#flesh out that damn voice in her head as more than just 'dead twin absorbed in utero whos sinister and resentful of moonpaw' or so help me

[crittertalez]

me staring at the wc fandom going all omg yay she DID kill her twin in the womb and now she has an evil voice in her head that resents her for it!!!! meanwhile i, schizophrenic and a system, sit here with my headmates thinking hm. youd think after we had to have a whole lesson about how children of incest exist in real life and the "inbreeding made moonpaw Ugly and Dumb" jokes were weird that maybe at least some fans would think twice before celebrating that the erins did actually pull the "evil voice in head" trope just because this time its her "dead twin" (chimeric people also exist in real life btw) and not starclan or the dark forest or whatever. but i suppose that was too much to expect from the "jayfeather needs white pupils or else you cant tell hes blind" fandom

[the-children]

The Westmoore Tragedies | Chapter 2

[ TW: Gore below the ‘Keep Reading’ line. ]

“Our children aren’t safe!”

“Have they found who killed those poor people?”

“It’s gonna happen again!”

“We want answers!”

More voices soon joined in, eventually creating a dull roar of overlapping panic from a slowly growing crowd of villagers that had gathered before the town hall—it was a bi-weekly occurrence by now since the massacre was discovered. Rodarin shifted his posture against the stone wall of the storefront he leaned upon, watching and listening as they shouted their concerns and pointed fingers. He couldn’t blame them—hells, he sympathized with them. They were scared because no one had answers, and they were angry there was nothing they could do. A gentle sting of pain pulsed through his lower lip as he bit at it in frustration, quickly turning from the crowd as he made his way to the schoolhouse. He needed to pick up his son and daughter early so they could begin packing their clothes and toys. Sarina planned to leave with the twins, take them to stay with her sister in La Noscea while Rodarin stayed a few more nights to find out what he could.

Firm steps echoed along the tiled floors of the hallway, his stare held upon the dull reflections within the tile while he lost himself to his thoughts. Westmoore had always prided itself on its higher educational standards—it was the reason he and Sarina moved here once they learned she was pregnant. It wasn’t a massive, sprawling city like Limsa Lominsa—but it wasn’t some small, run-down village either. There were multiple classrooms, one for each grade. Luckily, his children were only a year apart—their classrooms were directly across from one another at the end of the hall to his left. As he rounded the corner however, a sudden chill licked at his spine, causing him to stop in his tracks. 

He had been so absorbed in his thoughts about the circumstances surrounding the disappearances, that he hadn’t been paying attention to his own. This wasn’t right.. something was very wrong about this. The hallways were unnaturally dark given the time of day—and even more alarming were the sudden lack of windows. His breaths became slightly unsteady as a sense of claustrophobia gripped at his lungs. It was far, far too quiet. There were no murmurs of lectures, nor childlike chatter and laughter. With this level of silence, he didn’t doubt he could even hear the soft scribbling of pencils from the classrooms on the second floor—but there was nothing. He took a few quick steps, which seemed to echo endlessly in this dreadful silence, to peer down the main hallway. The front doors were closed. They were open when he entered—they were always open to help keep the hallways cool during the hotter days. And that was another thing—the cold. The chilled air that sank deep into his flesh that was beginning to make his teeth chatter. This wasn’t right.

His heart began to drum within his chest, heated breath billowing from parted lips as he walked briskly towards the end of the left hallway—he needed to see his children. The doors to the classrooms nearly burst open behind the urgency of his entries, but both would be empty. His heart hammered loudly in his ears, hands lifting to run through and pull at his hair as his mind raced with horrible possibilities. Who took his children? What were they doing to them? And were they even still alive? Soft whimpers and murmured pleads began to dribble from his lips as tears gathered—but fighting through the sickening fear that knotted in his stomach, he sprinted for the other classrooms. With shoulder positioned forward, he burst through door after door—each more violent than the last as wood splintered and hinges cracked. He had eventually searched the entire first floor—even the main office and cafeteria. As he approached the staircase that led to the second floor, the shadows seemed to grow darker. His frenzied pace faltered, shaking fingers resting upon the rail as he peered up into the dark.

He proceeded with caution, climbing the staircase with slow, careful steps as he took this time to try his damnedest at calming himself. Rounding the bend that brought the staircase the rest of the way up, a deep crimson hue began to bleed and taint the shadows, corrupting it into a sickly crimson that tainted his vision—his careful stride pausing a moment to adjust his eyes. His heart skipped a beat as he heard the faint rustling of paper and muffled laughter of children, his pace quickening once more at the mere prospect of finding his son and daughter. Though once he reached the top of the steps, his excitement was quickly crushed by the smeared blood that streaked along the hallway. The first classroom’s door on the right was wide open, blood pooling into the hallway from within. He could make out the smeared drag marks that lead from this open classroom to the one at the end of the hall, with its door closed. Various small shoe prints were left behind in the blood’s trail, all following towards the same closed room. He inched his way down the hall, shaky breaths filling the air between the pauses of muffled laughter and movement that came from the closed classroom. On his way, he carefully inched closer to the open door where the blood trail originated.

