#i know i kept making changes

[in-the-mines-of-veingadd]

    The two seemed to get their points across. The brine finally stilled in their grip, dejected. Steven did not like being manhandled, but the feeling of gelatin coagulating around his joints was more uncomfortable. Safety’s first, sure... but being unable to move his hands? The... limbs he needed to communicate?

    Come on, now...

    “...carry on, Cyl.” Brennan’s voice rang. Steven felt the skeleton’s gauntlets tighten slightly around his chest. He huffed, just a little.

    “...yes! Right, uh. Honestly, this is a little more complicated than just avoiding flying, apartment sized slabs of stone.” Cylvus lamented. “Considering there are no notes of the entire top part changing, nobody knew that this how this entire thing works underground. And what- what we’re witnessing right now is when the dungeon is shifting; pried apart and then put back together. Maybe— Maybe it’s time based, or maybe it’s triggered, I don’t know, but— ”

   Cyl snapped their fingers together silently, muttering to themselves as they tried to formulate their hypothesis. Their eyes narrowed slightly as another module passed inches away from their noses. It was probably travelling at the speed of a running horse. 

    “ —the point is: I think this entire dungeon is moving in pieces. Pieces within a larger room than the dungeon itself. L-like a bunch of blocks rebuild and rearranged and then put back together. It’s designed to make people get lost within it — “

     “Your wealth of information and ideas is always—” Brenn’s sentence abruptly interrupted by a deafening grinding of wall against wall just to their left, shaking the entirety of the structure they were hitchhiking on. The skeleton let out an exhale, sharp and rattled, and continued with a heavy sigh. “—greatly appreciated, Cyl. How long does each shuffle usually go for?”

    “Not long; Less than 10 minutes. Too short for us to even pinpoint where we were, and where we’re going. It’s supposed to be effective ”

    “And when the next one will start?”

    “It’s... one of those...” The radio operator moved their hands about. Steven noticed that Cyl gestured their hands in a peculiar way when they were in deep thought. “...ever-changing variable. Each dungeon have different time limits between shuffles. If we’re in a Tier III dungeon, time limit varies from five to six hours before the next shuffle.”

    “...Fuck me sideways, then.” Brennan muttered under his breath.

    “Seconded. We’re really, uh, kind of at the mercy of a colossal contraption here.” 

   At this point, Steven decided to finally yap. Being left out of the conversation was not a pleasant experience for anyone, especially for someone who was stuck to the wall by the arms. His two seniors, realizing they have forgotten that one more individual is present, turned to Steven and gave him an apologetic grimace.

   “...What about sending Steven to scout the modules and find everyone?” Brenn asked, and the brine jolted with excitement. Finally, some action! Steven responded by yipping and vigorously nodding his head in agreement. 

   “We can, but with the risk of not knowing when this will stop and what wall connects to which?” Cyl commented, their eyes meeting with the brine’s. “Not a great idea. We don’t even know how big this entire thing is. What if we get lost again?”

   At that comment, Steven whapped his tail against Cyl’s gelatinous body followed by a slurry of whines towards his mentor. 

   “We can’t gamble on insanely high risk, Steven. You do not want to learn from Krafften, you understand?” Brennan chided, only to be interrupted by whining through bared fangs. Surely, they could understand that young medic was displeased with the choice they had made? Who did they think he was? He’s licensed, for gods’ sake! He could jump, run, and even leap atop of one of the moving modules if he timed it right enough. It’s not that hard! Instead, he was bound to the wall, treated like a kid. He’s a brine gods dang it, their greatest asset, not a pitiful little brother figure!

   Too bad he couldn’t exactly communicate this without signing. He swore Brennan was trying to saying something to shut him up. But right now, Steven didn’t want to hear it nor lose to his superior. And to ensure his victory, Steven replied with an ear-splitting screech, rivaling that of a loudspeaker’s. 

