#Share a Lair 11
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sokaiweek · 1 month ago
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SoKai Week 2025
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Announcing SoKai Week 2025! 🥳 This year’s theme is “Parallel Worlds” with a focus on AU prompts ⭐️  
⭐️ July 6-12 
⭐️ 4 prompts/day + bonus prompts 
⭐️ Story list for further inspiration
A big thank you to @amyhayanora for her promo art and graphics advice ❤️
Check below the cut for the text version!
SoKai Week 2025 Prompts
Day 1 - July 6
Message, Sharing, Secret, Promise
Day 2 - July 7
Adventure, Quest, Journey, Travel
Day 3 - July 8
Blessing, Talisman, Present, Lucky Charm 
Day 4 - July 9
Battle, Trials, Lair, Abyss
Day 5 - July 10
Dragon, Heartless, Shadow, Monster
Day 6 - July 11
True Love, Healing, Elixir, Transform
Day 7 - July 12
Celebrate, Reunion, Return, Happily Ever After
Bonus
Sun and Moon, Night and Day, Sky and Sea, Light and Darkness
Story List for Additional Inspiration
Rules
⭐️ Be respectful.
⭐️ No ship or character bashing.
⭐️ No NSFW.
⭐️ No excessively violent or gory content.
⭐️ No other pairings (SoKai only).
⭐️ Feel free to share your art, stories, gifs, edits, graphics, cosplay, data greetings, or other fanworks!
⭐️ Use the tags #sokaiweek or #sokaiweek2025.
⭐️ Have fun!
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mrabubu · 2 years ago
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A little post for easier navigation.
Hi, I'm kishi.
A draw things and animate sometimes.
To see it, use #my art tag
To see answered questions, use #abubu ask
Just in case, I apologise in advance since english isn't my first language.
Krangified AU
DTIYS challenge (June 18th)
A little story that takes place in the apocalyptic future timeline, about my character Ana, who got turned into a Kraang zombie in the beginning of the invasion.
Hashtag: #krangified au
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One-shot
Sketches: 1/ 2/ 3/ 4/ 5/ 6/ 7/ 8/ 9/ 10/ 11/ 12/ 13... (better just search with the hashtag, because there's just too many of sketches...)
Comics:
"You're still you"
"Don't look at me" (TW: blood, possible self harm)
"The wing": (TW: blood)
Part 1/ 2 / 3
"First impression"
"Dressing up"
"Alternative universe" ("Never part again au" crossover)
"Wedding"
"I'll share your nightmares with you."
"Mowgli effect."
"Facing your inner demons."
"Not giving up on you."
Ana's (my character) reference
Playlist
Rise of the TMNT comic (Probably won't get any more updates...):
Prologue:
Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3 / Part 4
Heart of stone:
Part 1/ Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / ...
Additional stuff:
1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11/
Also my other blog for reblogs and thoughts:
@kishi-in-her-lair
A note: you can have your ships and headcanons, but don't shove them in my face.
And another little note, I don't headcanon Leo as gay or trans, so there won't be any leosagi, Leo with male characters. If people will be commenting about it, "fixing" my art by writing that I should've put Usagi there or that Leo is gay and not into girls, I'm going to ban you. I won't tolerate this kind of offensive behavior in MY blog. More on this in this post.
I'm okay if you like these headcanons as long as you're acting civil and don't try to correct me or force them on me. If you're finding my position triggering, it's not my problem.
Software I use:
SAI 2, Photoshop (sometimes), Toon Boom Harmony (animation).
My other main accounts:
Twitter
Instagram
YouTube
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mingi-s-dimples · 9 months ago
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Primal Instinct - San
KINKTOBER DAY 11, REQ. BY @arki-sha
~"Hi Bia!!! I have a Werewolf San brainrot rn because I rewatched his Warriors dance cover so I'll request a Werewolf San x Human Reader.. So, San is in a rut but he doesn't want to spend it with the reader so he was deliberately avoiding her. And when the reader decided to go to San's apartment to confront him, she found out that San was in a rut and that's were the shit happens. As for the kinks, go wild with it girl. But I would like to have some size kink as well as man handling with it. Thank youuu!!!!"
pairing: werewolf!san x human fem!reader
genre: 18+, filth
summary: when you decide to confront San after days of him avoiding you, unknowingly step into the lair of a werewolf in rut, you ignite a night of uncontrollable desire and primal intensity.
wc: 3.7k
warnings: werewolf!san, san is in a rut, san is damn desperate and needy, biting, marking, predator/prey kinda feeling, making out, kissing, lots of cum, two rounds, wall sex, dinner table sex, neck holding, breast fondling, manhandling, big dick!san (obvi), some mentions of slightly bleeding marks because of his biting? ex reader's lip bleeding. unprotected (boooo wrap up irl!), completely consensual, unedited, might edit later, for sure forgot something.
Author's Note: THIS IS TASTYYYY I LOVE ME SOME NEEDY DESPERATE SAN OMFG. He's so rough but needy and wjiebicjwicjshx I'm going insane. My love, I took EXTRA care of this fic and I hope it's up to your expectations ! Personally I lvoed writing it and I feel like I improved a lost since I first started writing here.. ☹️❤️ I love you and tysm for being one of my loyal followers until nowww 🫂💗
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the members in any way.
The chill of autumn had started to settle in, and with it, a strange tension that had been growing in the air. You could feel it creeping into the small space you and San shared, an undercurrent that had begun subtly but now lingered like a heavy fog. The house was quieter than usual, too quiet, and it had been that way for days. You’d grown accustomed to San’s presence, his warmth and affection filling the room with a sense of home. But lately, he’d been avoiding you, pulling away in ways that left you confused and worried.
San had always been open with you, even about the most complex aspects of his life as a werewolf. You had long since come to terms with it—his otherworldly strength, his heightened senses, the way his eyes sometimes glowed in the moonlight with a predatory gleam. These were parts of him you accepted, parts you even loved. Your relationship had always been built on trust and understanding, and San had always taken extra care to make sure you felt safe, no matter what side of him you were dealing with.
But now, for the past few days, something had changed. He had started to distance himself, keeping to his room and avoiding any close contact. At first, you thought maybe he was just going through something personal, something he needed time to work through on his own. But as the days dragged on, the silence between you two became unbearable.
It wasn’t like him. San was affectionate, constantly pulling you close, holding your hand, pressing soft kisses to your forehead in moments when words weren't needed. The absence of his touch had left a cold emptiness in its wake. You missed the way he’d look at you, his gaze filled with warmth and a deep, protective love. Now, he barely looked at you at all.
The curiosity gnawed at you, mingled with concern. What could be so bad that he had to lock himself away from you? What was he hiding?
Today, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had knocked on his door earlier, only for San to mutter something about being busy. But that excuse wasn’t going to work again. You stood outside his door now, hesitating for only a second before deciding that you needed answers. You loved San too much to let this strange distance go on any longer. If something was wrong, you deserved to know what it was.
Your hand hovered over the doorknob before you pushed it open, the soft creak of the wood breaking the silence in the hallway. The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight to keep the outside world at bay. San was sitting at the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, his body rigid with tension. His sharp features were drawn tight, and even from where you stood, you could sense the storm brewing inside him.
“San?” you called softly, stepping into the room.
His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and for a brief moment, a flicker of something wild passed through his eyes before he quickly looked away, running a hand through his messy hair. “You shouldn’t be in here,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, strained.
You frowned, your concern deepening. “What’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me for days. I just want to know what’s wrong. Did I do something?”
San’s hands clenched into fists on his knees, the muscles in his arms tensing. “It’s not you,” he muttered, his voice so low it was almost a growl. “It’s me. You need to leave, *now*.”
His words stung, but more than that, they confused you. This wasn’t like him at all. You took a tentative step closer, refusing to back down. “I’m not going anywhere, San. Please, talk to me. Whatever this is, we can figure it out together.”
He stood up abruptly, turning away from you and facing the wall. His shoulders were broad, his back muscles taut under his shirt, as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will. “You don’t understand,” he ground out. “I’m not safe to be around right now. I’m in a rut, Y/N. The first real one I’ve had in years.”
Your eyes widened in understanding as his words sank in. You had heard about werewolf ruts before, but this was the first time you were facing it with San. A rut was intense, primal, a period when his instincts were heightened to the point of losing control. San had always been careful about managing his shifts and moods around you, but this… this was something new, something that terrified him more than anything else.
“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” you asked softly, stepping closer to him despite the warning in his voice.
He nodded, still facing away from you. “I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t trust myself right now.”
You could hear the pain in his voice, the guilt. He was trying to protect you from himself, but in doing so, he was shutting you out. You didn’t want that. You didn’t want him to face this alone.
Tentatively, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his back. He flinched at the touch, but he didn’t move away. Encouraged by the fact that he hadn’t pushed you aside, you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.
“I trust you,” you whispered against his back. “I know you won’t hurt me, San.”
His body trembled slightly under your touch, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with himself, as if battling between the need to protect you and the overwhelming desire that was consuming him. Slowly, he turned around in your arms, his dark, intense eyes locking with yours. “I’m not sure if I can control myself,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
You reached up, cupping his face gently in your hands. His skin was warm, almost burning under your touch. “I trust you,” you repeated softly, looking into his eyes. “I’m not afraid of you.”
San let out a shaky breath, his hands coming up to grip your arms, as if grounding himself in your presence. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath was hot and uneven against your lips, and you could feel the restraint in every muscle of his body.
“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a desperate whisper.
Before you could say anything more, his lips were on yours, the kiss deep and intense, as if he were pouring all of his pent-up emotions into it. It was raw, needy, but there was still tenderness in the way his hands cradled your face, as if even now, he was holding back for your sake.
You kissed him back, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer. The tension between you melted away as the kiss deepened, your bodies pressing together in a way that felt both familiar and new. His hands moved down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, but even in the heat of the moment, you could feel him trying to be gentle, trying to keep himself in check.
The kiss lingered, slow and passionate, until finally, San pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours again. His breathing was heavy, his eyes dark with unspoken emotions, but the storm inside him seemed to have calmed, at least for now.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice soft but full of gratitude.
You smiled softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I told you. I’m not afraid of you.”
San’s breath was ragged, his forehead still pressed to your shoulder as he fought to control the storm raging inside him. You felt his hands tremble against your waist, his claws teasing the edge of his control but never quite emerging. His body was all heat and tension, his breath coming faster now, more uneven.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, he let his hands drift down your sides, fingers brushing along the fabric of your clothes. He gripped the hem of your shirt, his touch delicate, as if the very act of undressing you would shatter whatever fragile restraint he had left. His fingers dug into the fabric for a moment, and you felt the tension in him snap for just a second. He exhaled sharply, as if trying to talk himself out of it.
“I... I can’t,” San muttered, though his actions betrayed his words. His voice was low, raw, filled with a desperation that echoed his struggle. His hands, though trembling, began lifting your shirt, slowly revealing the skin beneath. His breath hitched at the sight, and you could feel his body tensing as his instincts warred with his will. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, his voice thick with need, but his hands didn’t stop.
He pulled the fabric over your head with a swift motion, his touch growing bolder now, more confident. You watched as his eyes darkened further, the wolf in him creeping closer to the surface. His fingers grazed your bare skin, tracing the lines of your collarbone, down your arms, and across your waist with reverence. Every touch was electric, sending shivers through your body as he explored every inch of exposed skin.
“You’re making this so hard for me,” San growled, his voice deep and unsteady. His hands moved lower, fingers ghosting over the waistband of your pants, lingering there for a moment as he struggled to hold back. He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched tight. “I should stop. I should walk away.”
But neither of you moved.
Instead, he tugged at the waistband, pulling your pants down in one rough motion, the fabric slipping from your body effortlessly. His breath caught in his throat, and he took a step back, looking at you as though you were something both sacred and dangerous. His hands reached out, but they hesitated, hovering just inches from your skin, the restraint in his body trembling like a wire about to snap.
“You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “You don’t know what it’s like... to want something so badly but know you can’t... you *shouldn’t*...” His eyes traveled over you, wild and full of conflict, as his fingers finally found your skin again. His touch was slow, lingering, as though he was trying to savor the feel of you beneath his hands before he lost all control.
His hands were everywhere at once—tracing the line of your spine, sweeping across your waist, exploring the curve of your hip, and back up to your chest. His palms were rough but gentle, his fingers trembling as they brushed your bare skin with reverence, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded. His breath was hot against your neck as he leaned in, his chest pressed against yours, and you could feel every rise and fall of his breathing, erratic and wild.
“I’m losing it,” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. His forehead pressed against your collarbone, his lips brushing there, as if he couldn’t stop himself from kissing you. “I’m trying to hold back, but... I can’t, I can’t.” His words were almost a growl now, deep and rough as his hands gripped you tighter, his claws just barely grazing your skin.
You shivered as his lips traveled down the side of your neck, hot and desperate, his breath shaky as he fought to keep himself from slipping completely. His hands slid up your back, fingers tracing the lines of your body with such intensity that it felt as though he was memorizing every detail.
“I need to feel you,” he rasped, his voice filled with raw desire. His touch became more urgent, his hands pressing harder against your skin, his lips moving faster, more erratically. The restraint in him was slipping, unraveling with each passing second. His hands found your shoulders, then your back, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand the distance between you any longer.
He let out a low growl, his breath coming fast and ragged now. “I’m losing control,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes were wild, dark with unrestrained emotion, and you could feel the tension in his body, the way he trembled against you.
And then, with a sharp inhale, something broke in him.
San’s hands gripped your waist with a sudden fierceness, pulling you tightly against him, his body pressing into yours with a desperate, wild energy. His mouth found yours again, the kiss deep and consuming, his restraint shattered completely. His hands roamed your body, no longer holding back, no longer gentle. He was wild, untamed, and you were swept up in the force of it, your body responding to his every touch as though you were made for this moment.
He growled against your lips, his breath hot and uneven. "I can't stop," he murmured between kisses, his voice rough with need. His hands gripped you tighter, as if the sensation of your skin beneath his fingers was the only thing keeping him from losing himself completely. "I can't hold back anymore."
And he didn’t.
--
San pushed you to the wall behind you, one hand behind your head to not hit it to the hard material. He leaned in for a kiss, his teeth grazing against your lower lip, biting it from time to time. He made it bleed, going even more insane about the taste of your lips.
"P-please... don't hold back" you said, barely above a whisper. He took your words seriously and put your hands above your head with his right hand, while his left hand took your panties off, threw them away and flew right back to your thighs. His sharp nails dug into your flesh, leaving soft, red marks all over.
"P-please forgive me.. if you get hurt by me." San said and moved his hand between your thighs, impatiently and softly hovering his fingers around, looking in your eyes. He was asking for permission. You moved yourself above his fingers and slowly let yourself down on his then, quietly moaning at his fingers finally inside you. His hands were huge, being a werewolf... even two of his fingers were stretching you the fuck out, tears forming in your eyes.
"San, voice low, almost a growl, "You have no damn idea how hard it's been to hold back, don't you?"
"San.." you breathed out, his fingers pumping in and out of you mercilessly.
San’s eyes flash with wild intensity. In an instant, his lips crash against yours, a rough, hungry kiss that leaves you breathless, tongues finding it's way and tasting every corner of your mouth.
Breaking the kiss, his breath hot against your neck, "You’re driving me insane... every part of me just wants to take you, make you mine in ways you can’t even imagine." He stopped finger-fucking you for a moment, breath hitched and your legs already trembling.
"I want all of you.. need to feel you, taste you.." he breathed out in an almost-primal tone, like you were his prey and you were his to go after.
"San, please.." you pleaded out, back softly arching against the wall, in search of any friction between your cunt and his fingers that were still resting.
"I see that you're... asking for my touch, hm?" San whined, in an almost desperate tone, basically exposing himself through his words. He was the one that wanted, needed you so bad.
"Y-yes.."
In an instant, he raised your leg up, placing it onto his hip. "I’m out of my mind with how much I need you. You'll take me right here—no hesitation, no waiting." he said as he raised your leg a bit, left your hands alone and fully thrusted in you, lubed up from your own arousal. He was fucking you against the wall, your hands reaching for his shoulder, holding on for dear life. Your legs were trembling, his long and girthy cock stretching you good as it always did.
"Fuck.. you feel so good.." he said as he rammed into you wildly, touching every sweet spot of yours, the friction overwhelming you. His lips went wandering around, marking you everywhere. He left kisses and bites all over your neck and collarbones, tasting your sweet flesh.
"Yes babe.. get it all out-" you muffled, but his lips found their way to yours, engaging in a rough, sloppy and messy kiss.
His nails dug into your flesh, his primal-like behavior sending you over the edge. Your back arched against the wall, San's hand finding it's way to the back of your neck. He held you close and still, as he thrusted in you a few times and came undone, filling you up to the brim. As you felt yourself get filled by his load, he fucked you through his high and his hand found it's way to your clit, rubbing circles all around. You squirmed a few times, overstimulation surging over you and the knot in your belly became undone, soft cries and moans leaving out of your slowly rising chest.
"You feel so good.. I don't know how I've waited until now. Every second without you is torture..." he said and embraced you, his cock still inches deep inside you. He lifted you up and dropped you on the dinner table you had in the living room, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist.
His breath was hot against your neck as he whispered, "I can't get enough of you," his lips grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands gripped your hips firmly, pulling you closer as if the space between you was unbearable. The table beneath you creaked under the weight of your bodies, the edge pressing into your back as he leaned down, kissing you deeply, hungrily, with an urgency that made your heart race.
Your legs tightened around him, your heels digging into his lower back, urging him deeper. He let out a low, guttural sound of pleasure as he thrust into you, slow but deliberate, each movement intensifying the ache inside you. His fingers trailed up your sides, all the way up to your bare skin, fondling with your breasts, holding onto them.
With a wicked smile, he bit his lip, his eyes dark with desire as he watched the way your body responded to him. The rhythm of his hips became more insistent, and the friction between you built with every motion. You moaned softly, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pressed his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling, bodies perfectly in sync.
"I want to hear you," he growled softly, his voice deep and raw with need, his hand slipping between your bodies, teasing the spot that made your whole body tremble. Every touch was electric, every sensation overwhelming, as the pressure inside you built to an irresistible peak. You arched your back, surrendering to the intensity, your nails digging into his shoulders as the room around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the heat of your bodies and the undeniable connection between you.
Time seemed to blur as the world outside faded, leaving only the pulse of your heart, the sound of his ragged breaths, and the undeniable fire between you, burning hotter with every second.
His thrusts grew more urgent, deeper, as if he was chasing the same release that had your body trembling in his arms. The sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the room, his grunts mixing with your breathless moans, the tension between you building to a breaking point. His fingers worked in perfect rhythm with his hips, pushing you closer, closer, until finally, the pleasure surged through you, crashing like a wave. You cried out his name, your body arching against him, tightening around him as the intensity consumed you.
San groaned low in his throat, the sound almost primal as he felt you pulse around him, the sensation driving him over the edge. His hips bucked one last time, deep and powerful, before you felt him cum inside you, his warmth filling you as he let out a broken moan, collapsing against you. His breath was heavy in your ear, his heartbeat racing against your chest as the two of you remained locked together, still trembling from the intensity of it all.
For a moment, neither of you moved, the room filled with the soft sound of your shared breathing. His arms wrapped around you tightly, protectively, as if he couldn’t bear to let go just yet. Gently, he shifted, pulling you into his chest, his lips pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. His touch was tender now, his rough urgency replaced by a deep care, a need to hold you close.
"Are you okay?" he murmured, his voice softer now, full of concern as his fingers brushed through your hair, soothing you.
You nodded, still catching your breath, feeling the warmth of his body enveloping you, grounding you. His hands stroked your back in lazy, comforting circles, his lips never far from your skin. He held you as if you were fragile, like he wanted to protect you from everything, even though minutes ago, the world had disappeared in the heat between you.
San slowly pulled out of you, the absence leaving you feeling both empty and completely fulfilled, as he carefully helped you sit up on the edge of the table. He kissed your lips, slow and sweet, as if he had all the time in the world. Then, without saying a word, he scooped you up into his arms and carried you over to the couch, laying you down gently before settling next to you.
He tugged a soft blanket over your bodies, wrapping his arms around you again, pulling you close. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes searching yours with a tenderness that made your heart swell.
"I love you," he whispered softly, his voice barely audible, but the emotion behind it was overwhelming. He kissed your temple, holding you tighter as you both drifted into a peaceful silence, your bodies still entwined, but now surrounded by a warmth that was so much more than just physical.
NETWORKS:
@blossomnet
@illusionnet
PERMANENT TAGLIST:
@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @woolysium @peachy-bell26
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pokespe-rainbow · 5 months ago
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Any Tmnt Iteration x Spider-Man!Reader: Red Brother, Angry Brother
Masterlist | Previous | Next
"And then we tried tacos! It's like a pizza, but the pizza has beans, salsa, and vegetables inside! It's like putting a pizza and a hamburger together!" - rambles Mikey, chewing a slice of pizza as Splinter listens every word his son has to say - "I still like pizza more, but we should order tacos often, you'll love them sensei!"
"Seems like you've made a friend Michelangelo" - Splinter talk carefully - "And you trust them?"
"Aham" - Mikey with his mouth full of pizza
"Yes, it is good to know you're socializing." - speaked Splinter, not disturbed by Mikey's manners
It's been almost two weeks since Michelangelo started to sneak out of the lair without his brothers noticing. While Splinter considered that lack of attention from his sons, Michelangelo seemed to come renovated from said visits. Splinter decided to sit with his son in the dojo and let him speak freely of their experiences. Apparently, Michelangelo was telling the truth and making a friendship bond with that public vigilante Michelangelo April talked about. Splinter trusted in his son judgment of character, but still threads of distrust would escape. This friend was merely pretending to gain Michelangelo's trust? He wouldn't know until they were meeting them face to face. Splinter didn't want his son to bring a potential dangerous stranger to the lair, but sometimes one has to take risks. Until now, they seemed to care for Michelangelo and share some traits with his younger son.
Maybe all was a coincidence, and Michelangelo actually did a good friend.
"Sensei? Are you okay?" - asked Michelangelo, and Splinter noticed he had stopped paying attention and submerged in his thoughts
"I'm all right, my son. I just get lost in my own thoughts. You have no to worry. " - assured Splinter - "You may retire now, "
"Okay. I'll be out there. I'll come back before 11! I promise!" - waved Michelangelo before he was on the door
Splinter sighed and gave himself a mental note of alerting Michelangelo's brothers. He'll feel safer of this mysterious vigilante would the approvement of the four of his sons.
Raphael punched aggressively the punching bag, over and over, thinking in his blue claded brother's face instead of the punching bag. Leo was being a dick. An absolute asshole. While things eventually cooled with Donnie, not like any of them had apologized to the other one, Leo was still being a little bitch. Yeah, it's been weeks since they received a beat up from the Foot, but they'll get these feet fetishist next time.
Most importantly, Leonardo was acting like himself. Raph's stomach absolutely revolted every time Leo remembered of himself. Raphael was actually such a dick with his brothers, like, all the time? Mikey even started to pass more time locked up in his bedroom that watching TV with them. The dramas Splinter used to see probably weren't like nothing that occurred in real life, but Raphael feared their family turned like one of those families on the TV. Yelling at each other all the time and fighting over nothing. In that families the little brother always got hurt. Raphael didn't want to hurt Mikey.
Maybe watching something on the TV would improve his mood. Nearly getting out of the dojo when he found him.
Mikey was sneaking out. He had his skateboard under his arm and looked around to make sure no one would follow him. Mikey seemed to forget his brothers were also ninjas and got out of the lair.
Mikey snuck out, and if Raphael hasn't decided to come, he wouldn't notice too. Did… Did Mikey have been out of the lair all the times they thinked he was in his room with his stupid comics? What was Mikey thinking? What if Mikey encountered too many Foot Soldiers and got hurt? What if he got himself caught? Shit, has Donnie been right?
Raphael stood a few seconds, asking Donnie wouldn't be a choice, too focused on his stupid tech to even notice. Leo wouldn't listen to him or would listen and flip at Mikey. Mikey didn't need Leo being himself at this time. And talking to master Splinter would make him waste time and lost the trace of Mikey. Growing, and with his sais on his belt, Raphael go after Mikey. Alone.
