumbly for a little too long, speechless and way too startled. Klaus’ pulled the little rectangle closer to himself, away from Ben, away and into his chest.  

“I mean,” Klaus mutters, and he’s lost a bit of that twinkle, now shifting nervously, “I know it’s silly, so it’s cool if you don’t, like-” and he’s biting his lip, avoiding Ben’s eyes, “like it, or want it, y’know? It’s just-”

Ben huffs, decides to make the very wise decision that is interrupting Klaus’ rambling before it gets any worse, “Hey, Klaus, you don’t-”

But Klaus doesn’t listen.  

“-you're always watching all those Christmas movies in our half hour, so I thought-”

“Klaus!”  

“What?”  

Klaus looks up sharply, startled.  

Ben doesn’t even have the heart to tell him the reason he watches all those Christmas movies during their half hour is because he might or might not have developed an unhealthy obsession with romcoms over the past few months. He had to get to the Christmas ones at some point. There’s only so many times a person can watch 13 Going on 30.

Ben swallows, pushes down his thoughts and instead focuses on what’s right in front of him. “Is that,” he starts, far more nervous than any shiny big bow has any right to make him, “Is that for me? A present?”

“Yeah, sure” Klaus says, and it sounds almost like a question. The smile’s back on his face, though. “A Christmas present, if you will”  

Ben chuckles, disbelieving and happy. “Isn’t that thing about Jesus”  

Klaus gasps, “Well, yeah, but-” he sighs, very clearly annoyed. “We can just ignore that part. Besides, I once had a really fucked up dream that I died and God was an ethnically ambiguous teenage girl who called me a loser and then kicked me out of heaven, so I’m not really big on religion”  

Ben blinks. Tries to make sense of Klaus’ words.  

He can’t.  

“What?”  

He has a feeling that particular dream of his might have been fueled by some strong hallucinogens.

Klaus rolls his eyes, “Do you want your present or not?”  

“Of course I want it” Ben hisses, maybe a little too aggressive. Even the creatures stir, rumbling under his skin. Ben snaps his eyes shut briefly, takes a deep breath and wills them to settle. Is he really getting all that possessive over what’s probably a pack of smokes, or a beer, or some dirty magazine snatched from that creepy convenience store down the street?  

Yes, yes, he is.  

Klaus watches him, amused. “Good” he says, a breath from laughing, and Ben kind of wants to punch him in the face. “I was starting to get a little worried, here”  

Ben glares at him, crosses his arms over his chest.  

Klaus sighs, all dreamy and annoying, and then, and then, “Merry Christmas, brother o’mine!” he announces, incredibly loud, and bright, and obnoxious, and before Ben can do anything to stop him, he’s launching forwards and planting the wettest, grossest, biggest kiss right on Ben’s cheek.  

“Ugh-”  

He tries to push him away, only half succeeds. Klaus laughs- the asshole, and then he promptly shoves the bright little rectangle on Ben’s lap, climbing out of bed with uncoordinated movements. “May your days be holy and bright” he gushes, a glaring smile on his face.

Ben rubs his cheek, scrunching up his nose. There’s actual spit smeared in there, and he- “What the hell, Klaus? You can’t go around licking people, that’s gross”  

“I did not lick you” Klaus retorts almost immediately, all sure words and confident stance, even though he very much did lick him. Ben rolls his eyes. “Anyway,” Klaus says. “Merry Christmas, bro. Enjoy your present”  

And then he’s gone.  

He squeezes Ben’s shoulder, shoots him a dizzying smile one last time, and then he’s snatching open his bedroom’s door, stepping out.  

“Hey, Klaus” Ben calls, before he can leave.  

“Yeah?”  

Ben levels him with a look. Out of everyone in the house, he’s not surprised it was him, Klaus, of all people, the one who’d actually want to do something special for the holidays, or anything at all. Still, he feels- warmed, loved. Happy. Overwhelmed and overjoyed, entranced.  

Just like the people in the movies.  

“Thank you” he says, and he means it.  

Klaus nods, looking down, shy all of the sudden, and then he’s shutting the door behind him without another word.  

Ben stares at the door, unblinking.  

He doesn’t move a single muscle for a long moment, too busy trying to make sense of what just happened. He’s almost afraid of looking down and to his lap, and to his present , afraid that somehow- somehow, it won’t be there.  

Ben swallows, rubs the last of Klaus’ spit away from his cheek and then ghosts his fingers over the craft paper, shiny red and pretty. The drawing is, indeed, a sad attempt of a red-nosed reindeer sprouting tentacles. It’s got googly eyes, and everything. Ben’s kind of impressed.  

He unties the ribbon carefully, mindful not to disturb the paper too much, and then he’s peeling the mess of tape away, and- he knows, he knows the children in the movies always tear and rip and shred, and maybe he should, too, but he can’t really bring himself to do it. He thinks he’s going to end up keeping that little piece of red paper forever and ever, tucked away along with his most prized possessions.  