    Have you heard the Mining Department’s brines screech before? Brines can be loud, you see. It’s a way for them to intimidate those who trespasses into their territory. Younger ones who were recently rescued whine all the time from within their rooms. The tired nurses and the cleaners down the hall would tell you that it’s like working with fifty alarm clocks everyday, even with noise-cancelling pads installed on their walls. Darlene, the receptionist, would tell you that they whine and yap in pitches that rival a whistle, or Jeb forbid, an emergency siren. (And you may wonder why she always wore the noise-cancelling headphones, donated by the kind souls from Comms. Now you know.)

   Steven has the pitch of loudhailer feedback and is as noisy as one if he wanted to. If it’s going to be a lose-lose situation, damn right Steven will make it everyone’s problem.

   “It’s not the time for this, you little shit!” Brenn yelled, trying to inch close to the unruly junior and maybe clamp his mouth shut.  “Keep this up and Cyl’s gonna put a mouthful of slime in you, you ‘ear me?! 

    On the other hand, Cylvus was uncharacteristically quiet through the entire tantrum ordeal. The slimeperson’s eyes were not even on their two bickering teammates. They squinted, blinked, and went wide eyed with realization.

    ...and then proceeded to wordlessly gave both Brennan and Steven a piece of their mind.

   “Shut up! Shh!!” The slimeperson scolded, and while the two are still stunned, used their hands to turn the two’s faces to the same direction they were previously looking at. “Look there and tell me what you see.”

    Steven was about to hiss back when his eyes caught trail of something in the distance. The mismatches eyes were focused on a glint of light in the distance. A ball of yellow, dancing from left to right, left to right. Dancing, like a wisp seeking for attention.

    And the brine caught whiff of fear. Fear, like cigar smoke dissipating in the air.

    “...Is that...” Brennan muttered, inching further away to look. “Torchlight?”

    ...And then he realized, eyes blown wide open.

    “...we don’t use torches!” The skeleton exclaimed, rattled. “That’s them!“

   “That’s our guys!”

[slfcare]

the most difficult thing about growing as a person socially, as in getting out of your shell and noticing that you are, is that there will still be times when it doesn’t feel like you’ve grown at all! times when you can’t really connect with anyone around you, times when you fail to enter into an existing conversation, times when you say the wrong thing (or nothing at all when in hindsight you probably should’ve). but that’s also kind of the best thing, because that’s the thing that helps you realize that sometimes, it’s not you or your lack of skills or any shortcoming. sometimes certain environments just aren’t for you and certain people aren’t your people, and that’s okay. that’s human. it’s okay to not feel the progress you have made all the time.

[cordiallyfuturedwight]

you can't stop me lovin' myself ♡ for @kimtaegis

[jeeaark]

Let the latest patches add whatever new dialogue they write in, but Patch 0 gave me free range to ✨interpret✨ and this will forever be Greygold's canon, HA

For all intents, I did the hell heist as the last-last quest before the finale (So as to be fully prepared and supportive "finishing" babe's personal quest) AND BECAUSE OF THIS, I was tired. Greygold was tired. I was ready to beat the game. I was rushing. STEALING FROM RAPHAEL WAS STRESSING ME OUT. and I dared not go back. So even though Greygold did not want to go through with Haarlep's "game", I couldn't have picked a worse time to forget about their "always another way" philosophy Poor Half-orc was so determined not to fail Lae'zel's personal quest that, for once, ignored companion disapproval. And apparently, with Lae'zel not disapproving nakey Greygy, it looked like Babe was willing to retrieve that hammer no matter the cost either! Until Haarlep said they wanted nakey Greygy to play a "game" with them.

Babe disapproved that time. Babe, who's been cranky all this time, thought not even this way was worth getting the hammer for. Babe still cared about what happened to Greygold.

So by the gods, I happily reloaded and thankfully found a different way, HUAH. Thank you, Babe. Found out later that apparently going the Haarlep way would've suuuuucked. Saved by the babe. Thus I concluded why Babe was so cranky and can't kiss to save her life (I'm looking at you patch 6). And why Greygold's never had another hrm- pleasant conversation with Emps since the last time.