Yeah… You should probably should have put baby powder on your armpits, definitely spandex wasn't your best friend. If you could put your hands in a satin roll, the suit may be more comfortable and durable. The last enconter with the lizard ripped your last pants and had to replace these with your aunt old yoga pants that she believed gave to charity. Better keep quiet about that. Your homemade suit wasn't your best work, but do the work of keeping your identity safe.
You stay put on the side of a tall building, watching New York from afar. The things you get to know about the Foot Clan made your stomach twist in discomfort, and honestly… Fear..
How no one noticed them yet? You assumed witnesses would be silenced, probably by the more grousome methods. You should probably have felt confident, Electro without doubts could have beaten a full squad of these ninja giys with a zip-zap of his fingers, but you could feel yourself shiver. Your spider sense vibed at the sole thought of them. They were probably better than you at hiding in the shadows, and to differ from the typical bank robbers, these guys were pros.
But also you were [S/n], you couldn't afford yourself to be afraid , or doubt when come to save someone's life. Mikey's brother's life, or what was left from it.
Mikey was already one of your closest friends. You already have told him about the hardships of the job, and he just gave you a thumbs up and just said HE Believed in YOU.
Mikey was one of your people now
You took a deep breath and swung yourself to your next location.
You moved to the rooftop you were supposed to meet Mikey, one that was darkened by the shadows of the taller buildings, and no regular human should see without a flashlight. You could already see the shape of a shell in the darkness, smiling under your mark and deciding to say hi.
"Hey Mikey!" - you wave a hand and snorted at seeing the turtle stirr. He still got used to that? You'd think Mikey had his own turtle sense when was about you…
Except it wasn't, the turtle turned around, the metalical flash of something thaf wasn't nunchakus come to light, golden eyes instead of baby blue and then you could hear the meme in your head "And in that moment he knew, he fucked up".
You were on the corner or the rooftop, your Spidey Sense flaring like a fire alarm with 'Danger Danger Danger' as he launched at you. You did the most logical thing, jumping off the building and to the stairs, quickly hanging from the side as the unknown turtle decided to follow, and wow, those were some big forks! Not bug forks! Something-something you couldn't think about! There was a giant turtle and this one did was trying to kill you!
"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU KNOW ABOUT MIKEY!" - screamed the angry turtle, slashing with the forks—SAIS! THE NAME IS SAIS!— as you jump out of the way, grabbing the side of the stairs and jumping up, leaving the turtle behind
"Sorry! Wrong Turtle!" - you say, giving a small wave and decide you don't really want to fight a nearly identical turtle to your friend…. Wait… A nearly identical turtle to your friend? - "Wait! You're his brother!?"
"And what if I am Punk!?" - growled the turtle, and you settled down the idea of facing him was a bug No-No in your list
"I think this is a big misunderstanding!" - you screamed - "We're good friends, actually! He was supposed to be here…" - you said looking around - "Anytime now…?" - you ask again, still no tracks of your orange friend - "He's…. Supposed to…" - you check again your watch. Twenty minutes late - "That's inusual…"
You started to worry, honestly. Mikey was actually an early bird when come to your meeting, very eager too. Did… Why was his brother over here instead of him?
You felt your Spider Sense blaring again, and you wanted to stop fighting Mikey's brother. It was easy to catch his wrist, and it was equally easier to throw him over your shoulder. He growled at you, like a rabid animal. Did you were really scared of facing him a few minutes ago? Maybe it was the fear of something happening to Mikey that oppacqued the fear of losing one eye.
"Why are you here instead of Mikey?" - you asked at Mikey's brother
"Why would I say anything to you!?" - was his answer
"Cause I'm worried!" - you put your hands on your hips - "He never comes that late. Is he always that late?" - you turn to ask Mikey's brother. He's touching his wrist and sitting, probably thinking of how to take you out now
You inhale a few times as you start to think about what could have happened. Mikey can't be held by traffic. He's good moving through the shadows and very fast… and is the enemy of ninjas that were as good as him by moving in the shadows…
"Oh shit" - you hear Mikey's brother talk, a whisper, so is either a hidden comm or is talking to himself - "Mikey wasn't lying."
You glance at the unknown turtle, a similar mask, only but red. His face is nearly identical but so different to Mikey's for some reason. This could tell you he was Mikey's twin, and you wouldn't even doubt it. Now, it seems that his anger had cooled down, more relaxed and looking at you like if you've grown two heads.
You sighed as it seemed the red turtle wouldn't try to stab you once again. You could say he was …. He didn't look bad, but your panic didn't help in anything.
"…. I saw Mikey snuck out and follow him. Lost him" - said the red turtle. His wrist didn't look damaged. Good
"Where?" - you asked, trying to concentrate in the noises of New York City
The red turtle looked at you before sighing - "A few blocks from here."
"Fine. Let's go" - you said, putting a foot ver the edge of the building - "Lead the way…" - you waited for him to move - "Sorry for kicking your ass…"
"Sorry for almost stabbing you" - he said - "…. So…. Mikey didn't really make you up…"
"Yeah, he complained about his brothers not taking him seriously" - you looked over him before taking out your gloved hand - "Truce…?"
The red turtle looked at your hand before accepting the handshake - "Truce…"
You just hoped nothing serious would've happened to Mikey with you distracted
"I'm Raphael…"
"…. [S/n]…."
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snowshowerwriting · 9 months ago
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Whumptober Day 2: Trust issues | Role Reversal
It's 11:59 Wednesday somewhere in the world still...
TW: Post-battle/fight disaster, off screen death, hints towards abusive dynamics
The Villain couldn't breathe. Debris crashed all around them, and the air was filled with dust and ash. It took the villain a few seconds to orient themselves upright again, knees shaking as they stared at the wreckage ahead of them. When the reality set in, their heart sank.
Everything was ruined. The lair was broken and bent beyond recognition. The home they had once shared with friends, with people who were like family to them was gone within seconds. The Villain took one shaky step forward, and then another before breaking out into a run towards where the piles of wall and debris sat.
They kneeled on the rubble and began to dig through it. There was only one thing in their mind right now- to find the Supervillain, to know that he hadn't died. The only sounds were the fragments of brick being tossed to the side and the ringing in the Villain's ears. Although they were calling out for the Supervillain's name, they could barely hear their own voice beyond their panicked thoughts. They couldn't take in a proper breath between heaving sobs.
"Villain!"
Very vaguely, the Villain recognized the voice of the Hero far behind them in the aftermath of the battle. This wasn't supposed to happen, the Hero wasn't supposed to take it this far, and the Supervillain wasn't supposed to be hurt, he wasn't supposed to be dead.
"Villain!" This time, a strong grip had taken hold of their arms and spun them around. Villain's breath hitched as the shock began settling, and the numbness in their hands went away. They hadn't realized how badly their body was scrapped up until the Hero squeezed their hands. Every little mark lit on fire.
"Gods, are you okay? What are you doing there?" The questions were accompanied by gentle hands brushing the villain's bangs back. Villain recoiled at the touch, almost stumbling back at the unsteady ground. "Don't you dare fucking touch me!" The venom in the Villain's voice had caught both the hero and themself by surprise.
The Hero stared at the Villain, confused at first and then they tried to approach the Villain again. The shock had left the Villain now, and anger began brewing anew within their veins. "Don't you dare take another step to me," they seethed. Between the blurred vision and the anger and panic buzzing in their body, the villain didn't notice the hero's expression darken. They didn't notice the change in the hero as the reality of the Supervillain's death settled in. What would they do now? Their home was wrecked and their one true friend was gone and-
The villain was forced to look up, their face being held in the sharp claws of their enemy. They couldn't help the choked-up sob as the Hero kneeled down to meet them on the ground. All the kindness in their eyes disappeared, replaced with the cruelty the villain had seen during the making of this destruction.
"Get yourself together, Ok?" The Hero's voice was low. Quiet, and yet, the Villain could still feel the goosebumps rise on their arms and the hair on the back of their neck rise. They tried to get themselves together, through their trembling hands and relentless tears and all. "You're ok," the hero told them, and the villain could only nod yes. "You'll be fine with me, if not better." The soft voice did nothing to hide the threat.
The Hero's nails dug into their cheeks, a subtle warning before they stood up. "See?" the hero sighed, and rested their hand on the villain's shoulder. "Come on, let's go see the rest of my team. We'll get you back in the base and into the right shape." The villain bit their lips to hold back another outburst and nodded. As the hero led them out of the rubble, they couldn't help but look back. Their home was gone now. What safety existed has been destroyed. Where would they go now?
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aaaa not the proudest of this honestly. Maybe I'll rewrite it someday? Anyway, I'm starting to get back into writing after, what? 2 years? This snippet is honestly not the best work but.. hopefully, by the end of October, I develop into a better writer? Idk, we'll find out
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grumpyeagleandfriends · 27 days ago
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Vigil - Chapter 1
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Summary: Using the genetic material extracted from Yusuf al-Kaysani and Nicolò di Genova, Dr. Metak Kozak initiates Project Eos as an attempt to artificially replicate immortality through forced human trials. Nine embryos are created, implanted, and birthed under controlled conditions. The experiments she conducts represent a grotesque evolution of Steven Merrick’s work.
When Copley first uncovers the program, Kozak’s records declare total failure: "Group Gamma yielded no viable candidates. All subjects compromised beyond analytical utility." But six weeks later, an anonymous lab technician leaks damning footage—a single surviving child, a three year-old male designated "IL-9" with confirmed cellular regeneration and disease resistance.
The team must address the danger this discovery represents. Nicky and Joe are confronted with a child created from their stolen blood.
A/N: A post-cannon story imagining the concept of a lab-generated immortal and how it affects the Guard. Could also be seen as an examination of parenthood. Mostly that, actually. Medical torture. Dr. Kozak is her own warning tbh. Child Abuse. Nicky is a doctor. Death. Immortal Parents. Hurt/Comfort. Illness. Blood. Angst.
11:00 AM. 30 Jan. 2025, Sheldwich, Kent County, United Kingdom.
Copley’s study smelled of eighteen year Macallan and citrus wood polish. It was a space of crisp angles and warm walnut paneling, where afternoon light slanted through floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the English countryside. Every detail was curated, devoid of personal clutter save for a single silver-framed photograph facedown on the desk. The hidden image of Copley’s late wife was the only concession to sentimentality in a room so meticulously tailored it might have been lifted from the lair of a Bond villain.
They sat in mid-century leather armchairs, tension coiled in the air. Gathering them like this was a liability. Intel could be shared remotely; discussions didn’t require proximity. Yet here they were.
Andy knew before Copley even spoke. There was something in the way he surveyed them, like the weight of an inconvenient truth was pressing down. He stood before his Scandinavian desk, crisp in a navy cashmere sweater, fingers resting on a dossier thicker than a Bible. Not with hesitation, but ceremony.
It was clear for everyone that serious news was about to be delivered, but she knew that this went deeper. They had been gathered to sit in a war room.
Booker denied the quiet itch in his hand to reach for his flask. The fact that everyone agreed to show up despite his presence and ties to Copley’s new intel had been nothing short of miraculous. The conditions of his exile had been clear, but the current circumstances demanded an annulment of sorts, a truce. He registered the heel of Nile’s boot thunking against the floor. She was the only one who agreed to sit near him. He wanted to tell her it wasn’t necessary, that the others were right to keep their distance. But the meaning behind the gesture lodged somewhere in his throat, there was a sharp feeling of gratitude.
For now, he alone knew why they’d been summoned. He wondered if she would stay so close once the truth hit.
Across the coffee table, Joe and Nicky occupied a leather loveseat. Joe’s hand masked his mouth, fingers pressed to his jaw as he leaned against the armrest, eyes unreadable. He hadn’t wanted to come. He’d argued with Nicky the entire drive, listing every reason why they owed Booker and Copley nothing of their time.
Nicky had listened then, patient, prepared. He knew Joe only needed to voice his hurt, to let it dissipate before it festered. Andy and Nile’s presence alone had been more than reason enough to go.
Now, Nicky sat perfectly still, his breaths measured, glacial.
"I've been tracking Kozak since Merrick," Copley finally began, thumb clicking the presentation remote.
The monitor sitting behind him on the glass top desk bloomed to life with a classified document header. The title "Project Eos" was written in stark black and white. 
"Over six years now," he continued, "I've followed money trails through seventeen shell corporations across three continents. Dead drops in Geneva. Burner labs in Minsk."
A click. The monitor flickered, they each absorbed the blue-tinted security footage of a woman in a white coat. 
Nicky could only stare. That same face had hovered over him while pieces of his flesh were carved away and dropped into plastic sample containers. 
"This is in Cardiff." Copley narrated. "In a private genetics facility fronting under the guise of pediatric regenerative medicine." 
Andy cut in, voice firm but tired. "Skip the build up, James. Just get to what's she's done." Get to why we're here.
Copley didn’t flinch. But when his gaze landed on Joe and Nicky, the mask slipped—just for a second. A swallow. A flicker of remorse.
“Kozak’s Project Eos attempts to artificially replicate immortality through forced human trials.” He paused. “She’s created, implanted, and birthed nine embryos under controlled conditions.”
His voice was too calm, the way surgeons would begin to present a case to a patient’s family before announcing complications. 
“This was done using genetic material from you both. The nine candidates, labeled “Subject Group Gamma” were all listed as 'non-viable'.”
Genetic material.
Nicky could remember when Kozak extracted samples from a more intimate area of his body, particularly the special technique she used to procure what she wanted. When it was done to him, the act was undoubtedly degrading, but he was able to process the moment as a temporary humiliation. When she turned to do the same to Joe's unconscious form, Nicky's calm abruptly dissolved. He bucked against his restraints, unable to tolerate the sudden onset of searing anger under his own ribs.
Copley continued on, pulling him from his thoughts.
"But a whistleblower has since come forward, a lab technician recently moved from a Merrick facility in Geneva. They revealed that our previous intel was inaccurate. A false flag."
A new slide flicked across the monitor. The first horror. Autopsy reports.
"We gained the autopsy reports of the first eight subjects," Copley said quietly. "All infants. Seven died before reaching one year of age, but then there was a breakthrough. The eighth child lived to 18 months." 
The details of the autopsy reports were clinical, detached. Causes of death: organ failure, hemorrhaging, neural degradation. There were only serial numbers instead of names. Nicky’s fingers tightened imperceptibly on the edge of the armrest. His eyes dialed in on the information, scanning the details as quickly as he could.
Joe didn't look. He couldn't look.  
"The ninth child, named Subject IL-9, is still alive." Copley continued. "A three year-old male who demonstrates consistent accelerated healing, though they haven’t yet tested mortality."
A single photograph came next. A boy, small and pale with a shaved head, curled on a metal cot. His face was partially obscured by a black censorship bar, but what little of him was visible was unmistakable. He had Joe's nose and mouth. The child looked sickly, too young to be three. Too thin.  
"What is being done to him?" Nicky demanded, voice impossibly level. He rested a hand briefly on Joe's thigh, to ground himself, to check in, but withdrew the moment he felt the muscle beneath twitch like a live wire. The act had been too soon. Some wounds needed pressure. Others needed air.
Joe bent forward, elbows on knees, face buried in his hands. His fingers dragged through his beard, rough and unsteady. The room tilted. He needed air. Needed to put his fist through something, or maybe feel someone else's fist collide with his cheek. He didn’t look at anyone. He couldn’t. His gaze fixed on the floor, on the wood grain under his sneakers, on the two birds chasing each other just outside the window, on anything but the screen where the deaths of eight children were dissected in unforgivingly clinical language.
He could only force himself to breathe. There was no other way forward, no other way to process what he was feeling from this violation—this mix of revulsion and hurt.
"The testing on the child has been...systematic." Copley's voice was measured, face souring as he carefully chose his words. The white plastic casing of the remote softly cracked under the force of his grip.
"Phase one consisted of pathogen exposure to common strains of measles, influenza, and tuberculosis. Each infection was meticulously timed to measure recovery rates." A click. Graphs of fever spikes, white blood cell counts. "They noted his immune response was 'anomalously efficient', with recovery achieved by day four of each trial."
Nicky’s jaw shifted, but his voice never changed. Always calm, always even. "How much information did you recover on his medical history?"
"It’s incomplete,” Copley began. “But the whistleblower provided us with daily vital logs, trauma and healing reports, neurological assessments, weight charts—"
"Give separate copies to me. Everything you have." Nicky interjected. He squinted as he read the numbers of a growth chart fixed on the screen. The last entry was from nearly two months ago, the child was recorded as 84 centimeters tall and weighing 10 kilograms.
"Phase two tested his resilience to environmental extremes." Copley’s mouth thinned. "Four hours in 2°C water. Five hours in a climatic chamber at 42°C. Timed oxygen deprivation just before the threshold of brain damage. Fourteen days of gradually reduced calorie and fluid intake.”
Joe rose abruptly from the love seat, his knee roughly bumping the coffee table as he stood. He crossed to the window in large strides, his back rigid, one hand braced against the window frame. The tendons in his forearms stood out like cables.
Copley continued, quieter now. "Phase three moved to physical trauma. Compound fractures—" A slide of an X-ray, a tiny femur snapped clean through. "—lacerations, burns. Healing averaged one to two hours for deep tissue, three hours for bone."
The cap of Nile’s pen snapped in her grip, but she continued to listen attentively. Those rates of healing were longer than what it took for them. Her eyes flicked over to the faces of the others, but there was no way to discern if their thoughts were following the same paths. Everyone looked ill.
For a moment, Copley showed signs of fatigue. He let the hand holding the remote fall to his side. He glanced at his desk before finishing.
“Phase four has not yet begun, but the whistleblower warned that this is when they intend to test his mortality.” 
Andy’s voice cut through. "We don’t wait on this one." She stood, approaching the desk to seize the dossier prepared by Copley and Booker. "We go in and extract the boy. Steal every byte of intel, then scrub the place." Her gaze swept the room. "It has to be full sanitization. We leave no witnesses."
Copley nodded, clicking to the blueprints. "All intel indicates that he is held here, in a third floor isolation unit." He pointed the red dot of a laser at the west wing. 
Booker leaned forward, tracing demolition points on the schematic. "C4 in the parking garage and ground floor support columns. Thermite cocktail here—" He tapped the server room. "—enough to melt their research into slag."
He had memorized every inch of the building: entrances, exits, corridors, stairwells, and ventilation shafts. There was no escape route not pre-mapped out in his mind, no corner to hide in that he didn't know. The rotations of security and staff, the layout of the below ground parking garage, the brand of bleach the janitors used—over the last month, Booker had funneled all of his remorse into learning every detail about this facility. 
He cleared his throat before focusing tentatively on Andy, finding her unreadable mask to be steadying in some way. This was only soul he knew to report to, who he knew to follow without question.
"The largest shift change happens just before 0200. That's the time to hit. Two nurses. One resident. Guards cut to skeleton crew."
Nile’s fingers drummed a marching rhythm against the armrest. "Andy and I can breach through security. Disable cameras, clear a path." Her eyes flicked to Joe’s motionless form by the window. "Nicky and Joe take point on extraction."
Nile, who sat stiff-backed, her dark eyes flickering between the screen and her family, so unflinching in the face of a reality that they all viscerally rejected. She never had a choice in the matter. Being an immortal of the modern era, she would never know the luxury the others once did—of lifetimes spent hiding in the shadows, of drifting untraced. Her immortality was always going to be a game of cat and mouse, and now, before she could even adjust, she was being asked to protect another life that would never know peace. 
Silence settled after her proposal, seemingly as acceptance. Then—
"No survivors, then." Joe spoke, still facing the glass. His reflection was blurred, his words like a serrated blade, something not meant to cut clean. "What about Kozak?"
Copley was quick to answer. "Bern. She’s presenting at a private symposium tomorrow."
Andy sat back in her seat, legs outstretched. The lines around her eyes deepened as she stared at something at midline only she could see.
"We hit the lab first. Then we end this." It landed like stones—final, immovable. 
"News from the lab will hit her immediately," Nile countered. "Doesn't that give her time to disappear?"
Andy didn't move, her eyes remained steady. She spoke with the weariness of someone who had seen more bodies buried than the ground could contain. "Let her run," she spoke so quietly that it might have been to herself. Then louder, with the full weight behind it: "I've hunted smarter prey. This stops now."
Copley cleared his throat. "For what it’s worth, we’ve had eyes on her financial trails for over three years. Every alias, every shell account. She hasn’t taken a step without us knowing since 2021." He looked to Nicky, then to Joe's back. "If you go for her first, we risk the boy being moved. The lab’s servers need to be melted before they can scrub the data."
Joe turned from the window, his face eerily blank, the kind of calm that came before a surge. This wasn't the absence of fury, but the absolute clarity that rage could provide when put to good use. Everyone expected him to walk out after Copley’s presentation. He had every right to. Every reason to slam the door, to vanish, to let the complex storm of shock and fear burning under his flesh fuel him through the English countryside until his legs gave out.
But he didn’t.
Surprising everyone but Nicky.
His attention locked onto Booker first.
Not Andy, not Nile, not Copley. Booker.
Because Joe knew Booker was the one who prepared this work. Because despite the betrayal, despite the fractured trust that still ached between them, Booker was the one who had always been best at this: the slow, methodical gathering of intel, the obsessive mapping of every variable. And now, he was here with them, trying to atone in the only way he knew how—by providing a way to fix this.
Joe crossed the room and dropped himself into the armchair Andy had abandoned. 
"Walk me through your plan." He quietly demanded. His voice was hollowed out, the kind of tone that made the air in the room feel thin.
Joe and Booker sat and discussed for hours. Their gear was already sourced—untraceable weapons, ammunition, a van with plates that would burn clean after extraction. It was an hour's drive to Bristol, where a private plane would be waiting to take them quickly back to East London, then a second van to bring them back to Copley's house in Sheldwich. From there, they would work out where everyone would go next. Copley would monitor the situation and work through covering their tracks. 
Nile and Andy joined in. The four of them hashed out the plan all afternoon, then well into the evening. Timing. Division of roles, who would be covering who. Contingency plans in the event the child was too weak at any point to be moved. 
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01:17 AM. 31 Jan. 2025, Sheldwich, Kent County, United Kingdom.
The moment the intel presentation ended, Nicky didn’t join where the others were clustered around the coffee table, debating extraction plans and arguing timelines. He cornered Copley near his large desk, demanding the boy’s medical files.
To his credit, Copley didn’t hesitate. A laptop and two USB drives were deposited into Nicky’s hands without question. It was impossible to miss the flicker of guilt in the man’s gaze during the exchange. He understood what horrors he was silently delivering, he knew the pain that awaited.
For the next twelve hours, Nicky locked himself in the guest bedroom, the glow of the laptop screen painting shadows under his eyes. He operated with the urgency of someone who believed he could already be too late, racing against time to undo what might already be irreversible. 
He cross-referenced every procedure, every notation, every spike or drop in vitals. His fingers worked tirelessly over the keyboard, constructing a meticulous chart—weight fluctuations, heart rate anomalies, the jagged decline of a body pushed beyond its limits. The reports were inconsistent. Sometimes his injuries closed unnaturally fast, other times his fever raged for days unchecked. Nicky knew how stress at these levels could inhibit healing. Even if the boy’s body could repair at a similar rate to them, the constant strain he was under would greatly disrupt his abilities. If Kozak’s team was truly nearing phase four, the boy would be in no state to recover quickly. His body would be eating itself alive to keep up with the pace of forced regeneration.
With this information, Nicky knew he had to work under the guiding principle that the boy was mortal. He would plan for the worst, and then hope for the best—against evidence, against the gnawing dread in his chest. 
He made an exhaustive list of the medical supplies they would need, things Copley could source quickly from his connections. Pediatric IV kits, bags of standard saline as well as lactated Ringer’s solution, nasal cannulas, oxygen tanks, a portable blood analyzer, a glucose monitor, pain killers, broad spectrum antibiotics, a child-sized pulse oximeter and blood pressure cuff...