His pulse hammered away in his ears as he mustered the nerve to peek into the doorway. The chairs and desks were scattered in disarray while mutilated bodies of adults—teachers and staff—littered the room like trash in pools of blood. Their flesh had been ripped and shredded to literal ribbons, and their faces seemed to have been hollowed out—no eyes, no teeth. “Valrin?.. Mia?..” Rodarin hissed in a pleading whisper, his ears straining as he silently prayed for an answer—only for it to go unheard. Jaw clenched tightly, he stepped back into the hallway and continued to follow the trail towards the closed door at the end of the hall.

His hand hovered over the doorknob as he listened to the commotion within. Occasional laughter, gentle snips of scissors, rustling of paper—if not for the insane circumstances, one would simply assume it was time for crafts. Slowly, steadily, the door opened as Rodarin watched in horror. Various children were scattered among the room, sitting beside the fresh corpses of their teachers—some were still twitching, kept alive to suffer longer. Soft grunts of effort escaped one child as he clipped away at the flesh of a dead woman’s arm. Others were cutting various shapes and patterns into limbs and torsos. Ribbons of skin were used as bindings and plasters for other small crafts. Eyes were scooped from their sockets with tiny fingers as the onlookers cried “Ewwwwww~!” in playful disgust, tossed from one to the other in a sick game of catch. They were playing.. Their faces were lit up in delight, not a care in the world as they played in the blood and gore of their victims. In the obscene horror of it all, Rodarin almost didn’t notice the dark, shadow-covered children standing off to the side, watching the others play with wide eyes and plastered smiles of pure white.

“Mr. Calrise.” He jumped at the formal call of his name, turning quickly to glance down the hall—which was empty. When he looked back, the shadowed children were before him, clawing at his legs as they tried to climb up. He could feel their tiny fingernails digging into his flesh. “Mr. Calrise?” He heard the call again, but was overcome by the weight of the climbing shadows—falling to the ground as his head cracked upon the tile during its whip back. “Rodarin!” A smack stung at his cheek, his eyes bolting open while he gasped and wheezed in panic. Melrin’s hands pressed to his chest, keeping him steady as he studied Rodarin with a worried, concerned expression. Young teens peered past Melrin from the classroom doorway, staring in curiosity and slight fear. “Rodarin, you alright?” Melrin mumbled as he helped him to his feet. “I.. uh..” He was at a loss for words, completely stunned as he looked around. Everything was normal, aside from having woken up on the ground. Melrin gave him a light pat on the back. “You just came to my classroom, stared for a while, then fell over. You feelin’ okay?.. You’re bleedin’” Melrin commented as he gestured towards the bloodstained leggings of Rodarin’s pants.

With tentative fingers he peeled back the cloth, revealing the various tiny scratches that had sunk deep into his flesh. A nauseating panic still gripped at his heart, but for whatever reason, he was back. And he needed to see his children. He needed to leave. “I’m fine. Got scratched up by a damn jackal earlier, must’ve had some disease—feeling all out of place.” He said, fabricating his story quickly as he gave a quick apology and walked briskly towards the staircase with a slight limp. He was on the second floor, and the injuries were still there. It was real, it had to have been. So then why was everything fine now? Back on the first floor, normality had been restored—no busted doors, and only more questions plaguing his mind. He made for the end of the side hall again, finding his children alive and well—and giving them each a long embrace, embarrassing them in front of their classmates. If only they knew why..

He spent the rest of his day with his children, pushing what had happened to the corners of his mind. His children were safe, and he was thankful. That night, he helped them pack their bags, making sure they had enough room for all their favorite toys to keep them entertained while they were away. A restless night awaited him, peeking in to check on them while they slept every ten or twenty minutes as he tried to figure out what the hells had happened. Sleep wouldn’t come until the next morning, Sarina and the kids giving their farewell hugs and kisses as they made off for La Noscea. Rodarin collapsed on the couch, his eyes no longer able to stay open. It was short lived, possibly only three or four hours passing before frantic knocking came to his front door. It took him a moment to heave himself up from the soft embrace of the cushions, the front door creaking open to reveal a captain of the Fleet. “Rodarin, come by the schoolhouse. We found the staff dead.. It’s happened again..”

    to ̗̱b̙̤̟e͍͙̦̬̘͞ ̧̠c̣̪̖̙̣̭̮͟o̳̝͝n̥t̪̳i͙̕n̩͡u͓̝e̜̤̘̙̫̩͕d͔̬̩̠̟͙̭͘                .

[khanjgi]

I Remember You...

This day 19 years ago, I was driving a 1982 Dodge Aries to work as the receptionist at Youth & Family Services in Rapid City, SD. I was living in a cracker box trailer house and didn’t have a goal, care or thought in the world. I was 23 and frivolous.

 I heard on the radio in my beat up ole Dodge, that the United States was under attack. I laughed and thought that this was a terrible radio joke. But as the Deejay pressed on, the tone in her voice was less than humorous. At one point their was even a crack in it, giving me reason to think she may have been crying.

 I got to work, confused and dismayed- “Who would attack the U.S.?!” is all I could think as I walked into my office with the indignant sense of freedom that often only foolish Americans have. The building was quiet- which was odd for a place that hosted children daily. But there wasn’t even so much as a cricket chirping or a squeak of a tiny sneaker against the laminate floor. Absolute echoing, silence.