Poor sleep-deprived Lae'zel was bugged as hell killer coconut not because she was mad at Greyg, but because she'd been burning through all of her energy and affection by trying to protect Greygold from any further illithidry influence.

[rainebownerd]

You guys he was being so plain because he knew!!!! He knew that if he went all out all the time like Aabriya, we wouldn't survive it

[angelsdean]

dean's got some opinions. stop making changes to the supernatural webbed site!! put everything back the way it was. and give us cas back while you're at it

[siren-of-agony]

Answers to "please stop"

No.

I can't.

I won't.

I don't want to.

I don't know how.

I will soon.

But then how will you learn?

We're almost done.

It's almost over.

Ask me again!

Oh well, if you're asking that politely…

Fine. For now.

Only once I've come up with something more fun.

Only once you've come up with something more fun.

Or what?

I know you can go a little bit longer.

You know I won't.

I love it when you beg.

I hate it when you beg.

I'm so bored by your begging.

Not until you're too weak to ask me to.

But I don't have anything better to do.

I wish I could.

Alright! See? All you had to do was ask nicely.

I'm not doing anything.

What, exactly?

Just once more, I promise!

Just once more, I promise! (🤞)

You're doing this to yourself.

You wanted this.

You want this.

You know you made me do this.

Are you ready to give me what I want, then?

I will once you give in.

What will you give me in return?

Why should I?

You know there is only one way to end this.

You know there is only one way this will end.

(Answers to "it hurts")

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: idia shroud celebrates your birthday!!

COMMENTS: a birthday present for @twstchatterbox the MOON to my SUN the DYNAMIC to my DUO the BLACK CAT to my GOLDEN RETRIEVER!!!! i love you lots and lots i am so glad we are friends i am squeezing you so tight from the other side of the world.

i wanted to keep this a surprise and i HOPE I SURPRISED YOU i hope you didnt see this coming sjdjdsjdj you have given me so many gifts from your doodles of me to your doodles of US to all the interests you've shared with me to looking out for me all this time AND EVEN STAYING UP LATE TO TALK TO ME?? I AM SO SORRY FOR YOUR SLEEP SCHEDULE

i hope you have the best birthday ever you deserve so much so take this awkward gamer boy. you know your lore. i know your lore. i tried to incorporate it and im sure only you will understand it but thats the point isnt it?

THIS IS GOING ON TOO LONG. I SHOULD HAVE MADE THIS A SEPARATE POST. ANYWAYS. GO READ IT I LOVE YOU

You cross your arms over your chest, amused as the blue package floats silently over to you. It stops right in front of you and a flickering screen loads from a small projector propped on the top of the box.

accept quest?

yes. no.

It’s ridiculous of him to put a no option. You press the yes option and a cheerful jingle rings from the speakers as the package drops at your feet. Bending over, you scoop it into your arms, a delicate smile on your face. You can feel quite a few gazes on your back but you opt to ignore them, walking out of your dorm and towards the source of your gift.

Ever since the events of winter break, you’d become far more accustomed to the halls of Ignihyde. The students seem to have grown more accustomed to you in turn, although some still scamper away from you.

There was only so much that could be done, you think. Besides, your presence here was not because of them. You were here for their Housewarden.

As you reached his door, you wasted no time reaching out to knock. Each tap of your knuckles against his door was crisp and loud, just in case he was wearing his headphones. The corners of your lips lift into a smile as you hear him shuffling around, no doubt checking up on his room to make sure it’s just the normal amount of messy but not too messy lest you get suspicious that he’s a slob or that he cleaned just for you.

You already know he did, though.

“Are you going to keep me waiting?” you call out teasingly, tapping your foot on the polished floors.

The door creaks open slowly, and the soft pink glow of Idia's hair lights up his face. Your heart takes a tumble in your chest.

“Hi.” you breathe, “I wanted to open your gift with you.”

Idia squeaks and opens the door to let you inside, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Um, okay. Thanks.” he says, mumbling each word as if he isn’t sure what he’s saying at all, “You, uh, didn’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.” you refute, and you both understand what would have come after that.