When he’s done with the tape, done freeing his present from the paper, Ben holds his breath, stops just shy of revealing what’s inside.  

From the weight and feel of it, he thinks it might be a book, and isn’t that the most wonderful thing ever? He’s read everything half-decent in the house already, Klaus knows that- Ben's told him, in several occasions, late at night when neither one of them can sleep and the only thing they can do is whine about their lives to each other.  

Ben smiles, bites his bottom lip.  

He lifts the paper up and away slowly, stets it aside, and then he’s left staring at-

H. P. Lovecraft – The Call of Cthulhu and Other Weird Stories

Oh, Ben thinks. Oh.  

And he thinks back to the handful of short stories by Lovecraft he managed to read before Dad confiscated the forgotten book he had found lying around in the house, thinks back to the endless hours he had rambled non-stop about it, very nearly talking Klaus’ ear off.  

It’s perfect, Ben thinks. It’s the best Christmas present he’s ever gotten.  

The only Christmas present he’s ever gotten.  

He lets a burst of hysterical laughter bubble out of his throat, holds the book tight against his chest, carefully, so very carefully. Maybe he’s ought to have a long talk with Klaus about dialing down the whole tentacle-themed-everything thing, but-  

Most importantly, Ben thinks, laughing deliriously, insane, happy- most importantly, he needs to sneak out of his bedroom’s window the second the opportunity presents itself, climb out, and then he needs to wander all of the streets and the stores and the shops, looking for the perfect gift.  

It’s just not fair that Klaus can now say he’s given a Christmas present but not that he’s received one.

[ashiversary]

Our Golden Days (Chapter 3)

It was hot in the cave, almost unbearably so. But Sol was used to it.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, ignoring his own light-headedness and the trails of sweat dripping slowly down his back and chest. It seemed silly to him that he had to do this - undergo training exercises and meditation in this hot cave. Lucifel was the one who would bond to the legendary bird Moltres, not him. Still, family rules were family rules, so he sat on the rough cave floor with his older brothers and younger sister and tried not to let his mind wander.

The next thing he knew, he was blinking at the ceiling while his brother Lucifel dabbed at his face with a cool cloth, looking amused.

His face flushed. “I did not faint!” he declared to head off any teasing. He rolled away from Lucifel’s ministrations and took stock. He didn’t feel dizzy or sick, which indicated that he was probably right. To his relief, he hadn’t fainted in front of his brothers. He would never live it down if he had, ever.

Lucifel sat back on his heels, an amused grin on his face. “No, I think you just fell asleep,” he said. “Again.”

“It’s just ‘cause it’s warm in here, and I have to hold still. I’ll feel better once I move around a bit.” His face still flaming, Sol marched toward the punching bags. To his embarrassment, Lucifel stood and followed him, holding out a water bottle.

“Remember to keep hydrated. Since you need to move around, maybe you could teach Candela how to roll like you promised last week,” he said.

Sol jerked a shoulder as if he were annoyed, but actually he didn’t mind helping Candela with her training. He was only a few years older than her, but teaching her how to do stuff made him feel important. “Fine. C’mere, Kittykat!”

Candela was sitting close to where Sol had been, absently scratching her ear. At Sol’s call, her eyes opened and blinked once, slowly. “What is it?” she asked, getting up and padding over on legs that had finally started to lose their baby stubbyness and get some real length.

Sol slung a sweaty arm over her shoulders and led her over to the mats. “I promised to teach you how to roll, didn’t I? Let’s do it.”

Her face brightened in a smile. “Really? Yay!”

Satisfied, Lucifel moved off to supervise Pele and Epifanio while Sol and Candela worked together to pull mats off the stack and set them up in an open area away from where their older brothers were training. Now that his body was in motion, Sol found it easier to put the stifling heat out of his mind as he showed Candela the steps. She mimicked him, somewhat clumsily, but he thought with pride that it was a good start.

But within ten minutes, Candela’s full lips settled into full-on pout-mode, leaving Sol thinking ‘Uh oh.’

“What’s the matter Kittykat?” he asked, unwittingly mirroring Lucifel’s posture as he crouched in front of her when she sat on the mat in a sulky pile.

“I’m not doing it right,” she grumbled, pout still firmly in place. Her arms were crossed over her chest in childish temper, and she refused to look at him.

“You’re doing fine, Kittykat.”

“But I’m not doing it like you.”

“I’ve had more practice. You’ll get it. Just keep trying. Okay? Come on!” He took her hands and gave them a gentle tug, but she refused to budge.

“Don’t wanna.”

Sol leaned back, at a loss. Candela was very shy when out in public, but at home among family she was very stubborn and spoiled. And she was frustrated.

