#Shell Stabilisation

[77gigabytes]

Mini-me {Love and Deepspace boys}

I can't stop imagining the LADS boys with kids. Mainly because of the "Plushies I gave her; plushies she gave me" trend. I CAN'T, I CANNOT, I DO NOT HAVE THE ABILITY TO CAN XD

Enjoy!

-Seven

|| Masterlist ||

Rafayel ❖· ────── · ·

Rafayel is as much of a child as he is a man

I think that Rafayel would have a son.

Right now, the two of you aren’t planning for another child, but Rafayel wouldn’t say no XD

Rafayel would be super fun and silly with your son

He would be overly dramatic when your son presents a new drawing of craft to him

“Here, papa,” Your son presents a painting of the ocean to Rafayel, “I tried the oil paints this time.”

With a hand at his chest, Rafayel does a big gasp, “What a masterpiece!”

Your son giggles

“I should present this at my next art exhibit!”

Please, as much as he exaggerates his reactions, he would have those painting and trinkets buried with him - that’s how much he loves your son

I imagine that one day as you’re cooking, they’re in the living room and Rafayel has your son’s hand enveloped in his own, guiding him as he paints.

It reminds you of that time in his studio in Greensprings after you promised to see the lanterns together

“What should we add next, kiddo?”

“Hmmm.” Your son taps the paintbrush on his chin, “What about some birds?”

“Heh, like the ones that stole your chips the other day?”

“It wasn’t the birds! It was you, papa!” he jabs the paintbrush at Rafayel’s chest

Rafayel lifts his hands up in surrender, “What do you mean? I’m innocent.” He chuckles as your son pouts at him

More often than not, the two of them are covered in paint, or whatever art supply they used. It ends up to be a whole load of washing for you >:(

Your son definitely loves the ocean just as much as his father.

When you were pregnant with him, he would kick in your belly whenever you were swimming or submerged in water.

As a toddler, he would kick his legs and squeal every time the waves washed over him

Rafayel would have his hands under your son’s arms, stabilising him so that the waves wouldn’t push him over

Now at six years old, he’s diving under, collecting shells and chasing fish,“Momma, look at this shell.” He lifts his small palm carrying a pink shell, his pearly whites beaming up at you as he smiled, “You can have it, momma, orrrrr, maybe I can make it into a paint with papa later.”

It’s late afternoon and your son is knocked out on the couch from spending the entire morning at the beach.

You and Rafayel get started on dinner

Rafayel comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Thank you.” He presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“Huh?” You pinch your brows and chuckle a little as he nuzzles your neck, “What for?”

He takes a deep breath, “I don’t know, just… For our son, for being my wife, I’m just happy, I guess.”

You chuckle lightly, “I’m happy too.” You turn around and pinch his cheek, “A little jealous that he takes after you so much, but happy.” you offer a bright smile.

Before Rafayel can lean in, his arms are jerked away from your waist

Your son is pulling at Rafayel’s arms, “No, papa! Momma is mine!” He’s leaning all the way back, using his entire weight as leverage to pry Rafayel’s body from yours, “Go away, papa!”

Rafayel scoffs, “Yours?” He raises an eyebrow, “Tsk.” He clicks his tongue and hauls your son over his shoulder, Your momma was mine first, you jellyfish!”

Rafayel's fingers jab at your son's sides, and the sound of your son’s laughter fills the kitchen “Hahaha, pa—haha-papa! Stop!” He’s got tears in his eyes but the biggest smile on his face.

“Nope!” Rafayel pops the ‘p’ and continues to tickle him, “I gotta show you who’s the big fish in this tank, pipsqueak.”

You shake your head and put an hand at your hip, the other one pointing the spatula at them, “Alright, enough, or both of you aren’t getting dinner.”

Sylus ❖· ────── · ·

Sylus has a daughter, a son, and another on the way!

He’d spoil them ROTTENNNNNN. I mean, he buys you dresses, gives you his black card to spend as much as you want, what more would he do for your children? Or rather, what wouldn’t he do for them?

He would definitely be the type to let your children learn how to do things on their own, even if they are clearly struggling. He lives by the ‘they’ll never learn if they don’t do it themselves.’ idea - he literally says "I prefer the cold and things that make me strong."

Although, he would yield after a little while when they’re clearly upset and wailing, but more often than not, with some gentle encouragement, he’d get them to figure out how to do it themselves - climbing thing, opening boxed, pulling out chairs, etc.

It gets a little troublesome since they become explorative - he often has to use his Evol to reign them back in. Although, the children squeal in delight when they’re lifted into the air and land in their father’s arms.

Mephisto is surprisingly gentle with your little ones, keeping his claws and beak out of range because it could hurt them, but also because they wouldn’t hesitate to grab it XD

Luke and Kieran are often on babysitting duty so that you and Sylus can go out - Honestly, this is why you have another baby on the way. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Sylus would totally hum to your belly, always off-tune, but he definitely would.

ANYWAY

Today, you’re out on an errand and your baby boy is absolutely crying to bits so Sylus and your daughter are trying their best to calm him down

Sylus has your daughter on his shoulders as he changes your son’s diaper. Your daughter has her hands in his hair as she makes silly faces down at her brother to try and distract him from crying.

By the time you come home, it’s quite late and you find that they are all sprawled out in the middle of the living room floor, toys scattered about and a kids show playing in the background.

Your son is splayed out on Sylus chest while your daughter is on her stomach, across Sylus’ stomach XD

You chuckle a lightly at their positioning

The lack of sleep must have finally caught up to Sylus, huh? You think

As you come closer you realise that your son is awake - he’s cooing with a fist in his mouth, drooling all over Sylus’ shoulder.

With a little difficulty, you kneel down onto the floor to slip your son out from Sylus’ arms. Slow and steady… The last few times you’ve tried, Sylus’ eyes would snap open, on high alert -because who would dare try to take his precious angels.

Anyways, you decided that Sylus probably needs the sleep, especially since you’re pregnant again, he’s been so on edge

You cradle your son in one arm, and with the other, you run your hand through Sylus’ hair - which he subconsciously leans into.

Then, you lean down to place a light kiss on your daughter’s cheek, although leaning down has become a challenge in itself with your growing belly.

With the support of a nearby armchair, you stand yourself up.

You make your way over to the cushioned rocking chair in the corner of the room, cradling your son to your chest to feed him.

Just as he finishes, your daughter’s slowly sits up from where she was laying. She rubs at her eyes and blinks sleepily - a vibrant red, like her father’s, peeking through.

She looks around the room and gasps in delight when her eyes land on you, “Mama!”

She takes a few steps to you and then stops midway to look back at her father. She hurriedly grabs the throw blanket from the armchair and throws it across her father, uncaring of whether it covered him properly or not.

“Hi, mama.” She greets you as she climbs to sit in your lap

“Hi, sweetie.” You gently caress her face, “How was your day?”

“Mmm…” She quirks her lips, “Well, little bubba was crying a lot, like, a lot, a lot.”

You chuckle as she spreads her arms all the way apart.

“But I missed you." She nuzzles into your shoulder, "Daddy did too, he kept looking at the clock.”

Hehe, ever the observant girl your daughter was.

“Aww, I missed you, and daddy, and bubba as well.” You press little pecks to her face and nuzzle your nose with hers to which she giggles. Like tinkling bells in the wind.

Zayne ❖· ────── · ·

I feel like Zayne would have a son and a daughter. Your son would be quite a few years older than her though

Some days, Zayne would take them to work, subtly showing them off to his colleagues

Greyson never misses the opportunity to pinch their cheeks and ruffle their hair, “They both look like a mini Dr. Zayne."

Zayne may have all those awards and trophies lining his office walls, but his pride and joy will always be his children

He may not outwardly express it, but he absolutely cherishes them - reading them bedtime stories, tucking them in with the lightest kiss upon their foreheads

I imagine your son would be very studious, having read most of the books occupying the shelves of Zayne’s office. He would be quite curious, exploring the hospital and asking the doctors all sorts of questions that they themselves do not even have the answers to.

He would be your little gentleman, learning from his father, pulling out chairs and opening doors.

Your daughter would probably be a little shy, always having a fist clenched on her daddy’s clothes or holding onto his hands, or rather his fingers.

Her big brother wouldn’t hesitate to get her whatever she wanted or take her wherever she wishes - your family’s little princess

As much of a workaholic Zayne is, and as much as he wants to provide for you and your little family, he would have no problems lessening his hours to spend time with you and the children

It doesn’t matter how tired he is from a long day of endless surgeries, he would just as eagerly play with them in the living room

“Here, Dad, have a turn.”

“What is it?” Zayne removes his coat and drapes it over the couch’s armrest.

“Uncle Greyson bought it for us.” Your son leads Zayne over to the living room table.

“Uncle Greyson, huh?”

Your son brushes over the comment and continues to explain the little toy, “You have to take these plastic organs and bacteria out without touching the edges or else it beeps and his nose flashes a red light.”

Ever the steady-handed surgeon, Zayne takes them all out without a problem.

“Daddy,” your daughter clutches at the fabric of Zayne’s dress shirt. “I want to try.”

Zayne beckons her over to stand in front of him where he can support her little hands holding the plastic forceps

On the off chance that you are not with them, Zayne would get them sweet treats on the way home

“It’ll be our little secret.” Zayne whispers, with a finger pressed to his lips

your son and daughter giggle in their seats and happily gobble up spoonfuls of the dessert

It isn’t long before they all start having toothaches and receive a scolding from you

On family vacations, you all end up in a cabin up in the mountains of Snowcrest (at the request of your sweet little angels)

Zayne is more than happy to teach them how to snowboard,

Much to your surprise, as your daughter grew older, you found that she was quite proficient in snowboarding

But there used to be times where Zayne made them little tiaras and crowns of ice and built little ice castle with them using his Evol

Xavier ❖· ────── · ·

Sleeps as much as your newborn son, if not more, and your eldest son has inherited his father’s incredible appetite.

When you’re not at home, Xavier nearly burns the house down trying to make food for them, so once your son was old enough, he opted to learn how to cook - having his father as an assistant because, you know… they need supervision or something XD

Xavier would definitely read them bed time stories

His voice is so soft and mellow, they would fall asleep so quickly

Not much of a surprise considering that Xavier falls asleep at the drop of a hat

But on days when they have nightmares, Xavier would use his Evol to create little bunnies and flowers that float around in their bedroom

and when sleep finally overtook them, he would tuck their blankets around them and whisper,

“Sweet dreams, my little starlight.”

Most days, in your lounge, your younger son would be crawling all over Xavier as he laid on the floor.

“Arghh, the monster’s got me.” he would jokingly say.

Your older son would then come in with a cardboard sword, gently tapping his little brother on the back to slay the monster

Xavier cradles the young one in his arms, “And the hero has saved the day once again!” He lifts the infant up into the air and receives a toothless smile.

“Just like you and mommy!” Your son beams down at Xavier, sword and shield still poised, “You keep us safe from all the wanderers, right? I wanna be just like you and mommy.”

Xavier just smiles - the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes, “Well, we better start training, huh?” Xavier ruffles your son’s hair.

Although he may not be as well-off as Sylus, he definitely would do his best to spoil them, bringing them to amusement parks, buying them little star lamps for their bedrooms, taking them to the arcade and playing kitty cards with them.

One time, you all went on a holiday to this guest house in the forest. When you asked him how he knew about this place he replied with:

“I befriended the uncle that runs this guesthouse while I went fishing that one time.”

Xavier would take them hiking, showing your sons the most scenic views in the forest

when night time came, all four of you were laying down on a blanket, gazing at the stars

Today, he’s taken you to a cherry blossom park. He’s got your eldest son on his shoulders, and your little one in a baby carrier at his front.

Your eldest son is reaching up trying to grasp at the pink petals some of which fall onto your youngest’s head.

Xavier quickly lets go of your hand, which he was holding, to brush them out of your baby’s face. (he’s using the other one to stabilise your son’s leg over his shoulder)

Just as quickly, he grasps your hand once more.

You squeeze his hand lightly, “Let me take the carrier from you, Xavier.”

“No, it’s okay.” He quickly refuses, “I want to carry them both. It won’t be long before they’ll be too big to do so.”

AHHHHAAA, I'm finally finished with exams, so I'll be able to write more often. Yahooooo ~(˘▾˘~)

But brooooo, the Lads with KIDSSSSS I CAN DIE HAPPY

-Seven

|| Masterlist ||

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Vampire hero x flirty villain but it’s HEAT SEASON *disappears*

“Shit, you’re a mess.” The villain crossed their arms in front of their chest and tilted their head, clearly amused.

“Yeah, listen…” The hero took in a deep breath. It was worse when they spent time with the villain, it always got worse too. Usually, they would hook up with a stranger but that simply didn’t satisfy them anymore.

The hero didn’t know what was wrong with them, they’d been “alive” for long enough now, they had dealt with this several times and had never had any problems. However, that had changed. And the hero hated change.

“You’re not sick, are you?” The villain took a step towards them. Slowly, they came closer and closer.

“No…no, I’m fine, I…hey, let’s just fight, okay?”

“You seem a little distracted.”

“I’m not.”

“Honey, you’re looking at everything I have to offer except for my pretty face.” The villain was in front of them now and the hero tried to keep their eyes on the villain’s. “I’ve done a little bit of research on vampires. Either you’re starving or…”

The hero grabbed their hand.

“Don’t say it.”

The villain’s smirk widened.

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” the villain said. Their fingers traced the hero’s jawline. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, darling. It’s only natural, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but…” the hero began. They couldn’t control their thoughts, couldn’t control the daydreams about what they’d do with the villain.

They used to think this was a good thing, a pleasurable thing. But it had turned into a curse, had turned into a bottomless pit.

Deep down, the hero feared they had fallen for the villain. They feared they couldn’t be satisfied without them.

“Honey…” the villain said. They were everything the hero wanted in a partner. Intelligent, protective, flirty. They’d known each other for a while now. “You can’t fight in a state like this. I’ll end up on top of you and we’d reach the same outcome.”

The hero squeezed their eyes shut, trying to ignore their criminal libido. They hadn’t even thought about their actions. It was as if their body had carried them through the streets and to the villain’s apartment.

“I can’t ask that of you, it’s not right.” The hero grabbed the villain’s shoulder in search for something to stabilise them. They could feel their pulse banging in their ears.

“But I was the one suggesting it.” The villain caught the shell of the hero’s ear with their teeth softly. They bit down but released them just as quickly when the hero let out a quiet moan. “And you came to me…”

The hero was quiet. They touched the villain’s neck and caressed it, losing themselves to the feeling of someone actually caring about them.

“I can’t always control myself,” the hero whispered. “The biting or sometimes scratching, I can’t—”

“Hmmm,” the villain hummed and the hero was surprised to see a satisfied smile glued to their face. “I’m into that. So, don’t hold back, got it?”

“Are you sure you—?”

“If you’re really desperate we can do it on my desk, right here,” the villain suggested. They pressed the hero’s hips against the table and the hero could only attempt to whisper the villain’s name when they pressed their knee between the hero’s thighs. “What do you think?”

The hero didn’t know if they wanted to bite or devour the villain. Probably both.

“Y-yes, here is totally fine.”

“What a good vampire you are, hm?” the villain whispered against their ear. Their hand crawled up the hero’s thigh, slowly, agonisingly. “Three taps if it’s too much for you. You choose a safe word.”

The hero nodded.

“What do you want in return? Money? Information?”

“In return,” the villain said, their fingers playing with the hero’s underwear, “I want you to beg for it.”

Thus their affair began.

[stemms]

I believe that c!Tommy’s kleptomania is one of the most fascinating and heartbreaking parts of his personality, as it adds layers to his character, and explains certain parts of the lore that some people seem to consider a simple bad habit and display of his childishness. I would like to elaborate on that further and explore the way it changed in the exile arc.

To begin with, c!Tommy has been suffering from kleptomania ever since s1, but contrary to popular belief, he had no malicious intentions. From the very beginning of the server, he was already severely traumatised to the point of having PTSD and lacked self-worth. So, understandably enough, he was craving something to make up for his self-hatred, and robbery became that thing. c!Tommy would mostly steal insignificant things because what truly mattered was the amount of things he possessed, not their value or rarity. After all, if he had a large number of objects in his possession, it meant that he was worthy, and nothing else truly mattered.