So let me do this.

“Okay.” he jams his hands into his pocket and shrugs, always so awkward around you but so obvious, “I hope you like it.”

“I’ll love it.” you reassure him.

After all, a heart as kind as Idia Shroud’s wouldn’t pick anything but the best.

[medi-bee]

isat pokemon au, my liege?

my rambling in tags

[socialbunny]

 Skip has always found a way to work through his problems and turn them around with relative ease, but the sudden death of his wife, Brandi, has brought his mostly carefreeness towards his children  to a stand-still. With two freshly traumatized children and a newborn under his belt, can Skip juggle turning his shitty ass life around for his family, or will he crumble under the weight of his past mistakes?

Darleen hasn’t been the same since her husband, Darren, died, though she’d be quick to argue with you if you said anything of the sort. She’s FINE! She misses her husband, undoubtedly, but she’s not going to let that very, very, very tiny thing wreck her whole life, and she’s not going to let people give her grief about ANYTHING. Sure, she got fired from her job a few months back and hasn’t made any strides to find a new one, and she’s losing touch with her son as she goes and squanders all her responsibilities by partying and drinking on par with younger years, aaaaaaaaaaaaand the almost obsessive idealistic crush she’s developed on her neighbor is clouding the second half of her judgment, but she’s bounced back from worse and knows everything’s going to come up Darleen :) …………. hopefully

[cherrirui-official]

Friendlocke Violet Gijinkas (Part 1/7)

Since the edited episodes are starting to come out, I figured that bc of that and the fact that I've been keeping this in the back burner for a loooong while now, might as well complete all my friendlocke violet gijinkas!! Some are gonna stay the same while others are gonna have slight/ complete redesigns, so please keep that in mind!

I plan on posting them in order by groups of three, so there's gonna be seven parts in total, all of which I'll be linking here when done vvv

(Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six) (Part Seven)

!! These will contain personal headcanons I have for the cast, little fun facts, and also spoilers for Friendlocke Violet (for both the edited vids and the streams) !!

@saltydkart-reblogs

And that's pretty much it, designs under the cut!

LARK:

HUGE nerd. spent most of his time during the Uva Academy studying different kinds of pokemon as well as different fighting styles he can utilize once he is able to go out on his own journey with his very own trainer! Too bad that didn't really help in the long run...

His entire wardrobe consists of McDonald's related outfits. It's fucking insane. He even has some from long LONG ago that aren't available anywhere else.

The bubble pattern on his hair is able to move and change. Nobody knows how this is possible, not even Lark himself. All Lark knows is that his hair looks incredibly stylish!

Speaking of bubbles, he has the ability to blow bubbles whenever and wherever he pleases!

Often keeps himself extremely clean and gets upset if even a small speck of dirt gets on him, despite this he somehow smells like McDonald's food and axe body spray. Disgusting. He's so cool!

Even after death he still likes to hang around the other team members as a ghost, often getting to know the newer members as well as reuniting with the old ones. Sometimes they see him, sometimes they don't. It usually depends.

SARA:

Due to being a human in her past life, Sara is able to actually speak with the other humans in the pokemon world. However she usually doesn't due to it being seen as extremely weird and out of place. She did slip up once while talking in the presence of Arven, who thought it was the weed making him hear things.

Oinkologne are usually unable to do much with their hooves but Sara spent nights practicing how to knit with her new hooves and now she's able to do it flawlessly. I don't know how she managed to do that but go queen!

When first joining the team she'd often have the urge to eat her food related companions. It was a strange time for Sara, but she managed to overcome it.

When Peppy gets sick, she usually is the one who nurses him back to health. She was a human once so she often is able to figure out whatever sickness Peppy has and treat it properly. I suppose she's like a second mother to him.

The bag she carries with her is full of thread that she collected from various Tarountula she encountered on the journey, as well as little things she knits together in her spare time.

For the most part, Sara forgives... but NEVER forgets.

Did you guys know that Sara has a new YouTube channel? Check it out!

