#it feel like it is happening to someone from my family

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

I always feel pretty dumpy after getting dumped. Tonight was no different. I decided to walk the grounds one last time, and the tranquil beauty of the gardens seemed extra mean somehow. Like I was walking through something beautiful that I never even got a chance to miss. No chance to enjoy. Just rejection. Again. And the same message, though at least this time they tried to be kind about it.

Please never practice magic like that again. Bards were mages until you were too good at singing. Then things got suspicious to the headmasters. Song could be such a powerful tool and manipulate people across the field the way that death could. Put death and song together and humans always got so uncomfortable. And when it came to humans, nothing was more unlucky than a sweet death. They say the way they want to die is old and in bed surrounded by their families but...it's never true. Every single one of them secretly yearns for some kind of glory in their hearts, and it just rots and rots and rots as they age. I'd know. I'm human too. But I'm also banshee and people can just feel it. Especially those who are academically inclined. In some cultures they saw us as prophets... until they learned that the angels sing in our ears and fall out of our throats. Also people only like the idea of prophets. Tell them enough future truth and they start looking for the matches and rope. Or a crucifix.

Bewitchment. Enchantment. Manipulation. No one wants to invite a banshee to the table where everyone is sweet and happy and alive with rosy cheeks and laughing eyes.

I'm an omen. It's kind of lonely. But I get it. I suppose if I were someone else I'd feel the same.

I found myself in a gazebo near the tallest of the little sculpted waterfalls in this garden. I liked the way the water sang and flowed as it poured itself over the rocks. It was summer, so there were fireflies, and I could get back to being lost in my thoughts a bit as I watched the way they all twinkled around each other. My son used to say they were all teleporting. I laughed at him, kissed the top of his head, and earmarked that for later because that might be something he ends up being keen at. My daughter used to say she had the power of the forest when she was very young, and gods if she couldn't tell you exactly what creatures were thinking when they wanted something. The more specific the better with my daughter.

I shifted, crossing my legs over each other and anchoring my elbows on the wooden railing and letting my chin fall heavily into my palms. I closed my eyes and breathed slowly, trying to catch and understand the direction and pattern to the way the wind blew tonight. The air smelled like roses and jasmine and I looked up to see the little white flowers hanging from their vines right above me. There were lanterns of golden light and everything felt smoky and indigo. A moonlit darkness that was so easy to see around but too misty to see through.

Was it the song, I wondered? I replayed the interview in my mind. I've been learning how to perform on a stage and have gotten to this point where I fall fully into the music. I don't let my mind control the song anymore, but trust my heart to attune and express it authentically. Sometimes my heart sounds drunk or bitter. Sometimes it sounds like delight and perfection. Today... I couldn't remember. I'd found that I could trick people into thinking maybe I was some sort of reformed cleric turned bard if I sang religious songs. Today I considered a shanty because those work too. But in the end I settled on a lullaby and at first everyone looked peaceful and happy but then that look came into their eyes when they realized where they were and what was going on.

Someone told me once that it was frightening to find yourself suddenly disarmed, especially if being vulnerable wasn't something you were used to being with people. I saw that happen in real time today, and suddenly understood what he meant.

Yay, more awareness.

That brought a bit of temper to my system so I stood up and walked over to the stream to sit down. The grass was wet but I didn't care. I took off my shoes and put them into the water that ran clear and cold over a stone bottom. It was deep enough to cover my ankles. I put my palms to the earth behind me, took a deep breath, and let my head fall back as I sighed it out.

I was so fucking disappointed.

But, I'd still done it. I took the chance. I learned something. All of it sucked. I'd maybe built a few sandcastles in my mind about how my life would fit into the routine that school would have brought me. I let myself sit and grieve what was never mine but still felt lost to me. I imagined the tide of this rejection crushing all the sandcastles in one giant wave. I felt my emotions rise out of my heart, making my throat sore, took another deep breath, and sighed as I let the tears release the sadness and flow down my cheeks like the current at my feet.

Fuck, I really really wanted something else to happen. I wanted the outcome I wanted. And I didn't want any other outcome. I didn't want to go to another school. I didn't want to look at other schools. I didn't want to be a bard if I couldn't go to this school. I didn't want anything.

My body shook with a little sob as my shoulders slumped back.

I didn't want anything ever again and-

Suddenly I was laughing, and I just collapsed. I laughed and cried at the same time and rolled around in the grass. If I was going to be a fucking child like this about this I was going to commit and be a child. My heart was broken a little bit and the grass was so wet and awful but it smelled so good. I closed my eyes and cursed as I realized my hair was going to be wet now that I did this and...

There was a cough and a "Ma'am?"

I froze like a rabbit. Then I closed my eyes tighter just in case this was a dream and I could escape the inevitable embarrassment of someone from the school that rejected me seeing me rolling around in the grass like an animal. The moments clicked by awkwardly and I didn't cut to the next scene, so I opened my eyes to face the music.

Security guard. Handsome. I always liked a man in uniform. Flirting was not going to help me escape embarrassment but it could make this story more interesting. As though he were reading my mind, his face darkened with an expression that read plainly don't even try it. Great, a challenge. The only thing I can't resist. His arms crossed as we both seemed to take in each other's character in this particular moment. He scowled deeper.

I sat up like a naughty child and patted at my hair, then shook it out like a dog would. He was watching closely. My head tilted to the side and I beamed angelically. "Sorry, you caught me making grass angels," I chirped merrily.

In order to be admitted to a magic school potential students only need to provide irrefutable proof that they are mages, yet, despite your very obvious abilities, you were rejected with a comment asking you to "please never practice magic again".

[redroomreflections]

At The End of The Night

Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

The Loud House Universe

Warnings: Smut Inside - Minors DNI (18+)

Note: I hope y'all enjoy

Summary: Wanda has always been a third in Reader and Nat's relationship. Why not take it to the next level?

W/c: 5k

It felt strange, in a good way, for the house to be this quiet. You were seated on the couch, sandwiched between Wanda and Natasha, as the soft TV light bathed the room in dim, darting light. Cara was away at a sleepover with friends, leaving you and Natasha with the rare opportunity for a quiet night. Of course, inviting Wanda over for a movie night was a given.

People always joked that Wanda was the third in your marriage, and while that was only half true, the three of you shared a bond unlike any other. When Wanda joined the team, you were the first person to make her feel welcome, and she was someone who quickly found her place in your lives. You and Wanda immediately hit it off, bonding over a few common interests and quickly building a friendship that became as easy as family. Wanda was a person you trusted with pretty much everything. She's someone you both cared about deeply.

Now, nestled together under a heavy blanket, Wanda gave an exaggerated sigh as she leaned her head against the pillows. “I’m just saying, if he wanted her back, he could have tried a little harder than just showing up at her work with a bouquet,” she scoffed, her eyes never leaving the screen.

Natasha smirked on your other side. “It’s a rom-com. If it made sense, it wouldn’t be half as entertaining,” she said, sipping her wine. She draped an arm casually over the back of the couch, stroking the back of your neck with the tip of her fingers.

You sighed softly at the sensation, the wine, and the heat of their bodies, making you feel content and comfortable. Wanda shifted, and her thigh pressed against yours. The movie was coming to an end, and you were buzzed. It was a good feeling.

"I need more wine," You announced.

"Oh no, you don't," Natasha gripped your glass out of arms' reach. "You get too frisky when you're drunk."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," You scoffed.

"It is when we have guests," Natasha gestured to Wanda. "You've been rubbing my leg this entire movie."

You hadn't even noticed. "Sorry, Wands," You apologized.

"No, I'm used to it," Wanda waved her hand, dismissing your concerns.

"Used to it?" You frowned.

Wanda nodded. "You're not subtle. You always do the same things when you're drunk, which isn't often. You guys are very touchy-feely." She teased, laughing a little as she looked between you and Natasha. "Not that it's a bad thing."

"Sorry if that makes you uncomfortable," Natasha apologized.

"It's fine," Wanda promised. "It's a nice change, actually. Everyone is so formal, and everyone always wants something from me. You guys are the only ones who make me feel... Normal. It's nice."

"We'll always be here for you," You smiled. "You're sweet."

She smiled back at you.

“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself with us. And if you ever feel uncomfortable, just say the word.” You told her.

Wanda smiled, glancing down. “You guys are the best,” she said, looking up with a hint of bashfulness. “I guess I’ve always wondered what that would feel like—to have someone you could just be yourself around all the time.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Natasha before gently nudging Wanda with your shoulder. “It’ll happen for you, too, you know. Some lucky person out there will love you for exactly who you are.”

Wanda chuckled, her cheeks turning a little pink. “You both make it look so easy, though. How do you even start with all of this… relationship stuff?”

"Have you not been in one?" Natasha raised a brow.

"No, not really. There was a guy back home, but he was a jerk. And I was so busy, and then there was Ultron and Sokovia, and..." Wanda trailed off, shaking her head. "It's always seemed like a luxury."

"It's not. It's an incredible experience." You said, smiling to yourself as you glanced at your wife.

"And the sex is a bonus," Natasha grinned.

Wanda rolled her eyes. "I'm sure."

"What?" You frowned, a little confused. "Are you a virgin?"

"No, no," Wanda shook her head. "I've slept with a man before, but..."

"But what?" Natasha frowned.

"I've never slept with a woman," Wanda explained.

"Would you like to?" You tilted your head.

"With whom?" Wanda's eyes widened.

"Well, not necessarily now," You shook your head. You licked your lips and thought it over. "But we could help you practice if you'd like."

"Practice?"

"Sure," Natasha nodded. "There's no reason for you to have a bad first time."

"I'm not asking for a pity-fuck," Wanda rolled her eyes. She sighed. "I should probably get home."

"Or you could stay?" You suggested, looking over to Natasha for backup. "If you want."

Natasha nodded in agreement. "It's a big bed, and you could have the spare room if you'd rather have privacy. But, no pressure."

"Yeah," You agreed. "It doesn't have to be anything weird. I mean, not unless you want it to be."

Wanda stared at you both briefly, her brow creasing a little. "So, what, I'll come to sleep with you guys, and you'll make me feel good?"

"If that's what you want, yes," You nodded. "And if not, we'll still be here for you."

"Why?"

"Because we're your friends and care about you," Natasha shrugged. "We're offering because we'd like to, but if you're not interested, that's fine, too."

Wanda looked at the both of you for a moment, a little taken aback. You felt a little guilty. You hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable.

"What would we do?" She finally asked.

"Whatever you'd like. Whatever makes you feel good," Natasha assured her.

"I'm sorry," Wanda shook her head. She brushed a hand over her face to collect her thoughts. "Maybe I've had too much to drink. Are you guys being serious?"

"Yes," You nodded.

"Okay, hold on. Let me process," Wanda put up her hands.

You and Natasha exchanged another glance, not wanting to make the younger woman feel awkward.

"I'm going to grab more wine," Natasha announced, standing up. "Be right back."

"You can ask questions," You said, reaching over and squeezing her hand.

"I-I'm not sure what to ask," She admitted.

"How do you feel about it?"

"A little embarrassed," Wanda chuckled nervously. "But also a little curious."

"What's embarrassing about it?"

"It's not something that's normally talked about, is it? People don't go around bragging about how much they want to fuck their friends." She explained, dropping her hands to her lap. "You two are generous for the offer, but I don't want to be someone intruding on your marriage."

"It's only intruding if we say no and you push," You reminded her. "Which is the same for you. If you say no, we won't push."

There was a long pause from her. She hadn't said no yet.

Wanda sighed softly, running a hand through her hair. "I'm afraid I won't be good. What if I fumble, or what if it's awkward and..."

"Then we'll have a laugh and call it a day. I promise." You reassured her.

Wanda bit her lip, and you watched her eyes dart from the door to you and back to the door. Finally, she turned to look at you again.

"What would you want to do with me?" She asked, her voice a little softer. Instead of telling her, you decided to show her. You scooted closer to her on the couch, raising your hands to her face before leaning in to press your lips against hers. Her lips were soft, and her skin was warm. She melted into the kiss, her shoulders relaxing as she brought a hand up to touch your face. You pulled away for a moment, gauging her reaction. Her lips were slightly parted, and her cheeks flushed, but she said nothing.

"Come here," You whispered. This kiss was more sensual. Mainly for her benefit and partly because you'd wanted to taste her for a while. You sucked on her bottom lip, eliciting a soft moan from the young woman.

"I can see why you're a married woman," Wanda whispered.

"I've got some moves," You smirked.

"So do I," Wanda replied, suddenly pulling you back in. Her lips were hungry and insistent, and her tongue flicked against yours, drawing another soft moan from the depths of your throat.

"I leave for two minutes," Natasha sighed. She had three filled wine glasses balancing in her hands. "I take it you're up for the offer."

"I'm still considering," Wanda replied, though her eyes were glued to your lips. "We should discuss this over wine."

Natasha grinned. "Good plan. Here's your glass." She handed Wanda the red wine before sitting next to you. She reached for the remote, flicked the TV off, and plunged the room into semi-darkness. Only the soft glow from the kitchen light illuminated the living room.

Wanda gulped down her glass of wine as you looked at her amusedly. When her glass was empty, she softly set it on the table. "Are you guys in an open marriage?"

"No," Natasha answered. "Not open. We just like you."

"I'm not a homewrecker," Wanda insisted.

"It's not a wreck if we want to share," You said.

Wanda took a deep breath, looking between you and Natasha. She chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated your proposition. You could tell she was nervous but also intrigued.

"If it's too much, we can stop whenever you want," Natasha reminded her.

"Can I kiss you?" Wanda asked her.

"I'd be upset if you didn't."

Wanda's lips crashed against Natasha's. Their lips locked, their tongues meeting as the two women explored each other. The sight was breathtaking, and you could feel the arousal growing within you.

You took a long sip of your wine, watching them. There were key differences in how you kissed and Natasha kissed. Natasha was more hands-on with her kissing, opting to feel whatever part of your body she could get her hands on. You could see them twitch in her lap out of the corner of your eye. Her kisses were confident and sensual. They left no doubt in your mind about what her intentions were.

Wanda's hands rested against your thighs, occasionally gripping them. She was less intense and more curious. Her kisses were tentative, exploring the other woman's mouth slowly and deliberately. She clearly felt for Natasha, and you wondered if the redhead knew. It was a dangerous line to cross, but you were not giving up this opportunity.

You couldn't help but wonder if this was how Natasha felt the first time the two of you had sex. Seeing the two of them together was thrilling and a little surreal.

Natasha was the one to break the kiss. She pulled away with a sigh, licking her lips as she looked over at you.

"You've got good taste," She smirked.

"So do you," You winked.

"How far do we want to take this?" Natasha asked, looking over at Wanda. "The ball is in your court."

"I have some ideas," Wanda blushed. "But I'm a little afraid."

"Do you want to be the one getting fucked?" You asked.

"Yes," Wanda nodded.

"Do you want to fuck Natasha, or do you want her to fuck you?"

"I-I... I want you to fuck me," Wanda said.

"That can be arranged," You winked.

"And do you want me to watch, or do you want me to join?" Natasha asked, her fingers dancing along Wanda's arm.

"Whatever you'd like," Wanda said softly.

"We have plans for you yet," You rested a hand on the small of her waist. "I hope this is okay."

"This is great," Wanda said, leaning back as you kissed her neck. "Just different. I'm not used to being treated this way."

"Well, you deserve it," Natasha purred. "And so does my wife. She likes it a little rough. How do you like it?"

"I'm not sure," Wanda admitted. "I've only had sex a couple of times, and it wasn't amazing."

"Oh, honey," Natasha cooed. "We'll take good care of you. That's a promise."

"Okay," Wanda breathed.

"Come here," You grabbed her by the waist, pulling her over onto your lap. You kissed her gently, trying to soothe her. You didn't want her to feel uncomfortable or pressured; the last thing you wanted was for her to feel like an intruder.

Wanda moaned into your mouth as your tongue found hers, the tension in her shoulders gradually melting away. Your fingers crept under the hem of her shirt, gently rubbing the soft skin of her lower back.

"Do you want to take this to the bedroom?" Natasha asked.

"Yes," Wanda nodded, breaking the kiss and climbing off your lap. Natasha took her hand, leading her to the bedroom as you trailed. The room was dark and cool. She set Wanda up on the edge of the bed.

"I want to see you two kiss," She blushed.

"Oh, does that turn you on?"

"It always has," She nodded.

Natasha smirked. "Then we should oblige." She turned and kissed you, her hands cupping your face. Her lips were soft, and the taste of wine lingered on her tongue.

"Mm," Wanda hummed.

You'd wanted Natasha's hands on your body all night. She sucked on your tongue, drawing a soft moan from the depths of your throat.

"Fuck, that's hot," Wanda whimpered.

You smiled into the kiss, feeling Natasha's lips pull up at the corners. You broke the kiss and pulled her close, your bodies pressing against each other.

"Your turn," You said, gesturing towards Wanda. "Go easy on her."

"Wouldn't dream of doing otherwise," Natasha replied, her green eyes sparkling.

"Are you gonna strip, or are you waiting for me to do it?" Wanda teased.

Natasha laughed, walking over to the young woman and sitting beside her. She placed a hand on her thigh and leaned in, kissing her. This time, there was no hesitation.

Natasha kissed her hungrily, her fingers tracing circles against her bare skin. Wanda moaned softly, her body shivering. She broke the kiss, looking up at Natasha through thick lashes.

"Are you alright?" Natasha asked.

"More than," Wanda nodded.

"Can I touch you?"

"Please."

Natasha's hand trailed up her thigh and slipped underneath her shirt. Her hand found the soft cup of her bra as she used her thumb to tease Wanda's nipple through the material. To Wanda, it was perfect foreplay, but you knew better. Natasha was gauging Wanda's sensitivity. She did not disappoint.

"Mmm," Wanda sighed, her back arching slightly to get more feeling. "Fuck, that feels good."

"Does it?" Natasha smirked, continuing to rub the fabric. Wanda's nipple was hardening and beginning to peek out.

"Yes," Wanda whimpered.

"You want more?"

"Please."

Natasha's fingers slipped beneath her bra, her fingertips brushing against the soft, sensitive skin. Wanda moaned, her body jerking a little.

"Fuck, that's so good," Wanda whined.

"You like having your nipples played with, don't you?" Natasha purred.

"Y-yes," Wanda breathed.

Natasha smirked. "Good to know."

She kissed her again, her lips hungry and demanding. Wanda melted into the kiss, her body sinking into the mattress. You used that moment of distraction to begin unbuttoning Wanda's jeans. Your fingers made quick work of the buttons and zipper.

"Lift up for me, baby," You requested.

Wanda raised her hips, letting you slide the denim down her legs. You tossed them to the side, leaving her in her panties and her bra.

Natasha finally broke the kiss, and Wanda gasped for air. "You're so beautiful," Natasha murmured, eyes scanning the younger woman's body. "And you taste so sweet."

Wanda blushed. "Thank you," She said shyly.

"My turn," You grinned, kneeling between her thighs.

"Your wife has good ideas," Wanda hummed.

You spread Wanda's legs for her, noting the wet patch on the front of her underwear. Your mouth watered at the sight.

"You've been wanting this for a while," You mused as you approached her. You used your knuckle to brush against the wet spot finding her clit with ease.

"Shit," Wanda gasped.

You smirked at the reaction.

"I'd ask you what you were thinking, but I think it's fairly obvious." You teased, rubbing slow, firm circles around her clit.

Wanda moaned, her body writhing beneath you. "F-fuck."

"Don't make her come so fast," Natasha warned as she pinched Wanda's nipples between her fingers.

"Sorry, babe," You smirked, pulling your hand away.

Wanda let out a soft whimper at the sudden loss of contact.

"We can't have that," Natasha purred. She moved her hands from Wanda's chest and slid her fingers underneath the waistband of her underwear. "Lift up for me, pretty girl."

Wanda obeyed, raising her hips once again. Natasha hooked her fingers around the fabric and tugged them down. She tossed them over her shoulder, her green eyes raking over Wanda's exposed skin.

"Fuck," Natasha muttered.

"What is it?" Wanda asked.

"You're just so... fucking gorgeous,"

"I didn't shave," Wanda apologized. "I didn't exactly plan for this."

"Doesn't matter," You shook your head. "Natasha, hold her." You raised your chin. Natasha immediately knew what you were asking of her. She moved across the bed and leaned back against the pillows and headboard. She patted the spot between her legs for Wanda to come and sit. Wanda leaned back against Natahsa's front.

You grabbed Wanda's thighs, pulling her down the bed and spreading her legs, her glistening pussy on display for you. You didn't hesitate to lean in and lap up her slit. Her taste exploded on your tongue, the sweet taste of her arousal coating your tastebuds.