Since the very beginning of exile, despite his need to acquire items to stabilise his extreme self-hatred, c!Tommy adamantly refused to accept anything from his visitors because he couldn’t help but assume that the gifts in question were “pity items”, and being pitied was one of the things he hated the most. As his exile went on, the belief that no one cared enough to offer him a gift out of genuine care, only grew stronger due to c!Dream’s manipulation, c!Tommy’s severe loneliness, and the heartbreak of the Beach Party. However, with time, the blond has grown to trust someone other than c!Dream — c!Ranboo. Eventually, he allowed the enderman hybrid to offer him things, as long as he promised that his gifts came from the heart. As much as c!Tommy attempted to hide his true feelings, he cherished every single object received from c!Ranboo. These weren’t just objects, like the ones he’d often steal from people to feel worthy — these served as a reminder that there was something to live for, and at least, someone other than c!Dream genuinely cared about him.

Considering that c!Dream has been obsessed with c!Tommy ever since s1 (which included living in his walls and stalking him) and used his kleptomania and “destructive nature” as an argument to get him exiled from L’Manberg, he certainly was aware of the boy’s insecurity, and was looking forward to exploiting it to the fullest to break- no, shatter him :)

The daily routine of discarding his objects hurt c!Tommy far more than we could’ve imagined, because if we keep his deep self-hatred in mind, he didn’t simply find it upsetting due to being stuck in the cycle of obtaining and destroying his items — it was something more than that. Every lost item equaled a tiny shard of c!Tommy’s self-worth, and soon enough, there was almost Nothing left; he was nothing but an empty shell.

Understandably enough, with time, the teenager has grown to believe that he wasn’t worthy to possess anything valuable of his own — he was meant to earn every little thing, and his best friend tormentor couldn’t be more pleased :) :) :)

[nebbyy]

Hi! Could you please do a part two to the lester/apollo x reader fic you posted?

Apollo x reader - Eternal Bonds

A/N: thank you so much for your request, anon! Sorry if this took a bit more than the time I usually take to write my fics, but as I said the past weeks have been really tiring for me🥹 

Anyway, I hope you like this fic, I personally like it better than the first part, but as always let me know your thoughts on it<3

Aaaand as always, painting is "Springtime" by Pierre Auguste Cot for anyone interested!

Summary: Having regained his immortality and prestige, all that remained for Apollo was to stabilise something in his life was one thing: you. It might sound easy, but he honestly would disagree.

Warning: it is implied that Athena has a great admiration for reader, but they’re not their child. This reconnects with my own personal thoughts on how Athena’s cabin should work, so the goddess’ relationship with reader in this fic should be seen as the same as hers and Odysseus’ (if you want further explanations on what their dynamic was let me know:))) Also I must say, I haven’t read any of the trials of Apollo books in ages so I took it as an occasion to interpret Apollo’s return to Olympus how I see it more fit to this little scenario of mine.

And lastly, not a warning but this fic starts just a bit before the end of the first part, if anyone was wondering:)

Word count: 3813 (longest fic yet omgg)

Apollo stood there, standing on the elevator that would take him home. How strange, he had dreamed of this moment for months, eager to return to his home and be welcomed as a glorious hero, with restored dignity, free of the mortal shell in which he had been confined all this time. He had imagined himself proud, tall and triumphant as he entered the gates of Olympus.

Yet as he stood on his way home, he could not prevent the continuous movement of his foot against the elevator floor. There was no trace in him of the security typical of a hero, in him at that time reigned only the same anxiety and nervousness that had characterized his mortal form. First it was Apollo inside Lester’s body, now Apollo had his body back, but Lester was inside of him. That Lester had become an integral part of him? Or maybe it didn’t add up, maybe it was always there, unable to make its voice heard under the omnipresent spirit of Apollo.

Okay, maybe he was rambling, but he couldn’t help it when he felt like his nerves were about to make him explode!

The point was, he wasn’t just going home, he was going to convince his father, the king of the gods, the exact same person who kicked him out of Olympus, to make the love of his life immortal so that he could stay by his side for eternity. It was not a situation in which one could easily remain connected to reality.

Finally, the elevator slowed down its run, until it stopped completely and opened its doors with a characteristic "ding".

Slowly, one step at a time, Apollo stepped out of the elevator and advanced to the throne room, walking up the path that would take him directly there. His performance had an air of regal composure, but it was nothing more than a method of masking his tense nerves. He walked until he reached the first areas inhabited by the Olympians and some other immortal creature.

"Apollo? I didn’t know you were already back. We thought it would take you millennia to make it up to Zeus!!" He hadn’t heard it in a while, but there was no way he could ever forget the sound of Nike’s voice. The winged goddess came to meet him flying curiously, also attracting the attention of the entities that had not paid attention to the scene so far.

Some approached, recognizing the face of the beloved god, while others ran to announce his return to the major gods. First came Hestia, who with that loving family attitude, embraced him gently. "Oh Apollo, you were so good! I never doubted you could do it." 

"I can’t say that with as much confidence, but I must congratulate you, Apollo, you have exceeded all my expectations." It was the authoritarian voice of Athena who spoke, who wore a smile on her face, a more unique than rare event. Apollo was so surprised by this unusual compliment from her that he hardly paid any attention to her questioning his chances of success.

For a moment he felt his eyes almost come out of his skull when a large hand was planted on his shoulder to pat him. " Well done, little brother, aren’t you as soft as you look, eh?" Massaging his shoulder, Apollo smiled faintly at the mountain that was his half-brother. "Thanks, Ares, it means a lot I guess..."

He was about to receive the coup de grâce, if it were not for Aphrodite, unconscious of her intervention, she had put herself right in the middle, affectionately placing one hand on Apollo’s shoulder while the other not very secretly found place in that of Ares, to the delight of Hephaestus who observed snorting away from the scene, but thumbs up at the sun god to express his joy.

He didn’t know how long this lasted, or exactly how many gods surrounded him at that point, but when Nike was about to hold a banquet in his honor he couldn’t control his reaction: "No wait!" His tone sounded so panicked that he caught everyone unawares. For a moment the gods almost had the sensation of speaking a mortal, so much his voice had squeaked in the air. Realizing that he had drawn even more attention to you, as if it were even possible in that situation, he gently shrugged his shoulders, to mitigate the gaze of the Olympians his nerves more tense than ever.

"Um I-" he made a false cough to try to regain his posture before starting to speak again, illuminating his companions with a dazzling smile, "sorry, mortal’s pollen, am I right? Anyway, much as I would be... ecstatic to attend a banquet, I’m afraid I must first have a discussion with Zeus about some... matters of utmost urgency! If you’ll excuse me, now.”

With little pomp, he made his way through the crowd stunned at his unusual behavior. "Poor thing, the Earth has changed him." Someone shook their head resigned, someone else did not even notice his abrupt exit, simply saying goodbye and congratulating him as he got smaller and smaller in the distance. The attention to him lasted just before each god went for their merry way. After all, when you have a whole eternity to live, there are few things left for you for a long time.

Everyone resumed doing what they were doing before Apollo’s return, all except Athena. It was in her nature to predict the rival’s moves- or rather, the moves of anyone around her. She may not have been born with the ability to see the future, but her intellect allowed her to come to conclusions almost as apt as an oracle. Silent as night, he followed the solar god, whose aura seemed to be clouded by some heavy burden.

The closer he got to the heavy bronze doors of the throne room, the lighter his head felt, as if his brain had gone numb. He was mathematically certain that he had NEVER felt so nervous in his entire existence. Not even his many figures in human form could compare to how he was feeling at the time. But it’s not like he could back out now, not after all the way he’s come, not after promising you not to leave your side. Not now, that had arrived in front of the doors.

He didn’t even have to knock, or announce his own name. No use, Zeus was waiting for him. Apollo took a breath, pumping his chest to emulate some sense of confidence before making his way into the vast hall. Out of the corner of his eye, he looked around and looked at the empty thrones, each with small inlays reminiscent of its owner. He passed by his own throne, and a sense of longing pervaded him to the thought that in no time he would have sat there again. Maybe you could convince Zeus to put a similar throne for you next to his own..

No, stay focused, Apollo, first of all he had to convince Zeus to make them immortal in the first place.

Without even realizing it, he was so taken by his own thoughts, he had reached the end of the room, finding himself a few feet from the king of Olympus. Now he could not afford to show himself weak, fearful. Come on, it had to come easy for him, he was also the god of the theater after all! As if a thread pulled him from above, he felt himself erect tall and proud, his chest out, his muscular back straight; a slight halo of light surrounded him, reconferendogli a little of that shine that has always distinguished him from the rest of the gods. He smiled at his father before bowing down gracefully. "It’s good to see you again, Father."

“Apollo, I see it took you no time to get used to your old life once more. I trust you have learned your lesson.”

“Indeed, father. And I came here to thank you for it all. It was… better than I expected.” Zeus lifted a brow suspiciously, eyeing his son as if trying to make out what’s in his mind just by his appearance. “Mmh I hardly believe that you only came here to thank me for your punishment.” Okay, even if he had second thoughts, it was DEFINITELY too late to back out. Yet despite the seriousness of the situation, Apollo no longer felt the same anxiety that had accompanied him throughout the climb to Olympus. He felt powerful, confident in his words, in his actions, but above all confident in you. He knew that if ever there was a mortal worthy of immortality, it was most certainly you. He looked up at his father, this time his smile had become less dazzling, almost a little nervous.

“Heh, you’re not wrong, father. I came here to make a request.”

“Depends. What is it that you desire?”

“How do you make a demigod immortal?”

Total silence fell in the room. The expression of Zeus was intelligible, and not being able to read the true emotions of Apollo, moreover in such a silent environment did not help to calm his nervousness. Zeus slowly blinked, covering his icy eyes for a moment before opening them again as he breathed in just as slowly. " Few mortals have earned the gift of immortality throughout history. He must deserve that honor with out-of-the-ordinary feats," he paused, as if to reflect, then resumed speaking, in a neutral but glacial and authoritative tone, "this is not impossible, but I count on one bare hand how many times a mortal has been added to the abode of the immortals over the millennia."

"I am aware of this, Father, and that is precisely why I believe that the person I speak of is the most deserving of this honor." Zeus did not answer. Not immediately, at least. He seemed confused and intrigued at the same time, as if he had not expected such a response. " My son, what do you mean by that?" Apollo could not avoid the smile that spread on his face having an opportunity to talk about your countless qualities, which in his eyes were endless. It was one of his favorite activities even when he was mortal, actually.

"You see father, they are a demigod of qualities worthy only of an immortal god. They are strong and wise, although they are still at a young age. They fear nothing but the limits imposed by Olympus, which they have served since the day they set foot inside Camp Half-Blood."He took a little dramatic pause, perhaps expecting to be interrupted by the divine father, but he gave no sign of wanting to intervene in words; he preferred to remain silent, peering at his son while he justified his reasons for satisfying his will.

"And they are beautiful, Father. They shine with a beauty far beyond that of an ordinary mortal. Even on the battlefield, soiled with blood and filth of all kinds, their beauty always resembled that of Aphrodite and Eros and all the gods of all the Pantheons of this world who possess the gift of supreme beauty." To this the father could not suppress a snort of derision, not trusting the words of the son in fact of beauty, "If I remember well such words were spoken by you also for Hyacinth, and before him Daphne, and before her still such a long series of river nymphs and mortal beings that I lost count."

Apollo lowered his head in resignation, sighing gently before looking up to speak again, "I realize this, Father, but I mention their beauty only because it would be a crime against all that is right to omit. However, it remains only one of the many qualities that characterize them, which none of my past lovers can say. But that is not the greatest reason why I consider them worthy of immortality."

"Speak openly then, you know I don’t like to wait." The blond-haired god nodded and took another step towards the king of the gods, his eyes even brighter than before, inflamed by his longing desire to obtain what he most desired in his entire existence. You, at his side. Forever.

"You see, they have done a great service to the goddess of wisdom and the manual arts. They have done the will of Athena and have done such glorious deeds that they have increased her honor. I myself was able to attend only some of their quests, but I assure you that they were so great as to justify the support and blessing of a goddess so hardly affable." To these words, Zeus seemed completely incredulous. In Olympus it was well known that Athena was the beloved daughter of the king of the gods, who always kept her close to him and always made all her will an uncompromising law. It seemed impossible to him that any mortal had been able to win the favor of the goddess, and he strongly doubted the veracity of Apollo’s claim.

The young god opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a voice echoing from behind him, "As much as the idea of supporting Apollo’s petty whims, this time I must agree with him." Athena had followed Apollo to the throne room, suspicious of his strange behavior. He had to be honest, Apollo literally had no idea what to say at that moment; he did not expect to get to that point with his interview and certainly did not expect Athena’s support in his intent. But this was a real blessing, for she herself could bear witness to your worth.

She only gave him a scowling look, like a silent admonition to avoid yelling at him, pick up your mouth from the ground and be a god, genius! But his silver eyes were enough to relay the message, and after a moment Apollo had returned to his usual divine bearing. She blinked slowly before turning her eyes again to Zeus.

"Y/N Y/L is a demigod of undeniable quality, which also left me pleasantly surprised. It is true, they have diligently served Olympus and have especially served me, and I have let them fight in my name precisely because their wit deserved such honor. If only it were possible, I would claim them as my own child, for only twice in my existence have I met two mortal men of equal virtue, and those mortals were the king of Ithaca and your son Hercules, to whom you rightly granted immortality.

You know that I do not speak in vain when I express my opinion, and that is why I consider them worthy to also obtain the gift of immortality, especially when to these incredibly successful quests are added the love of a god and the admiration of another." 

Now Zeus observed the two with two comically wide eyes, mostly due to the unexpected intervention of Athena. Even Apollo could not hide his amazement from that sudden help, but he certainly did not complain at all. Three beats passed, then Zeus cleared his voice and I speak in a more serene tone than before, though still authoritarian, "Very well, if you yourself, Athena, consider this mortal worthy of so many honors I want to believe you. Your lover will be granted immortality, Apollo. This will happen at sundown, when you bring your chariot back here to Olympus. Lead them with you, and they can live forever here with you."

"Yes!!" Apollo threw a fist in the air for joy, a small habit he had taken in his stay on earth, but soon after he realized that perhaps it was not quite the right place to give free rein to his happiness, judging by the unimpressed face of Zeus, "Um, I apologize. I thank you father, for this wonderful gift. I assure you that you will not regret it!" He slowly stepped back as he spoke to him with the biggest smile on his face, extending his arms and bending his knees in a farewell bow. Zeus, for the first time in what seemed like centuries, smiled at Apollo and nodded slightly.

"Enjoy this concession of mine, my son, and may it remain in your mind as your reward for having demonstrated your qualities, even without the intervention of your divinity."

"I’ll never forget it. They’ll never let me!" With some other ceremonious thanksgiving, which they had little given the haste and irrepressible joy of the sun god, Apollo rushed down to Olympus, hastening as much as possible to reach his beloved in the place where they had met. He looked at a clock to see how much time he had left. 7 P.M., he still had some time left. He ran like a madman, until he saw the entrance of the familiar Campo approaching. He ignored everyone around him, his perplexed children, his disappointed fangirls, his friends not too surprised to see him running like a bullet through the field, with the biggest smile they’d ever seen on him. Only Meg had a vague feeling about what exactly happened, but even if she did, she didn’t say anything and just looked at him smiling before going back to her things.

Apollo entered the forest next to the Camp and continued to run. Lucky he was back in his cool form, if he was still Lester would have collapsed out of breath for half an hour. And then finally, he finally arrived at your rendezvous point. She found you there, gently lying on moss, slumbering from the weariness of the activities at the Camp and from the worries you had freed yourself of the previous day, in that exact same place, when you had finally found your beloved. Apollo was quivering, thinking how you would react to the awakening, among the golden blankets of his heavenly palace. What would you have said seeing your body invigorated and illuminated by immortality. What would you have felt seeing that his declarations of eternal love were not fallacious, but promises that he had dedicated himself body and soul to keep.

He gently picked you up, taking care not to wake you. He invoked his golden chariot and rode with you to your new home. He kept you close, as much as he was physically allowed by the confined space. The journey did not last long, being facilitated by the godly transport; once arrived right in front of the golden gates of the Apollonian abode, he took you back in his bridal style, leading you to his- your bed. You were stretched out just as he saw your skin begin to shimmer gently, its color gradually became richer and filled with eternally vital sap. He stood by your side, filling your neck and shoulders with kisses as he crouched behind you, eagerly awaiting your rebirth as a deity.