 I migrated back to a breakroom where all the other employees were huddled around a tiny 12” fishbowl monitor television. And there it was- on the screen ahead and on live TV at 8:20 am on September 11, 2001… a pair of shimmering silver towers stood as this tiny, dart like plane drove straight into one of the twins. It was surreal. It was watching horror in slow motion. The plane glided like they often do- so slow, straight as an arrow into the structure. It was clear to see that the plane was too low, it was dead on- you could hear everyone in the room screaming it inside themselves- “PULL UP!” as we all watched on in silence and disbelief- helpless and paralyzed all at once as the giant metal structure absorbed the dart like a stick of butter absorbs a warm knife. And just like that- on live TV- the plane dissolved. And there was a moment of pause… stillness… and then came the poof and the pow. The explosion of two entities’ as the windows on the floors blew out and the metal beams flew away with far less grace than the plane inside. The needle from the crown sank within and the sky… went from blue… to shades of gray.

 The stillness in the room was broken with a roar of gasps. I felt my mouth and heart hit the ground in unison as my eyes immediately spilled with tears. “What is happening?!” Is what I thought first, “All of those people!” Was what I thought second as images of fathers, mothers, children, uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters, grammas, grampas, husbands, wives… friends, neighbors and folks who just never really thought they were much of anybody- all who boarded a plane that morning never knowing… it was their last. I thought of all the people inside the towers who walked in that morning with their luk warm coffee and bills on their mind or images of their kids in front of them or stacks of paperwork as far as the eye could see or on their cell phone wishing their loved ones a good day… who never saw it coming. And even more tragic… the people having water cooler conversation next to the windows… who did see, and just didn’t have time to do a single damn thing about it.

 In the hours that followed… the nation this side of the country stood still and watched with heartbreak as the city that never sleeps… continued to crumble at the hands of an enemy unknown. That was when we saw the heroism of humanity at its best. Paramedics, firemen, police all racing in and sacrificing themselves as we all anticipate they will but, on this day, - they did it with more valor than any day before. And you saw people scurrying in the streets with bloody ties and what were once white button-down shirts and dark black suite jackets all adorned the same tones of ash as the skies and towers over head. You saw people helping people, carrying one another, those who could see were leading the blind. Those who with broken limbs were being carried by women in dress skirts and broken heels. For those hours in that day- the only way any of them knew what color of body they were helping… was if they had time to investigate the tear streaked trenches down their faces beneath the ash on their flesh. And frankly… nobody had time or interest to do that… on that day.

 19 years ago, today… our nation came together as one. And that, I thought- was the worst thing I would ever see our nation go through. I was proud and took solace if nothing else- that we were going through it together. The American flag was everywhere again. People were kind and empathetic to one another from state to state. Nobody knew how anyone knew anybody in the planes or towers, but we all knew… up until that day- we thought we were invisible and untouchable as a nation. On that day… we ALL felt vulnerable. And hurt, and heartbroken and, angry.

 I had no idea 19 years ago, that as horrific as that day was… that we could ever trump the trauma of 9/11. And I had no way of knowing… that I would go from working for a Non-Profit agency that helped children and families, to working for the Police direct in my on hometown. I had no idea… that our nation would go from a state of union to where we are today. Broken, divided and simply… ugly.

 Today, 19 years later, my children will come home, to their stick-built home in a sweet neighborhood with the family SUV out front (a far cry from what and where I was 19 years ago). They will come home from school in the most iconic time of their young lives and tell me the stories they had been told in school about how- once upon a time there were two towers in New York City and some bad men flew planes into them. That today is the day they should honor the people and first responders of that event that is come to be called 9-11. My children will speak of it like I spoke to my parents of Vietnam and that my grandchildren will one day speak of the COVID pandemic to them.

 Every year, we say we will never forget. Every single year… we say that.

 But we have, haven’t we?

 We have forgotten how for that day and for quite sometime after, we as a nation came together and loved one another. We hung our nations flag with honor. We RESPECTED and APPLAUDED our first responders. We have taken from having anger and disdain against the terror beyond and directed against one another. We have forgotten. And I pray that our children will never know the horror of that day but alas… the horror we are exposing them to of this day is perhaps no better. Just… less impactful all at one time I suppose. A little at a time every day… we are crashing planes into the hearts of one another with every senseless riot. With every life lost for a reason beyond natural causes. With every child that is peddled on the street like candy or newspapers. With every animal that is beaten, starved or used as a method of income. With every single act of absolute inhumanity… we forget… the sacrifices that were made… in 9/11. American blood stains the streets of our nation every single day and we forget… how once upon a time… 19 years ago today… we bled together, we wept together, we screamed together, we simply… came together. And we have forgotten, how to be that nation.

 To all those who were lost- to all those who have lost- to those who stood and watched from afar… I remember you. God bless.

[ravager-life-for-me]

Aim to Fire - Chapter 2

Summary

Shooting trees and such is all fine and good, but you ask Peter to shoot an innocent animal? Well, that's not gonna fly.Yondu tries to teach Peter how to use a blaster and it all sort've goes to shit, as these things do.