Nicky also made a separate list of practical items and things for comfort: clothing, toiletries, toys, books. The reports had been clinical in their omissions. There was no mention of play time, of going outside, or of any schooling. Nicky had doubts about how much interaction this child received. Did someone come consistently whenever he cried? Did the staff take the time to talk to him, to teach him words? The sparse references to toys were particularly bleak. They were used only as bribes during cognitive and neurological tests, brief rewards taken away the moment the boy’s cooperation was ensured.
The grandfather clock in the hall hummed past midnight when the others finally dispersed. Footsteps retreated in different directions down the corridor, doors softly shut one by one. 
Joe padded quietly into their borrowed bedroom, his face a mask when he found Nicky still sitting on the bed, laptop open on his legs. 
The door slid closed behind him with a click, sealing them away from the outside world.
Neither spoke.
There was a certain weight in the way Joe moved that was all wrong. His limbs operated too cautiously, not with the calm before battle, but with the quiet of someone trying hard to control his breath, as if an undetonated bomb shared this space with them.
The silence stretched in the room, tight as a piano wire. There was only the faint crackle of dying embers in the Malm fireplace, their glow creating warped shadows across the floor. 
"You should sleep." Nicky murmured, voice hardly above a whisper.
Joe let out a rushed exhale, not quite a laugh. "You first."
Nicky’s gaze flickered over him in the dim light, reading the lines of his body like a map. It was as if he could see right through his skin. The hurt was still there, simmering beneath buffering layers of calm. But even deeper under that façade, Nicky knew there was something wounded, something terrified.  
Joe settled down onto one of the winged armchairs next to the vintage fireplace. They were given the largest of the bedrooms. Nicky imagined that it had at one point been used by Copley and his wife, but he would never ask. Joe's elbows rested on his knees while he began rifling through their shared suitcase, searching out his desired clothes for sleepwear. The thermal henley came off in one rough tug, the fabric catching briefly on the curve of his shoulders before he wrenched it free. His jeans followed, discarded in a heap beside the chair. He dressed for bed with the same efficiency he might use to strip a rifle—methodical, detached. He opted to wear one of their stretched out sleep shirts and a pair of joggers, glancing down at his feet and internally debating for a moment before deciding to keep his socks.
Wordlessly, he plucked his toiletry sack from the side compartment and slipped into the ensuite. His face remained distant, checked out.
Nicky waited until he returned from brushing his teeth, watching the way he traipsed over to the bed. Joe sat down on the edge, but didn't turn, didn't move to settle himself back against the headboard. His dark eyes gazed through the floor to ceiling windows that comprised the entirety of one wall in the bedroom, watching the unrelenting rain continue to fall outside. 
"Talk to me." 
Joe’s arms loosely crossed, his fingers gripping his elbows, his jaw taut.
"What is there to say?” He demanded softly. “Tomorrow we go in and we get him out. We burn the rest."  
Nicky’s attention didn’t waver from his husband's back. "And after?"  
The question hung between them, heavy with everything they could not say, sagging under the weight of all that they didn't have time to discuss.
Joe’s fingertips skimmed over the skin of his arms, a motion meant to self-soothe. 
"After, we make sure no one else comes. We rip the weeds out by the roots, then salt the earth."  
"That’s not what I meant—" 
"I know." 
"Do you?" Nicky wondered in what was barely above a whisper. "This isn’t a mission, Joe. This isn’t extraction and extraction alone. If he is—" He stopped, the words stuck in his chest, too difficult to give form.  
Again, Joe had the encroaching feeling that he couldn’t breathe. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, raked his fingers through his beard. 
They submitted once more to the awful quiet. The wind outside caused the windows to rattle. 
Joe's arms uncrossed, hands now resting down at his sides, his fingers unclenched only to curl again into the fabric of his sweat pants. His head bowed forward, the words scraping out like gravel underfoot.
"I can’t stop thinking about how we didn’t know."
The silence that followed was leaden. 
Nicky watched the strain build through Joe's body—the rigid line of his shoulders, the way his breath stuttered before he forced it to steady. In that moment he ached to reach for him, to press his palms against the tension and work it loose with his fingers, his mouth, his whispered reassurances. But Nicky knew that it wasn't the right time, that whatever he would say would only fall flat. 
"We felt Nile. We felt Booker." Joe's voice dropped lower, rougher. "How could we not feel any of this?" 
This.
A child's suffering. The silent agony of the ones before him. The way their own blood had been turned against them, used to create and destroy in equal measure. Centuries of war, of loss, of resurrection. He struggled to think of a prior experience that could have prepared them for this particular feeling of helplessness
"We can't be sure how it works." Nicky said carefully. "Maybe because he wasn’t born. He was made."
Made. The implications of the word curdled between them. 
Joe's lashes fluttered as his eyes slipped shut. His jaw clicked as it shifted minutely to one side. 
"Or maybe because we weren’t paying attention."
Nicky didn’t have a response. The guilt was there, in both of them—a silent, aching feeling that they had fallen short.
He found himself wishing so deeply that they had the time to help each other ease into this. It was a cruel stroke of irony: that immortals who inherently had only an abundance of time, suddenly found themselves with none. There would be no slow unraveling of this pain, no gentle easing into the horror. 
Joe let out a breath, his head turning to glance over his shoulder. "What are we supposed to do after we get out of there tomorrow?" The question was hushed and lost. "Because, Nicky, if he lives, if he’s ours to—" 
He stopped himself, rocking slightly as he failed to continue that line of thought. Because what he was really asking was too callus to be voiced outright. How do they help a child who was never meant to be a child? How do they teach trust to someone who has only known pain? How were they to care for something born from theft and defilement?
Nicky leaned forward, his knuckles skating over the small of Joe's back. "We do what we have always done." he murmured. "We adapt."  
Joe closed his eyes. "And if he dies in that lab before we reach him?"  
"Then we make sure no one else suffers like him again." 
An ember cracked in the fireplace, spitting crimson sparks into the darkness. Nicky blinked against the dry ache in his eyes—he'd been staring at screens and reports for over twelve hours. The medical jargon blurred at the edges, but the numbers were still stark imprints in his mind. 
He closed the laptop, letting it click shut with finality.
"You haven’t read any of it, have you?" 
Joe turned to properly look at him then, his head twisting in gentle disbelief. 
"Why would I need to?" His voice frayed at the edges. "I know what they do in places like that. I remember."  
Nicky's fingers slid down the laptop's edge before he set the device aside. He chose his next words carefully. "They infected him with tuberculosis back in November. He recovered in three days." A deliberate pause. "They broke his femur to test the rate of regeneration. Twice."  
Joe flinched as if struck. "Nicolò—"  
"As far as I know, they never gave him a name." The words were meant to be informative, but his tone was like broken glass, brittle and fragmented. "In the reports, he’s just IL-9."  
The air left Joe's lungs in a wounded rush. He surged to his feet, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if trying to erase the images flooding his mind. "Stop."  
He took three stumbling steps towards the bathroom before he whirled, his composure shattered.
“How can you?" The words tore from him, accusatory, unable to hide his own disgust any longer. "How can you spend hours looking at that? It's torture. Every fucking line.”  
Nicky didn’t flinch at what he was saying, even if a small part of him did feel incredulous towards the man across the room from him. His gaze held Joe's with a terrible sort of patience, aching with something too vast to name. 
What was he to say? That he feared turning away from what was done somehow made him complicit? That bearing witness was the only absolution left to them? Even for someone like him, it was too self-righteous a thing to say out loud. He knew that the reality was much simpler, much uglier. 
Truthfully, Nicky thought that if he focused on the broken bones, the fevers, however much blood was drawn, he wouldn't have to consider the greater violation—that this child only existed because someone had stolen pieces of them both. If he let his mind wander beyond the boy’s physical wounds, he would have to face the enormity of what had been done. Not just to this child’s body, but to himself, to Joe.
Instead of saying any of this, Nicky only blinked. And now, his own throat burned as he struggled to speak normally. 
“Someone must.”  
The truth sat between them like a third presence.
Because it’s a child, a child made from your blood and mine.
One that we may have failed before we even learned of his existence, before he ever received a name.
Nicky rose from the bed, his eyes never straying from Joe. His hands hovered between them as an offering—a rope cast out amongst the waves they treaded. He didn’t come close enough to touch, but enough to feel the heat radiating from his husband’s rigid shoulders. 
"Maybe," he began, voice roughened from spending hours in silence, "if I know what they did, I can learn how to undo it." The words were frail sounding, the intention of hope behind them so unstable. "So when we bring him home, I can meet him where he is."
Joe’s lips compressed together into a tight line, the skin around his eyes folded. The look he leveled at Nicky wasn’t just sadness, it was the quiet devastation of someone watching their beloved grasp at threads.
"There may be no 'after' for him." 
The gentleness in his tone made it worse. This careful doling out of mercy, as if Nicky hadn't already dissected every horrific possibility in the twelve hours he'd spent with those files. As if the image of a small body wrapped in sheets wasn't already seared behind his eyelids.
Nicky didn’t argue. He studied the tremor in Joe’s clenched hands, the way his husband's gaze darted to every exit but never once to the laptop on the nightstand.
"No, perhaps not." he agreed softly while stepping into Joe's space. His palms mapped the familiar terrain of Joe's arms, sliding down to pry open his stiff fingers. "But we still must plan as if there will be."
With an unsteady exhale, Joe surrendered to Nicky’s touch, letting him manipulate his wrists and hands however he wanted. Even in anguish, he was taking the time to consider his love's words, much like he always did. Though his emotions were known to burn bright, he was a man capable of immense reflection, always able to land at the core of things. Here, Nicky could see him trying to measure their needs, much like a merchant pouring over the figures in his books—what surplus still remained, what could they salvage? All of his calculations looked to be coming up short. This pain was too thick to quantify, stuffed away for survival’s sake yet hanging over their heads with mocking laughter.
Nicky guided Joe’s palms to his own ribcage, pressing them flat against the rise and fall of his breath. His large hands settled over them, anchoring them both there.
"We learn what he is—” He murmured, the bass of his voice the only steady thing in the dark.  “—we learn what they made him. Then we try to become what he needs."
Joe swallowed before nodding. His eyes closed tightly for a beat, then a soft curse slipped from his lips.
Their bodies folded together. 
Nicky’s chin tilted in wordless invitation, allowing Joe to press his face into the familiar hollow of his neck. They inhaled each other, finding the very scent of home—a place they had been able to carry with them for centuries because they understood that it could never be tied to a single location or physical dwelling, but rather to this life they carved out together. Nicky hummed as his husband’s hands fanned over his shoulder blades, each of them finding solace in the other's frame. They remained like this for an uncertain amount of time, listening to the sounds of their own breathing, the wet click of their throats swallowing, their syncopated heartbeats. 
The silence between them had always been its own language. It was Joe who eventually chose to break it. 
"It wasn't just him." He said, voice thick and trembling. He tried to steady his hands by finding Nicky's waist. "Eight others. Brought into this world and snuffed out. And we never had the faintest clue." 
Nicky had avoided this, because he could not afford thinking about the others. Perhaps years from now, when enough time and distance sat between them and this revelation, he would step into a quiet church and light eight individual candles. He would recite familiar prayers, not for forgiveness, but for the grief he’d been forced to bury away. But this would be a ritual for far into the future—for a time when he and Joe had steadier ground beneath their feet, for when their family was no longer in such immediate danger. Now, they could only focus on what they still held the power to change.
“Yes.” His agreement was quiet. “But now he is all that matters.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
02:21 AM. 01 Feb. 2025, Cardiff, Wales, United Kingdom.
Joe sat cross legged on the floor of the van, his back pressed against the metal wall. 
The weather report had promised a dry night, but Cardiff exhaled a bitter, icy mist all the same. The fine drizzle floated through the air, the small droplets clinging to hair and clothes alike, needling through layers until it penetrated the bones. 
The operation had been clean, until it wasn’t.
Disabling the cameras took Nile ninety seconds. Andy dispatched the entrance guards and those posted inside with barely a pause—they fell one by one as she and Nile pushed deeper, silenced by blade before their shouts could form. With each fallen guard, Andy and Nile called out their kills through the comms system. Joe and Nicky flowed a few paces behind them in perfect sync, sealing exits and watching angles. Only Booker broke rhythm from the group, vanishing into a side stairwell to descend to the lower levels, his bag filled with enough C4 to demolish a building twice as tall.
Locating the boy on the third floor cost them the most time, a dangerous amount of time. They had to force access code information from the two nurses on duty, the type of work that is never pretty.
Andy bent fingers backward one by one until one of them sobbed out a series of entry numbers.
Three minutes. A result that was nowhere near her personal best.
Nicky and Joe went in alone to collect the boy.
Fifteen minutes total.
That's all it took to breach the facility and extract what should never have been taken.
Now, the mangled security gate screamed under the van’s tires as Andy drove them away. 
Joe hadn’t been able to touch him back in that sterile room. They found the boy lying in an elevated metal crib, it's barred walls looming over him more like a cage than a bed. His small body was tethered by electrodes and wires. Velcro straps pinned his arms outstretched on either side. Even as he slept, they felt the need to keep a sickly three year-old restrained.
In the van’s rattling dark, Nicky cradled the boy against his chest, swaying slightly on his knees. His gaze flickered over their gear, pausing on the thin padded mat they’d brought for the child. It had seemed practical back in planning. Now, with the boy’s shallow breaths warming his collarbone, his body too weak to properly lift his head, it felt unforgivably stark.
Something in Joe awoke. Without hesitation, he wrenched over the nearest duffel, rummaging past weapons and wire until his fingers caught on familiar fabric—a shared sweatshirt that belonged to them, soft and threadbare from years of use, still carrying traces of Aleppo soap and sandalwood. He undid the zipper and spread it across his lap, creating a buffer against the cold damp of his tactical gear. Shifting forward, he quickly lifted his vest up and over his head, tossing it aside. 
"Set him down." Joe swallowed to make his voice cooperate. "It's—it's okay." 
Nicky bent downward, murmuring, “Fai piano, tienigli la testa…” (Easy, support his head...)
Joe’s hands rose on instinct to help settle the boy's delicate weight. His palm pressed to where the back of the child’s neck met the base of his skull, fingers splaying to support his head. The contact was like a hot spark landing in dry tender—real, real, suddenly too real. A child, a living thing made from him, taken from his body without permission, now lay cradled across his lap. Not quite his, but certainly of him.
His mind stuttered when he looked down at the boy’s face, so undeniably close to his own—from the slope of his nose, to the arch of his brows, Joe could see his own features mirrored back at him in miniature. Distinct echoes of Nicky were threaded throughout: in the stubborn set of his chin, the unique shape of his small ears. It made something sick and heavy coil in his gut. This was no miracle. It was violation given form, a life wrenched into existence without thought of mercy or consent. And yet—
The boy stirred weakly, his cracked lips parting around a soundless gasp. His fingers twitched against Joe’s thigh, the movement barely there.
Before he could think, he shushed him, the back of his fingers smoothed over his brow. The motion came without his explicit permission, pulled from some deep, unguarded place. 
His eyes snapped up, meeting Nicky’s over the boy’s trembling body.
“Help me get this off him." He jerked his chin down towards the off-white lab blanket. The stench of bleach and something sour, like sweat gone stale, clung to the rough fabric. He couldn’t stomach the thought of the child being wrapped in anything from that place for a second longer. Not when they were meant to be taking him somewhere far away and safe. 
Nicky didn’t argue, able to plainly hear the plea beneath the words. With careful hands, he helped peel the blanket off and tossed it aside. Together, they worked to swaddle him in the material of the old sweatshirt, the garment dwarfing his emaciated frame. 
Around them, the others kept up their careful pretense of focus—Andy’s hands steady on the wheel, Booker’s tense silence in the passenger's seat. Nile was positioned just behind them, her head stuck between the two while she watched the road. 
“What’s the time on detonation?” She demanded, directions provided by Copley pulled up on her phone. 
“Don’t worry about it.” Booker dismissed her question as Andy turned onto a side street. “I gave us enough of a window.” 
None of them for a single second doubted Booker’s calculations, in the same way they still trusted his ability to forge their identification papers and to iron out the logistics for the next mission. Nile's question was more about filling the silence, about not disturbing the intimacy of the moment Nicky and Joe were sharing behind her. They were giving them this, at least: the illusion of privacy in the cramped, rattling space.
The gentle clunk and swish of the windshield wipers continued against the rain. Still only a few blocks away from the lab, the aftermath of Booker’s work would come soon enough. The Tesco across the street from Kozak's facility would rattle with the force of the explosion, glass windows would shatter out into fragments against the pavement.
The lab would be left as a hollowed shell.
Nicky was already pulling supplies from his med kit, his movements fluid despite the van's jolting rhythm. A stethoscope draped over the back of his neck, he shifted to kneel before them, steady even as the vehicle lurched, his large hands hovered at the sweatshirt's zipper.
"Joe.”
His name sounded different as it left Nicky's mouth, not a summons but a tether, spoken so it wouldn't travel any further than centimeters of space between them.
Joe blinked, like surfacing from deep water, the sounds of the present drawing him back from where his thoughts had spiraled. His dark eyes slowly sharpened, the weight of his gaze shifting from shock to awareness. He didn't realize how tightly he had been clutching the sweatshirt, his fingers felt nearly fused to the cotton fabric. 
"I need to check him." Nicky’s voice was firm but not unkind. "So I can see how to help him."
The words passed easily. Joe managed a stiff nod, his throat dry with a sort of helplessness they had been unable to shake ever since they were gathered in Copley's study. His hands fell away from the small body stretched across his lap.
Slowly, Nicky worked down the zipper of the jacket. He unfastened the shoulder snaps of the boy's grey medical gown, pulling back the thin fabric to reveal his bare torso. The signs of malnourishment jumped out at them, his body was all sharp angles and prominent bones. Each breath he drew pulled the skin taut over his ribs. 
The boy's eyes, a lighter shade of brown than Joe's, watched as Nicky warmed the diaphragm of his stethoscope between his palms. There was no reaction when the metal made contact with his chest, his half-lidded gaze continued to travel warily between the two men hovering over him. 
The child’s breath sounds were guarded and shallow. When Nicky shifted the chest piece lower, he could only frown as he listened to the ragged pull of air through his lungs. He gently felt for the pulse at the boy’s carotid, finding it slightly elevated, the rhythm fluttery against his fingertips. The lymph nodes along the column of his throat were normal, though his skin still held a feverish heat.
Carefully, slowly, Nicky's hands skimmed over his narrow extremities, feeling each bone with light pressure. There were no obvious fractures, no bruises or abrasions, but the joints were too prominent, the wrists too fragile. Despite the gentleness of his touch, Nicky still detected the flash of a grimace across the boy's face. He managed to free one of his small hands from the folds of the jacket. When applying pressure to the nail beds, he noted how the color drained and returned slowly—poor perfusion. 
He reached for the penlight set out amongst his tools, clicking it on with his thumb. 
The moment the beam touched the boy’s pupils, he jerked back with a sharp gasp—the first real reaction he’d shown since they’d taken him. His face screwed up, turning away from the light like it burned.
Joe caught him before he could retreat too far, one broad hand cradling the back of his head, the other bracing his cheek. "Shh, almost done." he murmured, his thumb smoothing a circle across the boy’s temple.
Nicky worked quickly to check his pupillary response. The reaction to light was slow, but equally present. Finally, he brandished a thermometer. There was a quiet beep in the boy's ear before the digital readout confirmed what he already knew.
Low-grade fever. Dehydration. Aches. The beginnings of an infection simmering.
He began to clear away the unnecessary supplies back into his med kit, leaving out only what was needed for an IV. "He needs fluids," he said quietly. "And likely antibiotics."
Joe considered the information, his gaze trained down towards the boy. His palm lightly brushed over the crown of his shaved scalp, noting the angry red patches of irritation—a sort of allergic reaction to the electrodes' adhesive.
"He breathes like he's in pain." 
The child weakly tried to turn his head from Joe's careful touch, his hands flinching at his sides. 
"Tranquillo, piccolo. Fammi vedere questa mano, sì?"  Nicky spoke gently to him as he settled his small arm across his knee. His fingers nimbly fastened an elastic band around his skinny bicep before he turned his palm upward. (Easy, little one. Let me see this hand, yes?)
The Italian was deliberate. Not just for comfort, but as a boundary against past memories. Nicky wanted his voice and words to be nothing like the sterile English used in the lab. He knew that the boy wouldn't fully understand, but he hoped that the tone of what he said would still register. It felt important to create a distinction from the doctors he had known before, so he would eventually learn that his and Joe's hands would never seek to harm him.  Nicky knew that the severe dehydration would make finding a suitable vein more difficult, and the moving conditions of the van were not ideal for steady hands, but there was no choice. He took a moment to center himself, slipping into the focused calm he'd learned to hone over centuries. These were the same measured breaths he took when perched on a rooftop with his rifle, in moments where there was no room for error. He glanced upwards to Joe, silent understanding passed between them.  Joe had the boy's head resting now in the crook of his elbow. Carefully, he turned his face towards him, shielding his view from the needle.  A slight tremor ran through his small body as the needle pierced skin. There was the subtle feeling of resistance when the IV catheter met vein, then a small amount of blood filled the chamber, signalling success. The boy's breathing caught, but he didn't cry out. Nicky suspected that he was too weak to even whimper.  "Tutto fatto." He whispered, as much to himself as to the child. He taped the line in place, his thumb brushing the inside of his elbow in silent apology. (All done.)   Joe began fixing the jacket around the boy's body once more, assuring he was well covered. He sat back and watched as Nicky busied himself with hanging the bag of Ringer's solution on a makeshift hook. His husband made the necessary calculations in his head before drawing a syringe of pain medication, administering the dose directly through the IV bag's port.  Nicky's silence could often be more telling than any outburst. There was something unsettled in the calm way his eyes scanned over the child, a sort of anger kept well guarded under the water's surface. It could never be lost on Joe that the person lying across his lap was just as much of Nicky's flesh as of his own, and so this violation felt all the more heavier. What wounded Nicolò only wounded him doubly.
"He needs a name..." Joe whispered, the words raw. There hadn't been time to comb through all of the records Copley and Booker amassed before the raid, but that crucial piece of information was listed nowhere. The boy had a number, but no other identifier tied to him. 
As the child fought against the pull of sleep, the message of what needed to be done was silently understood. What Joe was proposing was a tentative step towards trying, towards undoing. It was their attempt to stand between this child and a world that sought to exploit him.
It came together organically. A discussion they never once held before, but in that moment they found themselves inexplicably equipped with the answers.
"Ilyas." Nicky breathed, only loud enough to be heard between them.
Joe nodded as he exhaled, his thumb smoothing over the boy's cheekbone. The prophet Ilyas was known to have been ever faithful, resurrected before bringing down fire from the sky. He was someone taken and then returned. Neither he nor Nicky were particularly religious anymore, but symbols were never lost on them. This was a name that fit the person receiving it, and that fact alone brought a small modicum of comfort. What remained of life if our words and names no longer carried meaning? 
"Ilyas Nicolò." Joe finished, his gaze still trained downward. 
Nicky’s head tilted, just slightly, but his fingers curled around Joe’s wrist in agreement. No paperwork, no witnesses, they only had this. It was a tentative claim voiced within the shuddering dark of an unmarked van.
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novaursa · 11 months ago
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Part 3
- Note: This work was fully published on AO3, so expect steady updates. I'll post regularly to engage more readers.
- Title: zōbrie ānogar
- Rating: Explicit (18+)
- Romance: (Aegon II/OFC)
- Warning: All flags are up for this work. Aegon is also a warning on his own.
- Summary: It was written by Archmaester Gyldayn that on the day Princess Vaella Targaryen was born she was supposed to die. Until she fed upon her twin, Baelon. And when she turned one and five, she sought her end in the lair of Cannibal, in Dragonmont. But instead of feasting upon her, the dragon wept with her. And Archmaester had written a lengthy thesis on how wild dragon recognized a kindred soul in the Princess, as they both dined on their kin.
- Word count: 9 000+
- Parts: 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Final
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The next day dawned as tense and solemn as the last. The atmosphere in Driftmark was heavy with grief and unease. After the official breakfast, Vaella felt the need to escape the oppressive air inside the castle. She wanted to find some fresh air before Aegon decided to monopolize her entire day or Alicent sought them out for the inevitable talk about their previous night’s actions.