In the morning you woke up with a strong light that dazzled you. You thought it was Apollo, who since he had returned to his true form had regained all the lustre of his nature. But no, it wasn’t him; it was you, whose skin emanated a faint light that bounced against the various gold inlays that were in the bedroom. Yeah, you didn’t remember falling asleep in a bed, the last thing you remembered was lying in the forest moss while you waited for Apollo. Wait a minute, this isn’t even a room in Camp Half-Blood! 

You did it to snap up to the alert, but then you stopped when you felt the familiar touch of Apollo caressing your shoulder, sliding towards the back of your neck and passing through your hair, which had been twice as long as the day before. Normally you would have yawned, but it didn’t seem physically possible to experience any fatigue in the state you were in. You felt... almighty. You finally turned your attention away from your body and turned it towards Apollo, who was already looking at you with a loveless look.

"Good morning, beautiful." You smiled though still confused by the situation you were in. Tempting your luck, you took a sigh and then you spoke, your melodic, honey-sweet voice even though you just woke up, "'Chicken, where are we?"

"We are in Olympus my dear. I promised you that I would not forget you, that I would love you forever. And I meant every single word I said, which is why I had a little conversation with Zeus earlier, and well... let’s just say with a little help I was able to convince him to give you immortality." He said it with the biggest and most satisfied smile I’d ever seen on him, and meanwhile he hugged you and held you and caressed you all over his body, as if to confirm himself that all this was true.

You were utterly speechless, incredulous at what this god had just done in the name of love for you, but at the same time you felt a warm feeling pervading you from within, filling you with joy and happiness, as if that of him had infected you like a disease. You held your hands to his face and laughed in disbelief and said, "You’re the biggest crazy idiot I’ve ever met, Lester!" 

He laughed with you, feeling pervaded by this joy that moved him from within, almost pushing him to tears by the power of these feelings. Holding you tighter, she stroked your silky soft hair as she chuckled happily, "I guess you’ll have to get used to the gold and clouds here." " Still better than a bunk bed to share in five."

Laughing together, you held each other so long as you had time, before he had to take off and lead the sun across the sky. Before he got on the golden chariot, he touched your face with his bronze hands and kissed you gently. " I still can’t believe I’m gonna be able to kiss these lips forever, Y/N." You smiled at him before you grabbed him by the shoulder to push him towards you, and kissed him again. " Then hurry up and leave, so you’ll be back soon and I’ll have a chance to convince you that everything is real." Winking at him, he laughed loudly and heartily, a more melodic sound than any lyre or flute.

"Then I shall not be long in returning to your arms, my lord" And so he departed towards the horizon, and you smiled as you watched him disappear into the sky, thinking with satisfaction of the world that will look up to him with longing and admiration, knowing that he will never again stop for anyone but you, once his daily duties are over. 

[rinhaler]

You Deserve Roses and You Know This

✧˖*°࿐ : 18+ only, no minors.    ✧. ┊ ex!Toji Fushiguro x f!reader

Genre: Smut & Angst Notes: reposting from my old account! Warnings: 18+, dubcon, vaginal sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), nipple play, dacryphilia, pregnancy, abortion ideation, miscarriage, depression, adultery, breeding, creampie ♡, smoking mention. Words: 4.1k

“Is it true? Did talking to Megumi make you cry today?” Toji asks you, peeling down your bra strap before sensually decorating your exposed shoulder in delicate kisses.

He didn’t notice, but as soon as the question left his tongue you had instinctively become dead behind the eyes. It was true. You’re an adult, and yet you were brought to tears by his seven-year-old son. It wasn’t that he said anything callous, quite the opposite, really. Earlier that day, Megumi had been sitting playing in your front room. You were babysitting, as you often did, while Toji and his wife were working. Your eyes hold shut as you remember his wife; his beautiful and kind wife while he continues littering your skin in adoration. You shouldn’t be doing this, but you can’t stop now.

Green sparkling eyes looked up from innocent children’s toys to pose you a question – “Why do you hate me?” he asked, genuinely. It was like a knife through your chest. You didn’t hate him. You could never hate him, Toji being partly responsible for his existence is enough reason to adore him with everything you have.

You just wish he was yours.

Toji is patient when he gets his time with you. It’s rare, after all, and he wants to make the most of it. Two large palms settle on your breasts, the straps are down but your bra is still firmly in place. He massages your flesh over the material, lips traversing the expanse of your body until he reaches your pulse point. He licks, slowly, hot eager breath contrasting your own temperature and making you shudder. This, he notices, pulling your back even closer into his chest. His left hand slowly yet forcefully moves up and down your adjacent arm, desperate to dispel the goosebumps that have formed on your skin. He suckles and licks on your ear lobe before nibbling it softly between his teeth. His breathing changes, his mouth level with your ear, he’s going to speak.

“Baby… what were you talking about?” he sighs, an even more chill inducing breath warms the shell of your ear. He pecks against it, the sound of tactile lips puckering slithers directly through your ear canal. You moan, unintentionally, and back further into your temporary lover. He holds your breasts once more; stabilising you, if only a little, as you begin to grind your core against his crotch.

“I- I can’t, Toji—”

Your attention is fixated on him as his hand encases half of your face and turns you to face him. But you both find yourselves closing your eyes as he places a kiss against your lips. It’s slow, yet heated, and you feel him smile into you when he hears you moan into his mouth pathetically. You’re well and truly at his mercy, though you aren’t embarrassed. How else should one act and behave around the love of their life?

“You can and you will,” he explains, biting your lip as he parts from the kiss. A singular string of saliva keeps you connected for a second before snapping. “you can’t have secrets with my son darlin’, you just can’t. So tell me, what were you talkin’ to him about?”

You gulp, nerves overcoming you like never before. Your eyes flutter shut yet again as he diverts his attention from your eyes to your body. The skin behind your ear is the next subject of his eroticism. And yet, he has the gall to chastise you for enjoying it. With one more repetition of tell me you realise you can’t stall anymore. Out of options. And you can’t lie.

“R-Rocco, ah—!”

“How does Megumi know about Rocco?”

“I- I told… him…”

He hikes your leg up so that you’re sitting on his lap like a little girl. The kissing has stopped and the touches have halted. Toji isn’t patient except with you. He’s never looked as furious as he does now, with you. Brows scrunched and the glimmer in his eye you love so much has ceased to exist. His scar looks as raw as it did the day he got it. A non-existent armour made you believe he wouldn’t mind you talking to his son about such a sensitive subject matter, but apparently it is not to be discussed under any terms.

“Don’t you ever talk to my son about Rocco again. D’ya hear me? Never.” he forbids, his eyes seem to soften ever so slightly when he spots that you can’t prevent the way your lip begins to wobble. “If you really wanna talk about Rocco, talk to me. Yeah? No one else, just me.”

“Y-You don’t let me—” you start, your thought isn’t completed. Thoughts are rattled from your mind as he begins manoeuvring you so that your back is flat against the mattress, jade green eyes boring into your very soul as he hovers above you. His arms dip behind your back, finally unhooking your bra and baring your chest to him.

Beautiful, he thinks.

“I’m letting you now.” he explains, his head resting on your chest, looking up with intent behind his salacious stare. He latches onto one of your protruding nipples, taking it between his cracked lips. He sucks and pecks, and it’s almost lazy, but you know it’s with purpose. It’s driving you wild, you can’t help but wriggle helplessly beneath him, desperate to gain some relief on your eager heat.

He pins one of your legs down, stopping you from continuing your movements. It’s torture, you think, he’s expecting you to broach such a heavy subject matter while you’re so desperate for his touch.

“C’mon sweetheart… talk about Rocco,” he commands. You can’t. Tears stream down your face as you do your best to experience Toji whilst thinking back to the past. Your mind spins and you feel as if you can’t breathe. He releases your nipple with an accentuated pop as he smirks up at you. “I remember how scared you were to tell me… when you realised—”

“Fuck, Toji.” you croon, a mischievous finger slithered down your abdomen down the length of your clothed slit. Feather light touches against your clit and your entrance forced your hips to buck upwards carelessly. He snickered, repeating the action again and again. “I- I remember.” you stutter.

You’d only been dating for thirteen weeks. He was yours before his wife entered the fray, before you had to battle for his time and attention. Nerves got the better of you, the thought of admitting to yourself what you already knew made you nauseous beyond any description.

Your period was late.

It was something you didn’t want to acknowledge, let alone inform Toji of. It had been so little time since you began dating. You thought he’d leave you, run away and never look back. So, there was only one thing for it. An abortion. You couldn’t keep the baby if you wanted to keep him. It was your only option. You were stressed, manic, exhausted. But at least you’d have Toji – that was all you cared about.

“You were so scared to tell me, weren’t ya?” he asks, hooking a finger beneath your panties before settling it in your inner thigh crease. He plunges a finger inside of you, chuckling when more obscenities fly from your mouth as your head falls backwards into the plush pillows. One of your hand grips the sheets below, whilst your other almost tears his hair from the roots. So little attention, and yet such a big reaction from you. “Thought so little of me, baby, ‘m sorry.” he finishes, adding a second finger to your scorching heat. It's almost as if the air in your lungs has frozen, weighing you down. It’s preventing you from speaking. From breathing. Even thinking.

It was confirmed when you finally took the plunge and decided to do a pregnancy test. Big, black, bold text told you the answer and where your future was heading. Motherhood, for certain. But you knew you had to take care of it before Toji became suspicious. It was something you didn’t even want him to know you were going through. Everything with him was perfect, it wasn’t something you wanted to ruin over something you believed could be easily taken care of.

So… why were you crying every day?

That’s what he asked you. You hadn’t been yourself, and that is what gave you away. Jokes he told that you found funny didn’t seem so funny anymore. The way he traced his fingers up and down your arms made you defensive, and paranoid. You didn’t want him to touch you in case he somehow sensed it in his fingertips. If he felt you he might just know that you’re carrying his child and he’ll skip out on you.

It all came to a head one day after you finished throwing up. You couldn’t keep your cries silent. Your body was betraying you, you felt hurt in ways you never had before and it was becoming impossible to keep it all to yourself. You didn’t dare tell a soul for fear of Toji finding out through the grapevine. But enough was enough, he thought.

“You need to tell me what’s going on with you.” he told you, but you shook your head.

“I can’t Toji, please. Trust me, I can’t.” you explained, “It’s fine… I will ruin everything if I tell you so… so I’m… I’m taking care of it—”

“Cut that shit out right now. This has been going on a fuckin’ while and I can’t stand to see you like this,” he responded, moving his head as you moved yours. You were trying to avoid his piercing glare, but he wouldn’t let you. He couldn’t. He’d never of forgiven himself if you carried on like that, unable to share your woes, and did something you might regret. “Trust me, I’m beggin’ you to trust me, baby.”

He forced you to sit down, and face him. He wiped away your tears with his thumbs and kept all of his attention focused on you as he watched you calm yourself down. Tear filled breaths that clogged your lungs fizzled into shaky exhales the longer you held eye contact with Toji. He wasn’t going anywhere, for now. If you explain you can tell him your plans. Maybe he’d support you if he knew you planned on freeing you both of the burden of parenthood, you hoped.

“I… I’m, uh—”

“Yeah? C’mon sweetheart, doin’ so good f’me just use your words.” he spoke, doing his best to tempt the truth out of you. With one final swallow of terror and closing your eyes for a moment to think, you finally found the courage to confess.

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted out quickly. “but it’s okay I’m gonna get rid of it. Okay?” you fumbled out words quicker than you could think. You just wanted him to know that there was no way you’d be keeping the baby. He was what you needed, not a kid. “Please, I promise I’m going to get rid of it, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. D-Don’t leave me, p-please. You are more important to me than a baby, I just want you. I—”

Your rambling was stifled as Toji pressed a finger to your lips. He kissed you on your forehead, a warm smile filled his features. Instantly, you were relived. It meant that your idea of an abortion was enough to convince him to stand by you. There was no reason to worry yourself sick like that, he was going to support you through it all.

“You don’t have to get rid of our baby,” he smiled.

“W-What?”

“In fact, I don’t want you to do that at all.” he warmly spoke, pulling your body into his and forcing his head between the valley of your breasts. It wasn’t sexual, it was just a comfort to him to hear your heartbeat. “Maybe… we could start our own little family, huh?”

Tears roll down your eyes as you reminisce on it all whilst Toji adds his flat tongue to the equation of his fingers in your cunt. It’s all so romantic and wonderful and intense. You don’t think you’ve ever been happier than you were in that moment. The moment you knew he really would stand by you through anything at all. And despite your assumption, he was excited to become a father. He was excited to have a baby with you.

“I love you, Toji.” you speak, softly, unsure if it was even loud enough for him to hear. Oh, but he did. He doesn’t want to stop lapping at your swollen clit, knowing it’s exactly where you need the most attention right now. But a particularly harsh suckle and pop of the bead is a silent acknowledgement, he promises he heard you. “Gonna… gonna cum. T-Toji—”

“No no, baby, not yet,” he instructs. He removes his fingers from your hole, delicately rubbing them over your sensitive bundle of nerves instead. It’s slow and tormenting, but he doesn’t want you to cum like this. “I was so happy when we found out we were havin’ a little boy, y’know? So damn happy princess.”

You remember it well. Your emotions were running high and you had the ability to blame your hormones when you discovered the gender of your unborn child. But you couldn’t quite believe it when you looked over to see Toji’s eyes, eyes that are normally so strict and stern, glossy with tears on his lash line. He couldn’t help it, he claimed.

“Look what we made.” he pointed, the scan revealing perfectly what a handsome little boy you’d made together.

And later that day, he took you shopping. Money was no object. That is what you both decided. Neither of you could believe how much stuff you ended up buying. Paints for the nursery. A crib. Other necessary pieces of furniture. Toys. Clothes. Everything you thought you needed, you bought. You were both first time parents and completely clueless. So, if a shop assistant recommended it, you bought it.

You spent so much time together painting the walls of your baby’s new room. Toji was very irritable when you kept asking what to do and how to help. The paint wasn't going on as nicely as he hoped and his temper flared, it was extremely evident in his face. What do you do when you see an angry bear? Poke it with a stick. Or in this case, flick paint from the end of your brush at him. When he noticed what you had done and he turned to face you, you swear you could read murder on his mind. But when you began to laugh, he couldn’t help the laugh that snuck out of him.

There was more paint on the two of you than on the walls by the end of it.

“That was the day we decided to call him Rocco…” Toji mused.

He began to kiss up towards your naval and back to your neck. Your fingers laced through his hair as you begged for him to deliver the same salvation he was offering your body to your lips as well. He complied, slow patience had dwindled as your tongues found each other. It was wet, heated, sloppy. You felt yourself drooling out of the corners of your mouth, Toji Fushiguro is just so intoxicating. A drug you can’t quit though you know you should.

He’s all you have.

He doesn’t break the kiss from you, though his hand eventually meets his heavy, wanting cock. He guides it to your desperate entrance, lining it up perfectly before slotting himself inside. His hips roll, bullying his cock into you inch by agonising inch until your lip begins to quiver. He hushes you, though.

You both know you want it.

“I’m s-so – fuck – I’m so sorry, baby. I am so—”

“P-Please, pleaaaase stop.” you beg. He doesn’t. You are the one who wanted to talk about it. So desperate to talk about it that you went to a seven-year-old boy to discuss it. His son. “N-No more, I can’t—”

“It was the worst day of my life, too, I promise you that darlin’.” he mumbles in your ear. The thrum of his words rushes straight to your cunt, and you clench so hard around his cock you think he might have to stay there forever.

You don’t think you’ve ever been as embarrassed as you were when you came home from the hospital. Your pristine white maxi dress, stained in bright red blood by your crotch. The atmosphere in your house was foul. Two solemn adults who had lost everything in a few menial hours. Hollowness filled you, not a single emotion ran through you until you heard Toji a few rooms away. You sat on the sofa, turned on the TV and pretended it wasn’t happening. But you could hear Toji loud and clear.

He was in the nursery.

That was the first and only time you’ve ever heard him cry. A loud thud vibrated through you and you knew he had collapsed to the ground. Melancholy overtook him as his new reality was setting in. Your little boy was no more. No fault of your own, apparently, everyone made sure to repeat that enough times for it to really take root in the depths of your brain.

It didn’t help at all.

You couldn’t bring yourself to check on Toji. That would mean going into Rocco’s room and facing the truth yourself. So, you waited. You waited hours for him to finally come out. He came to see you, resting on the balls of his feet in front of the sofa where you sat. Fresh tears replaced old ones as he noticed the drying blood on your dress.