"Fuuuuck," Wanda groaned.

"You're doing so good," Natasha murmured, her hands massaging Wanda's tits and belly.

You continued to lick her, her taste and scent surrounding you. You moaned softly, loving the way she writhed beneath you.

"Y-you're really good at that," Wanda panted, her body jerking and trembling. "MMM," She moaned softly.

You could feel her pussy getting wetter and wetter with each flick of your tongue.

"She's very skilled," Natasha chuckled.

"Oh, fuck," Wanda moaned, her head falling back. "Please."

You hummed softly, the vibration adding to her pleasure.

"Oh, please, oh," Wanda whimpered.

"She's really sensitive," Natasha mused. "Do you like that?" She asked.

"Y-yes, it feels amazing," Wanda stammered.

You smirked, swirling your tongue around her clit. Her thighs trembled in response, and you knew she was close.

"You don't know how long we've been wanting you," Natasha murmured into her ear. She nuzzled her neck with her nose.

"R-really?"

"You're gorgeous," Natasha murmured, her voice soft. "Of course."

"So are you," Wanda breathed.

"We could've done this so long ago," Natasha said, kissing her cheek.

Wanda didn't answer, and you weren't sure if she was even listening. Your tongue was buried deep in her pussy, and her legs were quivering. Natasha's hands moved to her thighs, forcing her to keep her legs open as you sucked her clit into your mouth.

"OH, oh, I'm going to..." She trailed off, her orgasm hitting her. Her body tensed, her legs trembling. You didn't stop, your tongue flicking over her sensitive nub.

"Mm," Natasha hummed.

Wanda's entire body tensed, and her back arched off the bed. You kept your tongue on her, tasting her orgasm as it flowed out of her.

"Shit," She panted.

"How was that?" You asked, finally pulling away.

"Good," She replied. "Amazing."

"We're not finished yet," Natasha said. "We're just getting started."

"You've been a really good girl," You smiled.

"Yeah?" Wanda asked, still trying to catch her breath.

"Yes," You nodded. "We've been talking about this for a while."

"You have?"

"Yes," Natasha smiled. "And now, you're all ours."

"Yes," Wanda nodded. She reached for you, pulling you to her and tasting herself on your tongue.

"I think she likes it," Natasha smirked.

"Yeah," You nodded.

"Can I touch you?"

"Sure," You shrugged. "Where do you want to touch me?"

"Everywhere," Wanda admitted. "Will you show me how to pleasure her?" She leaned her head onto Natasha's shoulder to see her eyes. The two of you shared a smirk. Wanda assumed that Natasha usually took a more dominant role in the bedroom. If only she'd seen you a couple nights ago, with Natasha begging you to fuck her as you made her come for the second time.

"Start with her neck," Natasha instructed. "And her ears. Those are two of her most sensitive areas."

Wanda followed her instructions. Her lips pressed against your neck, and her teeth grazed your earlobe.

"Mmm," You hummed, tilting your head to the side.

"That's good," Natasha praised.

"Do you want my shirt off?"

"Yes," Wanda nodded.

You reached down, pulling the shirt over your head. The cold air hit your bare skin, causing your arms and chest goosebumps.

"Now her nipples," Natasha murmured, watching Wanda closely.

Wanda nodded, her fingers finding your nipple and pinching it.

"Ooh," You gasped.

"She's more sensitive there than I am," Natasha explained.

"Not true," You moaned.

"Oh, hush," She smirked.

"Keep doing that," You urged as Wanda wrapped her lips around your nipple. You straddled her lap, effectively pinning her to Natasha as you looked into your wife's eyes.

"Look at her," Natasha smirked. "So pretty."

Wanda looked up at you, her lips still wrapped around your nipple. You cupped her cheek, smiling at her.

"Such a good girl," Natasha praised.

Wanda's eyes fluttered closed at the praise, her body melting into yours.

"She's perfect," Natasha murmured, her voice low.

"Mhmm," You agreed, running a hand through Wanda's hair.

Wanda's hands roamed your body, exploring every inch of your skin. She was so curious, so eager, and it made you smile.

"You're so sexy," Wanda said softly when her lips released your nipple with a pop. "Both of you."

"And so are you," Natasha cooed.

"You've got great boobs," Wanda hummed.

"Why thank you," You grinned.

"Do you mind if I kiss her again?"

"Go right ahead," Natasha replied.

Wanda pressed her lips against yours, her hands roaming your back.

"Do you want to touch her more?" Natasha asked.

"I think so," Wanda nodded. "But I don't know where to start."

"Just explore," Natasha replied.

Wanda's hands explored your body, her fingers tracing patterns along your skin.

"That's so good," You breathed.

"She's so responsive," Wanda smiled.

"Yeah, she is," Natasha agreed.

Wanda's fingers trailed down your stomach, her hand slipping into your pants. Her fingers found your pussy, sliding along the wetness.

"Oh, god," You moaned, your hips bucking forward.

"Does that feel good?" Wanda asked.

"Yes," You moaned.

Wanda's fingers moved up and down, sliding easily along your pussy. This was her first time touching another woman. She wanted to see and feel everything.

"Fuck," You breathed, your hips bucking.

"So wet," Wanda purred.

"Yeah, that's what happens when someone has you as a lover," Natasha said, her voice dripping with lust.

"Right there," You sighed as Wanda's fingers clumsily found your clit.

"Here?"

"Y-yeah," You moaned.

Wanda's fingers worked your clit, her pace quickening.

"Mm," Natasha hummed.

"F-fuck," You whimpered, your hips jerking.

"Good girl," Natasha purred.

Wanda continued her ministrations, her fingers rubbing your clit.

"O-oh," You moaned.

"That's it," Natasha encouraged.

Your thighs began to tremble, your orgasm building.

"C-close," You stammered.

"Come for her," Natasha said.

"Fuck, yes," Wanda growled.

"OH," You moaned, your body tensing as your orgasm washed over you. Wanda's fingers continued to work, her pace unrelenting.

"Fuck," You breathed, your hips grinding against her.

"That's a good girl," Natasha said softly.

"Damn," Wanda smiled.

"That was really good," You said, taking a moment to breathe.

"It was," Wanda nodded. She helped you pull the sticky underwear and sweatpants from your body.

"How much can you take?" You asked Wanda.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want Natasha to fuck you? Or do you want me to fuck you?"

"I don't know," Wanda admitted. "You choose."

"Hmm," You chuckled to yourself. You reached over to your nightstand, grabbed one of your favorite straps, and tossed it to Natasha. "She needs you."

"Is that so?" Natasha grinned, holding the strap-on.

"Yes," Wanda nodded, looking up at the redhead.

"How badly do you want it?" Natasha teased.

"I want it," Wanda answered, her voice shaky.

"Are you scared?"

"A little," Wanda admitted.

"We have you," You reassured her. Natasha removed herself from the bed to adjust the strap. It wasn't too big. Six and a half inches. It was perfect. She returned to the bed and kneeled between Wanda's thighs.

"We'll go slow," Natasha promised.

"Okay," Wanda nodded, taking a deep breath.

Natasha's hand slipped between her legs, testing her readiness.

"Fuck," Wanda gasped.

"That's good," Natasha smirked, pulling her hand back. "Ready?"

"Y-yes," Wanda said, nodding.

Natasha lined the dildo up with her pussy and pushed it in, her hands on either side of her hips.

"Oh, God," Wanda moaned, her eyes squeezing shut.

"How does it feel?"

"Good," Wanda whimpered.

"Just breathe, honey," Natasha cooed. From beside them, you offered moral support. You knew this feeling, and it was a good feeling.

"Fuck, it's a lot," Wanda panted.

"Do you need a minute?"

"No, keep going," Wanda urged.

Natasha obliged, pushing further into her.

"Oh, God," Wanda moaned.

"Good girl," Natasha murmured. Your eyes zeroed in on the strap pushing into Wanda's tight hole.

"Fuck," Wanda whined, her hips squirming.

"You're doing great," You praised.

"I know," Wanda groaned, her cheeks turning pink.

Natasha bottomed out, her hips flush against Wanda's.

"There we go," Natasha hummed.

"Oh," Wanda moaned, her body adjusting to the strap. Her clit brushed against Natasha's pelvis.

"That's better," Natasha smiled.

"Feels... different," Wanda admitted.

"Good or bad?"

"Just... different."

"You'll get used to it," You reassured her.

"Is that what it's like for you?" Wanda asked, looking at you.

"Sort of," You nodded. "But I usually have something inside me, too."

"Can I touch you again?" Wanda asked.

"Of course," You replied, spreading your legs.

Wanda reached over, her fingers finding your clit and rubbing slow circles around it.

"Mmm," You moaned.

"You have a pretty pussy," Wanda cooed.

"Thank you," You blushed.

"Do you mind if I taste it?"

"No, I don't mind," You shook your head. You knew the implications of what she was asking and obliged. In one swift move, you were straddling Wanda's head. She used one hand to wrap around your thigh and the other to dig into Natasha's back as the other woman thrust into her.

"Ooh," Wanda gasped as Natasha's hips met hers.

"Mm, fuck," You whimpered as her tongue lapped at your pussy.

"Tastes good," She muttered.

"You're so good," Natasha purred, her fingers digging into Wanda's hips.

Wanda moaned against your pussy, the vibrations sending shivers through your body.

"O-oh," You gasped.

Wanda's tongue flicked over your clit, her lips wrapping around it. You did the same to her earlier, and it drove her wild. She figured the same would be for you.

"Holy shit," You breathed, your hips grinding against her.

"Fuck, I can't," Natasha whined, her hips snapping.

"You're doing so good," You encouraged.

"Mm-hmm," Wanda mumbled, her tongue licking up your slit. If someone were to walk in right now, they'd either be horrified or incredibly turned on. The sound of the bed creaking against the floor and your mingled moans were the only things that could be heard.

"You're doing amazing, baby," Natasha praised, her hips moving faster and harder.

"You're going to make us both come," You groaned.

Wanda whimpered beneath you. She'd never experienced something as euphoric as this moment. Even if her neck strained and he tongue was tired, she was not giving up. She felt the delicious ache of the strap filling hr, and your arousal coated her tongue.

"Oh, god," You moaned, your thighs trembling.

"Fuck," Natasha growled, her hips thrusting.

Wanda's hands dug into your thighs, her nails leaving small crescent marks.

"I-I'm gonna," You stammered.

"Do it," Wanda murmured, her lips moving against your pussy. You came, reaching out to the headboard to hold you up as you thrust against her tongue. You tried to be mindful of the fact that she could suffocate, but Wanda only locked in more. She pulled you down, sucking gently on your clit, prolonging your orgasm. Not too shortly after, she was thrown into her own unexpected orgasm as Natasha thrust harder.

"F-fuck," Natasha grunted.

"Holy shit," Wanda whimpered, her hips bucking.

Natasha's hips jerked, her grip tightening.

"Shit," You swore.

"FUCK!" Wanda moaned, her legs trembling.

Natasha's body tensed, her thighs shaking.

"Oh, God," She groaned.

"Oh my," You breathed.

Wanda let out a shaky moan, her body writhing beneath yours.

"Wow," She whispered.

"You're doing amazing," You panted, climbing off her head.

"That was incredible," Natasha breathed, slowly pulling the strap out of Wanda's pussy.

"Thank you," Wanda smiled, her chest heaving.

"You're such a good girl," Natasha smiled.

"You are," You nodded. "I can't believe that was your first time."

"Really?" Wanda asked.

"Absolutely," Natasha replied.

"Well, I guess it was worth the wait."

"I'm sure," You laughed, crawling into the middle of the bed.

"Do you need anything, babe?" Natasha asked.

"Maybe a glass of water," You smirked.

"Okay," Natasha nodded. She kissed you and then kissed Wanda.

"You're going to stay, right?"

"If you want me to," Wanda smiled.

"We'd love for you to," You grinned.

"Then, yes," She nodded.

"Good," You smiled, kissing her gently.

"We're keeping her," Natasha said as she walked out of the room.

"Definitely," You grinned. "Can you go again?" You asked her as your hands trailed across her body.

"Y-yes," Wanda answered, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Good," You hummed, nuzzling your face in her neck.

"That was... wow," Wanda breathed.

"It was," You nodded, pressing soft kisses against her neck.

"I never thought I'd actually have sex with someone, let alone two people," She said.

"You haven't really dated before?"

"No," Wanda replied, shaking her head.

"We've known each other for a long time," You noted. "This feels natural."

"It does," Wanda agreed.

"It's like you're part of our little family already."

"I think so," She smiled.

"I'm glad you feel that way."

[bramblebeau]

Alright I told myself I wouldn't interact with fandom when s2 came out, and I haven't and don't plan to except to say this about people deciding Caitlyn is the Worst or that the writing is OOC.

As someone who has had a family member violently killed, I cannot stress how much it shakes up everything you thought you were and stood for. My beliefs in proportionate compassionate justice and the rights of all human beings are some of the strongest I have (stronger now because of the way that experience affected me personally), but they were pushed to the absolute limit when it came to an individual who had killed my loved one, showed no remorse, and laughed in our faces outside court, among other things.

People generally like to believe it wouldn't be them or their peace-loving family members being talked down from seriously considering violent revenge, consequences be damned. People like to believe they wouldn't lash out at people closest to them under that pressure, that they wouldn't build walls around the kindest and most sensitive parts of themselves because those parts are the ones feeling pain you never thought possible, that they wouldn't stalk the killer, make notes on all their family and friends, and fuck up their hands punching walls in anger wishing so badly it was flesh and bone because they can't handle the fact that there's no way to turn back time to stop it all from happening. People like to think they're "better" than that. But the reality is messy and painful as hell.

With Caitlyn, she has the added guilt of having actually had the opportunity to stop Jinx before she fired the rocket, but she hesitated just long enough for it to result in the deaths of her mother and other councillors and in the cities being plunged into chaos. Not only that, but the person close to her she's lashing out at is the person who caused her to hesitate, and just so happens to be the sister of the killer.

Furthermore, her behaviour is entirely in character. We have seen her set up as someone who becomes obsessed with achieving a goal and will do pretty much anything she wants to get there. In S1, we agreed with her methods because her goal was exposing and taking down Silco, and because it led to Vi being released. In S2, she's doing a similar thing but it's fuelled by fear and a type of pain she doesn't know how to deal with, rather than being fuelled by a need to prove herself and solve a case, and it leads to her making morally questionable decisions and to hurting Vi. She admits herself, albeit privately to Vi, that she does not know what she's doing and doesn't know how to fill this hole in her chest (and the hole in the city leadership). She has been sheltered from the real world for almost all her life, and as a result she has no experience of functioning or making decisions under this kind of pressure. The real world blew up in her face in the worst way and she was given power and a loaded rifle, and then shoved into an even more elevated position by a very experienced warlord who is manipulating the shit out of the whole situation.

I'm not saying that you have free rein to hurt people when you're grieving and facing extreme stress. (If you think that's what I'm saying then idk I'm not sure there's much hope for you in terms of critical thinking skills). What I'm saying is that Caitlyn is exhibiting pretty normal human behaviour that most people would be susceptible to in those circumstances, not the behaviour of someone who is some kind of heartless abusive bastard.

TLDR: Caitlyn is being written in a way that completely makes sense and is also not OOC, and if someone told me there would be no chance of them reacting in similar ways I simply would not believe them.

[lopsicle]

Arcane season 2 spoilers

/////

I have been thinking A LOT about Jayce and Viktor, mainly the scene where Viktor is reborn out of his pod of Hexcore.

Mainly because it means a lot for Viktor’s character. On a fundamental level, he never seen much worth in himself, but he did see worth in inventions, the things he made, it’s how he could prove himself to the world. This is why he becomes so concerned with his illness and the legacy he’ll leave behind on the world; he needs the Hexcore to work because he doesn’t have anything else.

But now, he is literally fused with his invention, his invention that he has grown to hate because it killed one of the only people who truly saw value in Viktor, and not the things he could, partly due to his own negligence. Viktor put it best, in his pursuit of greatness, he failed to do good.

He doesn’t really know how to process what happened to him at all, he’s a smart man, he can clearly deduce that his body has undergone some cybernetic change, he can probably remember the explosion in the council room, but other then that, he’s just confused, hence why he asks Jayce, “what am I?” Viktor’s body is entirely different and unfamiliar, and taking into context that the Hexcore, his greatest invention which he tied all his worth to, has failed before this, it’s likely Viktor had lost sight of who he was, and his new body only served to further that descent.

Jayce can’t think about any of that though, he’s just happy that his partner is alive and who wouldn’t be, he’d been waiting for days, possibly weeks for him to wake. Viktor’s mortality is one of the things that Jayce has struggled with the most in the series, which is what makes his survivor’s guilt so much more pertinent. A lot of people claim that Jayce grew up rich and coddled, and I think that’s true to an extent, but they forgot his family were workers, tool smiths. Jayce seemed to grow up with the idea that he wasn’t that fortunate, that he was a working, middle class man who was going to change the world, and then he meets Viktor, a “poor cripple from the Undercity,” and then he sees what the Undercity is really like and the conditions people live in. And that’s when Jayce realises; he had it good. I believe this is what encourages part of his admiration of Viktor; he is what Jayce thought he was.

Tangent aside, I feel that their hug is a very, very important moment, mainly because of Viktor’s reaction.

He isn’t relieved or uncomfortable, it’s just…nothing. Given what Viktor says about how he doesn’t feel that it’s cold and just recognises that it is cold, I believe this is the moment where it fully sank in how much his body had changed. He couldn’t feel Jayce.

And like, first off, that is such beautiful symbolism for what he says later about how they’re relationship was only held together by affection. Viktor physically cannot feel said affection anymore and know has no reason to stick by the side of someone whose views have become so contrasted to his. But more emotionally, it’s representative of Viktor’s belief that he is unloveable, his new body is merely proof at that, he can’t touch Jayce, he couldn’t save Sky, he couldn’t make the Hexcore work properly, he couldn’t even get Jayce to destroy the Hexcore. To himself, Viktor is a failure who is unworthy of love.

But, he still huge Jayce back. Despite not being able to feel Jaycee’s warmth anymore, despite it feeling like his whole life has crumbled, Viktor wants to give Jayce one last act of service. Perhaps to prove that he still has use, or maybe this was the moment where he decided he would have to part ways with Jayce, and just wanted Jayce to remember his touch, even if Viktor couldn’t remember his.

Anywho if enough people like this dribble, I may post my take on the rest of this scene because it shattered me

[bloggerspam]

And here it is, the epilogue! We skip back a little bit in this one, for some yummy deleted scenes. Thank you @phantomfen and @haleswallows for your lovely support, this couldn't have happened without ya'll! And thank you @ashrayus for the art that inspired it all. I hope I did you proud!

===

Cass observes BruceBatdad from her vantage point two rooftops away.

She hears StephSpoiler join her soon after, TimRobin following just seconds later.

BruceBatdad is not alone.

A woman and a boy stand before him, and Cass would be a fool to not remember that face, to not know who they are.

Even from so far away, it is hard to forget the woman who gave her candy once, all those years ago.

It is hard to forget her words then too.

I have a son, Talia Al-Ghul had said then, but I'm afraid he does not like sweets, will you throw them away for me?

Cass hears TimRobin and StephSpoiler bicker quietly behind her, lets BabsOracle's soothing voice demanding explanations wash over her in harmony.

JayHood's low timbre joins the cacophony, DickieWing's excited chatter echoing in the comms as he makes his way over. It is Sunday, that Sunday, brunch Sunday, so he is in Gotham tonight.

Bludhaven must be lonely.

She squints. BabsOracle starts to hiss, TimRobin and StephSpoiler tumbling over each other now.

DamianBabyBrother stands at attention, but his gaze is on them.

She waves. He does not wave back. That is okay.

DickieWing cartwheels onto their roof, gives Cass a pat on the head before wrangling the other two.

Cass observes their new baby brother, but does not get much. He is well trained. It does not matter, there will be time to learn.

"Show of hands," BabsOracle's voice is strict, commanding. They all freeze, trained in a better way, "New family member."

Immediately, all hands go up. TimRobin hesitates. It is okay. There will be time.

Cass smiles, watches DickieWing whoop, leading the race back to the Cave.

Cass waves again, but knows not to wait this time, twirling her way through her siblings.

She intends to win the race back home.

===

Alfred contemplates his newest ward as he wipes his hands.

The little one wants to know if there are any tasks assigned to him, which is new and refreshing.

This is, of course, sarcasm.

Master Jason refused to accept food without some kind of chore to exchange.

Miss Cass still shadows him occasionally, on alert for anything Alfred should need.

Even Master Duke is in the habit of asking Alfred if he can help anywhere.

Alfred had indulged them, of course, once in a while. Help them feel at ease.