As Vaella made her way through the castle, she passed Princess Rhaenys. Her chest tugged with pain for the woman, knowing how the funeral of her daughter Laena had been overshadowed by the violent events of the night. Rhaenys’ face was a mask of sorrow, her eyes distant as she moved through the halls like a ghost.
Vaella continued her walk, her mind racing with thoughts and emotions. She needed space to think, to process everything that had happened. She found herself outside, the cool sea breeze washing over her, bringing a sense of calm. As she walked along the shore, she saw Laenor standing by the water, staring emptily out to sea as if he could call Laena back from the depths.
Laenor had always been kind to her when he lived in the Red Keep with Rhaenyra, and she felt a pull to join him. She approached quietly and stood beside him for some time, offering silent companionship. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore filled the silence between them.
Eventually, Laenor spoke, his voice low and filled with pain. "How do you live with it, Vaella? Knowing that part of your soul is forever ripped out of you?"
Vaella replied just as softly, her words tinged with sorrow. "I don't. It feels strange just existing."
Laenor sighed, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. "Baelon was next to you in his crib when he died. My sister was on the other side of the sea. I wasn’t there."
Vaella's eyes filled with empathy as she placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Perhaps it's better this way, to never be so close to the other part of you dying. There is a part of me that is always hungry for love I will never know and now will never be sated. I was there to see the Stranger when he took my brother, although I don't remember it. It doesn't make it any better than being miles away."
Laenor turned to look at her, his eyes reflecting the depth of his sorrow. "It’s as if there’s a void inside me, a piece that will always be missing."
Vaella nodded, understanding his pain all too well. "I feel it too. A part of me is always missing, and nothing can fill that void."
They stood together in shared silence, the bond of their grief connecting them in a way that words could not. After a while, Vaella gently embraced Laenor, offering what little comfort she could. He returned the hug, holding on as if afraid to let go.
As they parted, Vaella noticed Ser Harrold Westerling approaching. She frowned, knowing why he was there. He had come to bring her to Alicent.
"Princess Vaella," Ser Harrold said respectfully, "the Queen requests your presence."
Vaella sighed, her moment of peace shattered. She turned to Laenor, giving him a sad smile. "Take care, Laenor. If you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me."
Laenor nodded, his gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thank you, Vaella. And you, take care as well."
With a final, reassuring squeeze of his hand, Vaella followed Ser Harrold, her heart heavy with the knowledge of the difficult conversation that awaited her with Alicent. As they walked back towards the castle, Vaella took one last look at the sea, the waves reflecting the turmoil within her. She steeled herself for what was to come, knowing that she had to face it with strength and grace.
When Vaella arrived at the private chamber, she saw Aegon already there, his gaze cast down as he stood opposite their mother, Alicent. The same pained expression Alicent had worn when Ser Harrold informed her of the situation was etched deeply on her face. Vaella moved to stand next to Aegon, both drawing silent support from one another.
As Ser Harrold left, Alicent's gaze shifted between them, her disappointment evident. She began to address the situation, her voice trembling with controlled anger. "You both made a promise to me. A promise to stop this... behavior," she said, her eyes flicking accusingly between them. "And yet, here we are."
Aegon started to protest, "Mother, we—"
But Alicent sharply cut him off, her voice rising with frustration. "You are betrothed to Helaena, Aegon! You should at least have some decency and respect towards her."
She then turned to Vaella, her disappointment clear. "And you, Vaella, I expected better of you."
Vaella felt the weight of her stepmother's words like a physical blow. She could feel Aegon clenching his fists beside her, his jaw tightening in response to the scolding.
Suddenly, Aegon spoke up, his voice firm. "Mother, I can't marry Helaena. I must marry Vaella... because I have sullied her."
Vaella felt her blood run cold, her face paling at his words. Alicent's expression shifted from anger to horror, her hands trembling as she brought them to her face, drawing strength from her faith. "What have you done?" she whispered, more to herself than to them.
Vaella turned to Aegon, her eyes wide with shock and betrayal. "Aegon, what are you saying?" she whispered, horrified.
Aegon, his face set with determination, met her gaze. "It's the only way, Vaella. They have to understand."
Alicent slowly lowered her hands, her face pale and drawn. She took a deep breath and turned back to them, her voice barely above a whisper. "Leave. Both of you. I need to speak with your father about this."
Vaella felt a surge of panic as she and Aegon were dismissed. As they turned to leave, Aegon reached for her hand, but she snatched it away, her eyes filled with hurt and anger. They walked down the corridor in silence, the tension between them thick and oppressive.
"Aegon, why did you say that?" Vaella finally demanded, her voice shaking with emotion. "You've ruined my honor with that lie."
Aegon stopped and turned to her, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and determination. "Vaella, it's the only way to be together. They won't let us unless they believe there's no other choice."
Vaella shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "You don't understand what you've done. This will change everything."
Aegon reached out to her again, his voice pleading. "Vaella, please. Trust me."
But Vaella took a step back, her heart breaking. "I can't, Aegon. Not after this."
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Aegon standing alone in the corridor, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The weight of their actions and the uncertainty of their future pressed heavily on both of them.
As Vaella continued down the hallway, she felt a mix of fear, anger, and sorrow. Her relationship with Aegon had always been complicated, but now it felt irrevocably damaged. She didn't know what the future held, but she knew that the consequences of Aegon's lie would ripple through their lives in ways neither of them could yet understand.
Aegon stood alone in the corridor, his world crashing down around him. Vaella's reaction had been worse than he had anticipated, and now he felt an overwhelming sense of loss and regret. Despite their intentions the other night, that almost did end with something different, he knew he had lied. But he had done it to bring them together, hoping Vaella would understand.
He leaned against the cold stone wall, trying to steady his breathing. The weight of what he had done pressed heavily on his chest. His thoughts were a whirlwind of guilt and longing. He needed to find a way to make things right with Vaella.
Aegon spent the rest of the morning in a daze, trying to find Vaella to explain himself. Each time he approached her, she would slip away, avoiding his gaze and his presence. He caught glimpses of her in the corridors, in the gardens, and even at the breakfast table, but every time he got close, she would leave, her expression set and distant.
In the afternoon, Aegon found himself wandering aimlessly through the castle grounds, his heart heavy with the pain of Vaella's rejection. He stopped by the edge of the gardens, staring blankly at the flowers, their vibrant colors contrasting sharply with his bleak mood.
Aemond approached him, his one remaining eye observing his older brother with a mix of curiosity and concern. "Aegon, you look like you've seen a ghost. What's going on?"
Aegon sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "It's Vaella. She's avoiding me. I... I told Mother something, hoping it would bring us together, but it only made things worse."
Aemond raised an eyebrow. "What did you tell her?"
"I told her that I... that I sullied Vaella," Aegon admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Aemond's eye widened in surprise. "Why would you do that? You know how Mother is about these things."
"I thought it would force their hand," Aegon said, his voice trembling. "I thought if they believed we had no choice, they would let us be together."
Aemond shook his head, his expression stern. "That was a foolish thing to do, Aegon. Now you've hurt Vaella and complicated things even more."
Aegon nodded miserably, feeling the weight of his brother's words. "I know. But I didn't know what else to do. I can't lose her, Aemond."
Aemond placed a hand on Aegon's shoulder, his grip firm. "You need to give her time. Let her come to terms with this on her own. Chasing after her will only push her further away."
Aegon nodded, his heart heavy with regret. "I just hope she forgives me."
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Aegon tried to keep himself occupied, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Vaella. He saw her once more in the afternoon, speaking quietly with Rhaenyra in the courtyard. He watched from a distance, his heart aching with the longing to be near her, to explain himself, to make things right.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the castle grounds, Aegon retreated to his chambers. He sat by the window, staring out at the darkening sky. The sense of loss and isolation weighed heavily on him, and he felt a tear slip down his cheek.
"Vaella," he whispered to himself, his voice filled with sorrow. "Please forgive me."
Alicent Hightower moved through the corridors of the royal chambers in Driftmark, her expression a mask of controlled fury. The sea air brought little comfort as she approached the room where her husband, King Viserys I Targaryen, rested. The events of the previous day still weighed heavily on her mind, but the fresh scandal demanded immediate attention.
As she entered the chamber, she found Viserys slouched in a chair, his face pallid and drawn with pain and sickness. The room smelled of medicinal herbs, a stark contrast to the salty breeze outside. His eyes, cloudy with fever, struggled to focus on her.
"Viserys," she began, her voice sharp. "We need to talk."
He looked up, a weary frown creasing his brow. "Alicent? What is it now?"
"Aegon and Vaella," she snapped, not bothering with pleasantries. "They've finally done it. They've crossed the line."
Viserys blinked, trying to comprehend. "Crossed the line? What do you mean?"
Alicent's patience snapped. "They fucked, Viserys. Is that clear enough for you?"
The king's face went pale, and he shook his head in disbelief. "No. Vaella would never allow such a thing to happen."
Alicent's lips curled in a bitter smile. "Just like you didn't believe it with Rhaenyra either. And look how that turned out."
Viserys recoiled as if struck, his hand clenching the armrest of his chair. "Do not speak aloud of such things," he warned, his voice trembling with anger.
"You always protect them," Alicent continued, her voice rising. "Rhaenyra, Vaella—they never face the consequences of their actions. You turn a blind eye, and now look where we are."
Viserys glared at her, his anger momentarily clearing the fog of his illness. "And you think Aegon bears no blame? He has always been the one to act on his base desires without thought of the consequences."
Alicent's eyes blazed with fury. "You would claim Aemond took his own eye out, as well, if you could sweep all this under the rug for Aemma's children. You always have."
Viserys surged to his feet, his face flushed with rage. "Enough, Alicent! You speak of things you do not understand. Vaella—she has faced her own share of pain and loss. Do not presume to judge her so harshly."
"Pain and loss?" Alicent sneered. "You think that excuses her? You think that excuses any of them? You've coddled them, Viserys, and now we're paying the price."
The king took a step forward, his body shaking with emotion. "You forget your place, wife. I will not have you speak of my daughters this way."
Alicent's voice lowered, cold and venomous. "And you forget yours, husband. You are the king, yet you let your children run wild, and now we are on the brink of disaster because of your weakness."
Viserys, his strength failing, sank back into his chair, his face a mask of anguish. "What would you have me do, Alicent? What would you have me do?"
"Bethroth them," she hissed. "Bethroth Aegon and Vaella before this scandal tears our family apart. It's the only way to salvage this mess."
The king looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of despair and reluctant understanding. "And if your father and my other advisors refuse? Otto already started making arrangements for your brother’s betrothal to Vaella."
Alicent's smile was devoid of warmth. "Then make them understand they have no choice. For once, Viserys, be a king to your children, not just a father."
Viserys closed his eyes, the weight of his sickness and the burden of his choices pressing down on him. The room was silent except for the distant crash of waves against the Driftmark shore. The decision was his to make, and the consequences, for better or worse, would be borne by them all.
Vaella Targaryen sat in her chambers, the evening light casting a soft glow through the windows. Across from her, Rhaenyra, her older sister, watched her with a mixture of concern and affection. The tension in the air was palpable, and Vaella could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she recounted the events that had transpired.
"Aegon told Alicent he sullied me last night," Vaella said, her voice trembling with indignation. "As Ser Harrold came to bring us after the incident with Aemond."
Rhaenyra's eyes widened, but her voice remained gentle. "Is it true, Vaella?" she asked, her tone devoid of judgment, merely seeking the truth.
"No," Vaella replied firmly, shaking her head. "It's not true. Aegon lied."
Rhaenyra gave her a searching look, one that made Vaella feel both understood and scrutinized at the same time. Vaella felt the need to insist on her innocence. "We were close," she admitted, "but nothing happened. Ser Harrold interrupted us before anything could."
Rhaenyra reached out and placed her hand over Vaella's, squeezing it reassuringly. "I believe you, Vaella," she said softly. "I always will."
Vaella felt a wave of relief wash over her, but she couldn't ignore the strain in Rhaenyra's eyes, the unspoken words that lingered between them. "You look troubled, sister," Vaella observed. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"
Rhaenyra hesitated, then sighed. "I missed you, Vaella. My isolation on Dragonstone has been heavy on my mind. Being away from you, from our family, it's been... difficult. I want to convince Father to allow us to return to Dragonstone together after Driftmark."
Vaella smiled, a genuine warmth spreading through her. "I would like that, Rhaenyra. Truly."
But even as she spoke, Vaella felt a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. "But you know Alicent will detest that," she added softly. "More incidents could loom between her children and yours."
Rhaenyra's expression darkened slightly, but she nodded in agreement. "I am aware. But our bond, our family, it must come first. We need to stand united, especially now."
Vaella's thoughts drifted to the recent tensions, the arguments, and the looming threat of more conflict. "Do you think Father will agree?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
Rhaenyra squeezed her hand again. "I will make him see reason. Our place is together, Vaella. We are stronger when we are not divided."
The sisters sat in silence for a moment, drawing strength from each other's presence. 
The next day, the tension in the royal chambers of Driftmark was almost tangible. Aegon paced back and forth in a room, his anxiety and frustration evident in every step. His platinum blonde hair was disheveled, and his usually carefree demeanor was replaced by a palpable sense of desperation. Vaella had been avoiding him since the incident, and it gnawed at him incessantly.
In the same room, Aemond sat stoically, his face a mask of indifference as the Maester carefully cleaned the stitches around his missing eye. His remaining eye followed Aegon's restless movements with thinly veiled annoyance.
"Aegon, you’re wearing a path into the floor," Aemond finally said, his voice edged with irritation.
Aegon stopped and turned to face his younger brother. "I can't help it, Aemond. Vaella won't speak to me. She won't even look at me."
Aemond raised an eyebrow. "And why do you think that is? Perhaps because you told our mother a blatant lie about defiling her? A lie that could ruin her?"
Aegon’s face twisted in frustration. "I had to do something. Father’s been ignoring our closeness for too long. I thought... I thought if I said that, he’d have no choice but to betroth us. It was a risk, but one that had to be taken."
Aemond's expression hardened. "Your 'risk' might cost you everything, Aegon. Including Vaella. She’s not like the other girls you’ve toyed with. She’s our sister. Our blood."
Aegon’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and desperation. "I know that, Aemond! Don’t you think I know that? But she’s always been mine. Ever since we were babes, we’ve been inseparable. I need her."
Aemond let out a slow, measured breath, his voice lowering to a more serious tone. "Need her or possess her? There’s a difference, brother."
Aegon’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Aemond’s words settling on him. "I just want her to see the wisdom behind my lie. To understand that it was for us."
Aemond's gaze was unwavering. "And what if she doesn’t? What if she never forgives you?"
Aegon shook his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and hope. "She will. She has to. Once Father announces our betrothal, she’ll see that it’s the only way. She’ll understand."
Aemond sighed, a note of exasperation in his voice. "You’re a fool if you think she’ll simply forgive and forget. Vaella has a strong spirit, stronger than you give her credit for. You’ve wounded her pride, her honor. Those aren’t easily mended."
The Maester finished tending to Aemond’s stitches and quietly packed away his supplies. Aemond barely noticed, his attention still fixed on his brother.
"Aegon, you need to think carefully about your next steps," Aemond continued, his tone more measured. "This isn’t one of your usual escapades. This is our family. Our legacy. You’ve set events in motion that can’t be easily controlled."
Aegon ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "I know, Aemond. I know. But I can’t just let her go. I won’t."
Aemond’s eye softened slightly, a rare moment of sympathy. "Then you’d best be prepared to fight for her forgiveness. Not with lies, but with truth. And pray that it’s enough."
The room fell silent as Aegon considered his brother’s words. The weight of his actions hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the fragile balance between desire and duty. Aegon could only hope that his gamble would pay off, and that Vaella would see the sincerity behind his desperate lie.
As the Maester left the room, the brothers were left in a contemplative silence, each lost in their thoughts. 
The next morning, Rhaenyra stood outside her father’s chambers, her heart heavy with the weight of the past few days. She knocked gently, and a servant opened the door, allowing her to enter. Inside, King Viserys sat by the window, the morning light casting a pallor over his already wan features. Beside him stood Alicent, her expression unreadable but her presence unmistakably stern.
"Father," Rhaenyra began softly, stepping into the room. "I need to speak with you."
Viserys turned his gaze towards his daughter, his eyes softening at the sight of her. "Rhaenyra, my dear. What is it?"
Rhaenyra took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "I was hoping you might consider coming to Dragonstone with the rest of the family before returning to King’s Landing. Perhaps... to mend what has happened between us."
Alicent scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "My son’s eye won’t grow back from your attempt to reconcile, Rhaenyra."
Rhaenyra ignored her stepmother, focusing solely on her father. "I’ve missed you, Father. And Vaella. I wish to spend a little more time together before we are parted again. It would mean so much to me."
Viserys looked at his daughter, his expression a mixture of pain and longing. He had missed his daughters dearly, the rifts in the family tearing at his heart. His gaze softened further, and he sighed, nodding slowly. "Perhaps you are right, Rhaenyra. My health fails more every day, and I wish to visit our family home before I no longer can."
Alicent’s face hardened, her eyes flashing with anger. "Viserys, you cannot be serious! This is not the time for such a trip. We have responsibilities—"
Viserys cut her off, his tone firm despite his frailty. "Enough, Alicent. I have made my decision. We will visit Dragonstone after we disembark."
He stood slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. With a final, weary glance at Alicent, he left the room, leaving the two women standing in tense silence.
As the door closed behind him, Alicent turned to Rhaenyra, her eyes blazing with fury. "What are you doing, Rhaenyra? What is your game?"
Rhaenyra met her gaze evenly, her voice steady. "I wish to spend more time with my sister and father. Nothing more."
Alicent’s lips curled into a sneer. "You expect me to believe that? After everything that has happened? You are trying to drive a wedge further between us."
Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger. "You think I am plotting against you, Alicent? All I want is to be with my family, to heal the wounds that have been inflicted. You see plots and schemes everywhere, but perhaps the truth is much simpler."
Alicent stepped closer, her voice low and venomous. "You always were the favored one, the one who could do no wrong in his eyes. You think I don’t see through your manipulations?"
Rhaenyra’s expression hardened. "This isn’t about favoritism or manipulation. It’s about family, something you seem to forget in your quest for power."
Alicent’s eyes narrowed. "Be careful, Rhaenyra. You may find that the price of your so-called reconciliation is higher than you expect."
Rhaenyra stood her ground, her voice resolute. "I will take that risk, if it means mending the rifts in our family. You can either stand with us or against us, but I will not be deterred."
Alicent stared at her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Finally, she turned on her heel and left the room, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The battle lines had been drawn, but she knew that the path she had chosen was the only way forward. She only hoped that her father’s decision would be the first step towards healing the wounds that had torn their family apart.
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows along the shores of Driftmark as Vaella Targaryen strolled with her oldest nephew, Jacaerys Velaryon. The distant roars of dragons echoed through the air, a reminder of their ever-present guardianship. The tranquil setting contrasted sharply with the tension Vaella felt within, the turmoil of the past days weighing heavily on her mind.
"How are you and your brothers holding up, Jace?" Vaella asked, her voice soft and concerned. They had barely had a moment to speak since arriving for Laena's funeral.
Jace glanced at her, his youthful face marked by a maturity beyond his years. "We’re good, Aunt Vaella. Life has been pleasant since we left King’s Landing. There’s no judgment on Dragonstone, no whispers behind our backs."
Vaella nodded, relieved to hear that at least part of her family found some solace away from the political machinations of the capital. "I’m glad to hear that," she said sincerely.
Jace’s expression grew serious, and he turned to her, about to broach the subject of the incident with Aemond. "Aunt Vaella, about what happened with Aemond—"
Before he could continue, a sharp voice cut through the air. "Vaella!"
Vaella’s frown deepened as she turned to see Aegon approaching them, his face a mix of desperation and determination. The sight of him brought back the pain of his betrayal, a wound still fresh and raw. She had loved Aegon, but his actions had the potential to ruin her life forever.
Jace stepped closer to his aunt, his stance protective. Aegon's pleading gaze soured as he noticed Jace’s proximity. "Don’t you have your betrothed to bother, Jacaerys?" he snapped.
Vaella, her voice cold and controlled, addressed Aegon before Jace could respond. "What do you want, Aegon?"
Aegon turned to her, his expression earnest, almost frantic. "Vaella, please understand why I said what I did. I love you. Now Father has no choice but to wed us and annul my engagement to Helaena."
Vaella’s eyes narrowed with a mix of hurt and anger. "Do you think this is something I can forgive easily? You lied, Aegon. A lie that could ruin a princess's life."
Aegon, now panicking, reached for her hands. She flinched, pulling back, but he clung to her desperately. "You must forgive me, Vaella. Because you love me too, and we almost did it anyway if not for Ser Harrold."
Jace, confused but seeing Vaella’s distress, stepped in to push Aegon back. "Enough, Aegon. Leave her alone."
Aegon’s demeanor shifted abruptly. His face twisted with anger, and he shoved Jace back. "Stay away from us, you bastard."
Vaella’s voice rose in anger and desperation. "Stop it, Aegon! This isn’t helping!"
The boys began to shove each other, the tension escalating, until a commanding voice interrupted them. "That’s enough!"
Ser Criston Cole rushed towards them, his presence a stern reminder of their responsibilities and the eyes that always watched. The boys stopped immediately, stepping back from each other.
"You must return to the castle at once," Ser Criston said, his tone urgent. "Your presence is required urgently."
Vaella, still reeling from the confrontation, nodded numbly. She glanced at Jace, who gave her a reassuring look, before turning to follow Ser Criston. Aegon trailed behind, his expression a mix of regret and defiance. The unresolved tension hung heavy in the air as they made their way back, each step fraught with the weight of unspoken words and unhealed wounds.
The news of Laenor Velaryon's death spread through Driftmark like wildfire, casting a heavy pall over the already grief-stricken island. Princess Rhaenys had found her son, his body charred and unrecognizable, lying near the hearth where he had met his tragic end. The once vibrant halls of Driftmark were now filled with mournful wails and the somber preparations for yet another funeral. The mood was bleak, with every corner of the castle steeped in sorrow.
A few days later, the family gathered once more by the sea, their faces drawn and eyes red from weeping. Laenor was laid to rest beside his sister Laena, their bodies committed to the deep waters as the waves lapped gently at the shore. The salt of the sea mingled with the salt of their tears, and the sound of dragons keening in the distance added a haunting note to the solemn ceremony.
The day after the funeral, the royal family prepared to depart for Dragonstone. King Viserys had granted Rhaenyra’s wish, hoping that time together away from court would help heal their fractured family. The dragon riders readied their mounts, the massive beasts shifting restlessly as their riders made final preparations. Those who were not riding dragons, including Vaella, prepared to board the ships that would take them to Dragonstone.
As Vaella stood on the docks, overseeing the loading of supplies and ensuring all was in order, she heard a familiar voice call her name. She turned and saw Aegon approaching, his expression earnest. She sighed, feeling a mixture of exasperation and resignation. 
"Aegon, what is it now?" she asked, her voice weary.
Aegon slowed his pace as he neared her, his eyes reflecting a mixture of hope and desperation. "Vaella, I was hoping you might ride with me on Sunfyre. It would be faster and... we could talk."
Vaella frowned, the pain of his recent betrayal still fresh in her heart. "I don’t think that’s a good idea, Aegon. Too much has happened."
Aegon stepped closer, his tone softening. "Please, Vaella. I know I’ve hurt you, but I want to make it right. Let me prove to you that I meant well, even if my actions were misguided."
Vaella looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there. Despite everything, the bond they shared was strong, forged over years of closeness. She felt her resolve waver. "I still haven’t forgiven you, Aegon," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Aegon reached out and gently took her hand, his touch warm and familiar. "I understand, and I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness. Just give me a chance."
She hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded reluctantly. "Alright. But this doesn’t mean everything is forgiven."
Aegon smiled, relief flooding his features. "Thank you, Vaella. I promise, I’ll make it right."