“H-How about a bath, huh?” he suggested.

You don’t remember saying yes, or nodding. But somehow, you found yourself naked and submerged in a bubble bath. It was like you had left your own body as he did his best to clean you. You could hear him sniffling. He was desperate to talk about it with you, all he wanted was for you to help each other cope. But you couldn’t. So, he did his best to lock it away too.

It was as if you had returned to yourself when Toji took a break from washing your hair to wipe more tears from his eyes. A soft mumbling of ‘Oh, Godddddd…’ trailed from his lips as he tried to pull himself together. And finally, your lip began to jut out helplessly. Your eyes scrunched, and the tears began to flow. You were staring at your bloody dress, and listening to him try and hold it together. It was all equating to too much.

It was real, now.

“Our… baby—” you cut yourself off with a wail, Toji pulled you into his hold and sobbed into your sodden locks.

He hissed with each thrust inside of your gummy walls. A perfect home for him in the form of your bodies fitting together like perfect puzzle pieces. He doesn’t feel like this with his wife, only you. He couldn’t stay away, he’d never be able to do that.

He loves you.

He loves you.

Fuck, he loves you.

“’m not good enough… I’ve never been—”

“Stop it, baby. You are enough, I promise.” he tells you through gritted teeth. It’s getting harder and harder to have a normal conversation while he is fucking you so intimately. Every ounce of his love poured into every devastating thrust.

He loves you.

“Wasn’t good enough for you, or our- our baby.”

“Stop it darlin’. Please stop. I- I need—”

“I can’t live like this-!” you cry out. His hand covers your mouth entirely as his mind tries to process what he needs to say to you. Christ. What does he need to say to you? Everything and nothing all at once. He thinks he should start with I love you. But is he prepared to open that can of worms?

“I need… you. I’m gonna leave her, yeah? My wife. Let’s… try again. Me and you, hah? I won’t pull out this time, let me… let me—”

“Tojiiiii—”

“You’re good enough, baby, more than good enough. I���ll cum inside and we can try again. I need to, I need to.”

Your tears stream endlessly but silently. Is this really what you want? Do you want him to break up his family to satiate your unfulfilled desires? It doesn’t matter. You find yourself nodding anyway. Perhaps it will dull the ache inside of you. It could be the plaster to cover to puncture wound in your aching heart; it’s been bleeding since that day.

Toes begin to curl as he continuously batters the spongy centre that spells your eventual undoing with his fat cock head. He isn’t doing much better. Nobody and nothing will compare to the rush and the high he feels as when your precious cunt swallows him again and again.

“Gonna- cum, with me. Please, baby. Cum with me now.” Toji pants.

Your lips are on his again, both of you focusing on your impending climaxes. The way you break away to moan momentarily before smothering each other in kisses yet again is such a lewd, romantic, high that you can’t get enough of. He pounds you perfectly and it’s an arrangement neither of you have been able to let go of after all of these years.

“Oh God, I’m cumming- cumming baby…” he alerts you. You’re practically choking on your own orgasm as it swims through you. Nails dig into his back as you try and hold onto the feeling for as long as you can. He fills you with his warmth, heaving like a desperate animal while he breeds you to the brim.

What have you done?

Time wasn’t a healer for either of you. The days got harder and harder and you couldn’t even stomach looking at him. Each time you looked at him, you saw what could have been. What should have been. The father of your son. The man who was going to teach him everything he knew and help your little boy cause all kinds of mischief for you.

The man you thought could keep you both safe.

That’s how he found himself married to a woman he would never love as much as he loved you. There was a drift, it was aggressive and painful, yet necessary. But you found yourself brought back together a few years after Megumi was born. You were practically an aunt to his son. A second mother, even. A sordid little secret.

You don’t hate Megumi, you just wish he was yours.

The pair of you got changed after he had his post fuck cigarette, knowing you couldn’t risk dallying for fear of being caught. You didn’t doubt for a minute that if you called him in a few weeks and told him you were carrying his child, he’d kidnap Megumi and run away with you to start your new family life together. And you would love that, you’d love him. You’d love it all.

But, it isn’t right. Is it?

He grabs his car keys, readying himself to drive you home to be alone with your dark thoughts. Before you step outside, though, something plagues your mind. A question that you simply must know the answer to. He looks scared, honestly. The way you’re facing him and eyeing him up as the same words twist and circle through your mind. A heavy hand rests on your waist, the other on your cheek. He’s scared, it’s obvious, but he’s still encouraging you to talk.

“Do you ever think about Rocco?” you ask him, genuinely curious. Toji has never felt the need to bring him up, this is the first you’ve discussed him in years. It kills you to think that Toji has managed to shut out thoughts of his unborn son while you are plagued with them each and every waking moment of your pointless life.

And there it is. That warm, kind smile, that is the Toji you know and love.

“All of the time.”

Four simple words have you breaking down like you did that day in the bathtub. Your head is pulled into his chest as he holds you close and tightly, allowing you to bawl every emotion onto him. You can’t control yourself and you don’t want to stop. It’s fine, he thinks. It’s clear that you need it. At least you know something today that you didn’t know yesterday. One piece of information that might take some of the burden off your own shoulders.

At least you know you aren’t alone.

© 2021 fuwushiguro | © 2023 rinhaler

this is a repost from my old account

[fatehbaz]

On April 21, Ali Hussein Julood, a 21-year-old living in the Iraqi town of Rumaila, on the outskirts of one of the world’s largest oil fields, died from leukaemia. He was told by doctors that pollution from gas flared in the nearby field, which is operated by British Petroleum (BP), had likely caused his cancer. “Gas flaring” is a low-cost procedure used by oil companies to burn off the natural gas expelled during drilling. [...] [I]t also contributes to global warming [...]. Some of the pollutants released during this process, such as benzene, are known to cause cancers and respiratory diseases. Ali, who had been battling cancer for six years when he died, was only the latest victim of the environmental degradation caused by international oil companies like BP in Iraq.

In towns and villages near the country’s vast oil fields, thousands of other men, women and children are still living under smoke-filled skies and suffering avoidable health problems because company executives insist on putting profit before lives. [...]

[A] confidential report from the Iraqi health ministry recently obtained by the BBC blamed pollution from gas flaring, among other factors, for a 20 percent rise in cancer in Basra, southern Iraq between 2015 and 2018. A second leaked document, again seen by the BBC, from the local government in Basra showed that cancer cases in the region are three times higher than figures published in the official nationwide cancer registry.

Like many other problems and crises that are devastating the lives of ordinary Iraqis today, the chain of events that led to the poisoning of southern Iraq’s skies by international oil companies also started during colonial times.

---

In the early 20th century, as its navy transitioned from coal to petrol, Britain found itself in increasing need of oil to run its empire and fuel its numerous war efforts. [...] In 1912, Britain formed the Turkish Petroleum Company (TPC) with the purpose of acquiring concessions from the Ottoman Empire to explore for oil in Mesopotamia. Following World War I, it brought modern-day Iraq under its own mandate [...]. By 1930, the TPC was renamed the Iraqi Petroleum Company (IPC) and was put under the control of a consortium made up of BP, Total, Shell and several other American companies. Together, they pushed for a series of “concession agreements” with the newly formed Iraqi government which would give them exclusive control of Iraq’s oil resources on pre-defined terms for long periods. By 1938, the IPC and its various subsidiaries had already secured the right to extract and export virtually all the oil in Iraq for 75 years. These concessions were granted to the IPC and its subsidiaries while Iraq was ruled by British-installed monarchs and under de facto British control. Thus the state had almost no negotiating power against the British-led consortium [...] In 1955, the Iraqi government started to voice its desire to use the gas being flared in Rumaila and Zubair for electricity generation. In 1960, while negotiating a concession with the IPC, then-Iraqi Prime Minister Abd al-Karim Qasim formally asked the company to let Iraq exploit the gas that it was not using. The same demand came up again and again [...], but IPC and its subsidiaries repeatedly turned the Iraqi government down. [...]

Following the 2003 invasion, the Iraqi oil industry was once again privatised as a result of pressure from the US and the International Monetary Fund (IMF). As was the case in the early 20th century, any negotiations on oil extraction rights took place when Iraq was still under foreign occupation [...]. When the process of auctioning off oil fields in southern Iraq began in 2008, the Iraqi government offered foreign oil companies long contracts of up to 25 years, reminiscent of the early concessions agreements with the IPC. These included stabilisation clauses, which insulated foreign companies from legal changes that might emerge over the course of their contracts. This meant that the companies were, and continue to be, unaffected by any environmental regulations passed by the Iraqi government to reduce pollution [...].

---

Looking back at the development of the oil industry in southern Iraq makes apparent that the kind of pollution that killed Ali has been in the making for some 70 years. His death – like the deaths of many others who succumbed to pollution-related cancers in his country – was not an unavoidable tragedy, but the natural consequence of a long history of colonial violence and extractive capitalism.

Predatory colonial practices that began over a century ago caused southern Iraq’s vast oil reserves to be left under the sole control of foreign companies today – companies that over and over again put profit before the lives of the Iraqi inhabitants of the lands they exploit.

Ali’s death is yet more proof that colonial violence is far from over and that it has many different faces.

---

Text by: Taif Alkhudary. “Southern Iraq’s toxic skies are a colonial legacy.” Al Jazeera (English). 12 June 2023. [Some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[mikeyhartman]

WHO: Mikey @ Livvy @docolives WHEN: 10/09/24 WHERE: Merrock Hospital

It hadn’t been easy, but Michael was trying his best every other day. He didn’t know if it was because of actual progress he’d made mentally, finally deciding to at least try and give himself the life that he deserved, or whether it was the mood stabilisers they were trialing him on, but Michael knew he wasn’t a bad person. Had he made some questionable choices? Fuck, yeah, he had. There was no argument to that in the slightest. Choices that resulted in him needing his families help in all aspects. Financially, legally, physically. There wasn’t a day where he wasn’t reminded of that, and how lucky he was that they were able to help him out of a bind. He knew he needed to do better, that he did deserve better. He was a loyal friend, a helping hand, a keen listener to those who needed it. Michael had lost sight of that, ever since he’d gone to work and helped himself to the liquor, getting himself fired in the process. Was it because he worked so often, that it felt like a second home? Because he saw others having fun, so he wanted to join in? That was a working progress, but it was in progress. He’d been unable to fight the temptation of walking around without aid nearby, it had become a reassuring presence more than a necessity now. Even still, he just turned around the corner when he saw his eldest sister standing idly by his room, likely to have just discovered he wasn’t within it. “Look — no hands! Huh?” Michael cheered, raising both palms out at shoulder height as he made the last foots back to Olivia, successfully managing to walk a whole loop around the ward without assistance. “Piece of cake.” He was trying his best. Trying to give his family the reassurance that he was still him; still that dorky, laid back guy who was freakishly taller than both of his sisters, that they knew him to be. Not the shell of a man that he had become. In his efforts of trying to lighten the environment, Mikey misstepped and grabbed hold of Liv’s shoulders to stabilise himself. “I’m good.” His smile wavered, but was still there nonetheless as he pulled her in for a proper greeting. His voice softened, but it held a warmth that only siblings would recognise. “Hey, Liv.”

[shikishake]

How to emotionally abuse your child: comparing and contrasting Mafuyu Asahina and Toya Aoyagi.

There are two actively abusive parents in Project Sekai, and both of them are emotionally abusive in similar ways and for similar reasons. But the treatment and development of Toya’s father and Mafuyu’s mother has been very distinctly different over the course of the story so far. Why has Toya’s relationship with his father stabilised and even marginally improved over the course of his events, while Mafuyu’s relationship with her mother hasn’t just deteriorated but actively crashed and burned?

I believe the difference lies in intent and perspective. (Before we begin in earnest, I want to note that, at the end, I’ll briefly touch upon some other parents, specifically the ones who might also be worthy of criticism. Most notably, I’ll discuss Ena and Akito’s father and the (many) flaws in how he has treated both of his children. Refer to that if you’re interested.)

Toya and Mafuyu have a lot of similarities. They’re both emotionally repressed, they’re both exceptionally skilled (Toya more specifically being a musical prodigy, while Mafuyu has a more general kind of exceptional competence), and they both have very difficult relationships with their parents (their father and mother, respectively). They’ve both slowly but surely come out of their shells and recovered thanks to the help of their groups (VBS and Niigo, with an emphasis on Akito and Kanade, respectively). Because of the connections they’ve made, both of them have received the support needed to directly confront their parents and choose a new path for themselves, regardless of what their parents think.

Toya’s father and Mafuyu’s mother also have a lot of similarities. They’re both overbearing, controlling parents who pile pressure and expectations on the shoulders of their children, both have isolated their children in an attempt to focus their attention on the things they deemed important, and they’ve both rejected the paths their children have decided to walk in the end. 

Both of them have claimed that their behaviour was motivated by good intentions, that they truly want the best for their children and want them to be happy, and that everything they’ve done has been in service of making life easier for their children.

Both of them have failed, but only Mafuyu’s mother is lying (including to herself).

Toya’s father.

Toya’s father has been a successful classically trained musician his entire life, and has raised two other boys to be successful classically trained musicians. Neither of Toya’s brothers live in Shibuya, but small mentions of them reveal that, though they might have shared Toya’s current attitude in the past, both of them have told Toya they now agree with their father, despite going through the same kind of upbringing by the same man, with all the horrible things that implies.

Why?

Because Toya’s father, more than anything, loves classical music. It makes him happier than virtually anything else in the world. Toya’s father loves classical music, and has loved classical music for his entire life, as much as the most passionate characters in this story love music. Toya’s father loves classical music as much as (or maybe more than) Toya loves street music. Toya’s father loves classical music as much as Akito loves street music.

Both of Toya’s brothers have claimed to share this love. The reason Toya’s brothers can now look back and say that their father was right is because classical music has made both of Toya’s brothers happier than virtually anything else in the world, too (or, at least, that’s what they told Toya).

The reason Toya’s father raised Toya the way that he did is because, from his point of view, there is nothing that will make an Aoyagi happier than classical music. He has made the mistake a lot of parents make. He has assumed his sons are the same as him. He has assumed what would make him happy, would make his sons happy. And nothing has given him any indication that this is false. Not Toya’s brothers, and not even Toya.

Toya has also loved classical music his entire life. The reason Toya rebelled and quit classical music isn’t because he doesn’t like it, or doesn’t like playing it. Toya rebelled because his father was suffocating him, isolating him and controlling him, and the association with that suffocation made Toya’s relationship with classical music strained, but it has been stated again and again that the reason Toya has avoided classical music for a while now is because it brings up unpleasant memories, not because he doesn’t actually like the music.

The crucial difference between Toya and his father is that classical music does not make Toya happier than anything in the world. He might enjoy it, and he might even love it, but Toya will, and would, never be able to look back on the trauma and isolation he endured and believe it was worth it. Toya would never have willingly sacrificed his childhood, his social life, his freedom for classical music. Not when he was a child, not now, and according to everything we know about him, not in the future either.

But Toya’s father would have. Toya’s father believes the suffering he endured was worth the happiness he now feels. Toya’s brothers have both told him that they believe the suffering they endured was worth the happiness they now feel. And Toya’s father thinks the suffering Toya has endured and would have needed to continue to endure would be worth the happiness he’s convinced he would feel in the future.

He does not understand Toya’s switch to street music. Or, well, he does; Toya switched to street music specifically because he knew his father would hate it more than any other type of music, and Toya’s father is aware of this. Toya didn’t have it in him to quit music entirely, but the reason he chose this type of music specifically is for no reason other than “my dad would hate it”.

The thing that Toya’s father doesn’t understand is that Toya may have started street music to spite his father, but that’s not why he does it now. Toya fell in love with street music, to the same extent that his father fell in love with classical music, and it shows when he performs. That’s why, when Toya’s father went to see Toya perform for the first time at the end of his first event, their relationship changed for the better. Because Toya’s father wants his son to be happy, and the reason he’s been such a bad father is because he’s stubbornly convinced that classical music would make Toya happy, despite all evidence to the contrary. And when he saw his son on that stage, Toya was happier than classical music had ever made him.