The problem now is that Master Damian is not actually asking for tasks.

He is asking for information.

That is what intrigues him.

Master Damian stands quietly at attention, patiently, as Alfred considers the best way to navigate this.

"Well," Alfred lifts an eyebrow, "It isn't entirely necessary, Master Damian."

"I must earn my keep," the young master insists, "Blood son or not, I do not plan to waste away here."

Alfred hums. "Then I suppose it would depend on where your skills lie, Master Damian."

"I was trained in survival," Master Damian replies with nary a pause, "I can cook, and do basic cleaning." He tilts his head, reminding Alfred of a Young Master Bruce. "Admittedly, I am unsure of my skill level with no-one to compare to, as it was not necessary to my training."

Alfred lets that ruminate. He could have the young master help with dishes first, chat as he cooks for the family. It would be nice to have someone in residence to help with cooking again. Master Jason still avoids the Manor quiet often, after all.

"It is at least edible," Master Damian must mistake his silence as refusal, "And I learn quick."

"Yes," Alfred reassures the boy, "I am aware. Let's have you start with dishes, shall we?"

Master Damian's lip quirks to the side, small and so very familiar, and rolls up his sleeves.

Yes, this will do. Alfred smiles back, turning around to work on tonight's dinner.

Now, how much to reveal?

===

Steph watches the newest baby Wayne scrutinize Dick's somersault with the kind of concentration of a life and death threat.

It's impressive and at once entirely so sad that Damian executes a perfect somersault two tries later.

Once to get the feel. Twice to adjust.

Genius? Or training?

Steph doesn't really want to know.

It's the 16th item on the list that Damian has excelled at within the first five tries. Steph wants so badly for this little baby to let loose. He's been here for a couple months and he still thinks his stay is temporary.

As if Bruce would let his babiest bat go back to that asshole Ra's.

Talia might be cool, Steph doesn't know. Damian sure loves her, just from the scant sentences he's said about her. But sometimes love just…isn't enough.

Damian does a perfect one handed handstand, twirling around just like Dick did and stepping delicate down, and eyeing the tightrope Duke and Steph had set up for him to try. There's a unicycle somewhere in the gym, they just have to find it.

"Does this spark joy?" Damian tilts his head, from where he's perfectly balanced on the stupid unicycle and looking way too smug about it.

"It does not." He finally answers, dismounting with boring aplomb.

The next hobby is skateboarding—Tim shows Damian how to do an ollie, once the kid has the hang of standing on the board.

It is a special kind of delight to watch a trained-from-basically-birth assassin eat shit on a skateboard.

A pencil is tossed unerringly at her forehead whilst she loses breath laughing, and you know what?

It's totally worth it, especially when it devolves quickly into an office supply version of a food fight between the five of them.

They try new hobbies, and each time, Steph asks "Does it spark joy?"

And each time Damian considers, before he answers very seriously, "It does not."

Steph's gotta admit, the sincerity is what does it for her.

By the end of it, Steph loses the bet, but it doesnt matter.

Babybat'll fit in fine.

===

Duke comes down to breakfast and immediately realizes something is wrong.

Damian has been in the Manor for a while now, and it's been routine for Duke to see him making breakfast with Alfred every Tuesday and Wednesday.

Today is Friday, and Damian is at the stove, alone.

"Hey, little dude." Duke cautiously greets, "Where's Alfie?"

"Pennyworth went to fetch more eggs." Damian doesn't turn around, but he answers, and that's all Duke can really ask for. "Someone had used it up last night, without permission."

Duke whistles. "Enough of them to warrant an emergency shopping trip?" Alfie usually keeps a burden's amount of eggs in the fridge always stocked up.

"Brown and Grayson," Damian carefully says, smirking over his shoulder and obviously trying not to laugh, "decided they wanted pancakes."

"Oh my god." Duke laughs, already seeing disaster and trying to keep it all in to ask his question, "What—what did they do?"

"Apparently," Damian drags out, "They thought that eggs and flour was enough to make the batter."

Damian comes to the table, placing a perfect plate of sunny side up eggs, bacon, and hash in front of Duke.

"Needless to say, they made almost two kilos of pasta instead." He places the second plate at the head of the table. "They tried to fry some of it anyway, and ruined two pans before they realized that perhaps, maybe, pancake batter should look a little more…liquid."

By the time Damian has his own plate sitting across from Duke, he can't breathe from how hard he's laughing.

Bruce walks in, and they no doubt paint a peculiar picture: Damian, smirking and daintily eating his eggs. And Duke, curled over the table and trying to recover and succeeding at a snail's pace.

"Good morning Father." Damian primly greets.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Bruce's voice is confused, but amiable. He carefully picks his way to his spot and compliments Damian on breakfast, who nods in satisfaction.

"Duke, are you alright son?" Bruce asks, when Duke can finally straighten up take one deep breath.

"He'll be fine, Father." Damian waves his fork, "On an unrelated note, would you perhaps be opposed to pasta for lunch?"

Duke fucking loses it.

===

"Well?" Damian sits himself down delicately, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, expectantly.

They're down in the Cave, sitting across from each other at the round table in the main area, side by side.

Tim rolls his eyes, fine. No pleasantries then. "Are you considering joining the family business?"

Damian tilts his head, puppy-like, not that he'll ever say that to his face. "Which one?"

And that's a fair point. "Either. Any."

Damian purses his lips, in the same exact way Bruce does, thinking. "I am undecided. Why?"

"I was thinking that it was time for me to start making moves to…" Tim wants to be delicate here, considering the history Damian has, "…well, move on."

"Be more clear, Drake." And wow, the way Damian furrows his brow in annoyance is identical to Jason, "Use your words."

Tim huffs. "Robin, Demon Brat." Tim enunciates his words, trying not to smile at the way Damian perks up. "I want to retire."

Damian eyes him mistrustfully, darting from Tim's coffee cup, to his tablet, even to the BatComputer where Tim has a DNA sample running. "…I highly doubt that."

"UGH," Tim groans, "I want to rebrand, so I'm giving you the Robin domino or whatever."

"The Robin mantle must be earned," Damian puffs up like an irate Pomeranian, making Tim laugh for more reasons than one.

"I already retired once." Tim informs him, "Steph was Robin for a hot minute, making her own suit from a Halloween costume."

"She what." Damian's voice is dangerous, but Tim flaps a hand. He can blow steam as much as he wants, he's the baby of the family and despite it all Tim's 87% sure Damian wouldn't hurt a fly.

…Maybe a solid 66%. He'll have to run the numbers.

"She gave it up to be Spoiler real quick," Tim continues, "And then some shit happened, and though he wasn't officially a Robin, Duke was part of the We Are Robin movement."

Damian fumes in silence, which shouldn't be funny, but is.

"In other words, Demon Brat," Tim smirks, "Lots of people have been Robin. And if you don't take it now, well…who's to say someone else won't just…make their own costume?"

Tim waits out Damian's breathing exercises, patient and frankly, uncaring. He fiddles on his tablet, sips at his coffee, considers new vigilante names. With Dick now acting as Nightwing, the transition to Young Justice won't be as confusing even if he did join up as Robin, but Tim would rather not.

Just thinking about the mistaken identity issues with Dick's romantic history is already giving him nightmares. Slim as the chances are, with their builds being so different, but Tim just doesn't want to take that chance.

"Fine." Damian finally says, "I concede. When will training start?"

Tim scoffs. "You're League trained, so you'll just be shadowing for protocol. There's a manual somewhere that Bruce made, but we mostly treat it as a guideline. The Batkids have their own that they update, and you already have access to that on your tablet." Tim gives him a look. "Tell me you need access."

Damian wisely stays silent. Tim remembers that the League isn't really attuned to the intricacies of hacking and coding, but Damian has had no trouble snooping through the system from what Tim has seen. He wonders if the League just got upgraded since Cass got trained, or if Damian is self taught. It doesn't matter.

"Right. Well, Dick said he'll take you on a mission whenever your schedule is open, and you can shadow me on my current patrol, move around. You won't be able to patrol on your own for a while but—"

"What will be your new name?" Damian interrupts, eyebrow raised. Curious.

"Oh—uh. I haven't thought about it." Tim stutters. He didn't expect Damian to ask—

"Liar." Damian accuses, squinting at him.

Tim sighs. "I dunno, Red Robin?"

"That's a terrible name." Damian's nose scrunches. "A stupid name, even."

"Wha—it is not!" Tim slams his tablet down. Damian's eyes suddenly go wide, horror dripping through his tone.

"Drake—tell me you did not simply combine Red Hood and Robin."

Tim stays absolutely fucking silent, grabbing his coffee to keep his mouth occupied.

"Drake, I implore you to be better than this." Damian slaps a hand over his face, which is rude.

"Hey! That is—that is just uncalled for—" Tim pulls his cup down, almost spilling it. He swears, but Damian pays no heed to him.

"I knew you were a fan of Todd's Robin, but this cannot go on. Did you expect me to graduate and become Green Robin?"

"No! That's stupid, there's not such thing as a green robin—"

"There's no such thing as a red robin either! Unless you wish to be named after a subpar restaurant." Damian throws his hands up.

"You've never even been to a Red Robin!" Tim sputters, and tries to get a handle on the situation.

He fails.

"You have at least sixteen unique aliases with full on back stories that you successfully keep track of and disguise yourself into, and you cannot do any better than Red Robin?" Damian says, loudly, over his protests and effectively silencing him,

Tim opens his mouth, closes it. Shuts his eyes. Grumbles. "Well I'd like to see you come up with a better name…"

"Cardinal." Damian gets up, stalking towards the secret entrance, clearly done with this conversation. "I cannot fathom how little sense you have. Ridiculous."

And well. Tim hates to say it, but Cardinal is much better than Red Robin.

Gods damn it.

===

"I will name her Batcow." Dick refuses to coo. Damian is covered in blood and wielding a sword, this is not cute behavior!

How did this happen? This was their first mission. It was supposed to be easy. Tomorrow, Tim was going to take him out on patrols. The weekend after that, Jaybird was going to take him paintballing. Steph and Duke were going to teach him how to prank people harmlessly. This was supposed to be nice, easy Robin bonding!

"That's nice, baby bird." Dick tries to placate, "We can shuffle her with the other cows to their new home—"

"Nightwing," Damian's voice brokers no argument, "I have claimed her."

Dick has to wonder if he was as much of a menace when he was this age. He wasn't, surely. Sure, he got Ace in an unconventional way, but Ace was practically made for hero-ing.

Not to mention Ace was a dog.

"It's great that you want a pet," Dick tries again, "But how about we start with a dog first? Maybe a cat?"

Damian thinks on that a bit, before nodding. Dick sighs a great sigh of relief.

"I would like one of each." Wait. What? No. Nononono—

Cackling echoes in the comms, the hysterics of Steph and Jaybird loud and guffawing in his ear.

"Stop laughing and help me." Dick hisses into the comms as Damian starts flicks the blood of his sword.

"I used to put him in, in air jail." Jaybird says through gulps of air, "Y'know, pick him up wh-hen he was acting n-naughty."

"That isn't exactly applicable here, Hood!" Dick grits through his teeth, causing Steph to shriek in high pitched laughter.

"We will have to take the jet," Damian interrupts, "Batcow will not fit on our motorcycles."

"No, Robin—we, uhm. We don't have room for a cow at home—" Dick wants to tear his hair out. He's too young for this, surely.

Heedless of his words, Damian starts to gently lead the cow towards him, raising a single eyebrow.

"Okay, well. We do have room, but that doesn't mean—"

"Nightwing. Robin." Dick has never been more glad to hear Bruce's voice, "Leave the cow with the proper authorities and report back to the Cave."

"Father," Damian's voice suddenly changes, "I would like to take Batcow home."

"…Robin," Bruce starts, but is summarily interrupted.

"Father, you have missed twelve of my birthdays." Damian's voice goes wobbly, despite Dick physically seeing that his face is stone cold, "And I have not once received a gift."

There's a long silence, and Dick slumps. What the fuck do you even say to that?

"…The jet will pick you up in 3 minutes."

"And the dog and cat?" Damian's voice is smug.

Dick sighs. "I'll take you to the shelter tomorrow."

The comms peak, from the sheer volume of Jay and Steph's mocking laughter.

===

Bruce enters his study with a tablet in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. 

It's been a long day.

He’s tired, preoccupied with thoughts of Damian starting school soon. The rest of his children seem to be causing some kind of trouble trying to celebrate it in their own way, and it's giving Bruce a minor headache about it.

Talia's continuous demands of pictures and actual reports is both heartwarming and excessive, but Bruce can hardly blame her.

His eyes should be scanning through the documents that Lucius sent over this morning and is still awaiting approval for. 

What his eyes catch on instead is a new addition to his Gray Ghost shelf. 

It’s an action figure of the eponymous hero, one in almost pristine condition. A first edition. 

Inside the cloche with the Gray Ghost gun is a miniature version resting just beside it. The RC car also has a miniature version perched next to its front wheel. Between the trilby and the goggles lay two hands and a miniature case of the first DVD release.

He tilts his head, feeling his eyebrow raise and a smile crawl up as he picks up the action figure to inspect it. It looks old, but clean. Not quite used, but not sitting on a shelf either—there’s little knicks here or there. Perhaps found in a garage sale somewhere? It’s not even his birthday—still, the gift warms his heart as anything involving his children does.

Now, which one of his kids did this, he wonders?

No matter, he’ll find out soon enough. His children are terrible at keeping secrets, and he isn't Batman for nothing.

He places the figure gently back down in its place, and settles in for the long haul.

===

Talia sits, straight backed with her legs crossed in a highly uncomfortable chair.

Next to her, her Beloved looks lovely in his turtle neck and slacks, comfy, even.

She looks around the room, noting the whiteboard and assortment of small desks behind them,

There are motivation posters, and informational ones with equations listed upon them.

Talia refrains from scoffing, but really, what is the point of putting the answer up on the wall? How will they learn if they have such a crutch?

"Now," The portly man sitting across from them behind a large desk coughs to clear their throat, "Damian has shown high intelligence, his grades are top of the class and he has shown such high promise that the other teachers and I have discussed whether or not it would be beneficial for him to move up grades."

"I believe the principal and I already had this conversation, Mr. Porter." Bruce smiles, but it isn't the nice one, "Dami has always been a smart boy, but he was home-schooled, and we were more concerned about his socialization."

"Ah, yes. Well. The girls in the class seem to find him charming, albeit stoic. He is gentlemanly for his age, and doesn't really participate in…" Mr. Porter coughs once more.

Talia rolls her eyes. "In idle immaturity?"

"Well, yes. It's just—well," Mr. Porter tugs at his collar, "It's just boys being boys really."

"Has he made any friends? Of either gender?" Bruce asks, giving Talia a warning look. She shrugs, putting on her best innocent smile.

"Oh! Yes, one boy, Colin Wikes." Mr. Porter takes out a handkerchief to wipe his brow, "They seem to get along, in their own quiet way."

"That's lovely!" Talia's voice goes high, fake. Bruce winces, but she ignores him, "So his grades are up, he's made a friend, and overall he's popular with the ladies!"

"W-well, yes, but the other boys—"

"Now, now. Bruce is a lady-killer himself, and he managed to figure out male friendships eventually!" Talia simpers,"He had such a close friendship with Harvey Dent after all, before that whole...fiasco."

Bruce sighs, but again, Talia ignores him. "Now, I hear that my son has a talent in art? I see that none of them are hung up—"

This is very important business after all.

No-one can stop her from achieving her mission.

===

Jason opens his door carefully, quietly.

His traps have been disabled and reset, and Jason can only think of two people who would do that.

Both of them came from the League, and both of them don't take kindly to being startled.

He drops his work bag, the one for his mechanic's job, down in the entrance way. He takes of his heavy boots and treads silently through the apartment to find out which sibling came to visit.

He's greeted by Damian, asleep on his couch with an open and currently in danger of falling copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Jason quickly tiptoes over, grabs the book before it can fall to the ground, grabbing the kid's bookmark—a pressed flower that Cass made for him—and placing it to the side.

The fact that the kid hasn't woken up is testament to their time in the League.

Jason's been getting bits and pieces back, ever since he got shot and saw double vision of Damian and a younger version of the kid administering first aid to him.

Talk about shock therapy.

It's not all that pleasant, the memories.

He remembers the grueling training, the pain and anguish and fear of not remembering. Not knowing who he was, knowing Robin was important, not knowing what to do.

But not all of them are bad.

He remembers forcing Damian to brush his teeth for longer than 2 minutes, remembers tucking the tyke in with the bear, even the figure.

He remembers various missions, where he would pick up Damian and carry him to the nearest food stand to make him try an assortment of street foods with a series of flailing movements. Remembers the feeling of accomplishment and pride whenever the little guy would express it was adequate, because that was as good as a 5 star rating.

He remembers carrying him, hastily packed duffle bag and all, and thinking Gotham, Gotham is the safest place to be but not knowing why.

Mostly he remembers watching Damian sleep, peacefully, like he is now.

Because it's novel, then and now, how Damian trusts him enough to do it.

He sits himself down for a moment, always a little woozy when memories come surfacing up, breathing deep and leaning back. It's getting easier to remember, and Leslie had said it would stop eventually, so he weathers it out.

A second later, something warm thumps into his lap.

Damian has his head there, hands fisted like kitten's paws, curling up like a little ball.

Jason sees double, triple, memories and memories of watching this boy sleep and feeling honored and responsible and attached to him.

Brothers in arms, Talia had said, back when he wasn't quite himself, but wasn't Damian's Robin anymore either. You have a brother—

Jason had cut her off then, yelling that no replacement could ever be his brother.

He had eaten his words then, and he's eating them now too.

He lays a hand on Damian's back, rubs up and down his tiny shoulder blades, the way Bruce did when he was first adopted.

Brothers indeed.

He shuts his eyes, just for a moment, to breathe in the peace.

He falls asleep like that, dreaming of teddy bears and robins, and deadly, deadly assassins.

some jasons and damians thats been piling up :]

(and tim and alfred the cat)

[leth-writes]

bait

SUMMARY: Damian would like to welcome you to the family.

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans.

MASTERLIST: https://www.tumblr.com/leth-writes/757800060720496640/requests-open?source=share 

Requests are open!

Normally, Damian would hate being babied. He was a trained assassin, the blood of Ra’as Al Ghoul ran through his veins, he was the son of the feared Bat! And yet, here he was, sitting in your kitchen, watching you make him some (vegan) mac n’ cheese. 

Originally, Damian did not understand the obsession his family seemed to have with you. He spent days complaining, stomping around the manor, irritated that his family was wasting time with some… weakling. It seemed that every time he walked into a room, the only topic of discussion was you.

As one of the newer additions to the family, and a biological one at that, it seemed he had missed out on something vital to his family. So, he decided to just… ask, as his father would advise,  just why they were wasting time on someone who wouldn’t ever be able to adhere to the illustrious standards his family had set. 

The person he decided on was Grayson, someone he normally looked up to.

He sat across from his older brother, who was preoccupied with that insipid app that Drake had designed, keeping track of your vitals and ensuring your safety. Finally, fed up with being ignored, Damian cleared his throat to alert his brother of his presence.

Grayson looked up and beamed, bouncing up to flop down next to Damian. 

“What’s up, lil’ D?” Grayson asked, voice jovial even as he spared a glance at his screen.

“Tt. Grayson, I must… request your assistance.”

“Anything for you, lil’ D!” Grayson leaned over and rustled Damian’s hair. Damian, annoyed, fixed his hair and leaned away.

“I do not… I do not understand your recent… Preoccupation. It seems the family has decided, rather unanimously, that we will be gaining a new member. I do not understand why we must lower our standards!” He huffed, crossing his arms.

Grayson’s eyes softened. “Oh, lil’ D. It’s alright, you’re new, we should’ve known this would be confusing…” He looked away, staring out the window for a second, letting out a little sigh. 

“I’m not really sure how to explain it, but sometimes, sometimes people, especially people like us, get… passionate. Dinah likes to explain it away as the way we… deal with the constant loss, the uncertainty. Vigilantes don’t ever do anything in halves, afterall.”

“But why, but why them? They have nothing to add to our family, Grayson! They cannot fight, they are not trained, they have no extraordinary skills!” Damian huffed.

“Well, it doesn’t always make sense, Damian, and it doesn’t need to. Sometimes, sometimes people just… click, it doesn’t always have to make logical sense. I think if you got to know them, maybe you’d understand it a bit better.”

Grayson smiled, looking back at Damian. Damian looked away, blushing. He didn’t like not getting something; it made him feel vulnerable, weak, like he was missing out on something everyone else just seemed to get.

“And this is, this is… typical, for vigilantes such as our family?” He asked, voice quiet with mortification. Grayson smiled softly.