With that, he led her towards Sunfyre, the magnificent golden dragon waiting patiently. Vaella climbed onto the saddle behind Aegon, her heart a tumult of emotions. As Sunfyre took to the skies, the wind whipping through her hair, she held on tight, hoping that this journey would bring some semblance of peace to their troubled family.
The evening sky was painted with the last hues of sunset as the royal family arrived on Dragonstone. Sunfyre, Aegon’s majestic golden dragon, landed in Dragonmont, the great volcanic mountain that housed the island’s dragons. The dragon’s arrival was met with the usual flurry of activity from the Dragonkeepers, who rushed to tend to Sunfyre and ensure the safe dismounting of Prince Aegon and Princess Vaella.
Aegon helped Vaella down from the saddle, his hands lingering on her hips longer than necessary. Vaella shot him a look, a mix of exasperation and warning, but Aegon only shrugged it off with a smirk.
The evening was tense as they gathered for dinner, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved tensions. Conversations were stilted, and the family members were all too aware of the delicate balance they were trying to maintain. After the meal, they each retreated to their chambers, seeking a moment of peace in the midst of their turmoil.
In her chambers, Vaella allowed the servants to draw her a hot bath. She slipped into the warm water, feeling her muscles relax for the first time in days. The scent of lavender and rose petals filled the air, soothing her troubled mind. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth wash away her worries.
But her peace was abruptly shattered when Aegon entered the room without knocking. The servants tending to Vaella gasped in alarm, but Aegon waved them away with an imperious gesture. He approached the bath, kneeling beside it with a wishful smile on his lips, his fingers playing with the water.
Vaella opened her eyes, startled and annoyed. "Did you want something, Aegon?"
Aegon’s smile widened. "I wanted to spend more time with you. I’ve slept little ever since you started avoiding me. I’m staying with you tonight, like before we always did."
Vaella started to protest, her voice rising in frustration. "Aegon, you can’t just—"
He cut her off, his tone firm and unyielding. "Everyone already talks about us, even before I lied to Mother. I don’t care, and neither should you."
Vaella sighed, feeling the weight of his words. "It’s not that simple. I’m a woman, Aegon."
Aegon’s smirk returned as he reached into the bath, pulling her out with a possessive grip. "You’re my woman."
She stood there, dripping and vulnerable, as Aegon’s eyes roamed over her. His admiration was evident, but Vaella felt a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. She knew he believed his actions were driven by love, but she feared how far that love would push him.
Realizing she had little choice, Vaella sighed and reached for a towel, drying herself off. She dressed in her nightgown, the silk clinging to her damp skin. Aegon watched her every move, his eyes never leaving her. She took his hand, the weight of resignation heavy in her heart, and they proceeded to retire for the night together.
As they settled into the large bed, Vaella couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. She felt the warmth of Aegon’s body beside her, his arms wrapping around her protectively. She believed him when he said he loved her, but the intensity of that love frightened her. How far would he go? How much would she have to sacrifice?
Aegon’s voice broke the silence, soft and earnest. "I know I’ve made mistakes, Vaella. But I promise, I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right."
Vaella turned to look at him, searching his eyes for sincerity. "I hope you do, Aegon. Because this... this isn’t easy for me."
He nodded, his expression serious. "I know. And I’ll prove to you that we belong together."
Vaella sighed again, nestling into his embrace. But for now, she allowed herself to find a moment of solace in his arms, hoping that somehow, they would find a way through the storm that lay ahead.
The next morning, the sun cast a pale light over Dragonstone, casting long shadows through the ancient stone halls. Vaella and Aegon walked hand in hand towards the chamber where their father had summoned them. The tension between them was palpable, a mix of anxiety and anticipation. As they entered the room, they found King Viserys seated at the head of a long table, his expression stern. Otto Hightower stood nearby, his face a mask of irritation, while Alicent sat beside him, her expression tight and unreadable.
Viserys looked up as they approached, his gaze moving from Aegon to Vaella. He began slowly, his voice heavy with disappointment. "Alicent has told me what occurred on Driftmark."
Vaella felt a chill run down her spine as she met her father's disapproving gaze. Aegon's grip on her hand tightened, a silent reassurance. 
"I hope you both understand the gravity of your actions," Viserys continued, his tone stern. "This is not something that can be easily overlooked or forgiven."
Aegon swallowed hard but kept his head high. "We understand, Father. We regret the distress we've caused."
Viserys sighed, his eyes softening momentarily before he continued. "In light of these events, I have decided to annul Aegon's betrothal to Helaena. It is clear that the bond between the two of you is strong, and for the sake of the court and Vaella's dignity, you will be betrothed to one another."
Aegon's face lit up with relief and triumph, his plan having worked. He pulled Vaella closer, his heart pounding with excitement. "Thank you, Father. We will do our best to uphold the honor of our house."
Otto Hightower suddenly spoke up, his voice sharp with alarm. "Your Grace, I must ask you to reconsider. My son was looking forward to his betrothal announcement to the Princess. Even if Vaella's honor is in question, this decision—"
Aegon’s expression darkened, his annoyance growing. "Grandsire, with all due respect, this is a matter between the King and his children."
Vaella remained silent, her eyes fixed on the floor. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on her, and she could feel the intensity of Otto’s stare.
Viserys raised a hand to silence the room. "I have made my decision, Otto. This union will help maintain the stability of our house and protect Vaella’s reputation."
Otto nodded reluctantly, his defeat evident in his posture. "As you wish, Your Grace."
Before turning away, Otto sent a cold, calculating stare toward Alicent, who looked down, guilt and frustration etched on her face. It was clear that he blamed her for allowing the bond between Aegon and Vaella to develop unchecked.
Viserys turned his attention back to Aegon and Vaella. "I expect you both to conduct yourselves with the utmost propriety from now on. This union is not just a matter of love, but of duty and honor to our house."
Aegon nodded, his grip on Vaella’s hand tightening reassuringly. "We understand, Father. We will not disappoint you."
Vaella finally found her voice, her tone steady despite the turmoil within her. "Thank you, Father. We will do our best to honor your decision."
Viserys nodded, his expression softening slightly. "Very well. You are dismissed."
As they left the chamber, Aegon’s excitement was palpable. He pulled Vaella into a tight embrace, whispering in her ear, "We did it, Vaella. I told you it would work. We’re going to be together."
Vaella forced a smile, her mind racing with the implications of their father's decision. She believed Aegon loved her, but the fear of what that love might drive him to do still lingered in her heart. As they walked back to their chambers, she couldn't help but wonder what the future held for them and their house.
As the royal family dispersed from the council chamber, Otto Hightower and his daughter Alicent walked the dimly lit hallways of Dragonstone, their footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. Ser Criston Cole trailed a few paces behind, his keen eyes ever-watchful, ensuring the Queen’s safety.
Otto’s face was a mask of barely restrained anger, his lips pressed into a thin line. He waited until they were out of earshot of any servants before he rounded on Alicent, his voice low but laced with venom. "This is your doing, Alicent. You pushed for Aegon to wed Vaella, and now look where we are. Securing Vaella’s hand to Gwayne would have cemented our House’s claim to the throne, and Aegon marrying Helaena would have garnered the favor of the smallfolk, invoking the legacy of Aegon the Conqueror. But now, everything is jeopardized."
Alicent’s eyes flashed with frustration and defensiveness. "Father, you know as well as I do that Aegon and Vaella have always shared a strange bond. They’ve shared a bed since they were babes, and no matter how much I tried to keep them apart, they always found a way to sneak behind my back. This was inevitable."
Otto grimaced, his hand clenched into a fist. He opened his mouth to reprimand her further, but Alicent cut him off, her voice firm and resolute. "This can still be used to our advantage. Aegon listens to Vaella more than anyone else. If we guide her, direct her to control his urges and ambitions, it could still work in our favor."
Otto's eyes narrowed, his expression skeptical. "And what makes you think Vaella will bend to our will? She’s as headstrong as her sister Rhaenyra. There is no guarantee she won’t betray Aegon for her sister."
Alicent met her father’s gaze, her expression determined. "Vaella may be strong-willed, but she is also deeply loyal to those she loves. If we handle this carefully, she will see the benefits of aligning with us. Besides, Aegon’s influence over her is significant. If he believes in our cause, so will she."
Otto sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "I hope you’re right, Alicent. But tread carefully. This alliance is fragile, and one misstep could bring everything crashing down. We must ensure Vaella’s loyalty, or this entire plan will be for naught."
Alicent nodded, her resolve unwavering. "I understand, Father. I will speak to Vaella and make her see the importance of our cause. Aegon’s love for her can be our greatest weapon, but only if we wield it wisely."
Otto looked at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers. Finally, he nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Very well. But remember, one wrong move and we lose everything. Keep Criston close, and make sure he watches over both Aegon and Vaella. We cannot afford any more surprises."
With that, they continued down the hallway, their minds filled with the complex web of plans and contingencies that lay ahead. Ser Criston Cole followed silently, his eyes sharp and his hand never far from his sword. The future of their House hung in the balance, and every step they took would either secure their power or lead to their downfall.
Rhaenyra and Daemon strode through the corridors of Dragonstone, their faces set with determination and anger. They had just heard the news about Viserys's decision to wed Aegon to Vaella, a decision that had ignited a firestorm of emotions within them. Rhaenyra had always opposed this idea, having seen firsthand Aegon's obsessive behavior towards her little sister. Now, she was furious.
As they entered Viserys's chambers, they found him sitting by the window, his cane leaning against his chair, his face a mask of weariness. The burden of his illness and the endless turmoil within his family weighed heavily on him.
"Father," Rhaenyra began, her voice tight with controlled anger. "Why have you decided to wed Aegon to Vaella? After all the discussions we've had, you know this is a bad idea. Aegon is unsuited for her."
Daemon, standing beside her, added with his characteristic bluntness, "Giving Vaella to the Hightowers is dangerous and stupid. You know this, Viserys."
Viserys looked up at them, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and exhaustion. He sighed heavily, leaning on his cane for support as he spoke. "I had no choice."
Rhaenyra's eyes flashed with sarcasm and disbelief. "No choice? Because Aegon claimed he slept with Vaella? A lie that he and Alicent concocted."
Viserys's expression hardened slightly, but the weariness remained. "Both Alicent and Aegon were adamant about it. Aegon confessed himself. What was I to do?"
Rhaenyra's voice rose, her frustration evident. "You could have talked to Vaella about the matter! You took their word without even consulting her."
Viserys, looking even more fatigued, slowly sat down. He ran a hand over his face, the lines of age and illness more pronounced than ever. "It's done, Rhaenyra. I only hope that Vaella can temper Aegon's nature. Perhaps this decision will help bridge the divide between our families."
Daemon's expression was one of thinly veiled contempt. "You expect Vaella to fix Aegon's flaws? That's a heavy burden to place on her, Viserys."
Viserys met his brother-in-law's gaze, his own eyes weary but resolute. "What would you have me do, Daemon? The realm is already fraught with tension and division. If this marriage can bring some semblance of unity, then it's a risk I must take."
Rhaenyra shook her head, her heart aching for her sister. "Vaella deserves better than this. She deserves a choice."
Viserys's voice softened, his tone almost pleading. "I know, Rhaenyra. But the realm must come first. Always."
Rhaenyra and Daemon exchanged a look, their mutual frustration and helplessness clear. They knew that arguing further would yield no different result. Viserys was set in his decision, driven by a hope for unity that seemed increasingly out of reach.
As they left the chamber, Rhaenyra’s heart was heavy with worry for her sister. She resolved to keep a close watch on Vaella, to protect her as best as she could from the storm that was sure to come. The corridors of Dragonstone felt colder and darker, the weight of impending conflict pressing down on them all.
Aegon stood in the courtyard of Dragonstone, the sea breeze tousling his platinum blonde hair. His mood was unusually buoyant, a stark contrast to the tension that had gripped the royal family in recent days. Nearby, his sister Helaena sat on a low stone wall, absorbed in her world of bugs and spiders, her delicate fingers carefully handling a beetle. Aemond, ever vigilant, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sharp and assessing as he watched his siblings.
Noticing Aegon's unusually good mood, Aemond raised an eyebrow. "You seem particularly cheerful today, Aegon. Ever since Father decided to wed you to Vaella."
Aegon's smirk widened, and he leaned against a nearby pillar, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Why wouldn't I be? Father finally saw reason. Now, Vaella will be only mine."
Helaena glanced up from her insects, a faint smile playing on her lips. The news of her annulled engagement had brought a rare sense of peace to her. She returned to her bugs, murmuring softly to herself, her words cryptic as always. "The dragon of gold binds the silver heart, but shadows loom, whispering secrets in the dark."
Aemond shook his head slightly at his sister's words before turning his attention back to Aegon. "Your irresponsible plan worked, Aegon. But now what? What happens next?"
Aegon scoffed, pushing off the pillar and pacing slightly. "Now, I finally have Vaella. She's everything to me."
Aemond's expression grew serious, his remaining eye narrowing. "Vaella is not a toy, Aegon. She's a person, with her own will and desires."
Aegon stopped and turned to face his brother, irritation flickering across his features. "I never said she was a toy, Aemond. Vaella is everything to me. I love her."
Aemond stepped closer, his voice low and intense. "If you truly love her, you'll treat her with the respect she deserves. Not as a prize you've won, but as a partner, an equal."
Aegon met his brother's gaze, the seriousness of Aemond's words sinking in. For a moment, the arrogance faded from Aegon's face, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. He nodded slowly, though the smirk soon returned. "I understand, Aemond. But don't worry, Vaella will see that this is what's best for both of us."
Aemond sighed, his skepticism clear. "Just remember, Aegon, that a relationship built on lies and manipulation won't last. You'll need more than just determination to keep her by your side."
Aegon waved off Aemond's concerns with a dismissive gesture. "She'll come around. You'll see."
Helaena, still playing with her insects, spoke up again, her voice distant and ethereal. "The web we weave, so fragile yet strong, secrets and lies, won't hold for long."
Both brothers turned to look at her, but Helaena seemed lost in her own world, her cryptic words hanging in the air like an ominous warning.
Aegon shook his head and turned back to Aemond. "Helaena's riddles aside, I'm confident. Vaella will understand why this is best."
Aemond crossed his arms, his expression still stern. "Just don't forget that Vaella is her own person. Respect her, and maybe, just maybe, this will work out."
Aegon nodded, though his thoughts were already drifting to the future he envisioned with Vaella. "I won't forget. Thank you, Aemond."
With that, Aegon turned and walked away, his steps light with newfound purpose. Aemond watched him go, his own heart heavy with concern for both his brother and Vaella. Helaena, now cradling a spider in her hands, looked up at Aemond, her eyes clear for a moment.
"The dragon's bond is forged in fire, but shadows linger, and hearts conspire," she whispered, before turning back to her quiet contemplation.
Aemond sighed, running a hand through his hair. The days ahead were uncertain, and he could only hope that his brother's determination would not lead to further strife. He turned his gaze to the distant horizon, where the sea met the sky, and a sense of foreboding settled over him.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the courtyard, Aemond resolved to keep a close watch on Aegon and Vaella. The web of intrigue and emotion surrounding them was intricate and fragile, and one wrong move could bring it all crashing down.
Vaella finally found a quiet corner of Dragonstone, a secluded alcove overlooking the sea. The waves crashed against the rocks below, their rhythmic sound providing a temporary solace from the storm of her emotions. She sank onto a weathered bench, the weight of her worries, expectations, and the lingering emptiness left by Baelon's death pressing down on her. 
She loved Aegon—despite his flaws and the turmoil he often brought into her life. The idea of marriage had rarely crossed her mind, and when it did, it felt distant and abstract. She had suitors, of course, but she felt no affection for any of them. Aegon had always been her rock, her confidant, and their relationship had grown more complex as they aged. She closed her eyes and let herself drift back to the moment when their innocent bed-sharing had turned into something more.
---
It was a warm summer night in King's Landing, and the air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers. Vaella and Aegon, both on the cusp of adolescence, had spent the day exploring the gardens and playing in the palace courtyards. As night fell, they had returned to her chambers, as they often did, seeking comfort in each other's presence.
"Aegon, do you ever think about what it'll be like when we're older?" Vaella asked, her voice barely above a whisper as they lay side by side in her bed.
Aegon turned to face her, his silver hair shimmering in the moonlight. "Sometimes. But I know one thing for sure—I always want to be with you, Vaella."
His words warmed her heart, and she smiled softly. "I feel the same way."
There was a moment of silence, filled only by the gentle rustling of the curtains. Then Aegon reached out, his hand lightly touching her cheek. "Vaella, can I ask you something?"
"Of course," she replied, her curiosity piqued.
"Have you ever wondered what it would be like to... to kiss someone?" Aegon's voice was hesitant, unsure.
Vaella's heart skipped a beat. She had thought about it, but never dared to voice it. "I have," she admitted, her cheeks flushing.
Aegon shifted closer, his breath warm against her skin. "Can I kiss you, Vaella? Just to see what it's like?"
Her pulse quickened, a mix of anticipation and nervousness flooding her. "Yes, Aegon. You can kiss me."
He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers gently at first, then with more confidence. The kiss was soft and tentative, a shared exploration of unfamiliar territory. Vaella felt a rush of emotions—excitement, affection, and a deep, growing bond with Aegon that she had never felt with anyone else.
As they pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other, Aegon smiled. "That was... amazing."
Vaella nodded, her heart still racing. "Yes, it was."
From that night on, their bed-sharing took on a new dimension. They explored each other intimately, their bond deepening with each secret touch and whispered confession. Their relationship became their private world, a sanctuary from the expectations and duties that awaited them outside their shared space.
---
Vaella opened her eyes, the memory lingering like a bittersweet echo. She loved Aegon, but the idea of marriage—to anyone—felt overwhelming. She had always sought solace in their shared bond, but now that bond was being formalized into something public, something scrutinized by the entire realm. She feared what that might do to the delicate balance they had maintained for so long.
A single tear rolled down her cheek as she stared out at the sea, the horizon blurred by her emotions. She could only hope that their love, which had weathered so many storms, would endure the challenges ahead. For now, she would take solace in the memory of their first kiss and the innocent intimacy that had blossomed into a love both beautiful and complicated.
Vaella wandered aimlessly across the island of Dragonstone, her heart heavy with grief and confusion. The distant roars of dragons offered a small comfort, a reminder of the ancient bond her family shared with these magnificent creatures. The caves of Dragonmont loomed above her, dark and foreboding, yet strangely inviting. As she walked along a particular path, a sudden wave of grief washed over her, more intense than any she had felt before.
Baelon.
Her twin, her other half. The void his death left in her soul was something she could never fully cry out, no matter how hard she tried. She often wondered what kind of life she would have had if he had lived. This sudden, overwhelming sadness propelled her to seek out one particular lair, Cannibal's. It was as if she was called there, urged by a loneliness she could barely comprehend.
The entrance to Cannibal's lair was wide and jagged, the air thick with the scent of death and decay. Bones and half-eaten carcasses littered the ground, a testament to the dragon's ferocity. The walls were blackened with soot and dragonfire, and the light barely penetrated the gloom within. Vaella felt a chill run down her spine as she stepped inside, the oppressive atmosphere pressing down on her.
In the darkness, she saw him. Cannibal, the wild dragon, black as coal with menacing green eyes that glowed eerily in the dim light. He lay atop a heap of bones, his massive form coiled in a protective stance. The partly devoured carcass of another dragon lay beneath him, a grisly reminder of his savage nature. Cannibal's eyes locked onto Vaella, observing her with an intensity that made her heart pound.
A sudden wave of sadness washed over her again, stronger this time, threatening to overwhelm her. She had felt alone for so long, but this... this was different. It was as if the dragon's own loneliness resonated with hers, a sorrow she could feel deep in her bones.
Suddenly, Cannibal launched himself at her with a terrifying roar. Vaella backed up, tripping over a loose rock and falling to the ground. She lay there, frozen in terror, as the dragon advanced. He stopped just a few meters away, his breath hot and foul, his eyes boring into hers.
Propelled by a strange mix of sorrow, loneliness, and an odd sensation of being called here, Vaella screamed at the dragon. "You think I'm afraid of you? You ugly beast! Eat me if you want, just do it! I don't care anymore!"
Cannibal shrieked, his cries echoing off the walls of the cave. He seemed ready to indulge her, his jaws opening wide. But instead of closing them around her, he stopped, his massive head just inches from her. His green eyes stared into her indigo ones, and for a moment, it felt as if their souls connected. Vaella felt another wave of loneliness, but as she began to realize it was not her own, a thunderous pain shot through her body. Her vision blurred, and she could hear Cannibal's cries turning to something almost mournful as everything went black.
---
History would record this moment as Princess Vaella’s desperate attempt to take her own life, consumed by the remorse she felt for surviving while her twin did not. Yet, it would forever be debated if Cannibal had called her to his lair of his own accord, having finally found a kindred spirit in the princess. The fierce dragon and the sorrowful girl, both creatures of loss and loneliness, had met in a moment that transcended the mortal understanding of dragon and rider.
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thdorkmagnet · 2 months ago
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A Silent Voice (Turtle Tots: Before the Rise)
@flufftober 2024 Day 11- Alt Prompt 9- Suddenly Severed Communication
Fandom: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Chapter Summary: Sometimes being a twin is hard.
Duo: Disaster Twins
Trigger warnings: Autistic shutdown/meltdown, sensory overload, nonverbal, impulsive scratching
A/N: Another "make it fluffy" challenge featuring my beloved Disaster Twins!!
Disclaimer: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles belong to Andy Suriano, Ant Ward, and Nickelodeon. All rights belong to them.
For Leo, being a twin was usually the coolest thing in the world. 
It meant wearing matching hoodies in the winter, it meant having secret codes that no one but the two of you understood, it meant stealing from each other's plate and not getting mad at each other (sometimes), it meant looking across a room and knowing exactly what the other was thinking because you had been thinking the same thing. It meant never, ever being alone because no  matter what you were part of a matched set. 
But sometimes being a twin was hard… because it meant watching your other half hurting and not being able to help them. 
And not from a lack of trying. Because Leo tried very, very hard for Donnie. 
Usually Leo was the one to goof off and not take things seriously, but whenever his twin was hurting or having a hard time Leo would do whatever he could to make things better. Even when nothing worked, he kept trying. Because part of being twins was being there for each other. 
All this to say, it had been two days since Donnie stopped talking. Just dead stopped in the middle of a conversation and hadn't spoken since. 
There had been some construction going on down one of the tunnels and the moment Donnie heard the loud echoing of a jackhammer he'd gone silent, curled up in a ball and shaking in very obvious distress. The construction had wrapped up the following day but Donnie had still yet to recover. 
And that meant for the last two days Leo had tried hard to make himself useful to his twin. He followed Donnie everywhere, watched over him, brought him whatever he thought was needed, stayed practically glued to his side like he always did during Donnie's ‘No Talk Days’. Anything and everything Leo thought might help his twin. Putting in a hundred and ten percent effort because at least if he was giving his best he didn't have to feel so completely useless.
Unfortunately, it did nothing to help with the painful squeezing in his heart that always resulted from an upset twin but he was careful not to let it show. It would only make Donnie feel guilty and he had enough bad feelings to deal with already.
It was the start of day three now and Leo led Donnie by the hand towards the kitchen, making sure to keep his footsteps as silent as possible in the loud echo chamber that was the sewers. The lair was impossibly quiet today compared to its usually noisy atmosphere, to the point Leo was sure he could of heard a pin drop. The slider always felt unnerved whenever he sat in silence too long, used to the noise and clatter and general chaos of sharing a collective space with three brothers, but he was willing to endure anything if it helped his twin. 
They entered the kitchen together, Donnie keeping his head ducked low while Leo held his high. Mikey turned to them with his thousand watt grin, waving with both hands, while his gaze fixed solely on Donnie. “Hi, you’re up,” Mikey stage whispered, excitedly bouncing on his toes. 
“We’re up,” Leo agreed, guiding his twin to the table to wait for breakfast. Donnie sat down and immediately pulled his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees and staring at the empty table blankly. Leo, of course, sat right next to him, folding his hands in his lap to keep from tapping them impatiently against the table, a force of habit he and Mikey shared. 