His father may despise the music Toya makes, and there may be a pretty big part of him that thinks Toya would, someday, be able to fall in love with classical music in the same way he has, and maybe he even believes that Toya would be happier in the long run if he stuck to classical music. But first and foremost, Toya’s father wants Toya to be happy, and that performance showed him that street music made Toya happy. Their relationship softened because Toya’s father was able to understand, in some tiny way, that Toya wasn’t ruining his own life out of spite. Even if he thinks Toya would be happier in the long run, that performance showed Toya’s father that, if nothing else, Toya wasn’t going to be unhappy.

He still wants Toya to quit street music and return to classical. But the dynamic has changed because the stakes have changed. Previously, from Toya’s father’s perspective, it was either “continue performing this drivel and be miserable for the rest of your life” or “return to classical, push through the hardship and be happy”. Now, it’s “continue performing this drivel and be happy” or “return to classical, push through the hardship and be happier”. Those are entirely different stakes.

Mafuyu’s mother.

Now let’s talk about Mafuyu’s mother. What makes her different? Why does nothing get through to her? Why is Mafuyu’s mother portrayed so much harsher and so much more negatively?

It’s difficult to really pinpoint Mafuyu’s mother’s perspective and intentions, because Mafuyu’s mother is a manipulator first and foremost. Almost nothing she says can be taken at face value. But there’s a couple of possible interpretations, some more charitable than others.

Right off the bat, I don’t believe the most charitable explanation: that she genuinely wants what is best for her daughter and is simply misguided. If this was true, she wouldn’t have constantly invaded her privacy to snoop on whether or not she was still making music or talking to her friends. If this was true, she wouldn’t have thrown her synthesiser away behind her back. If this was true, seeing Mafuyu break down into tears and beg her mother to allow her even the tiniest amount of agency would have made her do more than blink. If this was true, she would have been rightly horrified that Mafuyu said she’s been unbelievably miserable for years instead of being mildly nonplussed, then immediately trying to guilt trip her by crying and repeating her spiel that this is all for the best. More than that, she wouldn’t have stopped crying immediately when she noticed her guilt tripping wasn’t working.

On the other hand, there’s the least charitable interpretation of Mafuyu’s mother: that she’s a narcissist who wants to live vicariously through her daughter’s success. She wants Mafuyu to be a successful doctor, not because she wants her to be happy, but because being able to say that she raised a successful doctor would make her feel successful by proxy. This isn’t impossible, or even improbable. There’s a not insignificant amount of parents who do, genuinely, feel this way, and the consequences of that are often severely traumatic for the children. 

However, I don’t think this is accurate either. She’s too often portrayed as insisting everything is for Mafuyu’s sake for it to be entirely a lie, or at least a lie that she’s aware of. Instead, I think what’s happening is a little more insidious.

I believe Mafuyu’s mother has, at some point, decided who Mafuyu is, and that is the Mafuyu that she loves. And she does love that Mafuyu. But she loves only that Mafuyu, and a version of Mafuyu that deviates from the Mafuyu that she has decided to love isn’t the true Mafuyu.

Mafuyu’s mother has created a cardboard cutout of her daughter in her own mind, and when Mafuyu doesn’t fit it, it’s not the cutout that’s wrong, it’s Mafuyu that has somehow been altered.

This is why, when Mafuyu’s mother says her actions are for the sake of Mafuyu’s happiness, it’s simultaneously completely honest and entirely wrong. Because Mafuyu’s mother does genuinely believe that studying hard, getting into a good school, and becoming a successful doctor and a respectable adult who makes a lot of money would make her Mafuyu happy. She’s completely honest when she says it, which is also part of why she’s so good at manipulating Mafuyu.

The problem is that her Mafuyu doesn’t exist. And she has never existed. Her Mafuyu was, from the very beginning, an act that Mafuyu performed to make herself fit the shape of the cardboard cutout in her mother’s mind. The cardboard cutout was never real. It was a fake, a fake that Mafuyu tried desperately to pretend was real because she loves her mother and wanted to make her smile.

Why does her mother constantly deny Mafuyu’s real feelings? Why does she fail to understand anything, even when Mafuyu herself breaks down crying and shouts it out loud? Because the person Mafuyu’s mother loves is the cardboard cutout in her mind. Because the person telling her that she’s miserable isn’t her Mafuyu. That's a deviation that needs to be corrected, a corruption that needs to be removed, an infection that needs to be excised. The real Mafuyu would never say these things. The real Mafuyu is a good, kind girl who works hard, studies diligently, is always polite and does whatever her mom tells her to do.

The version of Mafuyu in her mind isn’t miserable, so Mafuyu can’t be miserable. If Mafuyu is miserable, then something must have changed her. Because her Mafuyu can’t be miserable.

This is why she so consistently blames Kanade and the rest of Niigo. It’s why she’s so insistent on Mafuyu quitting Niigo. It’s why she says things like “if Mafuyu wants to make music, she can, but she should prioritise studying first, and come back to it once she’s secure and stable”. It’s why she’s all for her being a member of the archery club, but constantly tells Mafuyu to stop making music.

It’s not about the activity. It’s about the people, putting ideas in her head, corrupting her, making her deviate from her real self. It’s about the discrepancy between the Mafuyu she sees and her Mafuyu.

If Mafuyu isn’t behaving like what she expects, it’s not her expectations that are wrong, it’s Mafuyu that’s wrong.

If the cardboard cutout doesn’t match reality, then reality is wrong.

Mafuyu’s mother loves a fantasy. More than that, she chooses to love a fantasy. The reason Mafuyu’s mother is portrayed so negatively, and never receives any of the positive development that any of the other parents do, is because she’s denying reality.

Project Sekai is about embracing your true feelings. Toya’s father didn’t understand Toya’s true feelings for a long time. When he eventually did understand them, though, he acknowledged them. He didn’t agree with them, but he acknowledged them. He understood, at the very least, that street music made Toya happy.

Mafuyu’s mother doesn’t just not understand Mafuyu’s true feelings, she denies them outright. She wants to kill them, in Kaito’s words. There is no reality where these are Mafuyu’s true feelings. There is no version of Mafuyu that isn’t her Mafuyu. She has one daughter, and she loves that daughter, and only that daughter.

Nevermind that that daughter isn’t real. Nevermind that her real daughter is absolutely miserable, begging for love and affection that isn’t predicated on her putting on a mask and playing a character that she can barely recognize herself in.

That is the difference between Toya’s father and Mafuyu’s mother. Toya’s father, for all his flaws and abuse and self-centred outlook, actually loves Toya. Mafuyu’s mother only loves the version of Mafuyu she created in her own head.

Other parents.

Alright, to cap this off, let’s look at a couple of other characters who are, in some way, questionably effective at being parents.

Ena and Akito’s father.

There’s probably a not-insignificant amount of people that were surprised when I said that only Toya’s father and Mafuyu’s mother were actively abusive. Ena and Akito’s father is also an almost exclusively negative influence in his childrens’ lives, so what makes him different?

What makes Ena and Akito’s father different is that I don’t think he’s actively abusive. I think he’s incredibly neglectful.

There is a massive difference in how often Ena and Akito’s father shows up and how often Toya’s father or Mafuyu’s mother show up. He appears very rarely in Ena’s events and barely has any lines even though the few lines he does have are incredibly important for Ena’s character. He doesn’t show up in Akito’s events at all. The only thing he consistently does is be a constant shadow hanging over Ena’s head, and he doesn’t need to be present to do that.

Ena and Akito’s father is barely a part of their family. He doesn’t try to control his children, or isolate them, or even criticise them outside of the rare instances he bothers talking to them. He’s a presence that sets Ena on edge constantly when she has to leave her room, but the amount of times Ena actually talks to her father can be counted on one hand. He’s profoundly and exclusively unsupportive, entirely emotionally (and often physically) distant and basically fully absent from Ena’s life outside of the two or three times he tells her to give up on her dreams because she has no talent and will never be successful.

And yet, in a weird way, Ena somehow has the better relationship with their father out of the two of them, because Ena has any relationship with their father at all. It’s very much negative, but they do very rarely interact. Akito’s only, only, conversation with the man is in Ena’s first event, where he tries to make their father understand that he’s, well, being a fucking terrible father to Ena. I scoured through every event story, every card story available in English. Nothing. There’s not even a mention of him talking to his father offscreen. Please correct me if I’m wrong, maybe the JP events/stories have something.

The only time he talks about his father is in the first side story of his card for Toya’s second event. He talks about a camping trip his family went on, and -- surprise surprise -- he paid barely any attention to his family, mostly just sitting there and painting the landscape. The closest he came was when he painted his family, until Ena pushed him in the river for not paying attention to her.

So yeah. No less of a bad dad than the other parents. Pretty terrible person. Just not in the same category as Toya’s father and Mafuyu’s mother, even if the influence he had on his daughter in particular ended up being just as negative and scarring. Also, thank god Akito met Ken because by all accounts that boy has spent most of his pre-RAD WEEKEND life without a father.

Tsukasa and Saki’s parents.

Saki was in the hospital for most of her early teens. In hindsight, their parents could have spent more time with Tsukasa, but it’s entirely understandable that they prioritised their sick, hospitalised daughter, even if it was the wrong choice. There are no bad guys here. 

Tsukasa spent a fair chunk of his childhood lonelier than other kids, and in an ideal world, with perfect parents, that wouldn’t have happened. We don’t live in an ideal world. There are no perfect parents. I genuinely believe they did the best you could reasonably expect. That’s it.

Kanade’s father.

The man had what was probably a stroke from overwork and stress. Normally, telling your incredibly musically gifted daughter that she should keep creating her own music and that a lot of people will enjoy her music is nothing but good parenting.

What happened was tragic in practically every way, but it would have been tragic regardless of what he said. Whether or not he emphasised that Kanade should continue composing her own music, Kanade was severely traumatised and would have spiralled into something unhealthy anyway. That it became this particular brand of unhealthy isn’t something I can blame him for.

(I can, however, blame child protective services and mental health care in Japan, who dropped the ball so fucking hard by letting a girl barely into her teens not only live by herself with no actual support because her grandmother continued to pay for the house but have consistently neglected to, y’know, actually check up on her. Ever. Even when she’s literally in the hospital. The closest they ever came is some of the random nurses being mildly concerned about the grieving 14-15 year old crying next to her comatose father’s hospital bed.)

Kanade’s saviour complex is a result of what her father said to her, yes. I don’t think that’s on him.

Mizuki.

Mizuki’s parents and sister are fantastic, I just wanna shout them out for being the only healthy family in Niigo.

I suck at ending things.

Anyway that’s it. Stand by for other stuff at some point in the future. There’s the beginnings of an idea about contrasting Mafuyu and Haruka, but take that with a grain of salt. It’s just a thing I noticed after finally getting around to reading some of Haruka’s event stories.

I think about characters other than Mafuyu, I promise. This is just a coincidence. Really.

So yeah. Bye.

[kairukitsuneo]

Idea from @compaculaaa and co-writing presents::

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.**✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

What if TFA ULTRA MAGNUS SURVIVES

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.**✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

⚠️⚠️Heavy Angst, Major Character Death⚠️⚠️

💠Based on context from Trial of Megatron (Pt 1) from TFNation💠

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

After handing over the Magnus Hammer to his chosen successor, Ultra Magnus vents, as if a heavy burden has just lift off his weak spark. Abruptly, his internal gears shift and give out, forcing a few of his vital parts to cease in operation.

It's a matter of time before his spark slowly extinguished.

Frightfully, Ultra Magnus searches for the comfort of his lover. There is something, something important to tell him! Alas, nothing moves under his command, not a single digit nor a quiver of his lip plates.

A worried look shoots from Alpha Trion. The older bot senses something is wrong, yet fails to see the turmoils his loved one is battling. Until it is far too late, and Alpha watches with growing panic as Ultra's optic slowly dims down.

The blue helm tilts to the side as if losing all of its weight of life. His active read-out is going unstable and almost flat lines, warranting an emergency aid. Ratchet and Red Alert rush in to assist Perceptor.

"Please save him," Alpha begs, "you have to, please!"

"We will do what we can," Perceptor reassures.

Alpha can only stand by helplessly, darting optics at the busy medics who hurriedly hook Ultra Magnus with more equipment to stabilise his vital. Cables over cables have gruesomely plugs into the bigger body, obscuring the beautiful face he worried for. A blue servo gently put on his clenched fist he had no recollection of doing so. The nervous young bot who is shaken up too, yet selflessly try to comfort the older mech first.

Suddenly, Perceptor calls Alpha Trion and Optimus over by the berth. Optimus hopefully asked, "Is Ultra Magnus alright now?"

"There is nothing we can do," Perceptor's emotionless voice cut down all hope.

Alpha's expression goes blank, as if he is ignoring what he doesn't want to hear. He walks towards the berth, looking at his dearest, who quietly sleeps as though it is a normal daily routine. "Oh Ultra, look at you, you look just tired," the elderly whispers lovingly, "I'm sure you will be chirpy once you rested well!"

Optimus frowns and looks at the others for help with the situation. Weirdly, others say nothing. Ultra Magnus remains attentively "listening" to his lover's stories. And at his last moments, they all who huddle by his berth, silently watching as he slowly fades away.

"He just falls into a recharge, right?" Alpha asks, more of persuading himself than asking the questions.

"I'm sorry, Alpha Trion." Ratchet regretfully informs, avoiding optic contact with the pleading ones, "he has gone offline."

Like a heavy blow to his processor, Alpha Trion stumbles and falls backwards. Luckily, Optimus reacts fast enough to catch him and guides him to be seated. He watches in a daze as everything moves slowly around him; Ratchet and Red Alert remove the spark supporting equipment and cables from Ultra Magnus; Perceptor declares the offline time of the deceased. Alpha Trion hazily shakes his helm, repeatedly murmurs,

No no no this can't be happening!

And he continues to deny the whole thing in his head, thinking it is just a bad dream, or maybe Ultra's vitals will spring back up at the last moment.

But all colours have already drained from the familiar face he once knew. The warmth no longer holds its meaning on the cold and hard chassis. The grey, motionless, and quiet shell, is what's left of his lover.

"We shall prepare for the funeral," Perceptor leads everyone else out of the room, including the concerning Optimus.

As Alpha looks at the grayed corpse of his beloved, now in the optic of no one. He falls to his knees, holding Ultra's servos in his, the servo that was severed from his body.

Finally it sinks in, and he comes to terms with the fact that Ultra Magnus is gone now.

This...this is too unjust. Why take away such a kind and sweet spark from him? The good mech had done nothing wrong and always be there for his people as he leads the Autobots. He protected and saved many of our kinds. Why did fate have to be so cruel to him?

Cleansing tears fall from his optics as he swears at the ill fate, at All-Spark or even Primus for the injustice, until he can cry no more tears.

Tiredly, Alpha lowers his helm, carefully taking a good look at the face he has looked upon many, many times. The smiling face of his; the soulful and longing gaze of his; the angry childish pout of his; One last time, he commits them one by one into his deepest memory banks.

Oh, his beloved, his dearest and precious.

He had to let go now.

"I will love you, for eternity until my spark joins you with the All-Spark."

A final love confession whispers from Alpha's lips as he moves closer and plants a goodbye kiss on the grey ones.

Unnoticed by Alpha's dimmed optics, vivid light shines from within Ultra Magnus' ashy chassis, filling the space between them with a sharp beam of hope. And almost immediately, his colour returns at his core, spreading across his frame and servos like a miracle paint.

Alpha feels his chasis burning hot like a sun. Confusingly, he wants to step back and investigate. But his lips instantly capture by another pair of lively lips.

"Mmh Ultra?" Even through muffled mouth, it doesn't hide the excitement and surprise in Alpha's voicebox. He wants to remain hopeful. To believe what's happening right now.

Alpha kisses again and again, verifying the warmth he felt is not an illusion or glitch. And each kiss is replied with increasing heat of love. Alpha's spark joyously throbs, sensing the pulsing of another spark, as their thread of bond reforming with each intimacy. Finally, he calms down and meets with the bright blue optics in front of him.

"Is it really you? Ultra?"

"Yes, my sweetspark." Ultra smiles devotedly at his love, lifting his uninjured servos to caress the teary cheeks.

They exchange no more words and pull deep into a passionate steamy kiss again. Alpha doesn't want to waste a klik to savour this reunion after what he has agonisingly gone through.

No more big surprises, except for the crowd at the door standing in shock that demands an explanation.

[paintersknife]

Simulacrum

Her face is the first thing he sees when he wakes up. It’s familiar somehow, but he can’t put his finger on it, as if the memory is shrouded in cobwebs, an old thing, desiccated and forgotten. (Where has he seen her? When has he seen her?)