Chapter 2: Target Practice

Mondar is, as with most of the moons out in this quadrant, a piece of shit rock infested with Orloni, just like the piece of shit rock Morag where they originated from. The whole belt was crawling with them. The Eclector had been fumigated every other month, but they just came back like tides in an ocean. They were, if anything, the proverbial cockroach of the galaxy.

And, just as it happened, Orlonis were great target practice.

Yondu parked them in a small clearing, a little grove cut out of the wide forest that captured most of the moon’s surface. Peter sat up on his lap, staring over the control panels at the wide view of the moon.

“It’s…” he said, a little breathless before he finally choked out, “It’s just like Missouri!”

“Ya sound disappointed,” Yondu said, starting to scowl.

“No! No!” Peter hopped off Yondu’s lap and scurried up the port-side window, pressing himself flat against the glass. “No, it just.” Even though he had his face smashed against the window, Yondu could hear some of the sadness creeping into the Terran’s voice. “It reminds me of….”

He was going to say “home,” sure as the central sun was hot. But he didn’t. Peter just stared out at the trees as they finished with their landing, securing the M-ship’s feet to the soil and bouncing their coordinates back up to a nav team on the Eclector. Everything looked so much like the forest outside Peter’s home, the one where his mother would take walks with him and tell him all the stories of his father, the angel that came down from the stars. Course he’d never really believe it, but his mom always called him Star Lord and he held onto that name tighter than he did his precious Walkman. Peter sniffed and blinked back any tears he might have let slip out if he wasn’t careful.

“Alright, boys, let’s go.”

Yondu released the hatch and the air hissed as atmosphere began to leak into the ship. Peter had a brief fear that the air would be toxic, that it’d burn in his lungs and he’d fall to the floor dead before anybody could help him. He started to hold his breath as the Ravagers sauntered back down the plank, Yondu clicking over at the octolops twins. But it was a passing fear, because Peter couldn’t hold his breath forever. He gasped, sucking in big mouthfuls of the rainy, ozone flavored air. Kraglin had waited at the edge of the ship and watched him with a careful eye, the edge of his mouth twisted up in a knowing smirk.

“You comin’, Pete?” Kraglin asked after Quill caught his breath.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter answered, and jogged after him. “What’re we shooting anyhow?”

“Nothing, ‘till you learn everything there is about this blaster,” Yondu answered and slapped a big u-shaped tool against his chest. “First, we’re taking that apart. Then, we’re putting it back together. And then, after I’m sure you won’t cook yer own flesh with it, I’ll let you shoot.”

“Really!” Peter squinted his eye and held up the blaster, focusing it on a nearby tree before Yondu clamped down on his arm, squeezing Peter’s wrist until it hurt and he let go of the blaster.

“What I just say, Boy?” Yondu asked in his raspy voice. “You best learn now, you aim to fire. This ain’t a toy, son.”

“Okay,” Peter said, twisting his wrist to get free. But Yondu held on a moment, staring him straight on until Peter finally stopped squirming. He looked up at the captain and, solemn as he could muster, he said again, “Okay.”

“Alright.” Yondu dropped his hand. He flicked a thin metal rod with a sharp hook towards Peter’s head, who ducked in time and watched it sail by. “Now pick that up and bring it over here. Yer gonna need it to get the kerrim bolt out.”

Yondu gave two curt commands to the octolops twins, jerking his head towards the trees and making a quick swirling motion with his finger pointed at the ground. They nodded and went off to do whatever the captain had ordered them to do.

It seemed to drag on forever as Yondu and Kraglin stood over him, shouting out instructions on taking the blaster apart, putting it together, arguing on how best to load it and who was a better shot anyhow. Kraglin was only teasing, Peter thought, being a little more pushy now that they weren’t around the crew. And Yondu let him, which was maybe even more strange. They shoved at one another, picking up a piece and naming it, asking Peter to repeat, which he tried. He only got hit on the back of his head once when he prepped the blaster and almost sizzled Kraglin’s foot with an errant blast.

“Well, stop talking over each other!” Peter yelled. He sat down with a huff and crossed his arms.

“Don’t pout, Boy,” said Yondu, rolling his eyes. He crouched down too and picked up the blaster, turning it over a few times. “You did that pretty quick. Show me one more time and then you can really shoot it, how ‘bout that?”

“Really?” Peter asked, hopeful.

“He does, I’m standing over by the ship again, sir. You know what? I’ll be on the ship, how’s that sound?” asked Kraglin, holding his hands above his head like they had the blaster trained on him.

“Fine by me, Krags,” said Yondu with another roll of his eyes. “Check and see if we got any rations aboard, too. And keep one damn grubblin bowl for me this time, alright, ya toothpick.”

Peter made a face at the thought of a bowl of big wet pale pinkish grubs rolling over each other in a frenzy.

“Alright,” said Yondu, handing the blaster over. “One more time. Show me.”

Peter took a steadying breath, looked down at the blaster, and disassembled it without dropping anything. He didn’t have to fight with the ionized dual round crystalizer, he didn’t misplace the kerrim cross bolt, or have any other possible mishap. It came undone and he lined up the pieces in the dirt just like Yondu had showed him. The Centaurian looked on, nodded once, and told him to put it back together. Peter clipped it into place, one after the other after the other, until the blaster was complete. He held it out to Yondu who took it, twirled it once in his hand, and shot over Peter’s head. The blast left a smoking hole in the trunk of one of the trees.