“Of course, Lil’ D. There’s nothing wrong with being passionate, and there’s no way we’re gonna let someone else get hurt. I mean, just think about it; do you think they could defend themselves?” 

Damian shook his head.

“And there’s no way they’ll be able to defend themselves. As vigilantes, especially in Gotham, we see the truth, we see how nasty the world can truly be. Most civilians just don’t get it. So, I think we can be forgiven for being a little intense, right?” He laughed, elbowing Damian gently.

“I mean, just think about Jon getting hurt.” 

Damian scowled. “I would not allow it. It would never happen.” He said, certainty clear in his voice.

Grayson snorted. “I know, Lil’ D. I’m just using him as an example; now take those feelings, and imagine if Jon couldn’t defend himself. “

“I-I do not know what I would do.”

“And that’s okay, you’ll get it eventually, okay? It’s hard to come to terms with, at first.”

“I still do not understand why you have chosen such an unworthy target for your affections, but I will… try. To understand.” Damian looked down, face tinged slightly red in embarrassment. 

Grayson ruffled his hair again, and peeked at his screen. “Maybe ask Cass to take you, or Jason? I have a shift in a little while. I’m sure they’d be willing to help you, Damian. It’s okay to have questions, to not get it. It’ll click eventually.”

So, Damian did.

While embarrassing, the idea of not getting something that was clearly of high importance to his family rankled in his chest. So, he approached Cain and asked for her help.

She was in her studio, as she normally was at noon on the weekends, working on a new routine. Damian paused in the door, waiting for her to finish up. No matter how many times he saw her, especially during her performances, he was always surprised by just how graceful the young woman managed to be.

It was normal for his family to move with a lithe grace, especially Grayson, who seemed to move so fluidly he lacked a skeletal structure, couldn’t compete with the natural poise Cain held herself with.

She finished up her routine with a flourish, then rose to her feet with a sigh. She floated over to her water bottle and took a sip, before turning around to face Damian. She smiled gently, eyes crinkling at the corners, her slightly damp choppy black hair framing her face perfectly.

“Little brother,” she said, delight clear in her voice. 

“Cain,” Damian greeted, nodding his head and moving into the room.

Cain sank to the floor, back against the mirrored wall, and patted the wooden floor next to her. 

“Sit,” she said.

He did. There was no refusing Cain, after all.

“You seem… confused.” She glanced over at him, taking another small sip.

“Yes. I do not… Understand the new obsession you have all taken with that Civilian.”

Cain nodded. “Yes.”

“Grayson explained the general feelings of protectiveness, but was unable to elaborate; why them?” Damian crinkled his face, nose scrunching.

Cain laughed. “Stubborn, not seeing.” She poked his forehead, startling him. He scowled further, rubbing the spot. It didn’t really hurt, but he was not about to let her get away with poking him like a child!

She snickered at his bewildered expression. 

“It is hard to explain… Instinct.” She hummed, looking away in contemplation.

“Innocence. They do not know… the violence, the heartache… they are kind.”

So it was about the contrast, Damian concluded. The difference between a trained vigilante and a weakling.

“They cannot… protect self. Need help. Like baby.” She continued, sighing and leaning a hand against her cheek, propped against her knees.

“Like… Like Titus, or Alfred the cat. Need looking after.”

Just like that, it clicked.

You were utterly defenseless. Completely alone, with no one to prevent you from being hurt, or worse, killed. You were like a young kitten, unable to open their eyes to see their savior, like the one Damian had fostered.

A warmth bloomed in his chest. You would be like the kitten, and he would protect your innocence, no matter the cost.

Cass smiled widely, scrunching her nose. 

Just like that, Damian was clamoring to get involved. He could not wait until you were home, and he would be able to ensure your safety, keeping you from losing that childlike innocence, that thin film over your eyes preventing you from seeing the true danger.

It was Drake who had the brilliant idea to place Damian in the field; Damian, for all of his sword-related faults, was still young, after all. Someone as naive as you would be sure to enjoy looking after such a cute child, not being able to see who was truly caring for who.

While both Grayson and Todd had failed to make your acquaintance, it seemed you were too aware of stranger danger to fully fall for the ruse, he knew Cain had made inroads as a member of your book club. Surely, having a young brother by her side would only make it easier to get closer to you.

And just like that, the trap was set, and Damian was ready to act.

The next week, your book club would be meeting to discuss the selected offerings. You had wisely offered up Pride and Prejudice. Damian could still hear the muffled curses Todd had let out; you had no clue the extent to which you had so thoroughly endeared yourself to him, just by picking an Austen novel. Damian could not help but be amused, Todd was easy to enthrall despite his tough exterior; it was almost comical. 

Cain had brought him with, dressed in clothes he was told were appropriate for his age (Grayson had laughed and forced him to stand for pictures. He would secure his revenge, and make sure to talk badly about him. He would be victorious in the so-called prank war, after all, and you would stand at his side, unscathed.).

You opened the door, smiling and bringing Cain in for a hug. Even from his position, he could see Cain melt into the hug, smiling and bringing an arm up to pat your back gently.

“Hello,” she sighed as you pulled back, looking her over.

“Oh, Hello!” you said, looking down at Damian. 

He sighed internally. It would take everything he had, but the thoughts of showing you Bat-Cow would get him through the evening. He smiled brightly, artificially pitching his voice up slightly.

“Hi!” He said, stepping forward and shaking your hand with vigor. “I’m Cass’s brother, Damian!”

“Oh, so you have a brother?” You said, smiling even brighter. It almost hurt Damian’s face in sympathy, how widely you were able to smile. Was it due to your innocence?

You ushered the two of them inside.

“Yes, Our father forgot Damian would be home tonight, and did not arrange for a babysitter.”

“Oh, that’s more than alright! Here, are you hungry, kiddo? I’ll make you something to snack on while the book club gets going! Cass, you can take a seat if you want.”

Damian watched as you puttered around the kitchen, enamored with the way you seemed completely oblivious to the danger present in your home. You were lucky he was there to protect you; what if Cass hadn’t been a kind person? You would’ve had no idea you were letting a threat into your house, and into your life! Luckily for you, Cass would never harm a hair on your head, let alone let you get hurt.

“Milk okay for the Mac n’ cheese, kiddo?” You asked, not bothering to turn around as you pulled down a box.

He informed you he was vegan.

You took it in stride, pulling out some soy milk. He was almost surprised you would have some, but your clear kindness would never allow you to potentially offend a guest. Damian could feel a bout of cuteness aggression overtaking him, and he clenched his fists hard enough to draw blood under the lip of the counter.

The rest of the night passed without incident, though you seemed particularly interested in Damian’s contributions to the conversation about Austen’s works. He could not help but be satisfied at the impression he had made; it was not his fault the majority of the people you surrounded with could not understand basic literary analysis, after all.

Every week for the next few months, Damian would tag along to book club; he eventually managed to become your favorite conversational partner, though Cain was a close second, as you slowly began to ignore the others in the club. It was better this way, after all; they could not protect you.

However, Damian soon became frustrated by the lack of progress. They were talking to you regularly, yes, but he wanted you safe at home! He could tell the others were building in frustration as well, and yet the consensus remained; they would need to take more time.

So, he approached Todd.

And Todd agreed.

The plan was set.

Damian waited breathlessly in the alley by your workplace. It would be easy, after all, to get you to follow him down into the dark.

The second he saw you, he took a few wide steps back, and began to scream.

“Help!” He shouted, crumpling to the floor. He let his voice take on a tinge of desperation, pitching slightly higher to exaggerate his innocence and hopefully trigger your panic so you would approach without a second thought.

It worked, and your pounding footsteps soon approached.

“Hello?!” You called, frantically dropping to your knees in front of his crumpled form.

“D-Damian?” You cried, searching desperately for the injury.

Behind you, he could see Todd approach, syringe in hand. 

He let out a groan and rolled over, head in your lap. As you ran your hands over his back, looking for something, he surreptitiously grabbed your waist, hoping to prevent you from running, just in case.

Finally, Todd was in range. He stuck the syringe into your neck without a second thought, and you were out like a light.

Damian was just glad your hand had landed in his hair.

[arnivold]

Having played Emmrich's romance from start to finish I can say it does a shockingly good job of realistically portraying a romance with a significant age gap, speaking from experience as someone who once dated a guy in his fifties while I was in my twenties

Spoilers under the cut

So when you first start flirting with Emmrich, he doesn't assume you're being serious or doesn't even register it as flirting. Then he realizes what's going on and plays along with it. Then he starts flirting back, and uh oh we both acknowledged there's chemistry and now we have to figure out what we're gonna do with it.

Then you start dating. Or at least you're sorta dating. And your friends notice what's going on and immediately they voice their concerns. Are you sure this is a good idea? Happy for you but do you think maybe you're going a little too fast? Does the older person have bad intentions here? These are all questions the companions and even Hezenkoss ask in banter when you start the romance with Emmrich

And yeah when you first start dating someone new these questions don't seem to matter cause you're in love. You're charmed by Emmrich's gentlemanly ways, Emmrich likes the feeling of having a young person show interest in him because it makes him feel younger so he doesn't have to grapple with his mortality

But then as shit gets more and more serious and you near the end of Act 2, Emmrich wants to have a genuine discussion with you about the relationship. He's concerned that maybe this isn't such a good idea after all, because even though you both have the best of intentions, eventually you will have to deal with losing him and it will be decades before you have to worry about your own death.

And you have to ask yourself, is this serious or not? How are we gonna introduce each other to our families? Are you prepared to care for a sick/elderly spouse in your 40s and 50s? If you want to have children, are you prepared to handle having a partner who is already a generation apart from you and old enough to be your children's grandparent? How will it look when an older person in a teaching position is dating someone the same age as their students?

And for a lot of people these are serious obstacles to having a serious long term relationship! And discussions like that often do end in a fight like it does in Emmrich's romance! It happened to me in my relationship with an older man, too! It didn't work for me in my specific case but some people are able to work that stuff out, and in the case of Rook and Emmrich, they eventually do. But those are important discussions to have when you enter that kind of relationship

Idk man, the whole time I was romancing him I kept hearing the same comments my friends and family made about my relationship, the same arguments and discussions we had about the logistics of that kind of relationship, etc. etc. I figured they were just gonna go the route of indulgent wish fulfilment, and I was left slack-jawed when the game actually delves into the realities of dating in age gaps that large

[chillian-murphy]

Experimental Treatment

SUMMARY: after numerous failed attempts to treat your anxiety, you enroll in an experimental drug trial run by Dr. Jonathan Crane (OR: how you became Dr. Crane's bimbo fuckslave)

WORD COUNT: 5.4k

WARNINGS/ADDITIONAL INFO: Smut 🔞, dub con, drugging, mention of anxiety disorders, bimboification, brainwashing kinda??, breast/nipple play, oral sex (m receiving), piv, Jonathan is manipulative and possibly a nevernude

beta'd by @pawnsong

You shifted nervously as you sat in Dr. Crane’s office for the first time. You’d tried numerous treatments for your trauma-related anxiety, but nothing seemed to work. It had been about a year since you had been beaten, tied up, and left for dead in a supply closet by one of Gotham’s many aspiring criminals, and you haven’t been able to eat, sleep, or generally care for yourself since. When you heard about an experimental treatment study happening at the local university, you enrolled as quickly as you could, moving faster than you’d ever moved in your life. You knew there was no one therapy or pill that could fix everything, but at this point, you were desperate for any sort of relief that could be offered.

The man that entered was much younger than you expected; you always pictured the doctor running a drug trial to be much older, maybe even a bit weathered from the stress of working in such a nightmarish city. Instead, he was small, slender, and had an almost angelic baby face.

“Tell me about what brings you here today.” He sat down without looking up from his chart.

“It should all be there, but to summarize: about a year ago I was assaulted and have been experiencing extreme anxiety, depression, and nightmares since. I can’t eat more than a few bites of food at a time without vomiting, and can’t remember the last time I’ve had a few night’s sleep. I’ve tried talk therapy and a slew of medications, including SSRIs, SNRIs, and benzodiazepines, but nothing seems to work.”

By this point, you’ve gone over your symptoms and previous treatments so many times that you had a well rehearsed script you relied on when recounting them. You worried that listing everything off in such a matter-of-fact way would lead people to think you’re just seeking drugs for recreational reasons, but fuck, what didn’t you worry about these days?

“As I’m sure you were told when you were applying for the trial, my background is in pharmacology and I’ll be putting you on an experimental drug of my own creation. I won’t bore you with the specifics of how it works, but you’ll receive a fast-acting injection once a week, and it should calm your nerves and improve your sleep. The exact effects aren’t well documented as of yet, which is why you’re here. All of the proper consent forms should be in order, so if you like, I can start you on the injections here and now.”

“Yes, please, whatever gets me my life back the soonest.” As nervous as you were to be injected with something you knew almost nothing about, part of you was almost giddy to be given something that might finally work.

“The drug can have some sedative effects, so no driving, at least for the first 24 hours. Do you have someone to pick you up? Family, a roommate? A boyfriend, perhaps?” Dr. Crane continued to inform as he prepared a syringe.

“I took public transport. Not a lot of people in my life.” you chuckled nervously.

“All alone. What a shame.”

Before you could mentally register his comment as odd, you were startled by the coldness of an alcohol wipe rubbing against your arm and the sharpness of a needle being inserted.

“You should start feeling the effects in about 5-10 minutes. I’m sending you home with a packet detailing what you should expect, as well as my phone number if anything unusual happens. It might be difficult, but I want you to take detailed notes on everything you experience, and we’ll review them when you come in for your next dosage.”

It proved a bit difficult to make your way home as the medication’s effects set in. Your body felt heavy and sleepy, and you had trouble concentrating; even reading the familiar train schedule felt impossible. Thankfully, some sort of muscle memory kicked in and you made it home safely, letting your brain turn off and follow your usual routine out of habit alone. The mindlessness felt weirdly comforting, you barely realized that you had moved from your spot on the subway until you were at your front door, fishing around for your keys in your bag.

The rest of the night went by pretty uneventfully, following your usual routine, with the addition of writing down your response to the medications in the journal included with Dr. Crane had provided you with. For the first night in as long as you could remember, you settled into a deep, dreamless sleep that lasted the full night.

*********************************************************

A week had passed since your initial meeting, and you were in Dr. Crane’s office again to go over how the medication had affected you and to receive your next dosage. You brought the journal you had taken notes in, although you were unsure how helpful it would be since you had mostly jotted down bullet points instead of writing down your experiences in-depth. It was the most you could do, since you were having trouble concentrating after you were dosed. Shit, that was another thing you should’ve written down.

The doctor entered quietly and greeted you with a tense smile, the kind of polite grimace you’d make upon accidentally making eye contact with a stranger in public. He motioned for you to hand over your journal of notes as he sat, and you passed it to him while trying to avoid looking at him as much as possible. He had never done anything to make you uncomfortable aside from being a bit terse, but he still gave you an uneasy feeling. 

“Let’s look at what you’ve written down. Your notes are brief, but at least they’re organized.”

Once again, terse. It was tempting to want to interrupt and explain how hard it was to focus on writing every little thing down when you kept forgetting where you were or what you were doing, often wandering into a room only to realize you couldn’t remember why you went there, but speaking up felt like too much trouble all of a sudden. After all, wasn’t Dr. Crane being soooo nice, offering to help you with your anxiety?

You had no idea where that thought came from. Weird.

“Grogginess, that’s to be expected, the drug was designed with sedative qualities. Forgetfulness, once again, not uncommon. Sleeping through the night? Good. Breast growth? I’d like you to elaborate.”

“I started getting my appetite back and gaining weight—“

“Weight gain is typical if you’re eating more regularly than you were before,” he interjected before you could finish. God, did he think you were fucking stupid?

“But I only seemed to gain weight around my breasts and hips.”

“Are you saying you’d rather have a double chin and beer belly?”

“Well, no…”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is.”

“I can’t fit into any of my old bras. Bras are expensive.” It really felt like talking to a brick wall.

“Understood.” He scribbled a few quick notes before looking back up at you. “Is there anything else?”

“Not that I can think of.” Relief sank in when you realized this meant that your meeting was wrapping up.

“Then I’ll give you your next dose and let you go. Please continue to take notes, even if they are brief. Any information you can give me is immeasurably helpful.” He gave you what must’ve been his version of a reassuring smile, tight and forced, before motioning for you to roll up your sleeve and receive your next shot. A cold jab in the arm was administered, and you were on your way.

*********************************************************

The next week passed largely without note, the intense brain fog from the first dosage had lessened into a sort of ditzy forgetfulness, which was still inconvenient but easier to live with. You misplaced things, forgot what you were doing, and lost track of time regularly, but somehow it all seemed easier to just laugh off. Had it not been for a reminder on your phone, you probably would’ve forgotten all about your weekly meeting with Dr. Crane.

The usual unease you felt around him was gone; you were almost looking forward to talking to him. He was the only one you could really talk to about everything that had happened since starting the trial, and how good you’ve been feeling, how your racing thoughts have slowed, and how sometimes you didn’t seem to think at all. It was a relief you never knew existed.

You were so caught up in thinking about not thinking that you hadn’t noticed Dr. Crane entering, sitting down, or speaking to you until he cleared his throat impatiently.

“I said, do you have your notes from this week?”

“Oh, right, here.” You casually tossed over your journal, even though your notes were even more scant than the first week. You had written just three things: 

boobs keep growing

really sensitive

really horny!!

thoughts not happening

“This is the second time you’ve mentioned your breasts.” It didn’t take long for Dr. Crane to skim your brief notes. “Would you mind showing them to me?”

Despite his relaxed posture, his stare felt about a thousand times more intense as you squirmed in your seat.

“That feels inappropriate.”

“I’m a medical professional. I assure you, I’m only trying to verify what you’ve reported.”

Cautiously, you pulled the front of your top down, exposing yourself to him. To your surprise, doing this didn’t make you feel nervous or vulnerable, despite always feeling rather timid about being seen naked in the past. Showing off for the doctor felt weirdly <i>right</i>, like the best thing you could do in any situation would be to do what he says.

He scooted forward on his wheeled office chair, leaning in to examine you closer, never losing the icily neutral look on his face. It’s not that you wanted him to leer, but something, anything other than stony professionalism would’ve gone a long way, especially as he reached out to touch you.

“You’ve gone up… two, maybe three cup sizes? Have you taken any measurements?” He cupped your round, heavy breast lightly, as if to evaluate it. His hand was surprisingly warm, you always assumed that his cold personality would extend to his touch, and that being handled by him would be like being prodded by a metal instrument.

“I dunno… enough that men have started being nicer to me.” Measuring hadn’t even occurred to you. A lot of things stopped occurring to you. It was so much easier just letting yourself not think.

“And you said they’re sensitive.” Gentle cupping had turned into squeezing, firm enough to make you aware of just how strong his hands are. You wanted to moan and lean into his touch, but you didn’t want to make things any more awkward than they already were.

“Yes” you squeaked out. “Really sensitive.”

“You also wrote down that you were, in your own words, really horny. Now, I’m going to need some elaboration, is that an increase in sex drive, or more like constant arousal? I need you to be as descriptive as possible.” He rolled your nipple between his fingers before turning his attention to your other breast, giving it the same treatment.

“It’s both. I’m just… always horny, and I come so much harder now. Sometimes I sneak off during work to rub myself in the bathroom. I can’t help it, it just feels so good, so much better than it did before.” You knew it was for the study, but telling him this much, especially while he touched you like this, felt… weird, like it shouldn’t be happening. But you didn’t want it to stop.

“Are you aroused right now?” If your brain wasn’t clouded by how much you were turned on, you would notice the subtle smirk on his face. Instead, you just nodded eagerly.

“Now, I’ll have to stop touching you so I can write all this down. You’ve given me some crucial information, and as a thank you, you’re welcome to grind against my shoe and get yourself off while I record everything you just told me.” He casually extended his leg as an invitation.

You dropped to your knees promptly, bare breasts bouncing with every movement, and stared up at him dumbly as you straddled his foot. He barely glanced at you while he jotted notes down, even as you rubbed yourself against the shiny black leather of his shoe. It didn’t take long at all for you to climax, and when your orgasm hit you, it hit you so hard that it was honest-to-god disorienting. It took you a moment to remember where you were as you shuddered and fell backwards to the floor.

This was enough to finally get Dr. Crane’s attention. You stared back up at him with big, doe eyes as you finally realized how bizarre and even <i>wrong</i> it was for a doctor to grope you and encourage you to masturbate in front of him.

“Good girl. Cover yourself and let me give you your next dose.”

The faint bit of praise sent shocks down your spine as you pulled your top back over your breasts and climbed back into your seat, and the way Dr. Crane touched you as he administered the injection felt gentler than usual, almost tender. As soon as the drug entered your bloodstream, any apprehension you had about what just happened quickly disappeared.