“What’s your name?” she asks, but it’s clear that she isn’t really talking to him, judging by the way her hands reach out to grab his wrist, turning it to face her as she reads the serial number printed there. (Was that always there?)

“It’s Cl-” (It’s the one thing he knows.)

She cuts him off, dropping his hand as she reaches past him to pull out a thick manual from somewhere deeper in the pod, still refusing to look him in the eye. “03L-3103.”

There’s an expression on her face that he’s never seen before, but somehow it makes something deep inside of him hurt.

Setting herself down on the edge of the pod, she starts to flip through the book, leaving him in relative silence as he pushes himself up and out of it. She thinks that he doesn’t notice the small sob that she lets out while her face is obscured by the manual. (He does.)

“It says here that you have a memory chip and an emotion simulation module,” she says quietly after a time. Her voice is a little thick, as if she’s not used it in a while. “It also says that it might take a while for your memories to stabilise. So you should grab what you need and come with me. I can’t just leave you here.”

He goes with her, slowly shaking off the stiffness in his mechanical joints from being so long confined. It feels familiar as he walks with her and something buried deep within his memories stirs. (But was there always a distance between them like this?)

Fragments of recollections begin to coalesce in his mind, enough for him to know that they meant something to each other, once. It isn’t enough to make her look at him, isn’t enough to make him ask her about it.

Later while he’s helping to help her set up her camp, he catches her stealing glances at him with a faraway look in her eyes like she’s looking through him and at someone else. (Who is that expression meant for?)

“I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable,” he says, keeping his voice as gentle as he possibly can. She looks away, guilt in her expression. (What does she have to be guilty about?)

The silence between them seems to stretch on forever.

“You aren’t him,” she says eventually, her voice cracking. “He’s dead. He’s long dead and you’re just a copy with his face.” (He’s always known. A perfect copy is still just a copy.)

Her face falls at the harshness of her own words, regret written all over her face as her eyes flick to the floor, as if she’s unable to keep looking at the face of the man she once loved. He doesn’t blame her, after all, he is merely an imitation of something original, a prime version, perfection in all its flaws and he knows he can never attain that purity. All he is to her is someone’s ghost. 

What is he to do then, with these memories that aren’t his? With these emotions that feel so vivid that he’s afraid his exoskeleton will burst apart, leaving him the empty shell that she sees him as? Are they even his at all, or are they just lines of code, written and encoded to give him some semblance of substance? Is he merely a collection of silicon and gold, assembled and produced, a puppet pulled by digital strings? If that’s so, where does that leave him?

Tears well up in her eyes, overflowing and streaking their way down her cheeks. It makes his chest ache, but it's such a beautiful sight to him despite that, worth encoding in his memory. Would she even cry for him like she would for the one that she lost? (Is he even worth her tears?)

He can’t help but think that the real Clarence wouldn’t even have these doubts. 

Gently he pulls her towards him, wrapping his arms around her when she doesn’t resist. She buries her face in his shoulder, finally letting herself grieve all that she’s lost, all that she’s found. He doesn't know how long their time together will last, but he'll love her as much as she will let him. (It’s what he would have done.)

[iztarshi]

Fandom: tmnt 1987

-

Raphael wakes up on the morning of his eighteenth birthday and starts by listing to himself the reasons why that’s nonsense.

1) If he was sold at the legal size of six inches then he was likely anywhere from two to seven years old at the time, it’s been six or seven years since then, he’s been alive for fourteen years at most. But Splinter decided they were adults this year and Leonardo decided that meant these should be their eighteenth birthdays, and Michelangelo was excited to throw eighteenth birthday parties and here they all are.

2) It’s not his birthday, it’s an arbitrary day Splinter picked for him.

3) What does being eighteen even mean for a turtle? If it was twenty-one maybe it would mean Leonardo would let them have some champagne, but eighteen? He could vote, if turtles had the vote. He could enlist, which, hah, nope, he’s been fighting for years already he’s not upgrading to an actual war. Anyway, he doesn’t think the new Don’t Ask Don’t Tell laws would cover someone not asking if you’re a turtle.

At this point in the list, Michelangelo comes to wake him up and he puts his head under the covers.

“Wake up, dude, it’s your birthday!” Michelangelo announces.

“I don’t want a birthday, I want more sleep,” Raphael says.

“But I made breakfast…”

The blanket provides excellent defense from Michelangelo’s puppy dog eyes, so Raphael is able to say, “I don’t care,” and listen to Michelangelo walk away no matter how dragging and sad he makes his footsteps.

4) Why is Raphael’s birthday about making Michelangelo happy? Raphael would be much happier if everyone just forgot it.

Stewing on this keeps him busy until Leonardo comes to wake him up with a pat on the shoulder. “It’s nearly lunchtime,” he says. “You missed training.”

“Thanks for the birthday present,” Raphael answers. But he can’t lie in bed all day, and he’s getting hungry, so he does get up.

Technically the party is this evening, but clearly Michelangelo can’t contain his excitement. There are banners and balloons, there are party foods mostly consisting of a variety of mini-pizzas. There’s music. Great, this is going to last all afternoon. At least the food looks good.

“Happy Birthday!” Michelangelo tells him.

Raphael rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you said.”

“Have some pizza,” Donatello suggests, handing him a plate of his favourites. At least the food is good.

The food that evening is good too, the cake is tasty enough Raphael’s glad he didn’t find a way to ruin it. The others let him pick the channel when they watch TV and shrug off how obviously he’s sulking his way through his birthday. So, that’s nice, at least, even if the whole thing is just grating like sandpaper on his shell.

It’s still a huge relief to fall into bed and forget about birthdays for another year.

-

Raphael wakes up on the morning of his eighteenth birthday and doesn’t realise this until Michelangelo says, “Wake up, dude, it’s your birthday!”

He opens his eyes and blinks at the other turtle. “No, it’s not. That was yesterday.”

Michelangelo rolls his eyes. “Come on, I made breakfast.”

“No seriously,” Raphael says. “You had better not be trying to make me celebrate my birthday twice in a row because I’m not doing it, Michelangelo.”

He follows Michelangelo into the kitchen where there are pancakes because Michelangelo has been branching out a bit from pizza recently. Leonardo is eating one with maple syrup and chopped olives.

“Happy Birthday!” he and Donatello chorus.

“Not you too,” Raphael moans. “Come on, wasn’t yesterday enough?”

Donatello frowns. “What happened yesterday?”

“My birthday, unfortunately.”

“Quite joking, dude, it’s not funny,” Michelangelo says.

“Who’s joking?” Raphael answers. “You guys are the ones screwing around.”

“It could be a minor time anomaly,” Donatello says, thoughtfully. “With all the time travel we’ve had in the last few years the time-space continuum might take a while to stabilise.”

“Seriously?” Raphael demands. “It’s seriously my birthday.”

“It seriously is,” Leonardo says, so earnestly that Raphael gives up on it being a joke.

“Great,” Raphael says. “So what do we do about it?”

Donatello shrugs. “Just carry on as normal. Having to relive one day isn’t so bad.”

“I’m not celebrating my birthday twice in a row.”

Michelangelo’s face crumples. “I was up all night preparing…”

Raphael caves like he pretty much knew he would. “Fine, fine.” He supposes he can endure one more birthday.

-

Raphael wakes up on the morning of his eighteenth birthday and he’s not even that surprised. As soon as Michelangelo cheerfully announces, “Wake up, dude, it’s your birthday!” he stomps into the living area to find Donatello.

“You said this time anomaly would be over by today,” he accuses Donatello, who is biting into a pancake.

“I. What?” Donatello says.

“I’m stuck in a time loop, this is the third time I’ve had my birthday, and I’m not putting up with it. You said it was a time anomaly caused by all our time travelling visitors, so fix it.”

Donatello stands up, looking at Raphael as if he’s suddenly much more interesting than the pancakes. “Come into my lab and I’ll see what I can do.”

After some prodding with various technological devices, Donatello hmms thoughtfully and goes to rummage around in the back of his lab.

“Aha!” he says. “My time stopping device.”

“That can break the time loop?”

“Techinically, no. It can only freeze one person or object in time. But if the entire world is resetting every time you reach midnight - or an arbitrary time somewhere between 11 pm and 9 am - then having you frozen ought to prevent it. The world will be able to carry on as normal.”

“Uh. Th-that does not sound great for me.” Raphael starts backing away nervously. He was not expecting to be sacrificed to save the world from a time anomaly when he asked for Donatello’s help!

“Oh, I’d unfreeze you the next day. Once time has moved on it should be fine to bring you back into the timestream.”

Raphael sighs in relief. “You have an inimitable bedside manner, Donatello. Let’s do that, then.”

“You don’t want to wait until after the party?” Donatello asks. There’s a teasing gleam in his eye so Raphael doesn’t bother answering that one.

“Haha,” Raphael says. “Get on with it.”

-

Raphael wakes up on the morning of his eighteenth birthday already knowing exactly what day it is.

This time Donatello tries sending him to a different dimension which would have led to a really nice visit with the Neutrinos if Michelangelo didn’t insist on coming along and telling everyone it’s Raphael’s birthday. The Neutrinos do know how to party and if Michelangelo is the one who’s really having a good time, well. At least someone is.

This time they’re all still up at midnight and Raphael is sits in a flying car with a tremendous view over the biggest city in dimension X nervously watching the clock on the dashboard tick its way up.

-

Raphael wakes up in bed on his eighteenth birthday.

-

By the twelfth loop Donatello is out of ideas and increasingly upset when Raphael answers, “We tried that already,” to everything he suggests. He spends the afternoon and evening crashing furiously around his lab while Michelangelo tries to throw a party for Raphael anyway and Leonardo and Splinter both fret.

-

On the thirteenth loop Raphael doesn’t tell Donatello.

When Michelangelo greets him with, “Wake up, dude, it’s your birthday!” he gets out of bed mechanically.

Nothing feels real at this point. The pancakes look like the ones in adverts where the too perfect syrup is really motor oil. Raphael stares at them and wonders whether he’s doomed to an eternity of seeing these pancakes.

No one notices how out of it he is. They try to cheer him up the same way they did on the first loop, letting him pick the movies — he picks different ones — and not mentioning that he’s quiet and irritable.

-

Raphael wakes up on the morning of his eighteenth birthday for the fourteenth time and runs away from home. He has to move fast to be out of the way before Michelangelo comes to wake him up but he does leave a note.

I’m not celebrating my birthday this year. Please leave me alone and I’ll be back tomorrow.

Raphael

Michelangelo’s going to be really upset and they’re all going to worry, especially since he left his turtle comm behind, but it will all be the same tomorrow. Like it never happened at all. So how mean can it be, really?

He watches art house movies, sneaks into a live comedy show, and eats pizza on the roof at just the right distance from a loud concert. For today he can almost forget he’s in a time loop, after all he’s doing something different from yesterday.

-

It would probably take weeks to run out of things to do in New York, even once Raphael’s done the ones that really appeal to him. Even limited to things happening on a single day. It takes four days for him to no longer enjoy doing them alone. Even looping his birthday would be better than never seeing his family.

So he tries bringing them along.

It’s not even hard to convince them. “Hey, there’s a baseball game we can see from some roofs. I want to go.” There’s no argument, it’s his birthday, and they all enjoy a baseball game now and then.

But they bring the birthday with them. Not the banners, or the cake, or the food, but something less tangible. Everyone wants to talk about his birthday more than they want to talk about the game. Chatting about the past year, about the upcoming year, teasing him about past birthdays. Michelangelo sneaks cotton candy and crackerjack from the concessions stand and leaves money for it. Raphael is offered first pick and the others watch to see if he enjoys the snacks. Why does he hate that so much?

By the time they get home for the party dinner Raphael is snippy and sulking. He refuses to eat any cake.

Why did he miss these guys so badly, again?

-

Raphael wakes up on the morning of his eighteenth birthday for the nineteenth time and refuses to get out of bed. Michelangelo’s cheery wake up call is ignored and when Leonardo comes to shake him awake for lunch he just moans and vanishes into his shell.

Leonardo sits down and rubs his shell through the covers. “Are you not feeling well?”

“No,” Raphael mutters. Ill isn’t exactly what he’s feeling, but he thinks he deserves the sympathy.

“Try to get a bit more sleep then,” Leonardo says.

Michelangelo brings him soup for lunch instead of pizza and everyone sits around him while he eats. It’s somehow very different from the way they kept making him the centre of attention yesterday and even kind of nice.

Afterwards he curls up under the blanket again and it’s not long before he hears the soft, halting patter of rat feet mixed with the soft thud of a staff.

Splinter sits down on the bed and puts one hand against Raphael’s head to check for a fever. “Can you tell me what hurts, my turtle?” he asks.

Raphael sits up and then wishes he hadn’t when it makes him taller than Splinter. He’s always been taller than Splinter — at least since he stopped being palm-sized — but he would have liked to pretend otherwise. Maybe what he needs right now is a pair of big hands prepared to stop him walking his little flippers off the table.

“Uh, it’s not really…” he starts.

Splinter nods. “You are upset about your birthday?”

“No. I mean, yeah, but also I’m in a time loop.” It sounds abrupt and stupid said like that, Raphael groans. “Don’t tell Donatello, he already did his best. I don’t want to burst his bubble by telling him science is not always the answer.”

Splinter is quiet for a long moment and when he speaks it is slowly and thoughtfully. “I assume we were all aware of this at first?”

“Yeah.”

“And in previous loops I left it to Donatello to deal with?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s his thing, right? He said it was a time anomaly caused by all the time travelling lately, but —” Raphael takes a deep breath against the sting of tears. “But why is it just me? I mean, if Donatello’s right and the whole world’s repeating this day again and again without knowing, then maybe I’m the lucky one? But it doesn’t feel like that.”

“Hmm.” Splinter squeezes Raphael’s hands. “Science was never my field, but the mind can affect reality. Remember how I have taught you to reach for one another when meditating?”

“You think that would help?”

“Ah, probably not. But when you do that your feelings of connection to one another allow you to make an impression on the universe.”

“Are you saying I’m doing this to myself.” Raphael jerks away, wrapping his arms around himself.

“I doubt you would have the power to do anything so drastic. But whatever time anomaly is in play, your attitude towards this day may have entangled it with you. Let it go, if you can.”

Splinter pats his head gently and walks out, which, okay. Giving cryptic advice and walking off is sort of Splinter’s thing. It usually does help, in the end, but is this really the time for cryptic advice? Raphael sucks at interpreting it.

Still. He might not understand that whole thing about the universe, but a time loop that’s about you, personally, is the plot of Groundhog Day, right? The key to getting out of the loop is getting it right, living the day the way… he guesses, the way the universe wants you to. Great, he’s being bossed around by the cosmos.

Thinking about it the guy in Groundhog Day spent years in the loop and became a whole different person by the end of it. Raphael doesn’t want that. Sure, he’s a jerk, but he’s… he’s him. If he’s going to grow and change he wants to do it with the other turtles, not alone so he can become worthy of them. He just wants to get this day right quickly so he can go home.

Michelangelo brings him dinner on a tray with a bunch of balloons tied to it. There’s a slice of cake. Raphael nearly bursts into tears.

-

Raphael does everything right. Michelangelo is greeted that morning with equal cheer and compliemented on the pancakes. Leonardo is delighted when Raphael makes no objection to training on his birthday and gives it his all. Reminiscences, teasing, and even questions about the future are greeted without sarcasm. Raphael blows out the candles and wishes for this to be over before eating his piece of cake with a smile.

-

Raphael wakes up on the morning of his eighteenth birthday and wonders what he did wrong. Why it wasn’t enough. But that was only one try! He’s got to keep going!

So he does it again. And again.

-

Raphael wakes up on the morning of his eighteenth birthday after five tries at being good and decides that’s clearly not enough. He’s got to be perfect.

So maybe he’s more manic than cheerful when he answers Michelangelo’s wake up call with, “Good morning, my sweet Michelangelo. Breakfast smells absolutely amazing.”

When he greets the others with, “Good morning on this fabulous day!” Donatello gives him a Look. But he can’t let that discourage him! Embarrassment is a small price to pay for tomorrow.

He tells Leonardo that he couldn ’t possibly mind training with such a dedicated teacher. He insists on helping Michelangelo with lunch.

“He didn’t accidentally get hit with that personality changing ray again, did he?” he overhears Donatello asking Leonardo.