Pastey:

Before joining the team, Pastey was a nameless wanderer. He's been down every road in Paldea and knows almost the entire region (except for Area Zero) like the back of his hand.

He's gotten hurt pretty badly throughout the run (ie. the Mikey fight, the Atticus fight, and ESPECIALLY the final battle), however, he does not gain any (physical) scars from those fights. This is bc he's basically an axolotl, and axolotls are usually able to heal without scarring.

Pastey's "arms" are, to put it simply, mud prosthetics. More info here vvv

Pastey HAS met Mall Bingo once before the run, however, he doesn't recognize her. The only reason he does not recognize her is bc she wears glasses. (You know how people somehow aren't able to recognize Superman bc he wears glasses in his civilian attire even tho his face remains the same? It's basically like that lmao)

Unlike the lightbulbs he eats, the gasoline he drinks isn't really mandatory to his diet. Gasoline is like alcohol to him and he drinks it like an absolute CHAMP.

He goes fishing when there's nothing else to do or when he can't sleep at night. He doesn't do this bc he thinks it's fun or anything, only bc it's a "good time passer" or so he claims. Other members of the team will often sit with him and vent out anything that's troubling them at the moment, and Pastey is always there to listen to them.

And that's pretty much it. Next is Joe, Hannah Ü, and Mykyie!

[eggwishing]

might as well take it 

[lizzylucky]

Draxum hadn't accounted for the fact that when he gave four hatchling turtles the DNA of a human being in order to give them greater intelligence, he would effectively be making himself a surrogate father to actual children, with wildly different needs.

When he sent his gargoyles to obtain a sample of DNA from Big Mama's prized warrior, the intention was to create his own. They were to be the prototypes for an army of simple creatures with just enough heightened intelligence to learn combat and follow commands, that he might defend Yokai kind with.

Instead, he quickly discovered the integration of human DNA had been a little over successful in allowing his test subjects to learn and think and feel in a civilized manner, going so far as to override some of their natural instincts as turtles that would otherwise allow them to learn to care for themselves. He had to feed them, by hand, with bottles.

Like infants.

They were easily distraught by unfamiliar things, and quickly became dependent on Draxum in every sense of the word. They babbled, they cried, they explored things with their hands, their tails, their mouths.

It was an unplanned adjustment needed to be made, but no matter. If anything, learning to understand the new hybrid emotions of these turtles would allow Draxum greater advantages when they grew enough to safely learn combat. Preferences, likes and dislikes, needs, diet, and so on, all became more complex areas of study.

Even a couple years in, he found himself continually surprised. Brain scans had shown that the turtles were more intelligent, still, than anticipated. They, truly, seemed more human in mind and function than anything else, with only some base instincts and behaviors left to influence their personalities. They retained many reptilian traits, but overall had the bipedal anatomy and function of humans and some Yokai. It had been an infuriating discovery at first, but Draxum had to admit that over time he became fond of it.

Each turtle had developed his own personality. The eldest, for example, had a love of plush toys, and showed a fierce protective instinct over the others. The youngest, Draxum had learned, was contrastedly reckless and excitable, not nearly so reserved or gentle as the first. Additionally, he was, decidedly, to be kept away from any and every writing utensil unless under strict supervision (unfortunately, this was learned a little too late, as was evidenced by the clear markings left in several work benches). Then, of course, were the slider and the softshell, who had the most bizarre relationship. They were constantly fighting with each other, but utterly inseparable, and each showed an incredible and unique curiosity, constantly exploring and watching and studying, with concentration filling their eyes in ways Draxum had never seen in other children so young.

Embarrassingly, it took another couple years before Draxum realized he couldn't simply refer to them by their species' names. It certainly was effective, but they were not the mild, simple creatures he had once expected them to be, and he knew that they never would.

Now, they were vocal, playful, inquisitive... energetic. By the gods, were they energetic. They never stopped moving, never stopped talking, never stopped eating, never stopped wanting or needing.

...This is why Draxum never had children of his own. It took all the time and energy he had to spare, and then some. Although it would be a lie to say he wished they were any other way.