*********************************************************

“These… aren’t notes in any way, shape or form.” Dr. Crane rubbed his temples in frustration as he looked at the page of doodles you handed him, mostly hearts, stars, and smiley faces.

“I couldn’t think of anything to write. I thought I would make it pretty instead.” you shrugged as you sat with your legs folded in a criss-cross on the couch in his office, not noticing or caring that the position hiked up your already short skirt in a way that revealed your lacy panties. It was true, you couldn’t remember a single thought, new effect, or even what you did from day to day over the past week.

“If you can’t record and report how the drugs are affecting you, you won’t be of any use to the trial and we’ll have to take you off the drug.” he chided, as if explaining himself to a small child. “Because right now, you’re just wasting my time.”

“But I like the drug! I feel better!” you whined, rocking back and forth and pouting for emphasis. “I’ll be good. I promise. Just tell me what to do.”

“Can you tell me anything? Anything at all?” His tone was becoming more condescending, to the point where it got through to even your druggy little brain. He stared at you, daring you to say something, but all you could do was stare back at him dumbly. “That’s what I thought.”

“I’ll have the nurses prepare the outtake forms. I wish you could have been more useful to me.” He spoke curtly as he stood and gathered his belongings, not even dignifying you with eye contact. You were nothing but a broken tool to be discarded.

“But I need this!” You desperately attempted to stand and follow him as he left, but were unable to unfold your legs and spilled on the floor, catching the leg of his pants and staring back up at him with big, pleading eyes.

You were desperate, you were pathetic, you were suddenly useful again.

“I’m surprised you’re this determined to stay in the trial. I suppose we do have one last option: since you’re unable to record your own data, I will have to watch you and take notes myself. I have a spare room in my apartment that you can move into, which should be more comfortable than being committed to the hospital and allow me more access to observe you. Is that something you would consent to?”

You nodded eagerly, although you’d agree to anything as long as it meant not going back to the anxious, overthinking mess of a person that you were before. It was so much simpler being simple.

“I’m taking a big risk on you. I need you to do something for me, to show you’re serious about wanting to continue with the trial.” He gestured towards the growing bulge in his pants, which was mere inches from your face. You stared silently, not sure he was inferring, but your mouth instinctively watered and dropped open when he nudged your head towards his clothed dick.

You pawed at his tented trousers until he got impatient and undid the zipper himself and freed his erection from his boxer briefs, and you quickly got to work bobbing your head over his length, lavishing the head with your tongue. Your eyes watered as you pushed as much of his cock down your throat as you could, making yourself gag lightly but never enough to deter you. You didn’t care that drool was dribbling down your chin, Dr. Crane’s cock was all that mattered.

He grasped a fistful of your hair, reinforcing the rhythm of your movements, and shoving you further down on his cock. No matter how visibly uncomfortable you were, you never pushed back or struggled, you just accepted your place as a living fucktoy. Mascara was running down your cheeks and your skin was flushed and glassy with sweat, almost looking like the plasticky sheen of a blow-up doll.

Dr. Crane grunted as he came in spurts down your throat, still tender from the rough treatment. You didn’t waste a single drop of what he gave you, and ran your tongue over his slit to collect any remaining seed. Once you swallowed everything, you wiped the saliva from your face and smiled up at him sweetly.

“Can we go home now?”

*********************************************************

You had lost count of how many days it had been since Dr. Crane brought you home, in fact, most of your life outside of the past few weeks had been something of a blur. It didn’t matter, though, as being his pretty little pet didn’t require you to think much. You spent most of your days lounging about, watching porn, staring out the window, or oohing and aahing over the pretty clothes he brought home for you. It took him a while to settle on a style when he replaced your wardrobe, dressing you in everything from latex minidresses to 1950s housewife apparel, but eventually found that he favored soft, feminine babydolls in light colors like pink and white.

You were admiring the ruffled hem of the slip you were wearing when you heard him unlocking the door to his apartment, and you immediately rushed over to greet him. Seeing him was the best part of your day, and you couldn’t wait to sit in his lap and talk to him about your busy day of watching yourself edge in front of the mirror.

It had become something of a routine, he would settle into his favorite recliner after coming home from work, and you’d straddle him with your breasts in his face while he felt you up and vented about whatever was bothering him. His job at the university was soooo stressful, apparently conducting experiments on unwitting students is “frowned upon,” whatever that meant. You were always happy to make him feel better.

“…and the dean can’t even appreciate the validity of my work. Opening up the skull of a live subject is the most reliable way to observe changes in the brain, regardless of whether or not the ethics board likes it.” You had no idea what he was even talking about, but you did your best to seem sympathetic, hugging his neck and pulling his head into your chest.

“My day was hard, too. My vibrator stopped working and I had to rub myself by hand.”

“Did you try changing the batteries?”

You thought about what he said for a few seconds and fell into a fit of giggles.

“Duh! Batteries go in the vibrator! You’re so smart, you always think of the best things.”

“That’s why I do all the thinking in the relationship. You just look pretty and keep your holes ready.” He frowned at you in faux concern, as if you were capable of having thoughts of your own.

“I do keep my holes ready!” You bounced excitedly in his lap. You were so, so good at having holes and keeping them ready. Dr. Crane even told you so.

“Wanna show me how nice and ready they are?" his hands skimmed over your body, from the top of your waist down to your thighs and then around back to your ass, which he squeezed firmly, making you gasp softly. You raised the hem of your slip and pulled your panties to the side, revealing your pussy, which was wet from edging all day. You were never allowed to let yourself come while he was gone, that was a special privilege that only he was allowed to give you.

“Beautiful. And your ass?”

You rose from his lap, turned around, and bent over to show him the plug you’ve had in for the past hour.

“I started with the small one and put the bigger one in when you texted me, just like you asked." The plugs always felt weird and you didn't like the bigger ones, but if Dr. Crane wanted you to wear them, then obviously there was a good reason. He’s so handsome and smart, you’d do anything he said.

“Good girl." His praise made your heart sing as he fucked the toy in and out of you. He knew anal play frustrated you, and it was so cute to watch as you tried not to squirm as the bulbous plug disappeared in your ass. Maybe he’d lock your pussy away in a chastity belt and make you masturbate anally all day instead of your usual edging.

Dr. Crane could hardly believe how much his little experiment had changed you. When he started the trial, it was mainly to indulge his curiosity about how the antidote to his fear toxin would affect people with no fear toxin exposure, and most of the other participants reacted to it the same way they would to any other common anxiolytic, save for one particularly unfortunate person who had their fear response reduced so drastically that they walked into oncoming traffic without realizing it was dangerous. But you? You turned into the perfect fuckdoll: always aroused, eager to please, and too oblivious to notice the strange hours he kept as both a professor and as Scarecrow.

Of course, there were some down sides: he had hoped to mold you into something of a stepford wife, not only taking care of his needs in the bedroom but other domestic duties as well. Yet after your third time nearly setting the kitchen on fire while trying to cook a simple meal, he had to accept that you had simply become too airheaded to trust with anything but sex.

“Can we fuck now? My pussy needs you." You whined, interrupting the train of thought that had pulled Dr. Crane’s focus away from you.

“Good girls don't whine like that, sweetheart. I could fuck you, but for that I think I’ll make you wait until after dinner.” He chided. You were so much fun to toy with when you got desperate.

"But I am a good girl! Let me show you.” You pouted and begged.

“If you’re an extra good girl, you’ll be quiet while I’m cooking dinner and then we can fuck.” His tone was equal parts syrupy and condescending, “if not, you can spend the rest of the night gagged and locked in your cage. The choice is yours.”

Not wanting to spend the night locked in a dog crate, you crossed your arms and sulked, but nevertheless obeyed as you sunk into the couch. Your needy little pussy was aching, but you had to be a good girl for Dr. Crane. Even if it was mean and bad and unfair and… Oh? There’s a plate being placed in front of you, dinner must be ready already.

As soon as Dr. Crane sat down beside you, you snuggled into his side. Physical affection wasn’t something he was used to before bringing you home, and it took him some time to come around to it, but now he was actually starting to enjoy the amount of cuddles and kisses you desired from him. Spooning on the couch while trying to eat wasn’t the most practical thing in the world, although you were determined to find a way to bury your face in his chest while also stuffing it with mashed potatoes.

“Someone’s needy tonight,” he teased as he stroked your hair.

You just hummed contentedly and nuzzled your face into his neck. He was warm and smelled nice, like everything in the apartment. The one time you tried opening the window, it smelled like rot and gasoline, and made you sad and scared as it filled your head with vague memories of your old life.

Dinner passed comfortably and quietly, even as you squirmed to find a position that let you eat and snuggle at the same time. Dr. Crane’s attention was largely on the nightly news playing on the television, nodding along with the crime report. The news was mostly boring to you, except for that one weird time that a woman who looked like you and had your name was reported missing. Dr. Crane told you not to worry about it, though, so you didn’t.

“I’d say you’ve been a very good girl this evening,” Dr. Crane shifted to face you. “Would you like to join me in the bedroom?”

“What’s in the bedroom?” You stared blankly.

“Sex, sweetheart. I’m asking you if you would like to have sex.” Dr. Crane rubbed his temples. Perhaps drugging your brains out but leaving you just smart enough to talk was a mistake.

Sex! Sex was exactly what you wanted! Sex was what you dreamed about all day, edging your pussy and thinking of Dr. Crane. Your face lit up, which he took as a sign to lead you to the bedroom.

As you approached the bed, he toyed with the strap of your chemise, gliding it off your shoulder so it hung suggestively.

“I want this off.” His voice was soft, but his unblinking gazes held all the authority in the world over you.

“Yes, sir.” You made quick work of the garment, pulling it over your head and flinging it to the floor.

“Panties, too.”

Those silently slid off next, leaving you completely nude while he remained fully clothed.

Dr. Crane’s breath stilled for a moment as he took in the sight in front of him. It only took a few weeks of being dosed for your body to reshape into a bouncy hourglass, with full breasts, a slim, defined waist, and a round ass with thighs to match. A soft, trimmed patch of hair adorned your pussy, just above the lips, with everything else kept bare. Occasionally you’d have your pubic hair waxed into a heart, which he found ridiculous, but was easy enough to overlook if it kept you happy.

Once he was done drinking in the sight of your body, he gently shoved you onto the bed and guided your legs open, settling in between. His hand made its way to your eager little pussy, spreading the lips and pressing inside, making you shudder in pleasure.

“Have you been this wet for me all day, baby?” His voice now a low rasp, thick with desire.

“Mmmhmm,” you hummed in affirmation, too lost in the sensation to form words.

“God, you’re good for me.” He growled as he dived on top of you, kissing your neck and fondling your breasts. You couldn’t help but moan when he rolled your nipple between his fingers, tugging lightly. You were always responsive, but especially when he played with your tits.

He trailed soft bites down from your neck to your nipples, gently nipping at any skin he could grasp between his teeth. Once he got to your chest, he got more aggressive, sinking his teeth into you until you whimpered in pain. Your breasts were his favorite. He had never given much thought to the “tits or ass?” question before, but now that he could come home to a soft, inviting pair to play with and suck, he knew where his preference lied.

Feeling satisfied that your nipples were now swollen and pink from both arousal and abuse, Dr. Crane removed himself from on top of you to once again admire your needy body and tease your cunt. Even when he was just fucking you with his fingers, you moaned and rolled your hips as if it was the best thing you’ve ever felt. Some nights it could drag on for hours, he would stimulate you with just his hands or a toy only to withdraw before you could climax, giving pleasure and taking it away over and over to see just how desperate he could make you. It was no secret that Dr. Crane was a sadist, and watching you squirm, cry, and beg was almost as good to him as coming inside of you.

Tonight was different, though, he wanted to fuck. He pulled his fingers out of you and freed himself from his trousers and underwear, making a show of rubbing his cock with the wet essence covering his fingers as he lined himself up with your tight, eager hole. He pushed himself in slowly, savoring how hot and slick you felt around him.

Your life revolved around his cock. If you weren’t sucking on it or being filled by it, you were fantasizing about the next time you would have it inside of you. And now that you were being given exactly what you were craving, you couldn't get enough, grinding back against Dr. Crane every time his hips met yours.

No longer satisfied with the languid pace he had set earlier, Dr. Crane pulled back slightly, helping to lift your hips and push your legs towards your chest, essentially folding you in half so he could penetrate you deeper and harder. His new rhythm was merciless as his fingers dug into your thighs, pistoning his hips and fucking you like his life depended on it. Whatever frustration he felt with his job, his colleagues, and his extracurricular activities, he was now taking out on your pussy and all you could do was grip the sheets and take it. 

Between the powerless feeling reinforced by his rough treatment and the way his cock was hitting your g-spot, you couldn't help but let your eyes roll back in ecstasy. You were fulfilling your ultimate purpose as Dr. Crane’s pet: a pretty toy to play with and look at, and an inviting set of holes to fuck. You could come from the thought alone if you were allowed to orgasm without permission. You met each of his thrusts with short, staccato moans as you arched your back beneath him, sticking out your chest as your breasts bounced with every hammering movement.

Dr. Crane’s breath grew ragged as he approached his own climax, and his motions changed from a fluid rhythm to jerky, rough thrusts.

“Play with your clit. Come for me."

Finally given the permission you’ve been needing all evening, you began rubbing yourself vigorously as he continued ramming his cock into you. It didn't take much to push you over the edge, and as your orgasm hit, you moaned so loud and luridly that it would make most seasoned pornographers blush.

Dr. Crane wasn't nearly as noisy as he joined you in orgasmic bliss, panting heavily as he filled you with his seed. Once he found himself thoroughly drained, he collapsed next to you and silently attempted to catch his breath as you rolled over and snuggled up to his chest.

“Let's go again!" you excitedly chirped while reaching for his softened cock.

“Later, sweetheart, I need to rest.” He had no idea how you recovered so quickly. "Why don't you play with yourself while you're full of my come? I know you like that.”

"It's not the same,” you begged. "I need your cock.”

"How about this,” Dr. Crane's clinical doctor voice was back. "You can warm my cock in your mouth while I grade papers, and once I'm good and ready, I’ll fuck your throat while you ride one of your dildos.”

You made a happy little squeal as you smiled and hugged him tightly. He took such good care of you, keeping you so well-fucked. You had everything you could ever want: you were safe, you were loved, you were happy. And all you had to do was let your brain be turned into cotton candy.

[crazyvik97rpg]

Alan didn't let William get out of this hug for a while - he just held him tight and rubbed his back soothingly. If Sebastian was going through something so serious, than it was more than telling when William looked like he looked today. Exhausted, big dark circles under his eyes, Alan just knew he worried so much, he couldn't imagine what these two were going through. On top of that, Sebastian was still so young. Getting such diagnosis at such point in time - it must be soul crushing.

Visiting him though seemed like an excellent idea, William agreed and so did the others. Sebastian seemed fine enough already for that. Eric smiled: "Great, then we could visit him all together. What about tomorrow, right after school? In which hospital does he stay, how far is it? We could get him some flowers and sweets, some chocolate, to cheer him up".

"Ohh yes, that sounds great. I can buy the flowers", Ronald volunteered with a grin, "I have experience in buying flowers, I've been getting Sonia a lot of them lately. I bet if I tell Seb that, he will feel better right away", he snickered - Sebastian would be always so grumpy whenever Ronald did something stupid regarding Sonia after all.

"That's great, then we can get the sweets. Will, you know best what he likes", Alan smiled, "But we'll manage. So then tomorrow after school? We can take our car, there's enough room for us", he patted William's back and only now pulled away from the hug, so he could look at him.

If Sebastian only knew what great friends he had - not only worried for him but caring for William too. He needed the support, more than anyone - he kept neglecting his needs for Sebastian, to be strong for him, but that could only work for so long either.

Around noon, Sebastian was alone in his room again - his neighbour was now in surgery and he got to chat with him only a little bit before. He was friendly, a former military guy but now retired. An interesting fellow to chat with for sure.

His body kept him busy either way - the pain was a handful today and the nurses didn't want to give him too high of a dose of pain meds all the time. Soreness was a part of recovery he supposed but he could barely move and he also couldn't sleep like that. So he was just in a constant state of exhaustion, feeling like a bus ran him over. He was counting seconds at this point - visiting hours just started and he couldn't wait for his boyfriend to come already.

Before that, though, someone else showed up.

"Sebastian...oh dear, I finally found your room, this place is a whole big maze, gosh..."

It was the most pleasant surprise. Sebastian's eyes lit up, he recognized her by the voice alone and his lips curved up into a smile. "Grandma-...grandma, you're here?"

"How could I not visit my favourite grandson", she grinned and she came to a halt right next to his bed as she gently took his hand, squeezed it. "When you're not able to visit me, I have to visit you", she smiled, big round glasses on her nose - Grandma Lillian, Sebastian's mother's mother. That was a big surprise, to say the least - they didn't see each other for well over a year, maybe called each other a handful of times. Usually they celebrated Christmas together with the whole family. But that didn't happen last Christmas - and now it was already mid of September.

"How are you? Are you better already, I thought you had such problems with your lungs?", Sebastian asked right away, his eyes big as he looked at her in awe - she merely chuckled at that question. She didn't look the youngest on her own anymore, her grey hair put up in a simple updo - she had a cane with her too, just in case.

"I should be asking you, my darling. Your mother told me just the other day, well-...she told me all about your illness. And that you had surgery. I didn't think I would get to see you in such hospital bed before me", she sighed, the look on her face sad and worried - it pained Sebastian, to say the least. "I thought about calling you but I needed to see you in person. It's been such a long time. How are you?"

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes. 

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times. 

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?” 

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them. 

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97

[goodlucktai]

till you can breathe on your own

rise of the tmnt word count: 20k i wrote this fic for the turtle trenches server’s november gift exchange ! my giftee was @acewithapaintbrush and ace’s prompts were “found family, leosagi, wholesome disaster twins, and splinter being a good dad to the boys.” instead of being normal and picking one i decided to create an au that included all of those things at once and this is what i came up with. ace i really hope you enjoy it <3 happy turtle day ! title borrowed from keeping your head up by birdy

read on ao3

x

When Leonardo was eight years old, he and his best friend survived a house fire.

The blaze was put out thanks to a passing yokai with a magic spell for rain newly purchased that she was happy to use to help, but two of the children attending lessons there came up unaccounted for. Panicked neighbors searched for upwards of an hour only to find the boys fast asleep in a cart of clean linens parked out front of the bath house. 

There was a faint trace of mystic energy lingering around them but no one came forward as the one it belonged to, and they wouldn’t be able to explain what had happened. One minute they were trapped and frightened, and the next everything was blue and they were safe. 

Ultimately the rescue was credited to a powerful good samaritan who wished to remain anonymous, and the townsfolk collectively decided to be grateful for the miracle without unraveling it any further.

Leonardo’s friend moved away while his house was repaired, and Leonardo was returned to where he belonged at the local orphanage. He smiled when the matron fussed over him, even though he didn’t feel like smiling, and continued to pretend like he didn’t hear the other kids calling him bad luck.  

“You’d think someone would want him,” one of the older kids whispered during lunch. “Last time we had a turtle here they got snatched up in like a week.”

“Miss Toto says that way of thinking is archaic,” a tiny otter yokai piped up with remarkable authority, given that he clearly didn’t know the meaning of the word he was repeating. “Kameko has as much of a chance as the rest of us do.”

“Clearly,” the older kid muttered. 

Leonardo, who wasn’t Leonardo yet—who was called Kameko by the orphanage matron because she wasn’t especially creative, and Lucky by the other kids so they could be mean in a sneaky, underhanded way, and Stripes by his best friend, who mattered more than any of them—spent a lot of time dreaming of having a chance. 

He had no way of knowing that at the same time, miles away and a city above, an early-middle-aged man run ragged day in and out by three energetic children and sloughing through a persistent sadness was dreaming, too. 

The man was dreaming of his own childhood; a garden with a pond and lines of laundry drying in the late summer sun, a delicious smell sneaking out the kitchen window where jiji was grilling fish for dinner, his mother lifting her head to grace him with a smile he once took for granted. 

In the dream, she had to reach up to hold his face, because he was the same age now as she was when she died and several inches taller than her in adulthood. She didn’t mind his fur or snout or big rounded ears, and if anything the involuntary twitch of his whiskers only made her smile deepen. 

“My sweet boy,” she murmured, “I’m so proud of you.”

“How?” he choked out. He clung to her arms. He had a thousand things he wanted to tell her. All that came tripping out was, “How can you be?”

“Because I know how big your heart is,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You love so richly and earnestly. Even after that was taken advantage of and betrayed, you found more room in your heart for your little ones. Your little turtles.”