“I don’t know. Did you leave it lying around again?” Leonardo asks.

This is what they notice? Raphael thinks. Not him drifting through the day barely speaking. The time he refused to get out of bed they just thought he was ill. But if he’s nice something must really be wrong. Maybe he should use the personality altering ray. Maybe that’s the only shortcut to what the stupid universe seems to want.

Or maybe it doesn’t want anything and he’s only imagining there’s a way out.

-

Raphael wakes up on his eighteenth birthday and takes the day off from being nice. He can try again tomorrow. Or next week. Whenever. The only one it will make any difference to is him.

It’s not like he sets out to be nasty, it’s just a day where he’s not trying to be anything. He says good morning to Michelangelo, but curls back up to sleep until Leonardo wakes him for lunch.

He eats mini-pizzas and picks the movies, but complains that they’re all ones he’s seen.

“I don’t remember seeing the Snail that Slimed Tokyo?” Leonardo says.

“Yeah, me neither,” Michelangelo says.

“I must have watched it without you guys,” Raphael answers. “Definitely seen it, though. It eats the girl in this next scene.”

Michelangelo smacks him with a pillow and it’s worth it.

Everyone disappears shortly before dinner only to reappear and herd him over to the dinner table, set out with all the food Michelangelo cooked and a picture perfect birthday cake in the centre.

“Now it’s time to really get the party started,” Michelangelo enthuses.

“Can we not?” Raphael says, hopelessly. “Just this once, can we pretend it’s not my birthday?”

“Dude, come on, you only turn eighteen once.”

Raphael laughs and it catches in his throat like sandpaper. “Even if that was true,” he says. “Even if that was true. Even if this wasn’t an arbitrary day decided by Splinter and an arbitrary age decided by Leonardo, because our glorious leader is the boss of how old I am now. Even if turning eighteen meant anything to a turtle, if I could buy property, or vote, or, or smoke.”

“You definitely can’t smoke,” Leonardo interjects, alarmed.

“Right, see, there’s something else our fearless leader gets to decide. Even if I could smoke. Or gamble. Or, or, anything else, I still wouldn’t want to celebrate that. I am sick of you guys throwing a party for something I hate! All you want is an excuse for a day you, for some reason, enjoy! It’s selfish and stupid and I don’t even know why I want to be around friends like you. I hate my birthday and I hate all of you. If this party matters so much to you, you can have it without me.”

Raphael remembers his turtle comm can be tracked and throws it into the cake for emphasis before running out.

Stupid, he thinks, curling up against a random chimney pot. That was way overdoing not being nice today. He’s probably made Michelangelo cry.

Not that it’s going to matter. Tomorrow will wipe the slate clean.

Raphael decides to find a clock he can watch, see how long he’s got to wait before he gets the next do over.

It’s about four hours before Raphael is finally watching the clock tick down. He sighs and braces himself for waking up.

The hands meet at the top. The bell chimes. The minute hand moves on.

It is no longer Raphael’s eighteenth birthday and he’s got some apologising to do.

-

Raphael comes back at around half past midnight on the day following his eighteenth birthday to find Michelangelo pacing the floor in tears. He rushes over to grab Raphael’s shoulders and then immediately backs off.

“Sorry,” they both say.

Raphael blinks. “Why are you apologising?”

“For makin’ you celebrate. I didn’t know you hated it that much.”

“I’ve always hated my birthday.” It’s practically a family joke.

“Yeah, but, I shoulda known you really meant it. I just thought you were being grumpy about it, I didn’t know I was makin’ you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Raphael grabs Michelangelo around the shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “I really don’t. Ugh. I wouldn’t have said that if I’d known it was going to count. It wasn’t meant to matter.”

“Why would it not matter?” Michelangelo sounds horrified.

“Not like that. Would you believe I’ve been in a time loop? It’s been a couple of weeks. Nearly four? I’ve been trying to figure out how to break it but of course it breaks when I’ve just upset everyone and worried you all sick. Splinter said my thoughts were connected to the universe, he didn’t say the universe had it in for me. Although I really should have guessed.”

Michelangelo takes a moment to process that and then he says, “Oh yeah! Everyone is worried sick. I gotta call them,” and takes out his turtle comm. “Guys, you can stop looking, he’s here. Yeah, he’s okay, um, I think.”

Raphael leans over Michelangelo’s shoulder. “I’m fine. And I’m sorry.”

Leonardo says, “We’ll talk when we get home,” and shuts off the communicator.

“Think I’m in for a scolding?” Raphael asks lightly.

“Not if you tell them what you told me,” Michelangelo says. “Being in a time loop would drive anyone nuts.”

Raphael laughs because Michelangelo is so straightforward sometimes. Sure, they’ve all been through a lot of crazy stuff, but he’s still accepted Raphael’s explanation really fast.

“It was really scary, though, you runnin’ off like that,” Michelangelo adds. “Especially when you haven’t seemed like you wanna be part of the team sometimes.”

“You took that seriously?”

“Pretty hard not to when you and Donatello actually left.”

Leonardo and Donatello arrive soon after that, they must have been close by when they got the call, and Raphael explains about the time loop with a rundown of the less embarrassing moments. When he lays it out it doesn’t seem like he’s been through anything that bad. A month of birthdays, hanging out with his family.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t fix it,” Donatello says when he’s finished.

“Uh, hey, don’t do that. Not your fault,” Raphael says. He knows there’s nothing that can really make it okay when Donatello can’t help one of them, but he really wishes something could. “I’m sorry I snapped like that.”

“Do you really not want to be eighteen?” Leonardo asks. “You’re right, I’m the one who decided. It’s not like you have to be.”

“Eh. May as well be one year closer to tasting champagne.”

“Be honest,” Leonardo says. “I know you did tell us you don’t like celebrating your birthday and we brushed it off, but we’re listening now.”

“I. Ugh.” His leader is looking at him with big, sincere eyes that are less round now than they were a couple of years ago, but no less effective. “I don’t want to think about ages. We were never kids, we’re never really going to be adults. We’re never going to be allowed to be adults. Not unless turtle suffrage becomes a thing. So.” A deep breath. “And what does no longer being Master Splinter’s students mean? ‘Cause if it means we have to get jobs now I’d better not wind up doing birthday party gig work again.”

“We’re not going to split up,” Leonardo says, like there’s no irony in him being the one to reassure Raphael of that after the whole HAVOC thing. “That time when Splinter left us and we had to get jobs on our own was part of Splinter’s plan. It wasn’t practice for it happening for real. And I… I wouldn’t make that choice again.”

Raphael mutters, “Okay,” and blinks hard.

“Guess the universe was waiting for you to be honest about your feelings,” Michelangelo says, resting his chin on Raphael’s shoulder.

“If so that’s really unfair,” Raphael says. “I was being honest in the first place and I didn’t mean everything I shouted either. The universe has an anti-turtle bias. Then again, I’ve always suspected as much.”

“Cheer up, dude,” Michelangelo says. “It’s not your birthday.”

[dougdimmadodo]

August's Fossil of the Month - Gastornis (Gastornis spp.)

Family: Gastornis Family (Gastornithidae)

Time Period: Early Paleogene (55-40 Million Years Ago)

Roughly 66 million years ago, the Cretaceous period ended in a sudden mass extinction event known as the Cretaceous-Paleogene Extinction Event in which as many as 75% of all terrestrial animal and plant species went extinct, with the vast majority of large animals (specifically most species weighing more than 25kg/55lbs, including all non-avian dinosaurs) being among the most notable losses. Following this massive plummet in biodiversity the relatively small number of species that survived into the earth's next geological period, the Paleogene, were left to "inherit the earth", and as environmental conditions stabilised and the surviving plant species began to diversify and become more prominent, an increase in the availability of food allowed the descendants of the extinction event's survivors to gradually grow to larger sizes. The members of the genus Gastornis are examples of animals that took advantage of this new opportunity; thought to be descended from small duck or pheasant-like animals, Gastornis species were enormous flightless birds (with the largest species, Gastornis gigantea, growing to be up to 2 meters/6.5 feet tall) with long legs and muscular necks supporting huge, powerful beaks, the purpose of which has been the subject of extensive debate - historically it was suggested that the presumably powerful legs and bill of Gastornis species were adaptations that aided them in pursuing, catching and killing the many smaller herbivorous mammals with which they coexisted, but following the discovery of more complete fossils (which show that species in this genus lacked the powerful claws and sharp-tipped beak seen in most modern carnivorous birds, and which contained trace minerals more common in the bones of herbivores than those of carnivores,) it is now generally believed that Gastornis species were likely herbivorous, with their huge beaks allowing them to break open hard-shelled fruits and seeds in a manner comparable to that seen in modern macaws and cockatoos. Gastornis fossils have been found across Asia, Europe and North America (having presumably used land bridges to spread between continents,) all of which would have been warmer and more humid than today at the time, allowing for the growth of dense rainforests that would have provided abundant food for a large browsing herbivore; as the Paleogene period progressed the climate became progressively warmer and drier and rainforests became rarer, likely contributing to the eventual extinction of Gastornis species. The name Gastornis translates roughly to "Gaston's Bird", honouring the French physicist Gaston Planté who is credited with having discovered the first known Gastornis fossils in a mine in Meudon, France in 1855.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------Image Source: tps://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gastornis,_a_large_flightless_bird_from_the_Eocene_of_Wyoming.jpg

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

🎵 Ignus Nilsen Waltz

4. "I don't know! It's just what my brain told me to say."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "That's because your brain is floating in ideology, gendarme. It's practically drowning in it..."

"You asked that question because you're still under the influence of ideology. That's natural. You're like a fish that's only now discovering that her whole life has been dictated by the movements of sea currents."

"That's what ideology is. It's like there are these invisible forces everywhere, pushing and tugging you this way and that, and you don't even know they're *there*."

"What does this have to do with communism?"

"What does this have to do with women?"

"Is it even *possible* to imagine a world without ideology?"

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Everything, man. That is part of the communist project, to destroy the ideological structures that reduce men and women to these hollow shells of identity."

"Do you know the story of Dobreva and Abadanaiz?"

"I thought that was just some gibberish you made up for the passphrase."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Who were they?"

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "No. They were the Revolutionary Lovers, the Dual Commissars of Revolution in Insulinde."

"Julia Dobreva came from Graad. Jean Abadanaiz was born in Revachol. She was brilliant, charismatic, a revolutionary comet. He was her partner and stabiliser, the planet who kept her in orbit."

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Legendary: Failure] - What became of them, though? There seems to be a blank paragraph in the history books...

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "It's from them we get the notion of dual-leadership, the *décomptage*, Revachol's truly great contribution to revolutionary thought. I believe it even persists in some form in the RCM, even to this day."

"What happened to them, Dobreva and Abadanaiz?"

"Is that true, Kim, about the décomptage?"

"So… you're saying women are only bourgeois because of ideology?"

"What does this question say about me?"

"I need to take some time to think about all this..." (Conclude.)

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "They died on their own terms, like real revolutionaries. There's a lot to say for that."

2. "Is that true, Kim, about the décomptage?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "I had no idea its origins went all the way back to the Revolution itself. But it makes sense, in a way..."

3. "So... you're saying women are only bourgeois because of ideology?"

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - He sighs. "There's more to it than that. People still make their own choices. It's a matter of being aware what's influencing them."

4. "What does this question say about me?"

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Yes, that's the question you should be asking yourself."

ECHO MAKER - His companion nods, but offers no further solace.

5. "I need to take some time to think about all this..." (Conclude.)

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - The young man nods but says nothing. He appears to be distracted by something...

Task complete: Get yourself organized

+30 XP

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - He's wrestling with some question of his own.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - He's lost in his own thoughts. You wonder what silt you've stirred in the bottom of his soul.

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - Of course, the matchboxes! You'd very nearly forgotten to ask about them. Now may be your last chance...

5. "The matchboxes… you were trying to make the tower from Nilsen's journals."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "So you really *did* read all the way to the end." A sheepish grin. "Yeah, Uli and I were trying to see whether there was enough plasm between the two of us to hold up a few matchboxes..."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - Saying it out loud makes him realise how foolish it sounds.

ECHO MAKER - "It was just a little *informal* experiment. No reason to take it too seriously."

"We should try again, all of us."

Say nothing.

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - The young man looks at you a moment, then at his companion.

"What could it hurt? Alright, let's give it another go..."

KIM KITSURAGI - "I'll sit this one out. I don't think you want my *skeptical materialism* interfering..."

RHETORIC - Before long, a modest tower begins to rise from the pile of matchboxes...

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [Medium: Success] - You place every box with the utmost delicacy and precision.

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Easy, Uli..."

ECHO MAKER - "It's holding, it's holding..."

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - For the moment.

RHETORIC - The higher the tower goes, the quieter the room seems to become. Aside from the occasional comment, the three of you are completely absorbed by the task.

ECHO MAKER - "Alright. You go next, Steban."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - The young man pushes back his shirt sleeves, revealing the pale flesh of his forearms.

"Easy now..."

Say nothing.

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Is it... it's holding... it's holding!"

ECHO MAKER - "Yes. This is the closest we've ever gotten."

RHETORIC - It's almost exactly as Nilsen's sketch imagined, a physical manifestation of the dialectical spiral of history.

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Alright, gendarme, your turn."

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - You've got this. Theories aside, they're only matchboxes.

KIM KITSURAGI - Even the lieutenant is watching intently now.

"This is tall enough, better not to risk it."

"Ghost of Mazov, give me strength..." (Proceed.)

Take a deep breath. (Proceed.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "What are you talking about, detective? You can't give up *now*."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Come on, gendarme. Real progress requires great risks."

2. "Ghost of Mazov, give me strength..." (Proceed.)

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "It's... it's..."

"My god, is it really holding?"

ECHO MAKER - "It is, it is..."

RHETORIC - There, in the middle of the floor, the winding spire quivers with an improbable energy...

KIM KITSURAGI - "This is impossible, right? There's no way it's really staying up like that..."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success]- But it is! It is!

RHETORIC - For a long moment, no one says a word. Even the lieutenant is transfixed.

ECHO MAKER - "..."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "..."

"..."

"… what do we do now?"

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "..."

SHIVERS [Medium: Success] - A low pressure system is gathering itself over the bay. It's begun to tug violently at the tarpaulins...

KIM KITSURAGI - "..."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "... and there it goes..."

"That was weird."

"That was miraculous."

Say nothing.

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "No." He looks up. "It was exactly what's *supposed* to happen. We should treat it that way."

+5 XP

+1 Morale

ECHO MAKER - "We should probably clean up..."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Well, I think we're probably finished here, detective."

6. "Well, I guess we're off." [Leave.]

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Wait a minute, if you don't mind..."

"We wanted to get your opinion on something: a few little changes we we've been thinking about."

"What kind of changes?"

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Nothing *too major*, I think. We were talking, potentially, about relaxing some parts of our admissions process..."

"Hmm. It probably *would* help if you didn't make people go through a whole interview just to join."

"Maybe you should ditch the passphrases and meet in a coffeehouse."

"Have you considered changing up the reading list?"

"No, you should keep it the way things are."

ECHO MAKER - "That's interesting. I thought people *loved* group interviews."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "I thought so, too, but perhaps we overdid it, just a little..."

"There was another thing: We were also debating putting up some posters around town."

ECHO MAKER - "Though *some of us* maintain that advertising is an unacceptably bourgeois tactic."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - That's what makes it so beautiful. The irony is unbeatable.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - Ahem. As a noted art cop you definitely have an opinion on this.

"As something of an art critic myself, I support this poster plan."

"Think of it this way: you're appropriating bourgeois methods for revolutionary ends."

"Sounds like something Cindy could help with..."

"Posters are great. Who doesn't like posters?"

"Yeah, posters are pretty bourgeois."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Oh, I *like* that. We're dismantling the structures of capital with their own tools..."

ECHO MAKER - "Hmmm, it *does* sound pretty cool when you describe it like that."

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "Plus, I've got the *perfect* place in mind..."

"Put some more coffee on, Uli. We've got a long night ahead of us. We should probably get Cindy in here too..."

"Oh! And, gendarme. One last thing…"

"I've been thinking about what you asked before, about women, you know..."

"Not that it's any of my business, but it sounds like this question is *really* tearing you up inside."

PAIN THRESHOLD [Challenging: Failure] - It *is* tearing you up. It's like there's a tiny hateful beast shredding your very soul...

STEBAN, THE STUDENT COMMUNIST - "So, good luck with that, I guess."