“That’s good,” Yondu said and gave a big, toothy grin. “That’s how ya do it. We’ll start on a basic setting. Take it and try to fire through that ring I gave ya.”

“Okay,” Peter said, just giddy as he took the heavy blaster back and pivoted on his heel, facing the tree that Yondu had fired at.

Kraglin made a croaking noise and went over to the ship, just as he promised. That meant that it was only Peter and Yondu out in the clearing. The wind was low, rustling through the pine-like leaves of Mondar’s forest. Peter squared himself, feet planted, and he lifted the blaster up with a straight arm, holding it with both hands as he focused on the spot. He started to close one eye like he’d seen in movies back on Earth when Yondu crouched down next to him.

“Both eyes,” said Yondu, lining up Peter’s shot. “You close one and someone’s gonna come up on ya and brain you. And hold it like this, see, steady it with yer left there so it doesn’t buck. It will, yer a damn twig, but it’ll help with the kick. Watch out fer that.”

Yondu put his hand on Peter’s wrist then, holding it there, more gently than he had before. They both stared over at the smoking hole in the tree, trails of it wisping away in the wind. Peter breathed, imagined all the pieces he’d put together, their use. Everything Kraglin and Yondu had said over the hours or so they’d been on the moon. He looked at the hole, he aimed, and fired.

The blaster kicked back just as Yondu said it would, but because his hand was there to absorb some of it, the blaster didn’t shoot back and crack Peter in the nose. Peter dropped his hands and looked out, hoping for another set of scorch marks close to Yondu’s. It was hard to see but they were just barely there, grazing the left of the tree. Another hole bored into one of the trees in the distance. It was sloppy. The blaster had bit a crescent-shaped chunk out of the trunk. Another stiff breeze would knock it over any minute. Peter’s shoulders sagged at the sight of it.

“Hey, look at that!” Yondu said with a shout and clapped Peter on the shoulder. “Pretty damn close.”

“Close?” Peter asked and cocked his head. “No! I missed, see? It’s all the way over there.”

“Line yer sight up there, Boy, you’ll see it’s close, like I said. Come on, line her up. Right, just like that, ya square yer shoulders, okay, got yer eyes on the target and ya feel it then.”

“Feel it,” Peter repeated back and took a steadying breath. “Just like the Force.”

“Sure,” Yondu said and shrugged. “Gonna have some force, I s’pose, but it just takes practice.”

Peter nodded and held the blaster just like Yondu showed him before he whispered, “I’m a Jedi.”

He fired again.

This time the shot zapped by the right side of the tree. It was closer; singed some of the bark next to the Yondu’s shot. Peter watched it sizzle away and shook his head before he lined it up and shot a third time, blasting a centimeter or so below the target.

“Hey!” he said and spun around, smiling from ear to ear. “Did you see!”

“I saw, son,” Yondu said and felt himself grinning right back. It was damn infectious to see the Terran light up. “Not bad. But that there’s not a moving target. Won’t be pillars and walls yer aiming for in a dog fight.” Yondu cupped his mouth and shouted back at the M-ship parked nearby. “Hey! Where them twins? I told ‘em to be back here soon as they could!”

“I’ll ping ‘em back, Captain,” Kraglin shouted from the open hatch of the M-ship.

“You got them fetching something?” Peter asked.

He’d lowered his arms so they might rest a little. The blaster was getting really heavy and he was afraid his arms would start to shake if he tried to hold it up longer.

As if on que, the twins came out of the forest, their arms laden with a mess of wriggling creatures. They looked at first glance to be hairless rats, almost scaly with big teeth snapping and their long tails hanging around Umber and Zu’s arms. Each octolops was carrying three Orlonis, which was no easy task. They nodded at Yondu, who waived them over and picked out an Orloni from Umber’s arms.

“There we go. And a nasty little bugger too. Ya see those teeth on ‘im? Getting’ real long. Betcha he’s sired millions a critters out there.” Yondu laughed as the Orloni squirmed in his grip, trying to get enough purchase so it could sink said long teeth into his hand. “And ornery too! This’ll work fine, just fine.”

“Fine for what?” Peter asked, looking a little pale. “You want me to shoot that thing? Yondu, oh my god, I’m not going to shoot a rat!”

“And why the hell not?”

“Because!”

“Cause why?” Yondu emphasized, leaning over the Terran.

“Because!” Peter said again and finally dropped the blaster. “I’m not gonna shoot it, Yondu, I swear. I’m not killing it.”

“What you think I had you learn how to shoot a blaster for? You think it was just to blast holes in a tree?”

“No,” Peter said slowly, drawing out the vowel as he started to inch away. He kept his eyes on the Orlonis in the octolops arms, looking more uncomfortable by the second. “No, I just. I don’t wanna kill it, okay? Okay?”

“Not okay,” Yondu said and reached for the blaster. He chucked the Orloni out in the field and blasted it before it hit the ground. The carcass splattered, leaving small chunks of burning flesh in the grass. Not much, of course; it’d been mostly blown away by the shot, but Peter could smell it and he gagged at the sight. “It ain’t that hard, Boy. Like I said, you aim to fire and you go and shoot it dead ‘fore they shoot you. You best learn that now. You think anybody’d hesitate to shoot you? Cause they wouldn’t. Hell, they’d eat you without a second glance. You know that, Boy. So take this blaster and practice shootin’ one of these damn rats!”