The thought of his sons pierced through the gloom of self-hatred like an arrow of light, as simple as flipping a switch in a dark room. He wouldn’t trade a moment with them for anything—not even for another moment with his mother. The overwhelming grief and love coexisted as naturally as two little otters holding hands at sea.

“But don’t you know?” she asked. “Can’t you feel it? Did it get lost in that big heart of yours? One of your children is waiting for you.”

He jerked as if electrocuted, going stiff and still beneath his mother’s hands, because she couldn’t mean to say what it sounded like she was saying. 

That tiny fourth turtle with the blue-patterned shell and bright gold eyes—the first one to smile and reach up to be held, the one that had fallen during their frantic escape and was left behind in the crush of the destroyed lab—the one the little shrine in his room belonged to, even though he didn’t have a proper photo, or a decent idea of what Blue would have looked like grown into personhood—the one that a corner of his heart belonged to, even now, even still—

“He’s alive, my darling,” his mother told him. In the dream, she sounded so certain. The clan symbol on her obi seemed to glow, a warm, shining thing that cast all darkness and doubt aside. “Go and bring my grandbaby home, okay?”

Hamato Yoshi woke up with a gasp, half-blinded by tears. 

——

The boys took the news as well as they possibly could have. It would have felt wrong not to tell them—cruel to keep them in the dark, even if it would shelter them from a hope that might only lead into a dead-end. 

They already knew of their fourth sibling, having long-since discovered the little shrine in Splinter’s room during a pre-Christmas snooping several years ago, but there hadn’t been much that Splinter could offer them when they peppered him for information and eventually those eager questions tapered off. They had only had a few months together in Draxum’s lab before Splinter could stage their escape and bring the facility down behind them—before tragedy had carved a hole into their brand-new family—and that wasn’t long enough to have more than a handful of stories to share. To do the baby’s memory anything resembling justice. 

But since waking up from that dream, Splinter had reached out with his ninpo in the way he hadn’t done since he was very young, like stretching out an atrophied limb, and he felt it. A fourth presence in his heart. It was a very faint echo somewhere far away, like an imprint of smoke left in the sky after a firework. Distant now and fading, but once-bright. Once-blue. 

And he knew. He knew Leonardo was alive.

“Red, you are in charge,” Splinter said, jittery with anticipation. He spared a moment to cup the snapper’s cheek in his palm, brushing his thumb over the rosy-colored diamond pattern there, and added, “Aunt June’s phone number is on the fridge if anything happens—but nothing had better happen! April can visit but you are not allowed to leave our home until I return.”

Red nodded several times, twisting his fingers together. He had inherited Splinter’s anxious heart, but he took being the oldest very seriously, and failure more seriously than that, for all that he was only nine. 

“Are you going to get Leo?” Orange piped up, bouncing in place. He had, in fact, not stopped bouncing since he had gleaned the gist of the conversation that began nearly a full hour ago. “Are you going to bring him home?”

“I am going to try,” Splinter said, kneeling so that he could poke his youngest baby playfully in those ticklish spots on his sides that always elicited a sunny giggle. 

Orange trilled in glee, and then he pulled his limbs and head into his tiny shell the way he often did when he was overexcited or overwhelmed and continued making turtle noises to himself from inside there. 

Splinter caught the talkative box shell before it could clatter to the floor and offered it to Red, who held it to his front the way he hugged his stuffies. 

“Okay my sweet boys,” Splinter said, “stay here and be good and I will see you in a short while.”

Purple trailed him to the front door, or what served as such in their repurposed underground home. After tugging on his coat and boots, Splinter turned to him and crouched down so they were at something approaching eye-level, even if eye contact did not seem to be on the table this morning. 

“You said we hatched at the same time,” Purple surprised the hell out of him by saying. His recalcitrant softshell son very rarely spoke aloud unless asked a direct question, and here he was volunteering whole sentences without preamble. “You said he came out of his egg right after me. He had stripes, and eyes like mine. You called us twins.”

Leonardo was not a forbidden topic in their home, but he was a bit of a sore one. It ached to press on the bruise that was their missing part. Purple in particular had a difficult time making himself understood and being understood in turn. He was also incredibly stubborn, and hard to match wits with. 

A twin must have sounded like a dream. Splinter wondered when Donatello had first shaped this little wish out of clay, and how often he spent taking it out and admiring it, wearing the rough edges into smoothness, giving it substance and character until all that was missing was the life. The color. 

“He was not the same species of turtle as you,” Splinter said. “But you did hatch together, and you did have the same eyes. Blue would fuss at bedtime until I placed him on your shell. You tried to take chunks out of the alchemist’s fingers whenever he parted the two of you.” For tests, he didn’t feel it was necessary to add. He offered his hands, and added, “So that is what I called you. My twin babies.” 

After a moment, Purple took his hands. His mouth was a firm line, golden eyes glued to the floor. There was enough of a wet shine in them that Splinter’s heart strained with the need to right every wrong for him at once. 

“I will find him, Donatello,” Splinter said. “Now that I know he is out there waiting to be found, there is nothing that can stop me. It might take a long time, but we have waited quite a while already, haven’t we?”

Purple nodded, and then stepped forward to bury his snout in the front of Splinter’s coat. It meant that a hug would be not only tolerated but appreciated, and Splinter didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around his little boy. 

“Go on now,” Splinter said, only when Purple had extracted himself. He turned the child around by the shoulders and propelled him back to where Orange and Red were waiting. “I love you, little monsters,” he called loud enough to be heard by all three of them. “If the lair is still standing when I get home, you will get ice cream.”

Their noisy cheers followed him down the tunnel, warming him more effectively than direct sunlight ever could.  

And now Splinter was back in the Hidden City, although he had sworn to himself he would never return. 

His heart was racing, every nerve a livewire, so prepared he was for danger around each corner. He had hoped that the mad alchemist died in the destruction of the lab—had comforted himself with the fact, even, on those nights he woke up from bad dreams—but with Blue’s miraculous survival, Draxum might very well have lived too. Like a cockroach. 

And so he was hesitant to trace his steps back to the ruins of Draxum’s lab. He was not even sure if he would be able to find it. There was a restless, dislocated thing inside of him that made standing still a painful exercise, he so badly wanted to run and run until he found the little turtle he was looking for—he just didn’t know where to go. Where to start. The Hidden City was larger than he remembered.

“Excuse me,” someone said, startling him. He turned to find a short beetle yokai in a rumpled button down shirt and slacks standing just behind him, mandibles clicking idly. The beetle smiled and said, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but notice you seemed lost. Can I help in any way?”

It was Splinter’s first instinct to deny the apparent kindness. Lena—or Big Mama as she was called—had carved out the remains of his idealism as deftly as a gardener pulling up the last stubborn weed in a flower bed. People, he had been taught, were rarely kind for no reason. 

But April’s mother was a force of nature in her own right, and had bullied Splinter into friendship with her within a week of their children meeting. A New Yorker to her core, June O’Neil had only needed a moment to adjust to the sight of a mutant rat and three mutant turtles, at which point any lingering strangeness was overshadowed by the relief of finally having another single parent to commiserate with. She was on-call for every scare, every tantrum that left Splinter feeling out of his depth, every milestone. She refused to allow him to wallow in self-pity while he had three little boys to raise. 

June was the sole reason that there were a few shoots of hope growing in the ruin Lena left of him, stubborn and resilient and flowering. People were rarely kind for no reason, but rarely did not mean never. There was goodness to be found if one took the time to look for it. The risk did not always pay off, but the reward when it did was worthwhile every time. 

And so Splinter took his heart in his hands and faced the stranger and said, “Yes, please. If you’re able. I need help.”

The beetle yokai, a friendly, down-to-earth character named Cricket, listened to the bare bones of Splinter’s story and immediately began to guide him down the street. It was a street that would not have looked out of place in Osaka in the 80s. There were storefronts with neon signs and restaurants with enticing noren doors and the steady foot traffic of thousands of yokai milling about their day. No one paid a tall rat mutant any mind. 

“You’ll want the Chamber of Decisions,” Cricket said with a certainty that settled one small inch of the chaos in Splinter’s heart. “There will be someone there who can help you find your son.”

The beetle yokai took time enough out of his own day to show Splinter all the way through a startlingly mundane municipal building to a floor with a placard on the wall declaring it the Civil Courts. He even waited in line with Splinter, making pleasant conversation, until it was his turn to step forward and address the employee behind the front desk.

“Goodbye,” Cricket said at that point, stepping away. “And good luck!”

He was gone before Splinter could thank him, and the gazelle yokai behind the desk repeated, “Next,” in a tone that suggested she would be deeply unhappy to say it a third time. 

“Yes,” Splinter said quickly, “sorry, that’s me.”

“What is your name?” the yokai asked briskly. She had long spiraling horns and a long, narrow face, deceptively delicate. She wore a badge on a lanyard around her neck that read Helena, Court Clerk, and then a mess of characters beneath it that did not look like English or Japanese. 

“Hamato Yoshi,” Splinter replied by rote. When he spoke, a small crystal hovering unobtrusively above the desk glowed a clear spring green. It seemed to indicate his truthfulness, because the yokai didn’t request any further proof of identity. 

“Hamato?” the yokai, presumably Helena, said with a spark of interest. She read something from the text that populated on the holographic tablet in front of her and then added, “We have a backlog of forms here for you. It has been a long time since someone has claimed tenancy of your clan’s branch house in Neo Edo. I assume that’s why you’re here?”

“Uh,” Splinter said intelligently, “no. What?”

“The Hamato Estate,” Helena said. She seemed less than impressed with him. “The one that has been sitting in disrepair and bringing property values of the neighborhood down for more than a century. That has nothing to do with your visit today?” 

The Chamber of Decisions was very human in structure, and the bureaucracy was completely disarming. Splinter didn’t know what he showed up expecting to find here but he sort of felt as though he was walking through a lucid dream.

“Sorry, no, I—I was unaware my family had any dealings in the Hidden Cities at all. I was raised in Japan. In—a human city in Japan. And now my children and I live in New York.” 

Helena’s expression cleared with understanding, her attitude suddenly more helpful as she seemed to realize Splinter was not being willfully obtuse. She opened a drawer of the filing cabinet beside her desk and rifled through it until she came up with form after form that accumulated in an intimidating heap. 

Splinter bit the inside of his mouth so that he wouldn’t say something unfortunate. He was catching up to himself, the surprise and uncertainty of the situation he had found himself in fading into the background, his single-minded focus sharpening into a point once again. 

Blue had waited long enough to be found. It was deeply unfair to make him wait even a moment more. And unfair to Splinter, too, who just wanted to be given a direction that he could run in until he could scoop his son up and never let him go again. 

“Excuse me,” Splinter said, wrestling with himself until a semblance of good manners won its cage match with snarling impatience, “but I am here because I was told you might help me locate a missing child.” 

The gazelle’s head jerked up, hooved hands stilling. “What missing child?”

For the second time that day, Splinter explained his situation to a stranger. Not the whole thing; not the nature of his or his sons’ mutations, or the desperate life-or-death struggle that preceded their flight from the destroyed lab into the nearby city—this city—and then ultimately New York. But the gist of it. The fire, and the baby who fell from his arms, and the long years he has spent mourning a son he thought had died. That much he imparted as succinctly as he knew how. 

Helena punctuated his story with clipped nods, listening intently. She sifted through the stacked bundles of paperwork and withdrew two or three that she placed on the top of the pile. 

“We will register you and your children as citizens of the Hidden Cities,” she said firmly when Splinter had finished detailing the dream that led him to believe his son was alive. “Your clan has already been established here for centuries, so this will not take long. As a citizen you will have the full weight and reach of this court’s resources behind you. We will locate your son.” 

If there had been a chair behind him, Splinter would have collapsed into it. As it is, he only swayed on his feet for a moment, before mustering a hoarse, “Thank you.”

After the dream of his mother, Splinter had been feeling acutely guilty of the way he had left his family name well behind him, crafting a new identity for a new life in America. Now he was only grateful that Lena and that lunatic Draxum would not think twice about a rat mutant named Hamato Yoshi, or his children.

It felt surreal to write down their names—Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo. For so long, they had been only his precious joys. The human world was not one he could trust to appreciate them. The O’Neils were a shining exception, one in a million. So his little family was kept a well-guarded secret. 

And now here he was, signing an official document that gave his turtles another place to belong, a place that could not be taken away by a mad alchemist or scheming spider. 

“If you come with me, I can take you to the appropriate department,” Helena said, cordial and efficient as she placed the last of the paperwork in a folder that glowed a friendly green before disappearing into fragments of light that spelled out ‘FILED.’ “It’s lucky you came when you did. We have a witch on retainer, and we would have called her in for this, but she’s already working from the office today.”

“Right,” Splinter said, smoothing down his shirt with nervous fingers. 

He didn’t know what his expression was doing, but it seemed to give the gazelle yokai a sense of urgency. She hustled him down a couple of halls and through more than one doorway that seemed to lead to another building entirely, until he was hopelessly lost somewhere in the depths of the administration.

But the office he finally stepped into was one that wouldn’t have looked place in any of the high rise buildings in FiDi, with an executive desk of solid wood, a neat row of filing cabinets, a less neat wall of overflowing shelves, and sparse, impersonal decor. There were a few oddities—self-watering hanging plants suspended in front of the window, and a glowing crystal levitating above the desk where a computer might have sat otherwise—but nothing that made Splinter’s animal hindbrain balk at the door. 

The young woman sitting behind the desk looked up and smiled, round brown face dimpled and kind. Half of her voluminous braided hair was piled on top of her head in a neat bun, while the rest framed her shoulders in interchanging plaits of black and mint green. Her long, pointed ears were pierced a dozen times each and dripping in tiny precious gemstones. 

“Hello there, Helena and friend,” she greeted. “Can I help you?”

“Nimue, this is Hamato-san. He recently had a prophetic dream that a child he lost in infancy is, in fact, alive,” Helena replied promptly. “We’ll need a spell for finding.”

It sounded actually insane when put so plainly, but she spoke in a way that reminded Splinter of his former account manager, no-nonsense and judicious. The young lady behind the desk took them both seriously and stood, brushing her braids back over her shoulder.

“I’ll start at once,” Nimue said. “It’ll only take a few minutes.” 

“Summon me if you need anything else,” Helena said briskly. “I’ll be finalizing the documentation up front.” 

Both yokai and witch were very perfunctory about the whole thing, as if it was business as usual. It went a long way in disarming that last kernel of doubt that Splinter had harbored every step of the way here.

With the doubt uprooted, there was space at last for painful, smothered hope to burst into full and violent bloom. 

He was shuffled into the adjoining room and into a squashy loveseat. This area seemed much more like a witch’s workshop; there were tricky, delicate glass instruments whirring away under their own power at a carved wooden table in the corner, and stacks of heavy leather volumes on all the shelves and flat surfaces, interspersed with jars of things like feathers and stones and shiny beetle shells. Dried herbs and flowers dangled in neat bundles from a rack on the ceiling, where motes of something too colorful to be dust floated in wandering circles. There was a small furry animal curled up to sleep on the arm rest of the chair opposite Splinter’s, light brown with a darker brown band across its eyes. When it lifted its head at the sound of the door closing, Splinter realized it was a ferret. 

“Please excuse the mess,” Nimue said, “I’m really not here that often so I tend not to prioritize organization. I know it’s a sad excuse.”

“I’m a single father parenting thr—four boys,” Splinter replied, heart skipping a beat at the self-correction. He would be parenting four. “The last thing I am qualified to judge anyone on is tidiness.” 

Nimue laughed. “I’ll take it! Now, I told Helena this would only be a moment, and I meant every word. There are lots of disclaimers and policies I could bog you down with, and probably ought to, but I know they’ll just go in one ear and out the other. You’re here to find your son, and that’s what I’m going to help you do.”

“Yes,” Splinter breathed. “Please.”

“Of course! A spell for finding is one of my favorites, not in the least because it’s super simple.” 

Nimue sat across from him, lifted the ferret off the arm of her chair and into her lap, and then held out both her hands. Splinter took them without second-guessing it. 

“Magic draws so much from nature,” the witch went on. As she spoke, various pieces of glass or crystal in the room began to glow, as if her voice contained a brilliance that could be caught and reflected back. “In our spells, we use plants, stones, animal shed—things given by the earth—and sometimes energy generated by a storm or the sea. A friend that I graduated university with channels power from lightning. Very flashy, but very hard to pin down.”

A pool of light formed between them, beneath their joined hands. It was flat and still, like the surface of calm water. Four little jewels in bright candy colors shone through—red, orange and purple clustered together, and blue clear on the other end. Splinter’s heart ached; he knew them. He knew them. 

“At its core, it’s orderly,” Nimue said, her voice calm and smiling. “The most powerful rituals I know of are tied to star charts or phases of the moon, because even celestial bodies follow a pattern. Magic wants to make right. It wants to return things. And so a spell like this costs absolutely nothing. A lost child belongs with their family; that’s as fundamental a thing as gravity.”

She let go of Splinter’s hands and turned her own to catch the pool of light in the cup of her palms. She closed her hands together, as if compressing something as tight as possible between them, and then with a sudden jerking motion, flung them up and open. 

The light spread between them in a translucent, shimmering curtain. It looked like a chart, or a map, though not one Splinter had any hope of reading.  

Nimue hummed in what could either be surprise or delight, her smile showing teeth. 

“Oh, look at how clear and bright they are,” she cooed, “shining like stars. You must be so proud. And here’s little boy blue,” she added, pointing out the lonely light living by itself, isolated from the others. “He’s in Sawara Town, not too far from here.” 

Splinter’s heart was a frantic drum inside his chest. He wasn’t sure if he’d taken a single full, deep breath since he woke up from that dream that brought him to this moment in the first place. He twitched with the urge to scoop those colorful, twinkling little lights out of the rest and hold them close, hold them safe. 

“So what now?” he managed to choke out. “Are you going to teleport me there or something?”

Nimue laughed again, scritching the ferret’s ruff with the tips of her fingers. 

“Teleport? I’m good but I’m not that good! I’ll call you a cab.”

Not even two full hours later, Splinter was walking up the main street of Sawara. It was a bustling rural town with a mighty canal for a heart, filled with wooden fishing boats and framed by thin wisps of willow trees. Machiya-style houses rambled along in tight rows on either side of the waterway, most of them with front doors and shutters slid open to display shop spaces. 

Splinter stopped at a dry goods store to ask for directions to the orphanage, and the storeowner pointed him toward the sprawling estate at the edge of town, tucked into the natural bend of the river. 

He was floating in that dream feeling again. Everything was two inches left of reality. He was half-prepared to discover that this day felt impossible because it was impossible and he should have known better than to believe it could be this easy. He was half-prepared for someone to yank the curtain back and reveal the wizard was just some guy running a long con the whole time. Splinter had always, always been the punchline of a bad joke. 

But he promised the boys he would find their brother. He thought of Purple’s eyes, wide with hope, and his quiet voice saying, “You called us twins.” He thought of that sweet baby he had only briefly been anything like a father to, the first of the four to smile at him, the first one to want to be held by him. 

Resolve filled every chamber of his heart until it overflowed from there and filled the rest of him for good measure. That floating, dreaming feeling scattered into painful cognizance. 

He was Lou Jitsu. He was Hamato Atsuko’s only son. If life had taught him anything, it was how to take a punch. He would follow this road to wherever it led, and if Blue was not at the end of it, then he would find another road to follow. He would walk forever if he had to. He would let his heart get broken a hundred thousand times. 

Splinter let himself through the gate and strode up the meandering path toward the front of the house. He wondered if he ought to announce himself, and then discovered a doorbell half-hidden beneath the leaves of a drooping hanging plant. He rang it, and squared his shoulders, and waited. 

After about a minute, the door slid open to reveal a harried-looking pangolin yokai with a squirming raccoon child in her arms. It was a scene immediately familiar to Splinter as a pre-naptime battle of wills. 

“Oh, hello,” the pangolin said, offering a smile as she managed not to drop the uncooperative toddler with a deftness that spoke of years of experience. “My name is Tomomi, I’m the matron here. How can I help you?”

“Hello,” Splinter replied, returning her bow automatically. He realized suddenly that he probably should have been practicing what he would say in this moment, because he was coming up blank. “Ah, my name is Hamato Yoshi, and I’m—I’m, uh—I’m here for my kid.” 

Nailed it. 

“You may need to be slightly more specific than that,” the matron said, bemused. 

“Right,” Splinter said. Specifics. He could do specifics. “I had a dream. And then there was a whole thing with a witch and a finding spell. Uh, I have documentation? That the court clerk sent with me?” 