They had so much capacity to learn, and with their emotional propensity could one day come to understand exactly why Draxum was doing this, which he knew would be an edge in their combative styles.

As he introduced them, slowly, to more of the world's culture and knowledge, he felt, in a new way, that their very existences were revolutionary. A perfect, synergistic unity between two entirely different families of genetic material, with numerous enhanced abilities. And they were children. They maintained all the properties of regular children, but had so much more in store! Such grand destinies! They would be, inarguably, the greatest warriors of their time when they were grown. They would be the compassionate, skillful heroes of all Yokai, the first of a new generation of super mutants, and the key to overcoming the evils of the humans who had overtaken the surface and posed such threat to all who lived below.

It was with great reluctance that he allowed himself to accept, however, that not all of mankind was evil. There were many forms of art, beautiful in different ways, there were some rare people filled with kindness, inventions that utilized resources in ways Yokai kind had never thought to. Perhaps he had been a little stubborn in his ways, a bias cementing over time that blinded him to some of the beauty that did yet exist in such a species.

Make no mistake, humans were a threat. Innocent families lived in fear, in hiding, of the governments and ruthless sciences designed to invade, to blaspheme the name of knowledge, with no regard for the safety of this people.

Draxum could live with being an outlaw to the Yokai if his experiments would lead to their salvation. He may be their villain in today's papers, but in history books he would be a hero.

Still, he wished to amend some of his practices. Even if only to his turtles, he would be known for his ability to change and understand. He would be fair, and he would be truthful.

And so it was that he told the turtles the nature of their existence. Perhaps he muted some of the details, to protect their minds until they had more understanding, but he would not lie to them about their DNA. He told them of Lou Jitsu, and their human genetics, and he begrudgingly allowed them access to the culture of the humans. He would let them choose their interests unbiased.

In the process, he came to know of some of the revolutionaries of human history. Though he wasn't particularly inclined to believe there were no evils involved, he was intrigued by the strange moral code that the humans boasted from their different time periods. The turtles, as well, were fascinated by the stories of war heroes and generals, seamstresses and inventors, artists and royalty.

Initially, when it came time to redesignate his turtles, Draxum had been inclined toward the names of those whose legacies persisted in the humans' culture even today- perhaps a president for the slider, a scientist for the softshell, a great general for the snapper, and an artist for the young box turtle. It seemed, somehow, clandestinely right; carefully considered to exemplify each of their personalities.

And although he had begun to get used to the possibility of names like "Monroe" and "Edison", his indecision on the matter seemed to be working against him. He was taking too long, and the boys were growing smarter.

It was a day in August, later that year, that he found his two youngest arguing over a Renaissance book, oddly enough. The elder two took to a game of knocking "secret patterns" on each other's carapaces, which he dismissed before he could allow himself the confusion that came with wondering why a five year old would want to knock on a spiked shell for fun.

After breaking up the fight and confiscating the book (which, as it turned out, the youngest only wanted because it had pictures in it, much to the chagrin of the other, who insisted that reading it was much better than just looking at the pictures), Draxum found himself idly flipping through pages of rustic images and rudimentary ideas, developed by people with strange names.

Maybe he was simply too tired to consider it properly, but, feeling defeated in his endeavor, he chose four names at random and assigned them to the young turtles, deciding it had been long enough.

It took a while to get used to, but soon "Raphael", "Leonardo", "Donatello", and "Michaelangelo" truly fit.

Over time, the boys grew... ravenous. They devoured everything- food, information, technique. They were learning quickly everything Draxum taught them. They practiced with Huginn and Muninn, leapt up, around, over, and through everything in the lab, and took special interest in action-filled films.

And Draxum grew fonder. He wasn't entirely surprised, of course; it's natural to develop some sense of sentimentality when caring for anything this long. Even if they had been the simple minded turtles he expected, he knew this was inevitable, to a degree.

What startled him was the sudden sense of fear that came with watching them train. The alarm that made his heart beat harder when one of them fell from somewhere high or any time they ran simple drills with weapons not blunted and made from wood.