“No!” Peter shouted.

He grabbed the blaster and threw it to the ground, even going so far as to kick dirt at it. He almost swung at the captain. When he did, Kraglin was coming out of the M-ship, running over to intervene best he could. Yondu had reached out to snatch Peter’s flailing arm but the Terran took off into the woods, his red leathers flashing on his back before that too started to disappear in the shade of the trees.

“Pete!” Kraglin yelled like a demanding parent after their spoiled brat of a kid. “Pete, y’best come back here and—”

“Ah, let ‘im go,” Yondu growled, looking down at the blaster in the dirt.

“But, sir, he—”

“Let it go, Krags.”

Kraglin huffed, put his hands on his skinny hips as he watched the trail that Peter had taken into the woods. Mondar was a small moon. It’s not like he’d get far or nothing. The first implant they’d put on him was a simple translator device, but the Doc had helped them upgrade Peter’s chip once he was onboard the Eclector and, with it, implanted a tracker as well as the biometric read. Yondu could pull him up on a data pad if they were real worried about him. Instead, he picked up the blaster and brushed it off with a slow, deliberate trail of his hand. Same one that Peter’d bitten, too. There was a tiny half-moon scar close to his thumb. Yondu looked at it before he clicked a response to the octolops, who dropped the litter of Orlonis and stepped back. Umber clacked to his brother, who helped herd them back into the woods.

“Shoulda shot the whole fuckin’ pack,” Yondu muttered, and headed back to the ship. If they were gonna wait for Peter to cool off, he was gonna eat.

“Shoulda shot him,” said Kraglin to the woods, but Yondu glared up at him and he bowed his head, offered a softer, “sir,” and followed him into the cabin of the M-ship.

*

Peter pumped his legs as hard as he could while running through the woods. He didn’t care if he smacked head first into a big ugly creature and got torn to shreds, as long as he was away from Yondu, the blaster, and the pack of Orlonis that he was meant to shoot. They’d done nothin’ wrong. They were just going about their lives when those stupid octolops boys picked them up and carried them off to their deaths. And Yondu! Yondu shot it! Without even looking! Peter skidded to a halt in the middle of another clearing. He collapsed to his knees, huffing for air. Was his throat constricting because he’d run? That’d never happened before. Maybe it was because he was on a moon and he just wasn’t as used to the air as he thought. Maybe it was because he kept replaying that shot over and over in his head, watching the Orloni explode in a mess of blue light and guts.

It was so, so easy.

Peter punched the ground. He closed his eyes, grimaced at the sight that played there, and punched again. And again. He started striking it with both his fists as hard as he could, pounding small divots into the soil. Again. Again. Again! A—

*

Yondu chucked his empty dish of grubblins into the refuse shoot where it was burned up on contact. Kraglin, lounging in one of the chairs nearby, watched his captain muttering to himself, something he never did on the ship with all the other Ravagers near. He was frettin’ over his little Terran. And it weren’t fair to see his captain fret. Kraglin nodded, chewing on a piece of rubbery grubblin before he reached over for the data pad, swiping through for Peter’s biometrics. He was about to flash it over to Yondu to show him it was all going to be fine when he choked on his spit.

“What’s up with you, Krags?” Yondu asked facing the refuse shoot. He gripped the counter until his blue knuckles were a frosty color. “Forget how yer tongue works?”

Kraglin stamped his feet back on the ground and started up the M-ship engines, punching commands as he rotated another screen near him, looking for the engine trail flitting away from Mondar.

“What the hells you doin’?” Yondu wheeled on him, grabbed him by the shoulder as he glared down at the data pad. “You tell me what got you so—”

“Peter,” Kraglin said and turned an orange display up towards his captain. “Peter’s gone.”

“Gone?” Yondu squinted at the screen. He gritted his teeth, clamping down so hard that Kraglin expected to see blood. “Shit. Shit! Who’s signature?”

Kraglin poked the screen until the ghost display of a warbird Haderfasti ship popped up. The bright colors burned in the display. “D’spar. They used one of their little bug snatchers to get to the surface. Didn’t see it from the air. That means…sir, y’don’t think that—”

“Think I do,” said Yondu and stomped out of the M-ship as Kraglin finished prepping it.

He whistled, low and sweet like syrup as the Yaka arrow twisted out of its holster and started dancing in a lazy arc around his head. When his foot touched the ground he whistled again through his teeth and the arrow shot out, zipping straight for Umber and Zu’s heads. The tail started to spark, driving it faster until it stopped short of their big black eyes.

“We picked you up from Haderfast, y’said you were the last ones left,” said Yondu, his fin rippling with red light. “Said you was abandoned there. Whole place bombed to shit. And here I think a couple o’ orphans. Couple o’ strong boys like you. I bring you onto my ship. I bring you into my crew! Never had octolops here, but figured you stick to the Code, you do us right. But I know where your kind fall. And you led D’spar’s men right to us, didn’t you?” Umber grabbed Zu’s hand, shaking his head frantically as his twin shrank back. “Didn’t you!”