Mikey leaned into Donnie’s field of view, keeping his smile bright and his voice low. “Feel like eating anything solid, Dondon? We still have some leftover pizza from Tony Lous's. Your favorite.” 
It was a sweet offer but Leo saw the way Donnie’s nose instantly crinkled at the suggestion, slightly fidgeting in his seat. It was clear his twin was not ready for pizza yet but didn’t want to say so. Which made sense, telling Mikey no was already difficult for Donnie on normal days much less no talk ones, incredibly weak to his baby brother's charms. 
So as usual, Leo helped. “I think we’ll just stick with flavorless juice for now,” he amended, leaning closer so he could draw Mikey’s attention away. From the corner of his eye, Leo saw how Donnie’s whole body relaxed at once and felt a small swell of pride burst in his chest. 
“Okay!” Mikey said a bit too loud, running to go get what was needed. Donnie, to his credit, only flinched at the noise, expression unreadable. Well to most, to Leo it clearly read annoyance. That was just another one of his cool powers from being a twin. The good news was Mikey couldn’t read it and that meant his feelings wouldn’t get hurt. 
“Quiet voice, Mike, remember?” Raph whispered, stepping into the room and assessing the situation in an instant. Turns out big brother’s got powers of their own. Not fair. 
“Oh right, sorry,” Mikey said soft, climbing up onto the countertops so he could reach easier. Raph immediately went over to help. 
As their two brothers finished preparing breakfast, Leo kept a close watch on the curled up form of his twin, waving a hand to gain his attention after a moment. Once Donnie’s eyes darted over to meet his, Leo messily signed one of the few phrases he knew. ‘You ok?’
But it must have been wrong somehow because Donnie’s eyebrows rose in that sassy, judgmental way they did… and it felt the most like Donnie he'd been in days. 
Donnie signed an affirmative and then went back to hugging his knees. Leo wished he knew enough sign language so he could ask Donnie more but he was lucky to know this much. It was very much a work-in-progress situation, Donnie learning and translating the language on his own and teaching his brothers bits as he went, so it was far from a reliable method of communication as useful as a second language would be in this situation.
Eventually Raph and Mikey brought over Donnie’s breakfast in a plastic cup and Leo watched his twin take a few careful sips. A few of the knots in his chest eased now that his brother had some nourishment in him. 
Leo got three slices of pizza and although it wasn't his favorite brand (Mike Tony's was much better) he happily devoured it. Though he kept a careful watch over Donnie as he ate. 
Donnie seemed fine enough, sipping at his flavorless juice and staring holes in the wood table, everyone staying quiet as they ate around him. Which was really weird. Not a bad weird. Just… not normal. Leo was itching to speak, to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, to let noise fill the empty space around him, but he held it in because it would upset Donnie. 
And if it helped his twin, then Leo would willingly eat breakfast in silence for the rest of his life. 
Mikey finished his plate first and rose to go set it in the sink. Only his chair scraped against the floor a little too loud, making Donnie flinch. 
Leo was instantly on high alert, dropping his pizza back on his plate and swallowing down the rest without chewing. Raph also caught the movement, eyes flashing with worry and asking in his soft, near-panicking voice, “You good, bud?” 
Donnie didn't reply, instead scratching at the scales of his arm and shrinking into a tinier and tinier ball. It took everything in Leo to not reach over and still his twin's hand. The helplessness bubbled to the surface, turning into burning nausea at the back of his throat. 
Because Donnie couldn't do talking right now and that meant he also might not be able to do touch and Leo had no idea how to navigate this situation without either. 
Raph didn't seem to have the same hesitation, sliding both hands across the table, palms up in open invitation to the softshell. “Do you need your headphones, bud?” he asked in his lowest, softest rumble, his pained smile one Leo could feel in his soul. 
Beside him, Donnie fidgeted in his seat, scratching harder until the scales of his arm turned a blotchy red. It was hard to see his twin that upset. His fingers twitched. His heart screamed. And swallowing felt like pushing a rock down his windpipe. 
Raph wasn't faring much better, his face the same helpless lost Leo's had just been. And poor Mikey looked positively miserable with guilt, hovering closeby but fearful to approach.
That meant it was up to Leo to figure this out, as the self-proclaimed expert on all things Donnie. Right. Totally got this. No pressure at all. 
Weeellll… clearly sound was a big culprit here, so fetching Don's headphones wouldn't hurt anything. In fact, they were historically helpful in these kinds of situations. But Donnie wasn't asking for his headphones, even though Raph had asked. So possibly his twin was overwhelmed with indecision on top of everything else. Donnie was smart but sometimes identifying his needs was hard for him. 
And that's where Leo came in. “Mikey, think you can go grab Don’s headphones real quick?” he asked in a soft whisper, giving his baby brother something helpful to do to hopefully erase the guilt. Mikey nodded vigorously, relief washing over his features as he ran to go grab a pair from Donnie's room.
Leo turned back to his twin, breathing a mental sigh when some of the tension melted from Donnie’s shoulders. He was still scratching at his arms but it was an improvement. Leo mouthed ‘fidget toy’ to Raph and his big brother rushed to grab that as well, leaving the twins alone. 
“Hey. Don, when is a door not a door?” Leo whispered it like it was some big secret, leaning in as close as he dared without disturbing his twin’s personal space. Donnie's troubled expression softened to confusion, which made Leo smirk big and wide.
“When it's ajar,” he finished, bursting with pride when Donnie actually snorted. 
The softshell glared halfheartedly, and had to cease his incessant scratching to sign, ‘Bad.’ 
It was a victory Leo hadn't been expecting and he couldn't help but laugh a little hysterically because of it, covering his mouth to try and muffle the sound. “Come on, that was one of my best, I've been saving it for a special occasion” he quietly teased, feeling the vice on his heart start to loosen. 
Donnie had switched to hand flaps, which he kept up until Mikey returned with the headphones, the softshell practically melting as he slipped them on, finally relaxing in his seat. 
By the time Raph came back, Donnie was feeling good enough to smile and sign to his little brother, ‘Thank you’. 
Mikey’s eyes immediately glistened with tears, which he scrubbed away as he muttered, “Sorry.”
Donnie shook his head, smiling timidly. 
Raph dutifully squished the youngest in a hug since Donnie was unable to, rumbling soothingly for their sensitive baby Michelangelo. 
Leo allowed himself to breathe soft in relief, now that they had navigated through yet another crisis. 
After a moment, Donnie turned back to his half eaten breakfast and made a face like he had swallowed a lemon. Clearly food was off the table again, even one of his safe foods. At least he'd finished nearly half, any food was better than no food, afterall.
Leo still had more than half a slice on his plate but didn't hesitate to offer, “Wanna go read some comics? I'm dying to know what happens after Jupiter Jim and the Cliffhanger Ending.”
Donnie gave him a funny look, then a pointed one down at his breakfast. Twin telepathy at work again, Leo assured, “Relax, Tello. I was done eating.” 
Donnie wasn't buying it, tapping at Leo's plate insistently. But the slider just scooted out of his chair, giving his twin no time to argue the point further. Only for Donnie to block his path with crossed arms and a determined expression. Even on a bad No Talk Day, Leo's twin was still the embodiment of stubborn. 
Leo rolled his eyes, frustrated that his twin had turned their shared power around on him- even though that was literally the whole point. Didn't mean he had to like it. “Fine. I promise I'll eat a bigger lunch today. Happy?”
Donnie did look happy, finally allowing Leo to pass and following him out the door with no further complaint. Leo was too big a sore loser to let it go though, purposefully pouting as he led his twin through the lair. 
Only he wasn't so absorbed in his performance that he didn't notice Donnie hesitate right outside the projector room, looking in longingly before ducking his head low and chasing after Leo. 
Well that wouldn't do at all. It was an easy guess what Donnie was wanting, since it was common knowledge that their dad was watching Japanese soap operas this time of day, even though Leo couldn't hear the tell-tale voices from the screen. Their dad had been keeping the volume low to avoid upsetting Donnie. 
Leo turned on his heels, making Donnie startle back when they nearly collided. “You wanna go see what dad's up to?” Leo asked, hoping if he made it seem like his idea Donnie wouldn't feel bad for changing their plans so abruptly. 
Donnie's face said that he definitely did but he still looked hesitant, glancing over Leo's shoulder anxiously. 
Leo tried to play it off with a casual wave of the air. “C'mon, we can find out what happened to JJ later. Right now I wanna cash in on some dad time.”  Then he headed back the way they came, trusting his twin would follow. “Let's hurry before he falls asleep.” 
After a brief moment of hesitation, Leo heard Donnie fall in step behind him as expected and allowed himself a small smile of victory. 
Their dad must have heard them coming because his attention immediately everted from the Japanese commercials and onto his two children, eyes going wide with surprise. “Blue? Purple? Do you boys need something?” His voice was gentle and encouraging, eyes far too wise for their silly father carefully examinging Donnie for any distress. 
“We wanna watch a Lou Jitsu movie,” Leo said, because that's the easiest excuse to get dad cuddles without outright asking for them and earning a smack from his twin. Donnie hated being needy. 
Their dad's gaze focused on the headphones for a moment, before carefully asking, “Are you sure you are up for that Purple?” 
Donnie nods and signs ‘Yes,’ followed by a few more complex signs Leo didn't catch. So far, dad had picked up the most sign language of any of them, so it wasn't a surprise when he nodded and replied, “Ah, yes. That is an excellent point, my Purple. Very well, which one would you like to watch?” He picks up the remote and changes the channel without a second thought which is pretty big for their TV obsessed father. 
“Mitsu Mayham,” Leo states, flopping on one of the beanbags. It's one of Donnie’s favorites and he knows he chose right when he sees his twin’s lip quirk up in an almost smile.
“Ah, a classic,” their dad says in approval, starting up the movie and sinking further into his chair to relax. 
Donnie takes the empty beanbag beside Leo, playing with his fidget spinner even as his eyes stay glued to the screen. The sound is so low Leo can barely hear it, but he has the movie basically memorized from countless rewatches so he doesn't mind. Donnie, however, signs something to their dad and Splinter puts on subtitles. 
Raph and Mikey joined in shortly, sitting close to Donnie but not enough to disturb his personal space. It's quiet, another jarring change of pace for a Lou Jitsu movie. Normally there was constant commentary, the four of them trying to recreate every move they see, reciting some scenes word for word, while their dad directed them. The peaceful silence in comparison felt so odd and out of place. 
Leo let himself settle into it anyways, focusing on the movie. 
But about halfway through, something drew Leo's eye back to Donnie, noticing a subtle shift in his twin's behavior that waved like a red flag in his hindbrain. 
The softshell was no longer watching the action flick- although he was trying very hard to pretend to be- instead casting very unsubtle glances back at their father. Every few seconds his eyes would snap back to the screen in a poor attempt to cover his tracks then drift wistfully back at their dad all over again. He was now only picking at his fidget toy, absentmindedly peeling off a purple sticker Mikey had decorated it with so they felt more like Donnie’s. 
Once again, his twin seemed to be struggling to identify emotion, if the frustrated pinch of his eyebrows was anything to go off of. But Leo knew Donnie better than himself and there was only one conclusion he could possibly reach as shocking as it was-
Donnie wanted a dad hug. 
Which was huge. Don willingly seeking physical affection on a No Talk Day wasn't unheard of but it was rare. A big step in the right direction to Donnie’s recovery. 
“Donnie wants a hug,” Leo stated with zero tact, making his twin squeak in surprise, burying his head in the beanbag to try and hide how furiously he was blushing. 
Their father just blinked, clearly caught off-guard by the request, glancing between Leo and his twin with a searching look. “From me?” he asked after a moment. 
Leo nodded, even as Donnie shook his head no. The softshell caught the movement because he made a betrayed noise at the back of his throat and sent Leo a death glare. 
Splinter hesitated, gaze lingering on his purple son with clear desire to hug him. “Are you sure that's alright with you, Purple?” he asked cautiously. 
Donnie shifted awkwardly under his dad’s undivided attention, something none of them could resist for long  Leo saw Donnie's wall crack and break apart in real time, finally nodding his head timidly, then ducking it low in humiliation. But their dad’s smile stayed warm as his arms opened up in greeting. The softshell scrambled off the beanbag and tucked himself safely in his dad’s grip with a shuddering breath that could almost be called a sob. Splinter tutted low even though his voice is unheard through the headphones. He keeps his grip light and careful in case Donnie decides against it but if anything the softshell only clings harder. 
Leo smiles and watches as his twin and father settle back in the recliner, beyond relieved to see Donnie enjoying a coveted dad hug. 
The most Leo had accomplished up till now was simple hand-holding. But now Donnie was hugging and cuddling! Two big deals! 
And as he settled more comfortably against his dad’s side, the headphones slid off too, the softshell making no move to replace them, looking at peace for the first time in days. 
The knots in Leo’s heart came loose and fell away, the slider feeling all his body’s tension release at once. He wished he’d done more to help but at least their dad was taking care of it now. He felt itchy at the idea of leaving his twin’s care in someone else’s hands but it was dad, so he knew he could trust him. 
Leo caught Raph staring too and shared a mutual relieved glance with his big brother. 
Donnie was going to be okay. 
“So I’m thinking we start with the next issue- duh- but after that we could read one of the Atomic Lass spin-offs if you like,” Leo rambled, sorting through his comic collection absentmindedly. 
Looking back at his twin, Donnie had curled up on Leo's bed, legs tucked to his chest and face pinched with something Leo couldn't identify. The smile dropped from his lips and he gingerly shuffled over to the bed to join his twin. “Hey, what's up?” Leo asked softly, wishing he didn't have to ask to know. That was supposed to be how twins worked.
Donnie didn't startle from Leo's voice so he must still be relatively okay with sound again. Testing the touch thing, Leo offered Donnie a hand, which he took after a reluctant second. After a moment of contemplation, the softshell signed the first phrase he ever taught Leo. Can't talk. 
“That's okay,” Leo reassured his twin, giving his hand a quick squeeze. The look on Donnie's face was making his insides wiggle like worms. “You don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with. We're all right here for you until you feel ready.” 
Donnie’s eyes flashed with guilt and Leo was quick to add, “And none of us mind if it takes you a long time to get there. We're all gonna keep supporting you for as long as it takes. Promise.”
Something soft broke over Donnie’s tense expression, only noticeable by Leo's keen eye. ‘Thank you,’ he signed, face completely emotionless but somehow Leo could feel the gratitude. 
“No problem,” Leo said casually and went to pick up one of his comics. 
Only for Donnie to tug sharply at their intertwined hands, pulling Leo's gaze right back to him. His brother's face was set in a hard line and he shook his head before more aggressively signing ‘Thank you.’ 
“For what?” Leo asked out loud because he really hadn’t done enough.  
Donnie had to release Leo's hand to sign the reply. ‘For making everything easier.’ And now the emotion was written all over his twin's face, cheeks flushed red, eyes looking away shyly as his mouth pinched in an embarrassed frown. Because Leo’s twin was almost allergic to big emotional confessions. And yet he always made an ef
fort to show them, even when it left him blushing and awkward. 
Leo snorted, feeling his heart bubble pleasantly. 
“Softie,” he teased because he was maybe allergic to big emotional confessions too. 
Donnie gave Leo's face a shove that left the slider giggling uncontrollably. And maybe tearing up a little but he didn't really wanna acknowledge that bit. 
A tiny smile tugged at Donnie's lips before he laid down on Leo's chest, snuggling against him in a rare show of physical affection. As the chuckles start to die out, Donnie picks up the next issue of Jupiter Jim and slides it into Leo's hands, tapping insistently on the first page. 
“Want me to do the voices?” Leo guessed and his twin nodded, tucking an arm around his middle. 
Leo giggled again and started reading. 
Sometimes being a twin was hard. 
But Leo wouldn't trade having a twin like Donnie for the world. 
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manasaysay · 7 months ago
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Campaign 3, Episode 116 Quick Analysis: aka "What's Sexier Than Wizards?"
Hi everyone! I wanted to make a post about this episode because this fight was so crazy and honestly, The Mighty Nein did quite well for doing so poorly.
Quick Statistics:
The Weave Mind
I found it difficult to keep track of which Weave Mind member was being attacked by who. The good news is that they all shared damage!
All 5 Weave Mind members took 652 damage. This is including the temporary hit points they were regenerating every round.
1 Weave Mind member, Ego Hunter #2, took 50 damage that was not shared. They died first.
After Ego Hunter #2's death, the remaining 4 Weave Mind took 198 damage before crumbling into dust
The Mighty Nein:
At the end of the battle, The Mighty Nein are actually looking alright hit point wise, but not so good when it comes to exhaustion and spell slots and other resources.
(Because of Heroes' Feast, I don't can't tell what everyone's current HP total is except for Caduceus who went down to 1 HP on Death Ward)
Beau: down 20 HP, used 14/20 key points (unsure if she used any prior to this battle)
Fjord: down 20 HP, used 1 of 3 warlock spell slots on Far Step (unsure if any paladin slots were used)
Jester: down 112 HP and has 1 level of Exhaustion. Has used both her 8th and 9th level slots, and one of her 6th levels and a 7th level.
Caleb: down 42 HP and has 1 level of Exhaustion. Has used his 9th level slot, both his 7th levels, both his 6th levels, one 4th level, and one 2nd level. Also lost 8 levels of spell slots from Gouge Ether attacks. (He used a 5th level prior to battle on Telekinesis. He cast Polymorph the previous episode, but I'm unsure if he used a 4th level spell slot or the Transmutation Wizard feature)
Veth: down 30 HP and has 1 level of Exhaustion
Yasha: at full HP but has 2 levels of Exhaustion
Caduceus: at 50 HP and has 1 level of Exhaustion. Has used both 6th level slots. Also lost 10 levels of spell slots from Gouge Ether attacks. (He used a 5th level for Holy Weapon on Yasha just prior to battle)
The Bad:
The Weave Mind did not have a high AC, either 20 or 21. Everyone's attack bonus is +11 except for Yasha who is +12. Beau missed 5 out of 8 of her first attacks on the Weave Mind, (before hitting on all 4 of her attacks in the last round and stunning two). Granted, her first 4 attacks were when the Weave Mind was still invisible. But all she had to do was roll over a 10 twice. The odds of her not doing that is about 20% per roll. Her second 4 attacks were at advantage, and she still missed one, due to the Drain Prowess Lair Action.
Yasha's Battle Cry gave advantage on all attacks and saves for one round aka the second round (since she was only ahead of Caduceus in initiative, and he used his action in the first round to do Divine Intervention). In that round, when everything was at advantage, Veth rolled double nat 1s on TWO SAVES.
Yasha's Battle Cry stacked with Caduceus's Divine Intervention. Only Beau, Fjord, and Jester('s Spiritual Weapon) took advantage of that to attack the crystals. This led to two of the crystals being destroyed. Additionally, they didn't realize the crystals were vulnerable to force damage until Fjord's turn the next round. I think there was some ambiguity of what damage would be doubled (Matt said "attacks not spells" but he meant "things that require attack rolls not saving throws"), because Fjord attacked the crystal with Star Razor during his turn instead of using Eldritch Blast, which does force damage. Otherwise they could've destroyed a lot more crystals during Round 2. Jester's Spiritual Weapon doing force damage is a misplay I'll let slide as that is a new change for the 2024 rules. The last time Jester used her Spiritual Weapon, it did radiant damage.
The reason the crystals did not take more damage was that everyone else got FUCKED UP in between Jester's and Veth's turn (when 4 of the 5 Weave Mind have their turns), forcing other decisions. Veth got blinded, forcing her into a melee spell attack instead of a ranged attack on a crystal, and Caduceus was both blinded and went down to his Death Ward, forcing him to Heal himself.
Caleb spent two turns in Time Stop to cast Mirror Image and Fire Shield. Fire Shield only activates when hit with a melee attack, which none of the Weave Mind did. Mirror Image had a chance to activate 3 times and failed each time, letting through 90 damage and making Caleb lose 8 levels of spell slots.
The Good:
The Weave Mind Manipulators attempted Horrid Puppet 3 times and failed every time.
No one failed a concentration save. In fact, Veth did not roll double nat 1s two saves in a row because she succeeded on a concentration save in between them. So ha!
As revealed in the Cooldown, the Crystal Arch contained the possibility of transporting the Mighty Nein to the battlefield at the Malleus Key. Yasha destroying the arch first was probably the smartest move of the entire battle.
No one went down. Somehow, with all of their misplays, nobody went unconscious.
MVP: Caleb
Of the 652 damage that all 5 Weave Mind members took, 199 came from Caleb's double Fireball coming out of Time Stop, and 90 came from his Gravity Fissure. And of course, he got the HDYWTDI to the last four Weave Mind with Disintegrate.
While his Power Word: Stun was awesome, it might have seemed like a let down since the Weave Mind in question (Manipulator #2 as I called them) went next and used a Legendary Resistance to save. However, this burned the last Legendary Resistance that they had, allowing Beau to double stun them the next round, preventing the Weave Mind from triangulating in the last round.
Additionally, the double Mind Blank the previous night saved Yasha 163 psychic damage and Caleb 104 psychic damage, which would've knocked him right the fuck out.
Bonus points for only doing the sexiest wizard things on his turns (Time Stop, Double 7th level Fireballs, Gravity Fissure, Power Word Stun, Disintegrate).
Unsung Hero: Jester
Who's "The Cleric" now?! Jester used Mass Heal again, getting everyone except Caleb and Caduceus (poor Caduceus) to full HP midway through the second round.
Her Blade Barrier, despite being clowned on midway through the episode, did 73 damage to the Weave Mind and granted partial coverage that saved Caduceus from some extra hits.
Honorable Mention: Yasha and Beau. Yasha, for the aforementioned Arch destruction. Beau for getting that double stun on half of the remaining Weave Mind, allowing for a shitton of damage on them before Caleb hit them with an autofail Disintegrate.
Punching Bag: Caduceus.
The Weave Mind got tickets to the London Live Show, saw Caduceus cast Mass Heal and said "Well, we can't let him do that." Poor Caduceus had three turns in this battle and had to spend two of them casting Heal on himself.
He took by far the most damage at 296 total.
He also received the most healing, but two of those heals were halved by the Weave Mind's Dampen Divinity, losing 100 points of potential healing along the way.
Caduceus was continuously targeted by the Weave Mind both with their area of effects and their individual attacks and reactions. Hopefully, he gets his revenge by turning this throne room into a lovely graveyard.
Conclusion:
Somehow, despite fucking a lot of shit up, the Mighty Nein still FUCK SHIT UP.
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dysfunctional-doodle · 10 months ago
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Yeah, both Mikey and Donnie didn't get much character in the movie. Makes me sad when those 2 don't get much screen time 😔
Do you have some head cannons for each of the 2007 turtles? There isn't much to go on, so I it's hard to think of any
Yeah, I don’t have many hcs. I do think it’s canon (I don’t know if it was ever confirmed) that the 2007 movie is actually the turtles from the 90’s movies, as hinted though a lot of background details. But that could also be just Easter eggs but I like to think it’s true.
A few rough hcs:
1. Mikey got hurt quite badly sometimes when doing the birthday parties, but no one noticed/he didn’t tell anyone due to the strained relationships in the family. As a result he’s gotten very good at lying and makeup/skin painting due to hiding his bruises. It’s a habit that has unfortunately stuck after the movie - Leo realises this after he tries to walk off getting punted off a building.
2. Raph was suffering from depression due to Leo’s departure. This was why, unless he was beating people up at night (an unhealthy outlet) he was in bed all day and unresponsive. Also this was why he was so closed off to everyone, especially Donnie.
3. Donnie has insomnia which can go on for days. He first got the tech job to do the night shifts and try and shut off his brain. Without stimuli and patrolling, it only got worse, hence his own short fuse towards Raph
4. Every night Mikey waits for Raph to return, trying to stay awake all night. He sleeps in snatches in the afternoon/early evening after the parties are over, wanting to stay up late and make sure Raph comes back and isn’t hurt
5. Donnie also has major issues with burnout that Mikey can help fix
6. Leo has mild OCD, hence why he doesn’t like change that much. His training helped with this, but he has to work on his anxieties all over again when he comes back to New York and his brothers have new and developed skills and fighting styles
7. These boys turtle pile. They also love water and basking. Over the 2 years Leo is gone they don’t do this as it feels wrong to do it without him
8. When the dust settles and a year or so has passed since the movie, Leo invites his brothers to go to the jungle he trained in and spend a month there to work on their skills and to have a nice holiday. Not what many class as a vacation but they actually thrive in the environment. Leo misses the jungle and it was a large part of him, so he wants to share its importance with his brothers.