He subtly began to intensify their defensive strategies, taught them where they were most vulnerable so they could protect those spots, insisted on perfecting their abilities to parry, block, and dodge before anything else.

And, over time, he found himself training them less often than before, thinking, "I must preserve their innocence and prolong their childhood experiences". After all, it was an essential part of development, was it not? If it were tarnished too much, they might become unwise or unjust as warriors. And, really, Raphael was only 8 years old, and he was the eldest; they were much too young to be exposed to the harshness of what their combative training was really for.

He told himself that, time and time again. He told them that, making certain they understood that their training was not a game. It wasn't untrue, certainly.

Really, he just wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to admit to what extent he cared about them, because it was too much. It was more than he could ever have been prepared for. It was more than that passion to protect Yokai kind ever was, and if he ever realized that, he might become the compromise to his own purposes, to the very reason these turtles exist this way to begin with, and then what? What was he to tell them, why was he to train them, who did they exist for if not the inhabitants of the Hidden City?

No. He couldn't do that. He simply would not allow it, not when so much was at stake.

And yet...

More and more often he desired simply to watch them. He was growing weary with worry, and with that tight feeling that arose in his chest each time one of his boys so much as frowned.

Raphael loved to carry his brothers on his shoulders. And he prided himself on being the big brother, in every way. He liked repeating instructions Draxum gave to the others, and tended to play caretaker anytime someone was sad, or had a bruised knee. He often played the "bad guy" in their made up games so the younger ones could "win", he was the mediator in big decisions, like what book they should read before bed, and he seemed always ready with an armful of stuffed animals when he wanted to express affection. So strong, incredibly strong, but soft spoken and sweet.

Leonardo adored Raphael. Just as Raphael did Draxum, Leonardo liked to imitate and repeat instructions. He tended to take charge in many of their childish endeavors, and had a propensity for dramatics and heroism, often pretending to rescue his brothers. This seemed to irritate Donatello to no end, unless he was also playing the hero, and often times he was. The two were usually glued to the hip, though Leonardo liked to make a point to tell all his brothers about everything that went on, and would take a movie night with the three of them over a one on one outing with Draxum any day. He was exuberant and joyous, and very driven by the concept of justice.

Donatello, similarly, seemed to care very dearly about maintaining a bond with all three of his brothers, but he was peculiar, often more reserved and enjoying his alone time. That child read and read like he might never get a chance to again, and he absorbed what he read like a sponge. Quite a few times Draxum found him pulling apart whatever he could get his hands on, and though an effort was made, there was no hiding place the boy couldn't discover in his quest for Draxum's tools. In spite of his quizzical, sometimes stoic nature, Donatello was sensitive, and very thoughtful. He would spend hours talking about his books and his ideas- some of which were very clever- and he was expressive in secondary ways- sitting nearer his brothers even without interacting, crafting things out of paper as gifts. Even the little heart-shaped mark on the back of his soft shell seemed a fitting part of him- he wore his heart on his sleeve, so to speak, and didn't even realize it.

And Michaelangelo. There was an innocence and joy and goodness about the smallest turtle that had struck Draxum. Even when he was younger he always wore a smile and liked to see the good side of things. And he idolized his brothers. With him had grown his creative inclinations, filling every colouring book, drawing on every wall, and absolutely plastering the other turtles with stickers. They were a pain to wash off, but Draxum couldn't bring himself to mind it, especially given the elder three always loved their baths. Ironically, it seemed Michealangelo did not, enjoying it only under specific circumstances. Heat, bubble bath, and bath toys had quickly become a necessity. So too did bath crayons, the need to express himself coming through even when bathing. Everything about the ornate box turtle was bright and colourful.

Draxum... loved them. Dearly. Every facet of their personalities and growth. Every unique trait and behavior.

It was terrifying. He couldn't afford to love them. He couldn't afford to see any more goodness in the humanity they showed. He couldn't afford to change his goals right now.

So he continued disregarding the feeling, trying to reason that everything he did for them was to nurture their instincts as warriors, as science experiments, as specimen.