<<No>> Umber chirped, his beak clacking up and down. <<We didn’t do anything like that, we swear.>>

<<We never heard of D’spar. We’ve only known the Haderfast nest. We were but battle fodder then>> said Zu just as fast, wrapping his skinny little scarred-up arm around his brother’s. <<Before the explosion, they had us down in the tunnels. Said we had to run and get ammunition. We swear, Captain!>>

<<We swear>> Umber repeated. <<Sure the rest of the slaves had to be at the cannons.>>

<<The cannons. They were, they had to be. We swear>> said Zu, nodding. All eight of his eyes were glassy.

“You swear,” said Yondu and pursed his lips, his nose wrinkling uncomfortably. “You swear.” Yondu tongued the edge of his fangs before, eyeing the shaking octolops. Then he growled, a low, mean threat of a sound before he whistled again. The twins jumped, shutting their eyes, but the Yaka arrow just zipped back into Yondu’s holster. “You wanna swear, you help me get that Terran back. Had you hear to keep an eye out! The hells you even good for!”

He raved at them, spoke to them in their tongue when he was tired of yelling, and herded them back to the M-ship. Umber and Zu scrambled over one another to get into the ship, Yondu right on their heels like a fiery arrow.

“Get us back to the Eclector,” Yondu shouted as Kraglin tapped a button to close the hatch. The octolops twins, still wrapped up in each other’s arms, took a seat down below deck, afraid that if they stepped up to the bridge, the Captain would put the Yaka arrow through their eyes. “And have Nav get their sights on D’spar’s trail. That fuckin’ Haderfasti slave tradin’ jackass. They wanna steal from us? Thievin’ like that comes with a price.”

[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Visions

Hurt - Chapter 34 (Previous Chapters)

Rated: T

Chapter Summary: Leo confides in Splinter about his visions.

Fanfiction.net

A03

"Sensei?" the voice was broken; not one Splinter associated with his eldest son in the least. It was a cry for help, one he knew Leonardo was never keen on using if he could help it.

This was the same boy who he worried about greatly since the passing of his second-eldest, Raphael. The one who was seemingly so unmovable; the same one he made leader but it was only since Raphael was taken brutally from this world when Splinter began to notice the cracks in Leo's facade. The pain Leonardo held back in order to appear stronger than he actually was - it hurt painfully to see it happen…

Splinter could do nothing but hold on to his remaining children so fiercely, so tightly in fear of losing them too. Fear was not something he was at accustomed to - meditated and trained tirelessly to let go of…but it hit him harder now. He was instead doing everything in his power to keep his children safe and in good spirits even if it was a near impossibility at this point.

…It still didn't mean he couldn't try…

"What is it, Leonardo?" Splinter asked; voice small and terse as he looked up from his seated position toward his eldest son.

"I, um…I…" Leonardo's voice quickly dissolved almost as soon as it appeared.

"Are you alright, my son?" Splinter's thick brows furrowed as he watched Leo.

Leonardo frankly looked terrified; almost lost for the remainder of the time he still stood near the entrance to the dojo.

Splinter was sorely tempted to approach to see exactly what may be the problem but Leo beat him to it. His son moved almost zombie-like toward his seated father before finally stopping a few feet in front of him.

"I…I'm seeing Raph…" Leo breathed out a second later as he collapsed to a seated position on the worn tatami mat.

From the closeness now, Splinter easily picked up the shaking in his hands and the quivering of his shoulders. Vibrant blue eyes dulled and red rimmed from either crying, stress, or lack of sleep but Splinter believed it was all three.

That wasn't what astonished him most though - it was his frantically-spoken words.

"...I'm sorry, what?" Splinter couldn't help but ask; not bothering to hide the confusion lacing his tired voice.

"Raph… I see him everywhere." Leo confessed; gulping and Splinter watched his Adam's apple bob with the motion.

"In my peripheral when I'm on my patrol. A-As if he's running by my side. It's either a flash of red or emerald green like his skin used to be. Maybe even the glint from his sais. I-I-It's driving me crazy! B-But every time I've been curious enough to look, there's never anything there. It's just like being chased by a ghost or just my vivid imagination b-but just the other night, I kept seeing it. Just something in the corner of my eyes and I didn't want to at first, but then finally, I looked!"

Leo gasped for a second, hands shaking as he grasped at his temples with green fingers. "…he was right there…" the turtle finally breathed out, chest heaving with his erratic breathing.

"..." Splinter listened intently, holding his breath as if it would deter him from absorbing every single syllable Leonardo stuttered out.

"...Raph was right there, Sensei." his breath came out quick and fast; his eyes not really looking at anything but more lost in his head as he finally confessed. "Standing on the rooftop of an adjacent building. He was just - looking at me. …it was as if he was right there made of flesh and blood - alive…warm... Even his mask tails were moving with the wind! It…it was so real…"

Splinter felt his heart twist in his chest as he listened to Leonardo's words; his mind's eye picking up exactly what his son was telling him. Desperately wishing he could see what Leonardo had seen if only for the opportunity to see his red-banded son alive again…even if for only a split-second.

"Raph didn't say anything; just stood there. He was…smiling; eyes brighter and skin healthier than I could ever remember it being…" Leo breathed out and seemingly without his knowledge, twin trails of tears began leaking from his cobalt eyes, darkening his blue mask as they slipped down his sharp cheekbones and onto the worn mats beneath.