9. Raph is VERY protective of his brothers. After the movie and his fallout with Leo, this is turned up to the extreme until they all ambush him and get him to relax. Turtle piles.
10. Mikey is one of those people that can eat literal nuclear waste and be fine. He has an iron stomach
11. As I always say, Mikey has ADHD
12. Mikey is also very bad at directions and maps. He can navigate by remembering landmarks and have a rough idea of the direction he came from, but he gets too distracted and wanders off. As a kid, Splinter had to put one of those long leads on him when he went to the surface.
13. The PB&J mischief duo is real. Both of them like chaos too much and form alliances against Raph and Leo
14. Raph is very very scarred. He has a habit of jumping in front of weapons and getting into fights too often
15. Leo has a specific cleaning routine for his katana he does everyday without fail. He will not class training as being finished until he has done this.
16. Leo is a terrible driver. Mikey is actually very good
17. Mikey is good at ventriloquism. He totally doesn’t exploit this talent in the lair
That’s all I can think of for now!
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the-ephemeral-ethereal · 1 year ago
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The Two Towers Listening / Reading Order
What follows is a suggested listening / reading order of The Two Towers that I've been working on. I enjoy it so much, I felt the need to share. The idea first came from my annoyance of hearing none of Andy Serkis' Gollum in the first half of the audiobook, and then all of it in the second. I also think it improves the narrative experience overall, as I think it becomes easier to follow all storylines across the trilogy this way. I also think it naturally lends itself to being chunked into three Parts, instead of Tolkien's original two (especially if you're going to take significant breaks and / or enter-exit at certain key points). The first number per line below is of the suggested listening / reading order. The X:X number indicates the Book:Chapter originally sequenced by Tolkien. I also included the chapter titles.
Part I
3:1 The Departure of Boromir
4:1 The Taming of Sméagol
3:2 The Riders of Rohan
4:2 The Passage of the Marshes
3:3 The Uruk-Hai
4:3 The Black Gate is Closed
3:4 Treebeard
Part II
4:4 Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit
3:5 The White Rider
4:5 The Window on the West
3:6 The King of the Golden Hall
4:6 The Forbidden Pool
4:7 Journey to the Cross-Roads
3:7 Helm's Deep
Part III
3:8 The Road to Isengard
4:8 The Stairs of Cirith Ungol
3:9 Flotsam and Jetsam
4:9 Shelob's Lair
3:10 The Voice of Saruman
3:11 The Palantir
4:10 The Choices of Master Samwise
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shadowheartwhisperer · 1 year ago
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I don't know if anyone else does this, but I wanted to share my particular cope with my bg3 hyoerfixation.
Below the "read more" is the roadmap for my playthrough with my resisted durge Dinah, romancing Shadowheart (for the 40th time, I am not being hyperbolic).
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Dinah Restart Roadmap
Notes -
Don't learn about Halsin, at all
Get Zorru then save Sazza and follow gut lead then kill leaders after gut confrontation
Agree to kill leaders because you need time to find Iron for Karlach upgrade
After leaders don't attend party, go to creche instead
Nautiloid
- fail to open Shadowheart's pod (time to save scum)
Beach
- talk to Shadowheart, don't join up
- fight brains
- kill mindflayer
- see Gale but leave without interacting
- rest (urge)
Day 2
- enter ruins - beach side
- get Withers
- find bandits - run for it
- grove fight
- don't talk to Zevlor
- recruit Shadowheart
- rest - how do you feel?
Day 3
- back to ruins
- get Lae'zel
- clear ruins
- rest - hand hurt
Day 4
- get Wyll
- save Mirkon
- play with Alfira
- talk to Arabella's parents
- save Arabella
- find lead on Kagha
- meet Mol - agree to steal idol
- zorru
- save Sazza
- rest - playing with artifact + last night in camp
Day 5
- Investigate Kagha - mud mephits
- go backwards through blighted village (we got lost)
- cross bridge, fight hyenas
- meet paladins
- Recruit Karlach
- expose Kagha
- knock out Alfira
- rest - Quill
Day 6
- inquisition
- Gith Convoy (fail, Shadowheart escapes and resurrects everyone)
- kill Paladins
- steal idol
- talk to Dammon
- rest - Mizora
Day 7 (don't find metal)
- get Gale
- get Astarion
- Owlbear cave
- Scratch
- Smuggler's ring
- Wakeens rest
- kill all gnolls
- meet the zhent
- open barn
- save Barcus
- Necromancers Basement
- Spiders (if we have the stamina) through well
- rest - Astarion bite
Day 8
- Andrik and Brynna
- talk to Zevlor
- goblin camp - courtyard stuff
- goblin indoor stuff
- get brand
- get kidnapped by Gut
- kill Gut
- save Volo
- Ask Shadowheart thoughts on parasite
- rest - Dream Visitor
Day 9
- talk about dream (Shadowheart gets ersatz eye while talking)
- chicken chasing
- poison Goblins
- knock out Minthara
- Kill Ragzlin
- pick off straggler goblins
- rest - ?
Day 10
- return to Zevlor - lie and agree to party
- fix Karlach's heart
- fight Gith convoy
- to Crèche, no party
- rest -
Day 11
- buy what we want from Esther then kill her
- Kobolds
- Gremishka
- Open door to monastery
- place 3 weapons
- rest - owl bear cub
Day 12
- place last weapon
- Enter Crèche
- Do Crèche stuff
- get Lae'zel's son
- Zaith'isk
- Captain
- inquisitor
- prism
- rest - owl bear cub 2
Day 13
- blood of Lathander
- fight our way out of Crèche
- Give Gale last treat
- back to first area
- rest - Voss
Day 14
- bah at redcaps
- auntie Ethel
- Gale gets eye
- into Ethel's lair
- take deal and Mayrina CON +1
- resurrect Connor
- meet Gandrel
- get crossbow
- to grove
- meet Halsin
- get Sorrow
- rest - Lae'zel and Shadowheart confrontation
Day 15
- open Selûnite way to Underdark
- spectator
- bulette
- boooal
- arcane tower - except last floor
- rest - ?
Day 16
- top floor arcane tower
- Duergar on beach
- myconid colony
- Omeluum
- find Baelin
- Filro
- back to colony
- rest - ?
Day 17
- to Grymforge - use brand
- architect dude
- rothe
- get Shar idol
- conspire with duergar
- return Sargent's boots
- talk to gnomes
- fight merregon
- fight ooze
- find Philomen
- kill dudes by water
- Poison slavers
- talk to spiders
- kill myrmath
- rest - ?
Day 18
- Nere
- get monk necklace
- turn in head
- last minute shopping
- rest - ?
Day 19
- take elevator to Shadowlands
- send Elmister to camp
- talk to crew
- learn about Shar worship
- save Harpers
- meet He who was
- talk to Elminster
- talk to everyone
- start long rest - Mizora
- ask about Shar Worship
- rest - dream visitor
Day 20
- test dark Justiciar Convo
- to last light
- get Karlach upgrade
- talk to Mattis
- talk to Florrick
- talk to Cerys
- talk to Alfira
- talk to Barcus
- talk to His Majesty
- talk to Raphael, no Astarion
- talk to Mol
- shop
- talk to Rolan
- talk to Jaheira
- talk to Isobel
- fight Marcus
- start long rest
- ask to get to know Shadowheart
- rest - Sceleritas
Day 21
- Mother Superior?
- memory?
- shitload of shopping
- Harper ambush
- save Rolan
- back to last light, check on Rolan
- talk to Bex
- talk to Shadowheart about hand hurt?
- rest - dance with Wyll?
Day 22
- Gerringothe Thorm
- finish off patrol
- moonrise
- trial
- Dungeons
- save gnomes, teiflings & Minthara
- tell Isobel you won't hurt her
- recruit Minthara
- talk to everyone
- start long rest
- missed our chance?
- rest - Gale?
Day 23
- blood merchant
- gnoll Control
- talk to Z'rell
- explore Balthazar's room
- explore moonrise
- meet absolute
- rest - blood merchant talk
Day 24
- Back to first area
- get noblestalk
- go past poison geysers area
- get mithril
- fight grym
- forge stuff... Dunno what
- rest - drinks with m'lady
Day 25
- maybe don't talk to her right away
- any other cleanup stuff that could be in first area
- back to Shadowlands
- Thisobald
- get ledger
- town square fight
- find Arabella
- start long rest
- dtr with Shadowheart
- rest - ?
Day 26
- back to he who was
- fight trees
- play hide and seek
- shopping
- rest - ?
Day 27
- find Arabella's parents
- Malus Thorm
- morgue
- Kua toa
- up the hill to Raphael
- tell Arabella bad news
- rest - ?
Day 28
- wake art cullagh
- defend portal for Halsin
- shop!
- clear moonrise docks
- enter mausoleum
- talk to Arabella - cooled off?
- rest - ?
Day 29
- Enter temple of Shar
- first trial
- wall of bone and blade
- learn about trials
- to camp - talk about being in temple
- Meet Balthazar - agree to work with him for now
- kill Yurgir
- lick spider/start rat fight
- finish rat fight
- rest - stupid Raphael
Day 30
- last minute shopping
- town square trials
- Shar Olympics
- pray before Shadowfell
- last, last minute shopping
- questioning faith Convo, pretty please?
- enter Shadowfell
- kill Balthazar
- save Nightsong
- talk to camp
- to last light by way of shadowed battlefield
- talk to Isobel
- assault on moonrise
- Ketheric first defeat
- dtr with Shadowheart part 2
- rest - urge
Day 31
- illithid colony - Shadowheart, Wyll & Jaheira?
- get Us
- save Zevlor
- mizora
- get Wyll's sword
- remember to fucking talk to companions!
- check Durge pod
- Kressa
- big room full of dudes
- Brain machine
- kill Ketheric
- talk to everyone in moonrise
- leave moonrise
- rest - Shadowheart truth (no talk before sleep)
Day 32
- take Halsin to Oliver
- break curse
- Selûnite Resistance quest
- ritual circle
- last minute shopping
- gith patrol
- double, triple, check done with everything
- leave act 2
- chat around camp
- smooch lady many times
- rest - fucking stupid emperor
Day 33
- talk to everyone
- enter Rivington - Shadowheart, Jaheira, and Minthara
- swap Shadowheart for Wyll
- meet Ferg - bound weapon buy all shit
- swap in Astarion
- Talk to strange ox (w/Astarion and Minthara)
- meet gur
- back to main team (Shadowheart, Lae'zel, Karlach)
- help refugees in house
- enter circus, don't talk to dryad, maybe dribbles (save scum to learn if it effects love test)
- genie
- get trident
- meet necromancer lady
- steal hat
- go to open hand temple
- agree to solve murder
- help monk
- fight doppelgangers in cave
- exit to beach
- find dying guy/Orin
- fight guild and stone Lord dudes
- rest - Vlaakith
Day 34
- meet Ferg w/Shadowheart
- break into toymaker's basement
- Wyrm's Crossing
- meet gnomes
- take Astarion to meet siblings
- shakedown toymaker
- talk to stupid fucking elephant
- Voss
- tell Raphael to fuck off
- circle back to learn about bear bombs
- Harper ambush
- Wyrm's Rock
- learn Bhaalspawn heritage
- steal flaming fist uniform
- coronation
- rest - mizora (sandcastles?)
Day 35
- lower city
- talk to Jaheira
- find guild
- talk to nine fingers
- counting house
- get Minsc through back entrance
- back to guild, deal with Zhent
- rest - Minsc and Jaheira watch me sleep?
Day 36
- follow up on murders
- elf song
- rats in basement
- stupid emperor dumb shit
- save lady at wine tasting
- find bodies
- talk to lady at salty mermaid
- save Figaro
- meet Araj
- stop the presses
- rest - ?
Day 37
- hag survivors
- follow up with Vanra's mom
- salty mermaid, Ethel
- fight redcaps
- fight masked people
- fight Ethel, save Vanra
- follow up with Vanra
- follow up with Mayrina
- rest
(Should have had either kidnapping or Astarion family reunion at this point maybe both)
Day 38 (swap to immediately after kidnapping, if needed)
- Get elf song room
- go to coffin makers place, whatever
- unholy assassin
- buy all good stuff
- kill Saravok anyway
- snoop to learn about Orin
- go to sewers
- fight dumbshit sorcerer
- buy sweet druid robes
- open way to Bhaal's temple
- rest - ?
Day 39
- Bhaal trial
- find brain rats
- chat with Sceleritas
- go to Orin's room
- chat with her mother
- confront Orin
- kill Orin
- huzzah!
- rest - ?
Day 40
- find grave, leave night orchid
- find grafitti
- house of grief maybe?
- prepare to cry maybe?
- if we have stamina - fight poltergeists
- rest - cry my eyes out
Day 41
- go to hell
- house of hope
- kill Raphael, the bastard
- steal Voss' Silver Sword for me
- get Lae'zel's silver sword
- find mummy lord
- find zombie
- track down organs
- kill mummy lord
- return to Oskar
- tell Jannath she can do better
- rest - ?
Day 42 -
- Save Volo
- break into foundry
- talk to blind dude
- wavemother, agree to kill monster
- to society of brilliance
- talk to Blurg
- Jaheira's house
- sorcerers sundries
- fucking Aradin
- Laroakan
- Vault
- stupid Gale
- meet Mystra
- shopping, stalk up for iron throne
- Worg warehouse
- rest - ?
Day 43
- Iron Throne
- get Wavemother dress
- how are we feeling? If all good start ansur
- love test first
- do all trials
- rest - ?
Day 44
- fight ansur
- feeling ok? Start Cazador's Manor
- clear upper level
- rest - ?
Day 45
- talk to skull
- kill Cazador
- prepare to cry
- not too beat? Fireworks!
- rest - ?
Day 46
- *sigh Gortash
- lead out to roof? Stand in one place, ranged only? Either way, try not to set off traps
- talk to other 2 first, then karlach
- cry
- talk to companions again
- cry
- talk to Karlach again
- cry
- anything to clean up?
- rest - ?
Day 47
- anything you've forgotten?
- did you steal the tithes?
- did you find dribbles?
- mindflayer in windmill?
- dryad sex worker?
- adventurer's dad?
- double, triple, quadruple check
- rest - ?
Day 48
- brain rats
- fight brain
- win!
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hbyrde36 · 1 year ago
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Times Like These (The Anniversary Edition)
CH 1 CH 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10
Chapter 11: Broken
WC: 4999 | AO3 link
The house was a flurry of activity, with everyone rushing around to make their final preparations as the clock ticked down to dusk when they would set off for Benny’s to put their plan into motion one last time. 
At least Eddie hoped this would be the last time. 
He didn’t see Steve again until they arrived at the old abandoned burger place and started unloading the sound system, speakers, and wire from the back of his van, stacking it all near the gate that led to the Upside Down. 
Hopper and Nancy stood guard with weapons drawn as he and Steve traversed back and forth into the other dimension, making sure everything was set up and ready to go for Robin and Chrissy to provide the distraction that would draw the bats away from Vecna’s lair.
They stole sideways glances at each other as they worked, not speaking or even properly making eye contact until El pulled them both aside to talk.
“It does not change much from your side of things, but I wanted to explain. I will not be piggybacking into Eddie’s mind. I will wait until Henry is distracted and go into his mind directly.”
Eddie tilted his head, impressed. It was a good idea to change tactics. “Like sneaking in the back door while he’s looking out the front. Okay, yeah, I get it.”
“Yes!” She agreed brightly. “Since he has seen in your mind and has an idea of our plan he will be looking for me in your memories, while I will be sneaking in through his.”
“So what do you need me to do?”
“You still need to think of some happy memories to hide in. The longer you keep him busy, the more time I have to get close before he realizes. The important thing is, you must keep moving, do not let him get too close. I will not be looking for you, so you will be on your own. Jonathan will signal Joyce again with the flashlight when it is time for Steve to pull you out.”
She held Eddie’s gaze firmly until he nodded his understanding, then turned to Steve. “But—If he starts to float, do not wait. Pull him out right away.”
Steve dipped his chin. “I will.” 
“What if you need more time?” Eddie asked. 
“I won’t.” She insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument.
All too soon it was time to separate, the goodbyes and good lucks a bit more somber this time around without the rest of the kids there to witness it.
Hopper gave Eddie an unexpected pat on the back before walking off with Joyce to share a private moment by the cars. Jonathan shook his hand, while Nancy gave him a warm smile and a squeeze on the arm before the two of them wandered off as well, keeping an eye on El while she waited for her dad.  
Robin was the next to approach, pulling him into a surprisingly tight hug, and whispering a quiet “good luck” before giving up her place to Chrissy and making her way over to where Steve stood.
Chrissy took him into her arms, rocking them side to side as she buried her face in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing her in as he held her back, this precious girl, the only constant he’d really allowed himself to have this go around. She whispered soft words of encouragement to him, making him promise to stay safe while he did the same to her.
When they finally broke apart he found himself staring over her shoulder at the place where he and Steve had shared their own emotional goodbye in the last loop, the moment everything had changed, when he’d been cradled so gently in the other boy’s arms. 
It was the same spot where Steve stood now, holding Robin this time, as they too made quiet promises to each other to be careful, where he gave her his baby, his precious nail bat to protect herself with, because weapons would be of no use to him where they were going, wouldn’t help if and when Eddie started to float. 
“Remember, no matter what happens, one way or another I’ll see you on the other side.” Chrissy said, drawing his attention back.
He tried to smile at her, to nod, but the pit in his stomach wouldn’t allow for much more than a twitch of his upper lip. He took her hand instead, squeezed it. 
“See you on the other side, Chris.”
He looked up again to find Steve’s eyes on him now too, and they walked together in silence to Steve’s car, Joyce already waiting for them in the passenger seat. 
Eddie did his best to clear his head on the way to the Creel house, staring out the window as he cataloged the happiest moments of his life, pretending not to notice the way Steve kept trying to catch his eye in the rear view mirror.
To be extra safe, they parked Steve’s BMW behind the dilapidated house where it couldn't be seen from the street. There was no reason to think Jason would be out looking for them this time, but they were taking no risks. 
Before they parted in the front yard, her for the jungle gym across the street, and them for the attic where they suspected Vecna would be lurking on the other side, Joyce faced them both and smiled.  
“You can do this honey, I know you can,” she said, cupping Eddie’s cheek with one hand before doing the same to Steve with her other. “Take care of each other up there. I’ll come check on you after the final signal.”
-
Eddie could feel Steve's gaze on him again, the weight of it heavy, as they held their lamps aloft and carefully climbed the stairs to the attic. They had to be as quiet as possible, so as not to draw Vecna’s attention before the others were ready.
They took up positions by a window, leaning against the wall on either side of it so they could see out to where Joyce was waiting to signal them, and after a moment of eerie silence, where they could hear nothing but the barest of sounds emanating from both of their headphones, Steve pulled a notebook and pen out of the inner pocket of his jacket, scribbling something on it quickly before holding it out to Eddie.
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Scared?
Eddie made no move to take the pad out of his hand, only stared down at the single word inked there in stark black on the white page. He swallowed hard, shrugging as he looked away from Steve’s penetrating stare. 
Of course he was scared, he wanted to say. He was fucking terrified. 
That their plan wouldn’t work—that it would. 
That he’d die and it would all start over again—that he’d die and it wouldn’t, no more 1ups, game over.
Steve pulled the notebook back to himself, flipped to a fresh page and wrote again, shoving both the pad and pen forcibly into Eddie’s hands, as if to say he wouldn’t take silence for an answer this time. 
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Why didn’t you want me here?
Though they were more than fair, the words stung to see. 
God—Eddie had really fucked up, hadn’t he? And it wasn’t like this was the first time it occurred to him that he’d handled things badly this time around, he was well aware, but it was hitting him hard now as Steve stared at him, looking so hurt and angry. 
But what could he do? They were out of time for confessions or explanations. 
Eddie wrote back, knowing his short apology was entirely inadequate, but it was all he could offer under the current circumstances. 
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I'm sorry, It’s complicated. 
Steve read the note with a clenched jaw, shaking his head.
The signal came then, three flashes through the window from Joyce, and Eddie was officially out of time. He met Steve’s wounded gaze and wished he’d been brave enough to do it all differently. 
At that moment Eddie made up his mind, and maybe it was a little—or a lot—too late, but he decided this was it, it was going to work this time. He could do this, El could do this, they could all do this. And when it was over he would tell Steve everything—all of it. From what they’d been to each other once—what he’d hoped they’d been at least—to how he felt about him now. He would hold nothing back, and whatever would be, would be. At least then he could say he’d tried.
Steve started to tuck the notepad away but Eddie reached out to grip his wrist, stopping him, and gently pried it out of his hand, jotting his last words down as quickly as he could. 
He pressed the pad of paper back into Steve’s grip, holding it for a few beats longer than necessary, letting their touch linger as he looked deep into Steve’s eyes one last time, pleading with him to understand. 
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I AM sorry. Talk later? Let me explain?
Steve pursed his lips, face softening slightly as he took the words in. 
Suddenly there was another flash on the window, Joyce signaling them again with her light. They needed to hurry. 
Eddie gave Steve a sad smile, wordlessly removing his headphones and handing them over along with the Walkman he unclipped from his belt. He turned, feeling safe with Steve at his back and looked up into the rafters—could almost picture Vecna hanging there by all his tentacle-like vines in the other dimension.  
“Okay asshole, I’m here—no music. You win. I give up.”
Eddie waited—thirty seconds, a minute—to see if anything would happen, but of course it wouldn’t be that easy. 
It was always going to be a long shot, making Vecna believe he was actually here surrendering. The enemy knew their plan, had seen it play out in different ways through Eddie’s own memories. If he was going to pull this off, he’d really have to sell it.
He took a deep breath and opened himself wide, letting the pain he’d been collecting like rain water fill his heart to spread throughout his chest, running through his veins like a raging river. All those things he’d tried to push down, and hold back, and sure, they’d spilled over once or twice over the course of days but now he let it flow freely. He thought about it all—the terror of seeing Chrissy succumb not once, not twice, but three times on his watch. He recalled his own deaths too, how he’d known on some level exactly what end he was sentencing himself to when he’d cut the rope, leaving Dustin safely behind as he went to lead the bats away. 
He remembered every moment of failure from the first loop to this one in vivid detail.
And Steve. 
He thought of Steve, and let Dustin’s voice fill his head again, weakly crying out, He’s gone.
Eddie sniffled, choking back tears as he took a few shaking steps forward, closer to where Vecna should be, and away from his heart, dragging his feet through the thick coating of dust on the old wood floor. 
“I thought about what you said, about this being my fate?” His voice, though hollow and ruined, was loud in the unnatural silence of the room. 
“You were right—” He shook his head, dropping his voice low, almost a whisper. “Of course you were right. I’m no hero. I can’t save anyone—I can’t even save myself.”
There was a shuffling behind him as Steve moved. Eddie didn't turn to see but he could feel the other boy getting closer and held out a hand to ward him off. The movement stopped immediately.
Eddie hung his head, listening, standing stock-still as seconds gave way to minutes, and still nothing. 
Panic began to set in. Their whole plan was hinging on this, it all fell apart if he didn’t get Vecna on the hook.
“Come on goddammit!” He shouted, kicking an old coffee can full of nails clear across the room with a loud clatter. “You offered to end my suffering and I want–I want out… whatever it takes. I just want it to be over!”
One deep breath.
Two. 
“What are you waiting for?! You want me to beg? I’m begging! Take me you motherfucker!”
Another sound, a creak and a footstep, the air behind him shifting. Eddie readied to wave Steve off again but the other boy started to speak before he could even lift his arm. 
“I knew it. I knew it shouldn’t be you.” Steve snarled. “You can’t even play bait right. Have you always been such a complete and utter failure, Eddie?”