But a pained scream one day, different from any of the ones he heard when they were frightened as infants, when one of them tripped and fell, when a spat led to hitting, sent his heart into his throat and had him racing through doorways with more urgency than he had felt for anything before.

He had demanded an explanation, panic translating to perceived anger, and three of his boys looked up with teary eyes. Three, but Donatello remained curled up on the ground, wailing his little heart out without ever looking up, and it was one of the most heart wrenching, painful sounds Draxum'd ever heard.

Raphael sat not far from the smaller boy, looking over his shoulder seemingly at nothing, at Donatello, then up at Draxum and back again. Both Leonardo and Michaelangelo burst into frantic, panicked explanations, none of their words coherent enough to understand through their tears.

When Raphael stood, exposing red-tipped spikes on his shell and pointing frantically to Donatello's, it didn't take long to figure out well enough what had happened.

It became quickly a very long day. All four turtles were distraught, and though Draxum had more than enough first aid knowledge to address the situation, bile had threatened to rise the very moment he pulled out the suture kit.

The cuts were deep, and jagged. And poor Donatello cried the entire time, even after a numbing agent had been applied.

Draxum had never thought that in depth about Donatello's soft shell. Not like that. He chose a softshell for the experiment because it would provide greater flexibility, greater agility. It gave an advantage that the hard-shelled turtles did not have.

Now, here... The soft carapace, spongy and leathery and bloody...

It was an accident. Of course it was, Draxum never doubted that. He had to assure that none of his boys were in trouble, no one was in trouble, no one had done anything wrong.

But for the first time he had to be honest with himself. For the first time he couldn't deny how much he cared about the turtles. His turtles. His boys.

He wouldn't, either. If this was what it was, if this was something that could happen again because he insisted on making them into warriors, into fighters- if this could happen on purpose, if this could happen worse, if this could happen with malice and hatred in mind...

Draxum wasn't unused to physical affection, by now. All four boys adored hugs, although Donatello was usually more reserved about them. Now, Donatello clung like his life depended on it, sniffling and whimpering, having cried so long he had no more tears. Draxum clung back, idly smoothing over the edges of the bandages, holding the frightened, exhausted turtle to his chest, cradling.

He did so until well after Donatello fell asleep. He couldn't bring himself to put him down. He accompanied the others to bed, assuring them once more that things were alright, and then simply stood in the walkway, holding his boy tightly.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't go through with it. They were children, every bit as innocent and deserving as the Yokai he wished to avenge and protect. He could train them, prepare them to protect themselves, but he could never send them into battle, ask them to put their lives on the line, much less demand it.

How could he?

It took months of processing, of agonizing his way through the healing process with Donatello, of watching the other boys proving their humanity, their curiosity, and their innocence time and time and time again. His mind was constantly at war with itself, his heart constantly in turmoil and distress, worsened by the turtles' confusion at his sudden change in behavior.

What was even worse was that they would.

They would absolutely sacrifice everything they had for his approval, and for what they understood as "right". He could see them, easily, being willing to submit their very lives to a greater cause if he asked it.

But was he "right"? Even if this experiment had gone exactly as planned, was he right for ever considering putting these turtles into the station of a warrior? Even if they had remained turtles in mind, if they never expressed complex emotion, if they could not speak, if they did not have distinct and colourful personalities, would it have been right?

Was what he saw in them now what they would have been at heart, regardless of circumstance?

Or was it the humanity, that he stole from Lou Jitsu?

Perhaps... perhaps it was time to learn. To consider the root of his motivations.

He couldn't do this to them.

How could he?

[hamletshoeratio]

Apparently, Eloise is a mean girl and is not a girls' girl???

[roots-symphony]

do you think the reason agatha’s trial felt weird is because she was the only one who did not actually buy into the mythos of the road since she knew the truth? like that was why no perspective change and all the other reasons why people thought it was a fake trial

[biblically-accurate-dca]

experimental sunman yaaaay

(ruin spoilers under the cut)