Sol opted for a different tactic. He poked her in the side, making her twitch. Then he poked her again, and again, until she had to uncross her arms to swat at his hands. “Awww, is widdle baby Candela frustrated?” he drawled. “Maybe she’s not ready to train with the big boys, huh? Maybe she needs to wait with Mommy?”

As expected, her small face screwed up with outrage, and she attempted to hit him with a fist. Even at six years old, Candela was a strong child, so Sol made sure the blow didn’t land. Laughing, he shifted away. “C’mon, Kittykat, show me you can do it.”

“No.” She glared at him, then scooted around on her butt until her back was to him.

Huh. Usually mocking her worked. Her pride would kick in, and then she’d just have to prove that she could do whatever Sol said she couldn’t.

Before Sol could think of something else to get her motivated, Epifanio swooped in.

“What’s going on here?” Epifanio asked, scooping an arm around Candela’s stomach and scooping her up as she squealed so that she hung upside-down with her back against his chest. Her arms dangled limply for a moment before she reached up to grab his forearm for added security. “You guys loafing around? Huh? Don’t you know it’s time to traaaaaain?” he drew the last word out as he spun in three rapid circles.

Candela squealed again, then burst into involuntary laughter. “Nooooo, Epifanio! Put me down!”

“Nuh-uh. Slackers gotta face their big bro.” Keeping his head well away from Candela’s kicking feet, Epifanio began to do squats while keeping his grip on his sister. “See? The rest of us are working hard!”

Still laughing, Candela held out her hands to where Lucifel and Pele were boxing. “Lucifel!” she cried. “Lucifel, help! Epifanio’s being mean!”

Lucifel and Pele dropped their fists and stepped away from each other. Lucifel came over to see what the matter was as Pele looked on.

He grabbed Candela under the arms and swung her upright as Epifanio’s hands fell away. “Hey, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

“Candela’s sulking,” Epifanio said. “So I made her laugh.”

“Oh? That doesn’t sound like being mean to me. Hm?” With a few bounding steps Lucifel reached the stack of training mats and dumped Candela onto it. She bounced on impact, giggling uncontrollably. She rolled off the mats and landed on her hands and knees on the floor before raising to a kneeling position, a huge grin on her face.

“You guys are the worst,” she declared. “The worst!”

She yelped and ran as Epifanio dove for her. “No! Lucifel, stop him!” she laughed as he chased her around the cave.

“Come on, you two, time to settle down,” Lucifel said, clapping his hands sharply to get their attention. The big grin on his face took away from his teacher voice. “Now that you’ve got your blood moving, you can go back to meditation.”

Sol and Candela both groaned. Epifanio took advantage of Candela’s distraction to scoop her up and cart her to the meditation circle, where he dumped her on the floor. “You heard the man. Get to it, pipsqueak.” Leaving her there, he jogged over to take Lucifel’s place as Pele’s sparring partner.

Lucifel clapped a hand on Sol’s shoulder, the corners of his eyes still creased from laughter. “You too, Sol. You especially need your meditation. Temper your hotheadedness a bit,” he said.

Sol rolled his eyes but dropped down next to Candela, who had closed her eyes and was scrunching up her face in concentration. That was so not the way meditation worked that Sol couldn’t resist poking her. Her eyes flew open and she poked him back, viciously, in the side. She had pointy little fingers, and Sol had to bite back a laugh to keep from drawing his older brothers’ attention back to them and getting the whole thing started again.

“I hate meditating,” Candela confided in him once they’d settled down again and were pretending to try to meditate. Instead they were watching Lucifel referee the match between Pele and Epifanio. “It’s boring. I have too many thoughts.”

“Me too, Kittykat.”

“I wanna play.”

“I know, but we have to do our work first.” Part of being the older sibling, Sol had learned, was being the responsible one and enforcing the rules. It sucked.

Abandoning pretense, Candela leaned forward to brace her elbows on her knees as they watched Pele be defeated and Lucifel take his place. As he took his first swing at Epifanio, Sol couldn’t help but admire his form.

“Lucifel’s so cool,” Candela said.

“Yeah, yeah he is. But don’t tell him I said so.” Sol punctuated this warning with another poke, which Candela returned. A brief poke war ensued, which subsided when Pele sent them a warning look over his shoulder.

“But he is the coolest,” Candela said once they were both pretending to meditate again. “And Mom says he’s next in line to bond with Moltres. That means he’ll be someone really important, right?”

“Yep. He’ll take over as head of Team Valor in Opal City. It’s a very important position. That’s why he trains as hard as he does.”

“I’m glad. Lucifel deserves to be somebody cool and important. Then everyone will see how awesome he is.”

“Yep. He’s looking this way! Quick, pretend to meditate!”

They both scrambled into the proper form and closed their eyes, so they missed Lucifel grinning at them and shaking his head as if his younger siblings’ antics never ceased to amuse him.