Uh, thanks?

[Leave.]

Well, we've already pushed well past what should be the end of the day. Let's turn in for tonight.

SHACK DOOR - "It's getting late and it's raining. Time to call it a day."

"Good night, Kim." (Send him away for the night.)

Not yet. [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Good night, officer. We'll meet in front of the shack in the morning."

Enter the shack.

🎵 Coastal Shack

MIRROR - An old mirror hangs on the wall. You see the reflection of your face in it -- adorned with *The Expression*.

[Encyclopedia - Formidable 13] Dig deep into your mind to locate the source of *The Expression*.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Formidable: Failure] - Like the rest of you, it comes from a bad place somewhere in the past. That's all you know for now.

3. [Let the mirror be for now.]

BED - The bed is comforting, if a bit run down. Still, you've earned a rest.

Go to sleep.

BED - The bed underneath you is soft, if lumpy. Waves wash the sand underneath the hut, then grow distant to your ear. In the quiet hum of the organic heater, you fall asleep...

...

🎵 Tiger King

LIMBIC SYSTEM - Like a deftly cast fishing net, sleep pulls you out of the world and into its dark shore. The rough mesh chafes, then, tightening around you, it digs into your brain.

Great. This is gonna be really chill.

Dark shore, my ass. I know what this is.

Yeah-yeah, just let me sleep...

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - How've things been going for you out there? Helped anyone lately? Saved anyone lately? *Murdered* anyone lately?

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - This bastard isn't even listening to you!

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - Because, you know, you *are* a murderer. A disco music listening psycho-killer who offs poor people -- and then *forgets* about it.

I don't care. That doesn't scare me.

Okay, so I'm a murderer and that's *bad*.

Shut up, I just want to sleep.

LIMBIC SYSTEM - Hear that? Ice-man wants to sleep, he doesn't care about killing people. That's *nothing* to him. Black water under the bridge. The thing he's *really* scared of...

...is much, *much* worse than that.

What is it?

Why are you doing this? I just want to sleep. I can almost see the dark.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - Don't tell him, sister. It's too bad.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - They're right. This is their function. To keep you from *it*.

Why are you doing this? I just want to sleep. I can almost see the dark.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - We're trying to help you. All these processes -- these tortures, voices and tremors -- are all just *distractions*. Flares and countermeasures. To keep you from the *last dream*. The worst of them all.

The... last dream?

LIMBIC SYSTEM - The last dream will be total annihilation. Cinders peeling off the fuselage. We won't be there to help you anymore, Harry. We will be dormant. You will be naked and alone.

And the air will smell of apricots...

Her face forms in summertime...

I don't *want to* anymore. I don't want to think either one of those things.

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - Oh, but you *will*. You're already *going* there. Slipping. How long can we keep you from the precipice? *One* more dream? Two max, baby. Then it's...

2. Her face forms in summertime...

ANCIENT REPTILIAN BRAIN - ...in hell and ancient sadness, brother. Ten thousand years later -- in front of the video rental. There is a warm breath on your face again. Everything is *okay* again.

LIMBIC SYSTEM - Everything is *so* okay.

Doesn't sound like it will be okay.

I can't wait. I can't wait…

LIMBIC SYSTEM - Your eyelids flutter open for a moment. When you close them again, you sense the light of the room around you -- you're back. In two seconds the alarm will ring.

INLAND EMPIRE [Trivial: Success] - The last thought in your head before waking is: you need to go to the church...

[Open your eyes.]

END OF DAY FOUR.

[koscheicore]

I say throw Ten into the sea/ocean. Because, why not! I'm not 100% sure he can swim tho 😔

OKAY MY THOUGHTS ARE THOUGHTING. BEAR W ME. My memory of 10 and his arcs is a bit messy but remember this?

Yeah you do. This is gonna get a bit long so imma just add a readmore

Iirc he was at some party being all emotionally unstable since he's lost so many people and he really, really doesn't want to go, to "die." So he's putting off his regeneration yeah? If I'm misremembering then pretend I'm right (?). He's obviously had too much ginger there, and the ainley!Master is there in disguise. He's been observing this Doctor for a bit, quite entertaining how he refuses to move onto his next face, how he's so fond of himself, how he wants *more.*

So much for being able to smell the Master or whatever... he definitely doesn't recognise him. He ends up flirting with this stranger of course, long conversations about nothing and everything, mutual fascination, your regular the Doctor meets the Master and is oblivious af to who he is, and when he's too wasted, the Master takes him to his TARDIS. The Doctor is a bit too intoxicated to pilot and as he rambles nonsense he begins to realise his beloved ship is moving, and the pretty stranger is at the console. How? He really doesn't like that. He tells him to stop, but he won't listen, so he gets up and tries to grab him away from the console, to no avail as this stranger opens the TARDIS' door, and messing with the gravitational configuration pushes the Doctor out.

And he falls.

He soon finds himself sinking into a nowhere planet's ocean, a familiar laughter he can't quite place still resonates in his head, "die, Doctor, die! You must die!"

He tries to swim up, but this water makes it impossible to float. He keeps fighting, desperate, he does NOT want to die, he's not ready, he will not, not yet, he still has to do so much more, besides, he had imagined his death would be different. He feels pathetic. He deserves better than this, he thinks.

"Ah but of course, you were expecting a grand finale, weren't you, Doctor? How incredibly contemptuous."

Great. He's hallucinating. The surface is far away now, the temperature is drastically lowered as darkness engulfs him and he finds himself unable to do anything but accept surrender. Is this how death feels? Cold and lonely, and a pugnant sense of regret?

Cue a myriad of sequences I haven't had the time to think of, moments he would have liked to change, to intervene with in a rather reckless way, and how he could indeed have done "more". None of these have a satisfying ending, anyways.

Eventually, he finds himself staring at the back of a figure, this scene is different, it feels rather somber, but still, familiar, in a sense. The smell of decomposition invades his senses as he squints and makes out the shape of an almost skeletal being, dry tissue flaking off it. It's, somehow, still alive, and he remembers he has seen this disintegrating shell of a person before.

"...Master?"

The figure turns around, excruciatingly slow. It stares right back at him, if one can call that staring, but what the Doctor sees is not the decayed Master. The structure of its bones is clearly that of himself. The living corpse emits a suffering whine, weak and trembling at first, but it gets louder and louder, so loud it hurts and rings not in his eardrums but in his head. He can barely make out the word as it tries to move its lips, it's only a simple...

"Regenerate."

***

The Doctor wakes up in his TARDIS, alone. She sings her usual steady hum. His tie is on the floor, alongside the hat he was wearing, and he's been sitting on the same place he barely remembers collapsing at earlier when he arrived from the party.

It's only as he manages to stabilise his breathing that he notices an itch at the back of his neck. He scratches off about a dozen hypnotic sleep patches.

---

SOOO basically the Master was guiding him through all of that because he may have noticed he was putting off his regeneration >:3c Yeah I was supposed to do little silly headcanons not a whole almost one shot but I got inspired HDKDLD HERE YOU GO HOPE YOU ENJOYED

Again my apologies if I got stuff from 10 wrong I barely remember nuwho cuz memory issues but this was fun! Also the sleep patches are those the 12th Doctor uses with Clara in Dark Water, they're technically not supposed to work on 12, so I assume they wouldn't on 10 either, but who's to say a dozen of them wouldn't or that the Master didn't tweak them somehow, or maybe it's the ginger. Anyways 10 is a mess and I am biting him.

If you want the silly headcanons still feel free to send another ask for that I got a bit carried away here fjfkfkf.

[kalainthecanoe]

Little Ficlet that I may or may not be pursuing once Trophy and Wolves are done:

Post-War, back to Harry Potter Universe, but an AU for obvious reasons.

XxX

Remus doesn't know why he saved Albus's murderer.

He saw Harry and followed him, and he could smell the blood and sour rotting flesh from a venom infection from the doorway. Severus Snape was choking on his own blood and he acted before he could stop himself. Spells flew, one right after the other. Over and over again he casted even though he could see that Snape had already given up on his life. He released his memories for Harry to scramble to pick up, but Remus didn't let him go.

It's probably vindictive; he wants Snape to have to see his trial. He wants him to face what he's done and pay for it. Death is too good for him, too unfair for the man he had once trusted. He had felt personally betrayed by the news of Severus defecting to the dark side, because he had vouched for him far longer than anyone else. Everyone had given up on him, but Remus couldn't. Not until Albus died.

Keeping him alive is like a form of torture, but Remus doesn't stop to think about that. He stabilised him as much as he could before he aparated them away. He didn't think much about where he was going, just that he needed a place with a bed and a healer. Myrradin's Town would have to be good enough.

He startled the poor healer terribly when he demanded her strongest antivenin, but he refused to tell her who the patient was. Thankfully he had enough change in his pocket to pay her. The room above the bookstore used to be his, and the owner told him he was always welcome there. He couldn't take advantage of the owner's generosity for longer than a half a year, so he ended up leaving even though they urged him to stay. He was grateful that the offer still stood firm, otherwise he'd have no where to bring the half-dead Death Eater.

What was he doing? He should be back on the battlefield, helping the other order members. Instead he was playing nursemaid to someone whom anyone else would have left for dead. He should have contacted Dora and let her know, but he didn't want to risk it. If he took Snape to St. Mungo's, there was a chance they'd let him die. He wasn't about to harbour a fugitive for nothing.

He had to run out twice more for healing potions, and the healer was highly suspicious by the end of his second transaction. By the third she insisted she come with him to check on the patient. He told her it wasn't safe and she could get in a lot of trouble. He admitted it was a schoolmate of his, at least to garner some sympathy from her, before she stepped in the room and took stock of the pale, barely breathing, body of the Potion's Master.

"We need more than this." She looked shell shocked, but her training kicked in and she started to move as if on instinct.

"Please." Remus grabbed her arm as gently as he dared. "Don't tell anyone."

"I am a healer. I will not do anything to jeopardize the ill." She assured him, and then left to gather some more supplies.

Remus didn't even tell his wife where he disappeared to on most days. The war was over and no one knew he had left the battlefield. Only Harry, and he was too busy coming to terms with the fact that he'd finally killed Voldemort to really focus on anything else. It wasn't until Remus was called into an emergency meeting of the Order that his extracurricular activities came to light.

"The body of Severus Snape was never located." Kingsley admitted solemnly. "Given what we know now, it is difficult to know what to do with his trial."

Remus’s head had snapped up at the mention of the Potion Master's name. "'Given what we know now'?" He repeated cautiously.

"He gave his memories to Harry." Minerva spoke up with a brittle voice, looking hollowed out by the news. "He was loyal up until the very end. Albus knew he was dying and asked Severus to be the one to kill him. It was to trick the Death Eaters into thinking he was on their side."

Remus blinked at her rather stupidly, voice faint and echoing in his skull like it was coming from the end of a tunnel. "What are they going to do if they find him?"

"He's in grave danger." Kingsley confessed. "Both sides will probably want him dead. If he isn't already."

Remus was thankful his wife wasn't there, because he knew she was already losing trust in him. He didn't know why he was so willing to destroy his marriage for someone who probably would have never lifted a finger to help him if the tides were reversed. Was it remaining guilt from their childhood? Was it because they were the only two left alive from back then? Did he still have pathetic hopes to become friends, despite his epic failure during his time teaching at Hogwarts?

"I know it's a shock to hear." Minerva announced to the room at large. "It is… an unfortunate circumstance in a long line of problems we must now sort through. Any information you hear would be welcome."

Remus trusted a lot of these people with his life, but he only trusted Minerva McGonagall with this. He caught her after the meeting and immediately sequestered her away to a place they wouldn't be overheard. Harry hadn't attended this meeting, and Remus was concerned about him, too. He should be checking in on him; he was the last of his remaining guardian figures. He really was cocking this all up, wasn't he?

"I know where he is." He explained in a rush. "He's at-"

"-Show me." She cut him off gravely.

He nodded, mouth and throat dry as they left Grimmauld Place and he apparated her to Myrradin's Town.

"He's in a bad state." Remus warned her. "He has yet to regain consciousness."

"You've been looking after him yourself?" Minerva was in her Headmistress mode; tone firm and looking only to extract pertinent information.

"No. There's a healer here who I trust. Her name is Vervania Towry."

They ascended the stairs to the top of the library, the hum of magic and potions thick in the air. Minerva only hesitated for a moment to collect herself before she swung the door open to find Vervania hovering over Severus, who was very much awake, trying to kick and wriggle out of the restraints she'd placed him in.

"He's confused and combative." She looked at Remus with frustration in her eyes. He must have hit her hard in the cheek; it was red and bruised. "I don't know what he's trying to say. His throat still needs to heal more and he's making his wounds worse."

Minerva flew into motion, moving up to his side and grabbing hold of his face so he would look at her. "Severus! Calm yourself!"

He froze, but it was only for a moment before he wrenched his face away and glared into the wall away from all of them.

"Is he always this difficult?" Vervania asked in exasperation.

"Yes." Minerva and Remus agreed simultaneously.

"My name is Vervania Tawry." The healer introduced herself to Minerva, and then turned to Remus. "Do you trust her? Does he trust her?"

"I do." Remus nodded, and gave Severus a disapproving frown when he continued to ignore the three of them. "And he should."

"Then, I need to make you both aware of something very important and extremely delicate." She stepped back towards Severus and started to undo the buttons visible that she could get to under the magical restraints. He didn't do anything to stop her, but he turned to give her a particularly nasty glare.

She stepped back to reveal a large wound in his shoulder that was covered in gauze and taped onto him. That should have been his first clue; the wound wasn't healing. The second clue was the smell that had been hidden under the potent acrid scent of poison and infected flesh. The third, and most telling, was the fact that she carefully pulled back the bandages and showed them that the wound was a bite mark.

"The only reason why I think he survived is because of this." She told them seriously. "It must have been very shortly before his attempted murder. I fear he will turn on the next full moon, and if that happens I have no idea how his other wounds will fair…"

If Remus were holding something, it would have fallen from his frozen fingertips.

Severus Snape was a werewolf.

[beardedmrbean]

KINSHASA (Reuters) -The leader of an attempted coup on Sunday in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) has been killed and some 50 people including three American citizens arrested, a spokesman for the Central African country's army told Reuters.

Gunfire rang out around 4 a.m. in the capital Kinshasa, a Reuters reporter said. Armed men attacked the presidency in the city centre, according to spokesman Sylvain Ekenge.

Another attack took place at the nearby home of Vital Kamerhe, a member of parliament who is tipped to become speaker, Kamerhe's spokesman, Michel Moto Muhima, and the Japanese ambassador said in posts on X.

Moto Muhima said two guards and an attacker had been killed in that incident. Ekenge also said one attacker was killed there.

A shell fired from Kinshasa hit the city of Brazzaville in neighbouring Republic of Congo, injuring several people, that country's government said in a statement, adding that one person had been hospitalised.

Ekenge named Christian Malanga, a U.S.-based Congolese politician, as the leader of the attempted coup.

"Malanga was definitively neutralised during the attack on the Palais de la Nation, a certain Aboubacar was neutralised during the attack on the residence of Vital Kamarhe [and] the others - around 50 including three American citizens - were arrested and are currently undergoing interrogation by the specialised services of the Armed Forces," Ekenge told Reuters.

He said Malanga first attempted and aborted a coup in 2017 and that one of the American citizens arrested was Malanga's son.

A Facebook page appearing to belong to Malanga posted a live-streamed video of what appeared to be the attack.

"We, the militants, are tired. We cannot drag on with Tshisekedi and Kamerhe, they have done too many stupid things in this country," Malanga said in Lingala in the video, which has not been independently verified by Reuters.

U.S. Ambassador Lucy Tamlyn said in a post on social media that she was "very concerned" by reports that American citizens had allegedly been involved in the events.

"Please be assured that we will cooperate with the DRC authorities to the fullest extent as they investigate these criminal acts and hold accountable any U.S. citizen involved in criminal acts," she said.

The U.S. embassy had earlier issued a security alert warning of "ongoing activity by DRC security elements" and reports of gunfire in the area.

The United Nations' stabilisation mission in the DRC said that its chief, Bintou Keita, condemned the incidents in the strongest terms and offered her support to the Congolese authorities in a post on X.

Tshisekedi was re-elected for a second term as president in December, but has yet to name a government, six weeks after appointing a prime minister.

Kamerhe was a candidate for speaker of parliament in an election that had been scheduled for Saturday but was delayed by Tshisekedi.