Eddie knew better than to fall for it this time, and he knew Steve better than to think he’d ever say anything to him with that level of vitriol in his voice, no matter what he’d done.
The guy was good, though. Eddie had to give him that. Subtle, just like before he had no way of knowing exactly when it’d happened but he was in Vecna’s thrall now. 
It was time.
He backed away from the thing that had again stolen Steve's beautiful face and turned it into something twisted, slamming his eyes shut against the image, doing his best to conjure up the first good memory in his arsenal. 
He sat across from Wayne at the little two-seater table in the kitchen in the trailer—a room in a place that was so comfortable and familiar to him now, but on this day, his 12th birthday, still hadn’t quite felt like home yet. Wayne had to work that night, couldn't afford to take the time off, but did his best to make the day a special one for his nephew anyway. He’d woken up much earlier than usual and taken Eddie into town, so he could spend what few quarters he’d managed to scrounge up playing games at the arcade. Now they were back, about to dig into a small but decadent triple chocolate cake, Eddie’s favorite, after splitting a couple cans of SpaghettiOs for dinner—Eddie’s other favorite.
He didn’t expect to receive any gifts. 
It was already the best birthday he’d ever had, and his only wish when blowing out his single birthday candle had been that he get to stay with Wayne forever, and maybe return the favor someday—take care of Wayne when he was old and Eddie was grown. 
But though he hadn’t been expecting any presents, he’d be lying if he said that the guitar Wayne gave him that night wasn’t the best one he’d ever received. Before leaving for work that night Wayne showed him three chords—G, C, and D, and told him if he could master those he’d be able to play something like half the songs on the radio. 
Eddie nodded reverently, and Wayne chuckled, dropping a kiss on the top of his head before leaving for his shift. 
He practiced those damn chords until his fingers bled, and loved every minute of it. It was still his happiest birthday to date.  
The trailer faded away and suddenly he was in the backstage area of the Hawkins Middle School auditorium, waiting for his turn to go on at the annual talent show. 
The other two members of his band stood watching the other acts from the wings with wide eyes, but Eddie? He was transfixed by Chrissy Cunningham as she rehearsed, twirling her pink glittery batton with incredible precision, throwing it up high in the air, and catching it with ease each time.
Until the one time she didn’t, and the stick bounced off of her palm and landed right at his feet. Eddie smiled and quickly bent to pick it up, moving to hand it back but as she reached out began to twirl it between his fingers like it was a drumstick, a skill developed out of boredom and as a way to hone the kind of dexterity he needed in his hands to play the type of music he loved. 
She giggled, clapping at his display when he bowed and returned the tool of her trade. 
He liked making her laugh, he realized—just plain liked her full stop, actually.
They sat and talked as they waited their turns and Eddie discovered that Chrissy was kind, and as beautiful on the inside as on the outside. He found himself wishing they could be friends, as dumb an idea as that was. She was a cheerleader, a popular kid, top of the food chain, and he was already well on his way to earning the title of Freak. They could never be friends, save for these few stolen moments behind the big black curtain. 
Except Eddie knew better now. They would be friends someday, best friends if he had anything to say about it. For a moment he wished he could go back for real, tell that little boy and girl how they’ll save each other—how much they’ll come to mean to each other one day. 
The theater lights went out, throwing the backstage area into an abrupt twilight as the scene around him shifted and changed—no longer age-worn linoleum cracking under his sneakers, now his bare feet rested on soft carpet, the walls surrounding him covered in the most hideous plaid wallpaper.
It was dark, the room unlit save for a few slivers of moonlight peaking in between the blinds as he climbed into the bed where Steve already lay. It was a night from exactly one week ago, in the previous loop, the last one they’d spent together before dying. 
Steve pulled him close, wrapping him up in his arms, entwining their legs until Eddie didn’t know where he ended and Steve began. 
It all felt so real, and so good. Like coming home. 
Steve was warm and solid and when Eddie nuzzled into his neck he didn’t pull away, he leaned in, rubbing his cheek against Eddie’s hair and pressing lips to it. 
It would have been easy to stay there in that memory as long as possible, but the fear of Vecna showing up and tainting it in some way was enough of a motivator to have Eddie wracking his brain for the next happy thought. 
He hadn’t really prepared for more than this, he wasn’t exactly a walking fount of good times, and it felt like he’d already been stuck in this mindscape, or whatever it was, for too long—but he tried. 
The only thing on his mind now was SteveSteveSteve, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he blinked and found himself back behind Benny’s getting ready to head into the Upside Down, only to hear those two little words fall from Steve’s lips right behind him again. 
“Eddie, wait.”
He smiled to himself, waiting for the familiar touch of Steve’s hand on his elbow but it never came, instead there was a cool rattling breath on the back of his neck. 
Eddie whirled, gasping at the sight and scrambled backwards to get away from the vile creature that was now in front of him, much too close for comfort. Vecna, in his true form, a humanoid nightmare covered in taut sinewy flesh and raw meat.
His heart pounded and panic crawled up his throat like bile as he backed into the building, his hands slapping at the wall, searching for the gate that should be there. He just needed to get away, get enough distance between them so he could think, maybe come up with another memory to hide him. 
But then the wall was gone, something more like wet tree bark beneath his hands now. His vision swam, the light around him growing and changing, the sky no longer the blues and pinks of dusk—he was surrounded by a blood red haze. 
His fingers kept searching anyway until they brushed up against cold dead skin. He recoiled, screaming, and looked back to find the body of Fred Benson wrapped up in vines, and mounted like a trophy on a pole. 
This was not his memory, he’d never seen this place before, but needed only one guess to figure out where he was. No longer stuck in his own mind he must be in Vecna’s now, with no idea how to get out. 
A rushing sound filled the space between his ears, the rhythmic whooshing of blood as it pumped through his body, so loud inside his own head.
There was a thing out there that could help him, it was… it was right there on the tip of his tongue but he couldn’t—
His vision narrowed, the world whiting out around him, tipping on its side and he felt himself falling—falling for much longer than it should have taken to hit the ground. 
He landed on his back, blinking hard and tried to sit up, but he was so tired. He’d been running—hiding from something. He was almost sure. 
A familiar sound began far off in the distance, he strained to hear it, tried to recognize it, but his own pulse was still so loud and distracting. 
A pair of legs in jeans and sneakers—moving, alive—a girl, came into view.
He shrank away from her, unsure.
“Eddie? You shouldn’t be here. It’s time for you to go.”
“I don’t—how—what?”
Oh. 
The girl was El, she was his friend. He couldn’t remember before, couldn't seem to think straight.
“El,” he breathed, as she helped him to stand, shaking his head to try and clear some of the fog. “I–I don’t feel so good.”
“He’s dying, Eleven.” Vecna’s deep rasping voice boomed nearby as he approached them. “You can’t even save one of your friends, yet you expect to stop me?”
He raised a long gnarled claw in Eddie’s direction but El stepped in front, mirroring him with her own hand raised, the force of their power like a shimmering heat in the air between them.
Suddenly the strange noise got louder, and it wasn’t just noise, Eddie could make out the vocals now, the beating of the drums, the thrashing of the guitar.
“You hear it, the music?” Eleven shouted to him as she continued to hold Vecna at bay. “That is Steve calling you back to him. Look for him, Eddie. Find the way out. You have to hurry.”
The more he concentrated on it the better he could hear the rhythm and pulse of Master of Puppets being pumped into this place, beckoning to him—Steve and Joyce too, shouting his name—and he felt a little more like himself.
“What about you?” Eddie asked.
“I’ve got this.” She said, never taking her eyes off her target. In the next instant she let out a primal scream, a fierce shriek unlike anything he’d ever heard before, and Vecna went flying up in the air, his arms seemingly pinned to his sides. 
Eddie cast his gaze around wildly, looking for anything out of place in this hellscape, and finally spotted a faint light on the horizon that had to be his portal. He ran. It was a long way off but he gave it everything he had, arms pumping, legs burning. 
He stumbled, woozy and lightheaded, but caught himself—kept going. 
As he got close he could see himself floating there in the attic, Steve clinging to his leg, reaching for his hand, and without a second thought hurled himself head first into the mirage.
-
Eddie took a deep shuddering breath.
It was dark.
He was cold.
He couldn't feel anything.
“Steve?” He sobbed.
“I’m here, I’m here.”
Arms tightened around him and suddenly Eddie could feel again, everywhere Steve touched him at least, and something hot and wet that was dripping down his face. 
It was still dark.
“I can’t–I can’t see anything.”
Steve rocked him gently. “You’re safe. You’re safe, I’ve got you.”
He tried to move, to touch back, but there was an awful grinding pain.
Eddie hissed. “My arm—”
“Don’t try to move, okay? I don’t–” Steve's chest shook, Eddie thought he might be crying. “I don’t know how badly you’re hurt yet–”
It all went quiet abruptly.
Eddie drifted in the dark. It was a lot like the place he went between loops. 
“Eddie? Eddie?!”
He came back to himself with Steve shaking him, screaming his name. He tried to respond but every effort felt like far too much. Maybe he was dying again. If so, at least this time it would be in Steve’s arms. 
There were far worse ways to go.  
-
Eddie woke up.
It was a first for him, at least in recent experience, to wake up from unconsciousness in a hospital like a normal person instead of falling back into his body in the past.
His head ached but it was a distant thing, thanks to good ol’ prescription painkillers no doubt.
He blinked his eyes open slowly, a little stunned that he could see at all, but it was blurry and unfocused. There was a shapeless form wearing Steve’s clothes asleep in a chair by his bed, what looked like Robin in another by the door. He wondered how long he’d been out, if it was the same night. He tried to raise his arm, to reach for Steve even though he was too far away. But the arm was too heavy in its cast.
He fell asleep before he could try again. 
When he roused next, it was to low voices arguing quietly nearby.
“You don’t know that.”
“Seems pretty fucking clear to me, Robin. I’m–I'm gonna go. It doesn’t matter anyway.”
“Steve–”
“Don’t! Just—call me if anything happens?”
“Okay.”
A door closed, heavy and final.
That didn’t sound good. 
Eddie burned to know what they were talking about but sleep once again sucked him under mid-thought.
-
When he woke for good the sun was shining in through the windows, and Wayne, Chrissy, Robin, and Dustin were all sitting around his bed. He could see again.
It was Wayne who first noticed the change, jumping up out of his chair to hover over him.
“Boy you ever scare me like that again I'll kill you myself, you hear me?” The man muttered as he leaned down to give him a hug.
Eddie chuckled hoarsely into his uncle's shoulder, and could have cried with how happy he was to see him and his familiar gray stubble, the smell of Marlboro Reds wafting off his jacket. “I missed you too, old man.”
“You-all keep an eye on him,” Wayne said to the small crowd as he headed for the room’s door. “I’ll go and tell the nurse you’re awake.” 
Like he was going to get up and run away. 
Eddie carefully pushed himself up into a sitting position with his one good arm, surprised to find he wasn’t feeling worse. 
“What happened?” He asked, now that they were alone.
“They got him!” Chrissy beamed. 
“Hopper said they burned what they could–” Dustin elaborated, swallowing thickly. “And chopped the rest up into little pieces after El destroyed his mind. It’s over, for real this time.” 
Eddie sagged in relief, sinking back into his pillow.
“Oh thank fuck. Do you think that means the rest of it’s over too, the loops I mean? I don’t think I can do it again, man.”
“Well, since we don’t know what caused you to start looping to begin with there’s no way to know for sure, but if the catalyst is you dying, and here you are very much alive even if you did give us quite the fucking scare you asshole!” Dustin swatted him in the shoulder above his cast.
“Hey! Watch the goods!”
“I would say odds are you're safe from having to go back again. As long as you don’t, y’know, die for a while.” 
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Eddie grinned, hoping to draw a smile out of the kid, but he remained solemn and serious.
“Good.” Dustin said, flatly.
Eddie sighed. “Dustin, I–”
“We almost lost you.”
“I’m sorry.”
Eddie wanted to say more, but voices could be heard making their way down the hall towards his room, and he needed to know what he was supposed to say to them.
“Listen, quick, before they come in.” Robin jumped in, grasping the situation just as he had. “The official story is that you were attacked and kidnapped by the same serial killer who murdered Fred and Patrick, the long lost son of Victor Creel. You managed to escape, and Joyce and Steve found you on the side of the road and brought you here. If anyone asks for details just tell them you don’t remember.”
The last word was barely out of her mouth when the door swung open, revealing Wayne along with a doctor and two nurses, who quickly went about examining him. 
He got lucky—very lucky. As bad as he’d looked when he was brought in, unconscious and pale and covered in blood, it all boiled down to a few bruises and a broken arm. The doctor’s had worried for his sight, since much of the blood had seemed to come from his eyes, but on closer examination they couldn’t find an actual wound, and he passed a vision test with flying colors.
They wanted to hold him one more night for observation, but that was it. Come the next day he’d be free to go home, with a follow-up appointment scheduled for 6 weeks from now to come back and have his cast removed. 
Still, throughout the course of the day everyone paid him a visit, with one notable exception.
Steve never showed. 
No one brought him up and Eddie was too afraid of the answer to question it. 
He’d asked if they could talk later, pleaded with Steve to let him explain—and supposed his absence now was answer enough. Clearly Steve had decided he wasn’t worth hearing out. 
Chapter 12
Special thanks to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.
Reblogs are always appreciated, and if you want to be tagged just let me know! I'd be more than happy to do so 💜
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themulitipurposechannel · 8 months ago
Note
Hello!
I LOVE your story!!! CJ having healing Ninpo is so genius and it’s making my brain run wild with possibilities!
Are there any tidbits you’d like to share about the au? Also could you possibly explain what happened with CJ aging due to Ninpo (in the latest update)?
(No need to answer any of the questions if you do not want to)
AWESOME COMIC, AWESOME STORY, AWESOME ART!!! I can’t wait to see more!!!
Hope you have a great day ^-^
BDJDHDHDHDHD Aww dude stop you have no idea how happy this makes me 😭 I’m so so so happy you love my au!! 💗💗💗 I love the concept of Casey with healing powers! He’s has a temper but I still think suits him so well given how protective he is as a person ahah!! And I’m so glad there are ppl out there who agree with me too! But Hehe yesss join me join me in my healer!Cj brain worms hehehe
.
Hmm since you asked bout the aging(and that’s a little complicated) I’ll answer that first. So I can’t go into too much detail cuz that will spoilers for a comic and some other art that will explain everything! ..Maybe😂 But I will say this. Cj unlocked his Ninpo when he was 10 he was fine, he was aging normally. Till a certain incident happened when he was 11 and well.. we all know what happened next, freshly baked trauma and he aged a couple years forward overnight plus some extra long term injuries (that I will go into later).
The good news is that as long as he doesn’t push himself like that again he will be aging mostly linearly again? But the damage has alr been done 😅. But anyways, after the incident, he never pushed himself like that again. One, cuz the Hamato fam would never allow it and Two, cuz the recovery period is so long/bad (cuz Cj is no master and worse he’s a literal child unlike Mikey who was in his early 20s when the cursed Aging started) no one can afford for him to be knocked out of commission like that again. It makes him wayy too vulnerable.
Post-incident, at his worst he has only aged a few days forward but cuz that’s so small no one except Master Michelangelo (cuz he’s a mystic master and cuz he’s also in the same boat) can tell the difference. Plus it’s so negligible it doesn’t technically matter.
But long story short, pulling himself tgt from that incident physically and mentally took loooonnng time haha. But as you can see even now it still leaves its scars haha and probably always will.
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As for any other tidbits? Oh gosh where do I start ? Ahh there is just so much to say! Ok update wise I’m actually working a PMV for Healer!Cj so if I go quiet for a while that’s why. Idk how long it’s gonna take but I’m excited to show some sneak peaks along the way lol. This is my first time doing something like this so here’s to hoping it goes well!
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Lore wise: although Cj does have a subway car in the lair. Once he gets more settled in he actually bounces around quite a bit. Boy was not meant to stay in one place for too long. While he does spent most of the week at the lair cuz the underground is familiar too him, he will spend 3-4 days crashing on the couch at April/Casey’s apartment. And on a rare blue moon he’ll give Draxum a heart attack 😂 by breaking into his apartment and sleeping on that old man’s couch. After a while it becomes their own little inside joke 😂. Draxum tries Cj-proof his apartment using mystic or otherwise and Cj makes it a point to still try and sneak in.
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And the surprise of no one. In this Au, Uncle Mi is Cj’s favourite uncle. Sometimes second pesudo dad. But mostly on accident by a very sleep deprived Cj.
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I have plans for P!Casey to eventually develop Ninpo a few years down the line. But I can’t think of any powers for her so if ya’ll got any suggestions pls fire away.
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And oh P!Leo is gonna permanently need a leg brace. Sometimes on rlly rlly bad days, he will need to use a crutch (not that he ever does cuz he’s wayy to stubborn) but you get the picture.
Raph’s eye is permanently gone, Donnie and his shell will heal but bro will have chronic back pain for life plus certain parts of his shell where the tendrils dug into the thickest are now numb cuz ya know, nerve damage from being literally ripped out the technodrone. Mikey will need to wear compression gloves but his shaking gets significantly better over time. So he draw but he still needs to every two months or so he can get pretty bad flareups which are jsut Oof.
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Good news is April is fine aside from a broken arm during the invasion that will heal. Splinter was surprisingly not that badly injured just a few pulled muscles here and there. And Cj is Obvi fine too aside from a minor concussion that he got prior to time traveling. Which to him was basically nothing. The reactions by everyone else was hilarious and a major culture shock for Cj. Turns out his apocalypse pain scale was drastically different to their normal not apocalypse pain scale.
It was hilarious the gang were like: “you’ve running around taking care of us a lot. Are you good?”
Cj: “yup all fine. Just a few bumps and scrapes”
8 Hours later..
Cj: “It looks like everyone’s settled? Great. I’ll go grab painkillers for my concussion now.”
Them: “I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WERE GOOD!?”
.
Long story short no one escaped the failed invasion unscathed :’D but also whoops sorry for the long ramble 😅 this kidna got away for me 😂
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fancyfliers-fr · 23 days ago
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Sornieth Pride Day 11: Nonbinary
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Day 11 is for all the nonbinary dragons! I have a lot of various flavors of nonbinary in my lair (which makes sense, because I am, too!) so I have quite a few of them to share today :)
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Eissu the dancer is nonbinary, using she/they. She prefers feminine dance parts and presenting more femininely, but doesn't feel very connected to her gender.
Toboe, the idol of the stars, uses He/It pronouns, often demanding they be capitalized when written in official texts. He loves being worshiped and showered in gifts.
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Verge uses they/she, and acts as a clan's counselor alongside the therapist and psychiatrist Andreo. While a good guiding hand to many, she regrets not being able to help her daughter.
Woodpecker the recordskeeper uses he/they pronouns. His job is to take down notes about the daily goings on of the clan for future historians.
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Dune uses they/he pronouns and is a demi-god mountain guide, helping assist travelers in getting safely across the vast mountain ranges using their godly abilities.
Mai the half-demon knight uses she/they and couldn't care less about gender. All she cares about is sparkly things and learning to fight with her extensive knife collection.
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Celeborn the druid uses she/they, and sees herself as nonbinary just like Mother Nature and the natural world around her.
Nameless uses she/her but identifies as nonbinary, considering her portrayal of femininity as an act of worship to the moon goddess she serves.
Wistful uses they/them, and while transfemme they mostly identify as A Menace. As such, the bitings will continue until morale improves.
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zerolostwalks · 10 months ago
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Fic writer asks:
4, 11, 16, 24, 44, 70
(there are too many great questions!)
Thank you thank you! They are really good questions!! (found here)
Long post is long so there's a read more cut. (Question 16. (How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?) gets especially long because I decided I want to discuss all my WIPs.)
4. Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?
This is a wonderful question, and honestly it depends. Some ideas definitely are me reading or watching something and forming an AU around that. Sometimes it's listening to music and a vibe strikes me that I am like I must write a story that fits this vibe. Other times, I'll be daydreaming and a single scene will pop into my mind and haunt me until I write it down which usually leads to creating the world and circumstances to allow that scene to happen. Sometimes I get an impulsive (in the cases of my darker angstier stuff intrusive thought) and my brain is like wouldn't that be messed up? (Like Crash Pad, Ch 11 solely happened because I built the backstory for the POV character and brain went, you know what't be really screwed up?)
11. Link your three favorite fics right now
Oh geez. But there are so many good fics!! At this moment the immediate top 3 that jumped in my head were:
-It's a supernatural delight by @invisibleraven (JatP fic) -Trip of My Life (Every Time You're Touching Me) by @daintyduck99 (JatP fic) -Prince Charming's Jacket by hitechlatte (Rise TMNT fic)
16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?
So most of my fic ideas are in some WIP phase. (I'm serious when I saw I need a focus schedule to help me out) We Run Together - This next chapter is all Reggie being all anxiety riddled because Cam and Bobby take him shopping . . .still not sure if we're gonna get to the plane ride this chapter or next. Bobby's first since turning and Reggie's first period. . .it's a miserable affair for the two of them. I have this mental image of them during a layover just sprawled in the waiting away noses shoved in some sort of fast food bag or peppermint bag fighting off the queasiness of being trapped in a metal tube with a bunch of people, including young kids. . Hello Baby June, Goodbye Heart - I keep going back an reading what we have for the next chapter and all our notes. I don't know how much Ash is ok with me gushing about details bu I'll just say the stuff we've got planned it's literally that meme of "give me fic. 'you have to write it.' no write only fic." A lot of of my JatP wips are on rotisserie skewers in my brain right now, rotating, coming into view, reminding me of their presence, enticing me to work on them. And they ALL have moments that I am like, you were the scene! The reason I started this fic in the first place and I still haven't gotten to you yet!! . Crash and Burn - Gotta get through this last chapter of Crash Pad, which is gonna be fun. But then Glowing Embers!! Aaaah, the Donnie POV side of Crash Pad!! Especially Ch 9-11 of Crash Pad like I am at that point of must write this that I have worked myself into a frenzied state where writing is no longer possible . Finally the Donnie Double AU - This AU has so much angst potential. Right now I have two planned fics for it. An unnamed one where Mikey goes after the Donnie Duplicate to try and coax him back to the lair. Only instead he sets him off. And like I said, it gets angsty. The Donnie Duplicate 1000% believes he is OG Donnie, it is hardwired into him, no amount of evidence is going to convince him otherwise. Also hardwired into him is the belief that the only way to get his life back is to kill the entity that stole it from him i.e. OG Donnie. Which leads me to the second planned fic Meant to Be(working title, it may change). This is the reader insert(possibly OC) led fic. Essentially the premise is Donnie Duplicate runs into MC, and initially begins clinging to them out of an 'I just lost my entire support system' desperation that turns into a really unhealthy obsessive possessiveness. When I say it is pulling a lot of vibes, especially the planned ending, from Meant to be Yours from Heathers the Musical I ain't lying. In fact most of the vibe songs I am pulling for this lean into dark and angsty feels. Straight up have been listening to a song called Stalker's Tango on a loop for planning parts of this fic
24. Worst writing advice anyone ever gave you?
Hmmmmmm, this ones tough, if it was bad advice I most likely purged it from my mind. The thing is sometimes what is great advice for one person and their way of writing may be terrible advice for some one else. Like even the write daily advice, I think this is great advice. But it needs to be tailored to some extent. When I got back into fic writing I worked myself to the point where I am now needing to reevaluate my expectations of me and my writing. Because I can no longer keep up with the way I wrote a few years ago. The same advice I would have thought was great then would kill me now.
44. What mistakes do you keep making no matter how many times your beta corrects you?
This question would be easier if I had a regular beta XD. Personal mistake of my own that I keep noticing, I don't let the story breath enough.
70. When asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?
I have no hesitations telling people I write. I might not always discuss what the stories themselves are. But the brilliant thing about fanfiction is I don't have to, I can just talk about the joy of exploring the characters outside of canon, exploring how they would behave in different circumstances. At my sister's wedding a couple years ago, most people didn't even care about the what I was writing, more on the how I found the time. Because this was when I was in peak production mode, where I was slowly burning myself out with the sheer amount of writing I was doing without pacing myself at all.
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