"For a second I really believed he was there, dad…" Leo's voice broke as he continued, "…that perhaps these past months were a dream and…maybe he never left us - but as soon as I blinked, he was gone as if he was never there at all. It was as if died all over again."

Splinter stared at his son for a long time; desperate to reach forward to pull him into a hug, brush away the constant stream of tears but he found himself frozen. To say he was confused by his son's visions were a sore understatement; they spoke of a higher spiritual awareness Leo had never showcased before this moment.

The comfort that suddenly washed over him was the most positive thing he'd felt in a long time…

Before he even realized he moved, Splinter's arms were wrapped around Leonardo's trembling shoulders; holding him as tightly as possible. Brown eyes closed tightly and allowing a few stray tears to drip down his furry cheeks and upon Leo's smooth dome.

"...Sensei?" Leonardo whimpered into his kimono.

"You are so blessed, my son…"

Leonardo didn't answer; pulling away from the embrace and staring up at him with the saddest blue eyes Splinter recalled seeing in his eldest child.

"What do you mean 'blessed'?! This is a curse, Sensei! Having to see my dead brother mocking me? Basically telling me from some other plane that he's disappointed that I didn't protect him? I wouldn't call that being blessed - that's the damn opposite!" Leo cursed; spatting out his anger with flaming eyes.

Splinter grew silent. More shocked at Leonardo's sudden anger and the pain lacing his tattered voice.

"...you believe Raphael is upset at you? Why would he blame you, Leonardo? You did nothing wrong…no one did."

Leo stared at him for an insurmountable amount of time. Mostly keeping silent aside from a few trembling breaths and tears that seeped out whenever he was forced to blink.

"I was supposed to protect him dad…I'm the Leader; the leader protects, shields, and guides…and I failed him. I should have been there. I never should have trusted him to train or help April to do patrol on his own…and because of that…" Leo whispered.

"…he's gone…"

"...It wasn't your fault, Leonardo. It was I who put him in charge of Miss April…I was the one who believed she was ready and allowed her and Raphael to go patrol alone. If anyone is to blame for Raphael's death, other than that Foot Soldier who delivered the blow…it's me. You have no blood on your hands. It was no fault of your own took your brother's life. It was carelessness on my part and Raphael's protective nature that ultimately took him from us. It was not your fault…"

"B-But…" Leo tried to argue but Splinter quieted him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"...I believe that is why Raphael is appearing to you my son." Splinter confessed.

"...what?" Leo's voice was no louder than a mere whisper in a hurricane.

"I think Raphael is basically telling you that wherever he is, he is okay. Appearing to you happy and healthy - not dead or decaying. Smiling and alive like you remember. I think in his own way he's telling you…that it's going to be alright. Perhaps showing himself to you knowing how much you blame yourself - and how you shouldn't."

Leonardo's eyes fell; teary blue eyes focused on his lap as if staring off into some far off abyss.

A silence infiltrated the spacious room and the only noises were their combined breathing. It was a calmness almost; a sense of peace and understanding that neither had felt in what seemed to be an eternity.

"...do you really believe that?" Leo asked, voice tense and body loose as he finally met his father's eyes again. So much hope lacing those eyes; a desire to be told that that was indeed the truth.

Splinter remained silent for a moment; desperate to tell his son a resounding "yes" but something still held him back.

An almost jealousy that his son was seeing these beautiful miraculous things; seeing Raphael alive and well when Splinter's dreams and nightmares were plagued by the images of his dead son's body. Cold and lifeless, unresponsive when touched and spoken to. Images he never wished to see but haunted him regardless. Perhaps that was his punishment for his part in Raphael's death.

To be forever plagued with the harsh reality his carelessness as a Sensei ultimately cost him his beloved son's life. To be forever haunted by the images of his deceased son, to scarcely remember him in life aside from a few precious pictures he was able to procure through the years.

It was simply maddening to live with…but it was his burden, and his alone, to bear.

"...Yes." Splinter finally answered; paw heavy as he placed it upon Leonardo's shoulder. Gently squeezing his son's cool flesh and was harshly reminded of the bitter cold flesh of Raphael's when he touched his dead son those many months ago. Splinter quietly and gently removed his paw; hoping none of his agony was showcased and by Leonardo's hopeful face, it appears he was successful.

An almost smile rose on Leo's lips; one Splinter hadn't seen in what may as well have been forever. A sense of calm and hope that lifted the weight off the world off his over-burdened shoulders. Seeing it was in a strange way his own sense of peace. That perhaps his eldest son would finally be able to start moving on; that perhaps appearing to Leonardo was Raphael's way of easing his worries and helping him go forward instead of remaining stagnant in grief.

"Thanks dad." Leonardo suddenly spoke; bowing slightly in reverence before standing to his feet and leaving the room with a head held much higher.

Splinter watched silently as Leonardo left; the softest knock of wood as the door slid shut behind him. Brown eyes glued to the spot for the longest time before he blinked; the image of his dead son still there as it always was since his death. Re-opening his eyes, he hoped he'd see what Leonardo had spoken about…

…perhaps one day he'd be fortunate enough to see it for himself…