Tomomi maneuvered the child into one arm and reached for the papers Splinter offered with her freed hand, all of them stamped with Helena’s imposing seal. As she read, her eyebrows made a shocked jump toward her scaly hairline. 

Splinter’s heart fluttered madly. His chest felt like a cage full of restless birds. 

“My son was lost to me when he was a baby, and I believed that he was dead. Something happened recently that—that revealed him to me. It showed me that he was still alive. If he’s here, I—I want him. I have always wanted him. He has three brothers who have been missing him, too. He has never,” Splinter faltered, and had to swallow twice before he could go on, “he has never been unwanted, not even for a single day.”

“Oh, my spirits,” Tomomi murmured, crouching to let the little raccoon yokai slide free and then dart victoriously away. She straightened again, a hand pressed flat to her chest as she passed the papers back, perfectly stunned. “If he’s here, and he’s yours, I’ll help you however I can. What can you tell me about him?”

Splinter said, “He’s—he’s a little turtle. Eight years old. His shell is—just, one moment.” 

With shaking hands, he crammed the documents into his jacket pocket and withdrew his phone instead. His pictures weren’t sorted into albums, because 99.99% of them were all pictures of his children or April, rendering any attempt to sort them entirely redundant. That did mean he had to swipe for a moment before he found a decent photo of Orange’s carapace, and the warm yellow pattern of his scutes. 

“His shell pattern would be very similar to his brother’s, you see? And his eyes were this color,” Splinter went on, swiping to a picture of Purple glaring resolutely away from the camera, golden eyes distinctive even when narrowed and averted behind thick prescription glasses. “He was—he was very sweet. Very talkative. He wanted to be held all hours of the day. He—”

“He’s here, Hamato-san,” Tomomi blurted, eyes huge. 

“He’s… oh.” Splinter stared back at her, phone still extended dumbly in his hand. He felt frozen in place. A gust of wind would probably have been enough to knock him clear over. “He’s here?”

The matron seemed to be in disbelief herself, staring at Splinter as though he was a figment of her imagination and if she moved too suddenly he might disappear. 

“I can’t believe it. After all this time.” Then she shook her head, and wrapped professionalism back around her shoulders like a trusty cloak. She said, “Please come with me to my office, I’ll have Kameko brought to us there.” 

Kameko. Turtle child. Splinter didn’t know how he felt about that name, but kept it to himself. He was minutes—minutes— away now. If he absolutely had to go crashing through every single wall in this building one by one to find his child, that was entirely within his power. He would save that as the nuclear option, but not remove it from the table entirely. 

“He really is the sweetest thing,” Tomomi said. “No trouble at all, helpful as can be. Incredibly smart for his age—he’s leagues ahead of his classmates.” 

Like his brothers, Splinter thought, with a sort of dazed, wondering pride. All of them were happy little boys with distinct, dynamic personalities, but June—who had been a parent for one whole year longer than Splinter and had the added experience of helping to keep a dozen nieces and nephews alive, and was therefore the expert between the two of them—had often expressed surprise at how quickly the turtles tore through their learning material. 

Donatello was an unstoppable force that had yet to encounter an immovable object, but Raphael and Michelangelo were both well ahead of the curve, too. Splinter wondered, sometimes, if that had been part of Draxum’s design for them. 

“The younger kids adore him, though the older ones ostracize him a bit,” Tomomi was saying. “He’s had a number of failed placements, I’m afraid. Just bad luck.” She winced, as though the word left a bad taste on her tongue, and hurried to add, “It’s been hard on him since his friend moved away. He really deserves this. You’ll see.”

She was clearly trying to upsell the kid, as if to preemptively change Splinter’s mind about giving him up. As if there was any force in the universe that could even dream of being strong enough to compel him to do that. 

The orphanage as they walked through it was noisy. Kids in clothes that were second-hand but clean and well-fitting chased each other down hallways and in and out of rooms at speed. The building itself showed the inevitable wear and tear that came of hordes of children putting their marks on the place, but it was not dirty, or drafty, or in any sort of disrepair. No one looked hurt or underfed. There was a comfortable amount of clutter, plush toys and books and electronics scattered about the den they passed by. In all corners of the house there was shrieking and laughter and the thunder of little running feet. 

Yoshi was feeling a hundred thousand things right now, all of them in immediate conflict with each other and jostling for first place, but relief was chief among them. He had, in a shadowy corner in the back of his mind, feared the worst upon hearing his child was living in an orphanage. At a glance, the bulk of those fears were dispelled. It was good to know that he probably would not have to raze this place to the ground for their poor treatment of Blue. He could not imagine that would endear him to Helena. 

Tomomi leaned into an open doorway and called out, “Ren, please find Kameko and have him meet me in my office, okay? It’s important that he comes quickly.”

“Okay, Miss Toto!” someone called back, and then a tiny otter yokai went zipping away.

“I don’t know all of his hiding spots, I’m afraid,” the matron murmured, opening another door further down the hall and inviting him inside. “I don’t want to take you on a wild goose chase and waste a second more of your time. You’ve waited long enough already.”

“Thank you,” Splinter said. He sank into the seat she offered him and twisted his fingers, a nervous tic that his eldest son had inherited from him directly. “You said—he’s ostracized by the older kids? Why?”

Tomomi moved around the office, preparing cups of tea with hot water from an electric kettle. She said, “Yokai are very superstitious, as you well know.” Splinter did not know, actually, but nodded to maintain the ruse that he had been a rat yokai his entire life. “Turtles are viewed as—well, lucky. But since every single one of Kameko’s placements failed for some reason or another, some of the children decided he must be an omen for bad luck instead of good. It’s silliness, Hamato-san. But as much as he claimed it never bothered him, I’m sure it must have.”

Splinter had to take a moment to absorb that. Blue was a miracle. The fact that he was alive at all—the Hamato clan in its entirety must have spent every scrap of its allotted good fortune for the next billion year

Bad luck, he thought with a bewildered scoff. Where?

He held the teacup between his hands but forgot what to do with it. He was doing his best to listen to Tomomi but all of his attention craned toward the door instead. Riveted to each pair of footsteps that thundered past, each bright, energetic voice, each unfamiliar spark of qi… 

Splinter stopped breathing a second before a knock sounded on the doorframe. 

“Miss Toto,” a young voice called. “Renren said you wanted to see me?”

Tomomi glanced at Splinter sidelong and then called back, “Come on in, sweetie. There’s someone here who wants to meet you.”

He was unaware of moving, but somehow Splinter turned in time to watch the door rattle open, and there he was. 

In a neat coral pink and cream-colored jinbei, knees dirty from playing outside. Not quite grown into his stripes yet, still huge bright red crescents that took up most of his face. Eyes the same color as Donatello’s, the same shape as Splinter’s. Alive. Healthy. Small for his age. The brightest thing in this little riverside town. 

Leonardo. Blue. 

A painfully dislocated piece of Splinter’s long-broken heart clicked neatly back into place.  

The boy blinked and then smiled widely. He was all at once perfectly charming, happy to be standing there. Tomomi smiled back at him like a knee-jerk reaction and ushered him inside. 

“Hi!” Blue said brightly. “Nice to meet you!” 

Splinter could only sit there and take him in. His smile. The sound of his voice. He was so alive. 

“Kameko, this is Hamato Yoshi-san,” Tomomi said, steering the turtle closer to Splinter’s seat. “He’s come all the way from the human world to find you.” 

Blue’s smile faltered for a split-second, giving away his confusion. He had probably been fed a lot of lines from people looking to adopt a lucky turtle into their family over the last eight years, but this one was brand new. 

It was hard to explain to his little face that he had been—left behind. That Splinter had spent the entirety of his life mourning him. That looking at him was like looking at a ghost. Splinter did the best he could, grateful that Tomomi stepped in to pick things up wherever he faltered. With her help, he didn’t make an entire mess of the conversation.

“I have brothers?” was the first question Blue asked when they had finished. “I really do?”

“Yes, you—here, you can look,” Splinter said clumsily, offering his phone again. Offering anything. 

The turtle looked up into his face, and then over at Tomomi, and only took it after their combined reassurances. He was hesitant with the device even then, as though half-expecting Splinter to change his mind and berate him for handling it at all. 

But when the camera roll came up, Blue’s breath hitched, and all his uncertainty blew clean away. He blew up one of the photos and swiped through them that way, full-screen snapshots of a life he had missed out on. He stared intently at each picture as though doing his best to memorize each one in as much time as he was allowed to look. 

“What,” he started to ask, and then darted a quick glance up at Splinter again. Splinter nodded, heart in his throat, and Blue dared to continue, “What are they like?��

Carefully, Splinter shifted closer, until he and his son were side by side. Reaching around him, Splinter said, “Raphael is your biggest brother, and a year older than you. He may appear spiky and imposing, but he is actually very sensitive, and fond of stuffed animals and Barbie movies. I call him Red because of his rosy diamond patterns.” 

Blue mouthed ‘Raphael,’ drinking him in. 

The next few pictures were a blurred mess, Splinter’s attempt at taking photos while managing chaos as his boys helped in the kitchen the morning of April’s tenth birthday. Finally he landed on a clear one of Orange, covered in a dusting of flour, a comically large mixing bowl of funfetti cake batter in his arms that he had insisted he could handle without help. 

“This is Michelangelo. He is the youngest, only seven now. He is silly and spirited and will probably take over the world one day. We’ll all be better off with him in charge, I think. He would work all day long to win a single smile from someone he loves. Can you guess what his nickname is?”

Blue traced his little brother’s sunny spots with his eyes, overwhelmed. Still he guessed correctly, a soft-spoken, “Orange.” 

“Yes,” Splinter said. “Our crazy Mikan.” 

“Then this is—” Blue said, swiping on his own to a picture of the only remaining sibling. “Purple?” 

“Mm. Donatello. He is about a minute older than you, if that. He is smarter than any one hundred people put together, and creates spectacular things out of scraps and discards. But he struggles to make himself understood, so often opts out of talking at all. It does not mean he does not have anything to say.” 

This final photo rattled Blue completely, because there was an obvious likeness there. Donatello’s striking eyes were a mirror image of Leonardo’s own. There was no argument to be had about it—they were related. 

Remembering Purple’s burdened little hope, Splinter can’t help but add, “I once made the comment to him that the two of you could be twins, because you hatched together, and you were inseparable for every moment after. Donatello has latched onto the idea. And because of who he is as a person, I’m pretty sure he will die on that hill.”

Tomomi looked politely confused by the slang, but Blue huffed out an involuntary laugh, which was Splinter’s goal in the first place. 

“What’s, um,” Blue asked, “my name? Those ones—they all match. They’re artists. We talked about them in class once. Did I—did I match, too?”

“You did,” Splinter replied at once, trying to sound completely normal about the question. “I named you Leonardo. You were fearless, you wanted to see everything, you wanted to be everyone’s friend. Nothing could slow you down.” He reached out, telegraphing every inch of the move as he made it, and cradled that precious striped face in one careful hand. “My little lion. My Baby Blue.”

Leonardo didn’t cry, though it looked like he would like to. He reached up and seized Splinter’s wrist in both hands instead, clinging with the disproportionate strength Splinter was used to from raising his brothers. The four turtles were meant to be weapons, genetically altered to that end, but Splinter had taken one look at the freshly mutated babies and instantly resolved that he would secure a normal life for them if it was the last thing he ever did.  

He felt every inch of that resolve rekindled in this moment. He would do anything. He would topple a hundred laboratories, fight a thousand warrior alchemists, survive a million rounds in the Battle Nexus. If that was what it took to keep his Blue, to bring him home. He would do all of that in a heartbeat. 

“Well,” Tomomi said, unselfconscious about the tears she was blotting away, “let’s just get a few things signed away, and Kame—ah, Leonardo can start the first day of his new life! Sweetie, how about you go and get your things packed? You can say goodbye to your friends, too.” 

Blue pressed his cheek more firmly into Splinter’s palm, not wanting to go. Not wanting to test the limits of this strange, perfect dream. Splinter understood completely, and would prefer that his second-youngest child never left his sight again. 

But he didn’t want Blue to be afraid. He didn’t want to teach him fear.

So Splinter packed away his own anxieties and said, “Why don’t you hold onto my phone for me? It seems I will have my hands full with paperwork. It would be a lot of help.”

“Okay,” the little turtle said, reluctantly drawing away. He kept the phone in a tight grip. “I’m a good helper. And a quick packer! I’ll be right back!” 

“Don’t forget to say goodbye!” Tomomi called after him, but she was only talking to an empty doorway, the door itself left open and Leonardo’s running footsteps already halfway down the hall. “I wish I could bottle up some of that energy and keep it for a rainy day,” she said lightheartedly, getting up to close the door herself.

“I know what you mean,” Splinter said, fully sincere.  

“We really don’t have a lot for you to sign here, since the Chamber has already processed the lion’s share of the paperwork, and he’s rightfully yours to begin with,” Tomomi explained. “I just need you to hear a few things.” 

Splinter nodded, giving her his complete, undivided attention for the first time since he arrived. She didn’t seem to know what to do with it, flustered as she shuffled through a drawer of file folders.

“Ka—Leonardo,” Tomomi corrected herself again ruefully, “has had a rather hard time. I’ll give you a copy of his file, since he’ll pop back in here at any moment, and I hate to discuss it in front of him, but it’s important for you to fully understand. He’s been handed a lot of disappointments in his life. Please be patient. It might take him a long time to really trust you.”

“Then it’s a good thing we have the rest of our lives,” Splinter said firmly. “Blue could be a crazy man-eating alien for all I care—but if he’s going to terrorize humans, he can do it at home.”

The pangolin yokai laughed. “I’ll quote you on that. I also wanted you to be aware that we had a bit of a scare recently. He used to go into town to practice kendo every evening. A few nights ago, some of the other students decided to run around and cause trouble by the hearth,” her curt tone made it clear what she thought about that, “and started a fire that consumed the house. Leonardo was one of two children trapped inside.” 

“A fire?” Splinter parroted, halfway out of his seat in a second. He thought of the densely populated town down the way, the rows of houses he had passed that were all made of wood and straw and rice paper. Houses that would go up like tinder with a single misplaced spark. 

His baby, in a burning house. 

“He was rescued, and only sustained some minor burns and smoke sickness,” Tomomi was quick to reassure. “We had the boys both seen by a healer first thing. I’m letting you know because I would want to know, and Leonardo is unlikely to mention it at all.”

For a moment, Splinter could only imagine the horrifying what-if scenario; what if Leonardo hadn’t been rescued? What if Splinter’s dream had come a day too late? What if they had discovered Leonardo had been alive and that they had already lost him a second time? What if they had never discovered him at all, and he had died as a child that everyone believed nobody wanted?

Yoshi, he could almost hear his mother scolding him, clear as day, what good does it do you to think about that? It did not happen. Life is happening now. You will miss it if you don’t pay attention. 

“Yes,” he said belatedly, bobbing his head. “Right. Anything at all you feel is important, please tell me.”

They only had ten or so minutes to talk before Blue came back at top speed. Along the way he had collected that little otter yokai, as well as a fluffy owl in a pink yukata and a lizard whose green scales shimmered into a dull yellow as Splinter watched. 

“Koko’s leaving again?” the lizard demanded. “Is Ren gonna get that whole room to himself now? That’s not fair.”

“Shut up,” the owl said to her sharply, then turned to ask, “Is he really leaving, Miss Toto?”

“I’m afraid so, Susumu,” the matron said. “Have you all said your goodbyes, darlings?”

The question caused the otter child to burst into tears instantly. Leonardo was quick to drop his bag, shove Splinter’s phone into the pocket of his shorts, and scoop his little foster sibling’s face up in his hands. 

“Renren, don’t cry! How am I supposed to be brave if the bravest person I know is crying, huh?”

“I’m not crying,” the otter sobbed miserably, “I’m just, just so happy for you!”

“Great, I won’t even have to miss you, because Ren’s gonna keep repeating every single stupid thing he’s ever heard you say,” the owl complained, but she put her winged arms around them both and squeezed. “Bye, Koko. I hope these are your people for real this time.”

“Thanks, Suzy,” Blue replied, bonking their heads together lightly. “Take care of yourself or I’ll haunt your dreams!”

“Haunt your dreams,” Ren parroted thickly. 

“And if you see Snowy—” Blue added in a quieter voice. 

“I’ll tell him everything, don’t worry,” Susumu said, and hefted Ren away with her when she stepped back into the hall. 

That left the lizard girl, who looked as though she wanted to shrivel into a tiny bug and disappear through the floorboards with the attention of everyone else focused on her. Shoulders hunched, she whacked Leonardo in the shins with her long tail. 

“I think you should start biting people,” she announced.

“Niji,” Tomomi said warningly. 

The lizard lifted her chin, scales shifting from yellow to defiant red. “I mean it. If this new dad is mean just bite the hell out of him. Then he’ll send you back here and no one else will want you and we can age out of the system together and go start a gang.”

“Niji!” 

“Deal,” Blue said, and they shook on it. It was precious. 

Later, when all goodbyes had been made and Blue had been cried on by the pangolin matron and it was finally just the two of them making the journey back into town, Blue looked up at Splinter and said, “I won’t really bite you, Hamato-san. I just wanted to make Niji feel better. She tries to sound mean but she worries a lot.” 

“You have my full permission to take a bite out of any grown-up who tries to hurt you in any way,” Splinter said, smiling at him. He was carrying his child’s bag over his shoulder with one hand, the other clutched tight in both of Blue’s. “And you can call me whatever makes you comfortable, but Hamato-san is a little stuffy, don’t you think? If you don’t want to try ‘dad,’ how about Splinter?”

“Splinter?” Leonardo bounced on his feet. “Is that a code-name? Do you have a secret identity?”

The walk was long, but it went by quickly, peppered by question after question once Blue seemed to realize Splinter did not mind answering them. 

Where do you live? Have you always lived there? What’s California like? What’s New York City like? Do you know lots of humans? Are they nice? Who’s April? Will my brothers like me? 

Splinter answered, and explained, and reassured. Mostly, he listened to Blue’s animated voice that did its best to fill any empty space it found. Blue was not the jaded, angry child that Splinter himself once was, even if he had just as much—if not more—reason to be. But he was not a naïve boy, either. Hope had been all but trained out of him by now, the way it had clearly been trained out of Niji back at the orphanage. It was still there, clinging on with the tips of its fingers, but only just. 

And when Splinter tilted his head back and laughed at the clever joke Blue came up with on the spot, he saw that fragile little hope peeking out at him in the form of a crooked smile, shy and earnest and daring. 

Afternoon had given way to evening by the time they arrived at the edge of town where the cab was waiting. The driver, a skeleton yokai, was a local, and seemed happy to idle there and let the meter run since it was on the City’s dime. 

He glanced up from his sudoku book when Splinter and Blue approached and belted out, “Well, look who it is! Hey, kiddo!” 

“Hi Benny!” Blue shouted back. “¿Cómo estás?”

“Estoy bien, niño. And you’re doing just fine, too, huh? Guess I won’t be giving you many rides anymore. Hopefully this one sticks.”

Despite his flippant tone, the last remark was clearly aimed at Splinter. Splinter, for his part, held his son’s hand a little tighter and tried not to let the implications sting. Blue was so used to being shuttled back and forth that he was on first-name basis with the guy doing the shuttling. Blue had a reputation in this town as being an unwanted, oft-returned orphan. 

Splinter was simultaneously offended by anyone who would deem his precious child an unworthy addition, and endlessly grateful he had not been snatched up before his family had a chance to claim him. 

“This one,” Splinter said, flinty, “will stick.”

The driver muttered something in Spanish that made Blue muffle giggles behind his hand, and Splinter magnanimously decided to ignore that. The two grown-ups affected a playful antagonism for the duration of the hour and a half car ride, bantering back and forth, because anything that made Blue forget himself enough to lean forward against his seatbelt and fill the cab with chatter was worth doing. 

Benny did not let them go after dropping them off until Splinter agreed to bring the children to visit Benny’s cousin’s restaurant in Neo Edo sometime soon. Only then did he lower a bony hand out the driver’s side window so that Blue could bounce forward and bump their fists together.

“Nos vemos, chiquito,” the skeleton cabbie said fondly. “Have a good life, got it? We’ll have problems if you don’t.” 

He pointed warningly at Splinter, letting him know exactly who the problems would be had with.  

“See you, Benny!” Leonardo said. His eyes were wet, but he did not let his bright smile slip an inch. Splinter had worked with professional actors less talented than this nine year old boy. “I’ll be good, promise!”

“You are already good,” Splinter couldn’t help but interject, brushing a hand over the crown of the little turtle’s head. “That’s quite enough of that. Let’s be happy instead.” 

——

Raphael’s initial impression of his newest little brother was that he was very brave. 

He was tiny, not much bigger than Mikey, with bright yellow stripes on his arms and legs, and two big red ones on his face that curved over his cheeks and eyes. Pops carried him into the lair when he first brought Leonardo home, because the tunnels that wound to and around their house were dark and maze-like. Sometimes Raphie got lost in them if he strayed too far and he’d lived there forever. 

Raph remembered thinking how small Leo was, in a huge, confusing place, surrounded by people he had never met before. It would have been overwhelming for anybody, but he didn’t cry at all. He smiled instead, big and silly, like there was nothing in his whole life he needed to be scared of, actually. 

As Raph got to know him, he realized that Leo very rarely wasn’t smiling. 

He was even smiling a little bit as he poked his head through Raphie’s doorway in the middle of the night.  

“Hi,” Leo whispered, even though he could tell Raph was awake. 

He was doing that thing he always did, greeting first and then hanging back to make sure he was welcome. He never just walked into a room or jumped into a conversation. Raph probably wouldn’t have noticed Leo did that if he hadn’t heard Aunt Junie and Pops talking about it a few days ago. 

Raph wiped his eyes on his blanket quickly and tried to sound like he hadn’t been crying. 

“Hi, Leo. C’mere.”

The smaller turtle crossed the room at a run, climbing up into the bed and under the offered comforter. Raph pulled it up over both their heads when he was settled. The dark, warm space beneath the blanket felt the way Raph imagined the inside of his shell would feel if he could hide there. He squeezed Lamby until she glowed from the star on her belly and laid her between them so they had just enough light to see each other by. 

It was a familiar ritual for Raph. It was what he always did for Mikey and Donnie when they sought him out after bedtime. 

“Are you okay?” Leo asked in his quietest voice. 

“I’m okay,” Raph assured him quickly, feeling stupid about the tacky feeling on his cheeks and his puffy eyes. “Don’t worry about Raph.” When Leo’s brow wrinkled, not comprehending why he shouldn’t worry if he felt like it, Raph quickly said, “What about you, buddy? Why are you up?”

He had definitely been asleep when Raph had peeked in on him and Donnie earlier, but that didn’t mean a whole lot. Leo only seemed to sleep for a couple hours at a time. He always dragged his feet at bedtime, as though a good night’s rest was a concept that applied to other turtles, but not to him. If he didn’t share a room with his twin, it would probably be impossible to convince him to go to bed at all. Raph wasn’t looking forward to the contest of wills they’d probably have every single evening once Leo’s bedroom was finished.  

‘Miss Toto says I’m a night owl,’ Leo had announced at breakfast during his first week at home when Pops asked him how he slept. ‘I don’t know what kind of turtle that is.’ 

Mikey giggled, and Donnie said, ‘It’s not a kind of turtle, it’s an idiom.’

Overly-offended, Leo squawked, ‘You can’t just call people idioms!’

The conversation got so silly from there that Pops forgot about asking in the first place. Leo was really good at making people forget they asked questions. But that just made Raph hold onto his questions really tight until he got an answer. Even if it didn’t really matter—he didn’t want Leo thinking he could get away with sneaking around it when it did matter. 

His little brother’s eyes were big and dark in the blanket cave. Sure enough, he didn’t try to weasel out of answering. 

“Sometimes I lived in places where I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I got used to it.” 

“Why couldn’t you?” Raph asked, frowning. 

“In one house it was really noisy,” Leo said easily enough. “The badger family that lived there was crepuscular. That meant they mostly were awake before the sun came out. Just a little bit of noise is enough to wake me up, so I started being crepuscular , too. Only kendo practice and all of my school classes were in the daytime, so it didn’t work out.” 

To Raph, that sounded a lot like Leo wasn’t able to sleep at night and didn’t have time to sleep during the day. He can feel anger stirring deep in his heart, because it wasn’t fair. That badger family got to have Raph’s brother when he should have been here, and they didn’t even take care of him. How hard could it have been to give one little turtle a quiet place to rest? Pops found a quiet place for four of them in New York City.  

He reached around Leo to lay a hand flat on his carapace. The scutes there were hard and smooth, unlike Donnie’s spiny, leathery shell and Raph’s rough spiky one. It was slightly flatter than Mikey’s domed shape, but otherwise entirely familiar. And it was second-nature to rub in slow up-and-down motions, because that’s just what you did with little turtle shells when the little turtles inside couldn’t sleep. 

Leo blinked a couple times, all fast and surprised, as if he’d never had a shell-rub before in his life. Raph hoped that wasn’t true. 

“Why are you up?” Leo asked, never one to be waylaid for long. 

Fair was fair. Raph felt embarrassed about it, but since Leo had answered his question, he said truthfully, “I had a bad dream.”

He was maybe a little bit prepared for Leo to laugh or make fun or—something. But Leo said, “Sorry, Raphie. Bad dreams are the worst. Do you want to talk about it, or talk about something else?”

It sounded very practiced, like he had either said it a lot or heard it a lot before tonight. But it still loosened a tight little fist deep in Raph’s chest somewhere that was clutching really hard to worry. 

Carefully, each word picking its tentative way out, Raphie described the dream he’d had the best he could. It had already faded from memory for the most part. The definite edges were gone and all that was left was the nightmare soup—the dark room and his pounding heart and the loneliness that was big enough to eat him whole if it wanted to. 

“I dreamed I didn’t have anybody,” he mumbled out. “I was all alone. It felt like I’d be alone forever.”

“I had one like that before,” Leo said quietly. “I ran all the way to Snowy’s house to make sure he was there. He let me in through his window and we had a sleepover. Why didn’t you have a sleepover with Donnie or Mikey? You wouldn’t even get in trouble for leaving the house like I did since they’re just right down the hall.” 

“I’m the biggest,” Raph said, the truth of his life that had always been and always would be. “I’m responsible for you bozos. I look after you three, not the other way around.” 

He made sure Leo knew it wasn’t a bad thing, poking him playfully on the end of his beak until he scrunched it up. It wasn’t a bad thing. It was the best thing about being Raph. 

“All by yourself?” Leo asked. “Everybody needs help. Even Jupiter Jim has a sidekick.”

Ever since his siblings had shown him those movies, Leo was a big fan. And it was hard to argue his logic, because Red Fox was a character they all loved beyond reason, and Raph would never dream of saying Jupiter Jim didn’t need her. 

But it was different. 

Raph knew that he could be bossy. He didn’t mean to be. Sometimes it took Donnie crossing his arms and baring his teeth to make Raph realize he’d been nagging. Sometimes he didn’t know until Mikey started shouting that Raph had been talking over him. He really didn’t mean to. 

He just hated not knowing what was going to happen. Every accident and surprise—Donnie wandering out of his room for bandaids when his latest build managed to cut past his gloves, Mikey’s experimental stir fry setting off the smoke alarms, Pops juggling too many things at once and dropping something that shattered on the floor—made Raph feel sick. It made him feel unsafe. 

“I just want to be careful,” Raph managed to force out. “That’s all. I don’t want anything bad to happen. I don’t want it to be my fault. I don’t want to mess up and let you guys down. I don’t wanna be—”

Alone. 

Leo nodded solemnly, his cheek pressed against the pillow. Eyes all big and serious and older than the face they peered out of. 

“You’re the best big brother I’ve ever met,” he said, sounding so certain that Raph was a second too slow to doubt him. “You care so much. You care enough for a hundred turtles. I didn’t know anybody could have a heart that big.”

Raph blinked, feeling fresh tears sting his eyes and slide down his face. Donnie would have frozen in distress, like the whole world stopped spinning when one of his siblings was hurting and Donnie stopped spinning right along with it. Mikey would have jumped in for a sticky octopus-style hug, because there was nothing broken that he couldn’t fix by wrapping his arms around it and holding on tight. 

Leo didn’t freeze and he didn’t jump in. He landed somewhere in the middle of those extremes, shuffling closer and putting his problem-solving face on. He tugged on a corner of the sheets beneath them until enough of the blanket came up that he could use it to wipe Raph’s face free of tears. He did everything so earnestly, as if each tiny moment meant the world to him.  

“But guess what?” he went on. “Everybody cares about you that much, too. I can’t even think of something you could do that would make us not want to see you every single day. If you were ever alone it’d only be ‘cause you got lost, and then we’d just burn the whole city down to find you again. We’d never leave you behind.” 

Leo smiled, not the big shining one. This one was different, lopsided and sweet. Raph had only seen this smile of Leo’s a handful of times and it was already so important to him. 

“You know that in your heart, I think,” Leo said. “You just get stuck in your head, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” Raph whispered, feeling wobbly and see-through. 

“It’s okay, Raphie. I can remind you. Just give half of what you’re worried about to me and we’ll share it. I’m on your team! I’m your sidekick! Nothing’s as scary when you have backup. As long as I’m here you don’t have to be scared of anything.” 

Raph’s words got stuck in his throat. He had no idea what he might have said if they hadn’t. Instead he pulled Leo in snug against his plastron, safe beneath his arm. Lamby ended up smushed between them and her glow turned off. Leo wasn’t afraid of the dark, so it was for Raphie’s sake when he worked the stuffed animal free and squeezed the light in her middle back on. 

Maybe Raph cared enough for a hundred turtles, but Leo was brave enough for a thousand. He wasn’t afraid of anything. 

“Deal. And as long as I’m here,” Raph said, “you can sleep.”

“Raphie, I told you,” Leo complained. “I’m a night-owl-badger-turtle. Can I just play Professor Layton on your DS? I’ll be really quiet.”

But Raph knew all the tricks. He put his hand back on that slim shell and scritched idly along the blue-patterned scutes. Leo’s eyes drooped almost immediately, though his big frown was slower to fade. He was so small and so stubborn and Raphael loved him completely.

“Everything you wanna do tomorrow will still be there when you wake up,” he said, borrowing those words straight from Pops, as well as the fond tone he said them in. His own bad dream was the last thing on his mind. It was easy to smile and add on, “You can sleep. Raph’s not gonna let anyone bother you. I’m on your team, too.”

Leo didn’t reply right away. He leaned back enough to look up at Raph as though he was waiting for him to take it back. When he didn’t, because of course he didn’t, Leo curled his arm tighter around Lamby and tucked his head back under Raph’s chin and didn’t say anything at all. 

Raphael imagined what it would have been like to grow up together—having Leo’s certainty and cleverness in his corner when Raph didn’t know what to do, Leo’s courage and silliness when Raph was scared, Leo’s smile that made the darkness shrink no matter how big and impossible it seemed to be at first. 

Imagining it made Raph’s heart ache. He thought about the future instead, and how they’d live in it together forever, and keep each other safe and make each other brave.

When Leo finally dozed off, Raph was only a few minutes behind him. He didn’t have any more bad dreams.

——

Sometimes Mikey felt like he had to shout to be heard. 

Raph and Donnie were his big brothers, and they were also his best friends and secret-keepers and partners-in-crime, but Mikey was their little brother first. He just wished that wasn’t the only thing he was. 

Donnie liked Mikey’s company and never kicked him out of his room, but Mikey wasn’t allowed to touch anything in there, because Donnie didn’t know how to share. Raphie loved to carry Mikey when he got tired or the stormwater runoff in the tunnels was steep, but he didn’t seem to understand that sometimes Mikey didn’t want to be carried. He could walk just fine on his own! He could outrun all of his siblings, actually, without even breaking a sweat. 

Michelangelo knew that he was loved—he had never wasted a single second wondering about that—and he loved his family so much that he could fill the sky with it the way the sun filled it with light in the summertime. 

But he wasn’t listened to. It would be nice to just be listened to sometimes. 

Today Mikey watched avidly as Leo showed off his cool sword. He had been folded into their afternoon martial arts training seamlessly, like he’d always been there. Dad assessed his skill-level and announced that he was not very far behind the rest of them at all, because he had been training in something he called kenjutsu ever since he was little. 

“You are little, pipsqueak,” Raphie said playfully.

“Everyone’s a pipsqueak to you!” Leo retorted.

Splinter smiled proudly and said, “My Blue. You’ll be unstoppable one day, you know that?” Leo radiated joy at Dad’s approval and threw himself headlong into learning ninjutsu alongside his kendo, eager to do well. So he split his time, and in the last half Leo broke away from his brothers to the other side of the dojo, where he practiced the sword. 

He hadn’t brought much with him when he moved in, but his bokken was his pride and joy. It was made of shiny red wood and the handle was wrapped in bright blue cord and there was a little white rabbit charm dangling from the guard. 

“Last year Snowy’s big sister snuck up to the human world for a senior trip with her friends, and she brought us both souvenirs when she came back,” Leo had explained the charm happily. “Like hush money, only bunny-shaped! So way better.”

Dad snorted, and Leo seemed to grow two inches taller at having made him laugh. 

Unlike everything else he owned, Leonardo didn’t offer the sword out to be held or touched. It wasn’t quite like the way Donnie guarded the things important to him, because Mikey didn’t think Leo would hiss at anybody for getting too close—Leo probably wouldn’t even get mad. But at seven whole years old, Mikey knew a thing or two about hurt feelings. If Leo wasn’t willing to snap at somebody for taking his stuff, Mikey would just have to do it for him. 

An hour into training, Mikey was about to snap for a different reason. 

“Mikey, you’re doing it wrong,” Raph said again. “You keep going too fast.” 

“I know, ” Mikey said back through his teeth. He’d done it a billion times, he knew that. Raph didn’t need to keep saying it. 

“If you know, then do it the right way,” his biggest brother replied, not giving an inch. “I know cartwheels are fun but we’re doing kata now. You can play later.”

Frustration boiled inside him. Mikey knew the right way to do the forms, but he was bored. He wanted to do it faster, he wanted to add a flip or a handstand, something to make it more interesting. He didn’t like training at all sometimes—Donnie was quiet and unenthusiastic, and Raphie was bossy and made them start over until they got it right. It was better when April was there, because April could quell the boringest and bossiest of brothers with a single sharp look and then take Mikey out for froyo, but their sister only joined in on the weekends. 

Leo glanced sidelong at Splinter as he slowly began to lean his bokken up against the wall. When Dad didn’t stop him, he put the sword down quicker, then trotted over to fearlessly interject himself into the middle of the brewing storm. Donnie watched him go with round eyes, always one to remain adamantly on the outside of any confrontation.  

“That was really cool, Mike,” Leo called out, beaming. 

Mikey, who had been clenching his fists and preparing himself for another big brother to gang up on him, blinked. 

“Huh? Really?”

“Yeah, really! I can kind of do a handstand, but I can’t flip all around like that.” He thumped his knuckles on Raph’s carapace as he passed by, but his shining smile was all for Mikey. “Can you teach me?”

“Really?” Mikey said again, and then excitement swooped in before he could be confused for longer than a second. Bouncing on his toes, he exclaimed, “Of course, Lee! I can teach you right now!”

“I still have to learn this tricky ninja stuff first,” Leo said. “Can we do it after training instead?” 

“Sure! I can help you with the kata, too, I’m really good at it,” Mikey said eagerly, falling into line beside him. He demonstrated the proper form carefully, so that his newest big brother could follow along. “Like that, see? You’ll get it! Try with me this time!” 

He didn’t realize he was mimicking the same thing Raphael told him every time he fumbled in the dojo—his mind jumped straight to the first helpful thing he could say and that was it. He also didn’t catch the wink Leo sent at Raph over his head, or the way Raph’s shoulders loosened from where they had been bunched up by his ears, the way they always bunched up before a disagreement. 

When Leo first came home, Aunt Junie had said that they all needed to be patient with each other and give Leo time to adjust. Like when Piebald’s tank water needed to be changed and they had to do it a little bit at a time, because even a whole bunch of good, fresh and clean water would be bad for her all at once. 

Aunt Junie was right about everything, but maybe she just didn’t know Leo well enough yet. Maybe Leo wasn’t like Piebald at all, and jumping straight into a brand new tank was actually the best thing for him. 

Because Leo seemed so happy to be there, always smiling and in a good mood. Teasing Donnie like he knew exactly where to poke to elicit playful snaps instead of vicious ones—talking Raph’s ear off about the Disney movies their big brother watched with him and singing along once he knew the words—forming inside jokes and super-complicated extended handshakes with April within minutes of meeting her—following gamely wherever Mikey tugged him along to like he couldn’t wait to be a part of the fun. 

The immediate problem was that Donnie, Raph and April loved Leo just as much as Mikey did, and they all wanted to spend time with him, too. But they didn’t always want to spend that time doing the same things. That afternoon, it became an issue.  

“Me and Leo always watch a movie after lunch,” Raphie was saying, brow knit stubbornly. 

“Yeah, so let him do something else for a change,” April replied, poking Raph in the shoulder with the corner of her bedazzled phone case. “I told him about Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh and he wanted to read it. I downloaded the audiobook for us to listen to.”

“Can’t you do that later?”

“We’re building something,” Donnie bit out, impatient enough to speak up instead of just slinking away on his own. 

For his part, Mikey tugged on Leo’s sleeve. “Leeeee, color with meeee.”

Leo didn’t say anything to any of them. He seemed to be frozen in place by all their noise.

Once, when Mikey was way littler than he was now, Dad found a baby bird that had been swept through a grate into the tunnel during a heavy rain. He let Mikey hold it after Mikey promised he’d be careful. They emailed a video of the bird to a wildlife rescue person they found online who said that it looked about three weeks old, and had probably only just left the nest when it hurt its wing. It was a quivering palm-sized ball of brown feathers and beady eyes. Mikey could feel its frantic heartbeat in his hands. It didn’t look big enough to have left its nest. It was hard to believe anything that small could just be on its own in the world. 

Right now Leo reminded Mikey of that bird. His smile had faded to almost nothing, eyes round and worried under their bright red stripes. The longer the arguing went on around him the bigger and more worried his eyes got. 

Then Dad said, “ Enough.”

He had his disappointed frown on as he strode in from the kitchen, sleeves still rolled up from washing the dishes in the sink. He didn’t miss a beat in lifting Leo up into his arms.

“What did your Aunt June tell you all?” Dad said sternly. He included April in his pointed look, even though Aunt Junie was mom to her. “If the four of you can learn to share pizza and video games without killing each other, surely you can learn to share your brother’s time.”

They all shuffled, feeling scolded, and April was the one who said, “Sorry, Leon.”

“It’s okay!” Leo said immediately, smiling brightly at her. But he was still clutching Dad’s shirt with both hands and wasn’t squirming to get down even a little bit. It made Mikey feel bad all the way to the bottom of his stomach. 

“Why don’t you let Blue decide what he wants to do this afternoon?” Splinter suggested in that tone that made it obvious it wasn’t actually a suggestion. 

“Yeah, Leo, you should pick!” Mikey said right away. 

Leo hummed, looking much more like his normal self than he did a moment ago, but he still had one fist bunched in Splinter’s sleeve. Very, very carefully, like he was afraid it wasn’t the right thing to say, Leo offered, “Raphie, you said you’d show me how to skate. Can we?”

“Sure, big man, that sounds fun!” Raph said, all fast. He came over and put out his hands, and when Leo reached back, Splinter allowed the snapper to take him. Raph tossed Leo in the air and caught him again, surprising a squeaky noise out of him that became a giggle. The mood in the lair shifted back towards bright, like magic. “You’re gonna be skating circles around me in no time, Fearless.”

“I wanna watch!” Mikey shouted gleefully. And even though Donnie hated sports, he settled next to Mikey to watch, too, close enough that their shoulders bumped. When Mikey swayed playfully to the side, it made Donnie sway, too. 

April rolled her eyes, like it was very typical of one of her little brothers to want to waste the afternoon skateboarding, but she insisted upon getting pictures of Leo all kitted out in borrowed helmet and knee- and elbow-pads, in poses that got sillier and sillier by the second.  

The afternoon raced by like it had somewhere important to be, punctuated by the rolling and click-clacking of skateboard wheels on the wooden ramp. Leo learned to ollie and shuvit, picking up speed and gaining confidence as he went, but he also learned a lesson the rest of his siblings had learned years and years ago. 

He learned to trust Raph’s hands to catch him. He learned not to be scared of falling because Raph would always catch him. 

In no time at all, Leo’s laughter was bursting out of him in bright, ringing peals. It was easy to forget, just for a minute, that he hadn’t been right there with them all along.  

Mikey felt like there was a sun inside him, he was so happy. He didn’t know what to do with all of it, where he could possibly hold it. So he did what he always did when he felt too much. He popped inside his shell. 

From outside, there was an instant clatter and a thud, the fast-rolling sound of a loose skateboard shooting away, and April calling out, “Woah, Leo, are you—”

Then Mikey felt the familiar sensation of being picked up. His shell was compact and the perfect size for other little turtles to hold. Mikey felt warm and snug, and loved to be held, so he just curled up happily like a cat in a box. 

Outside, he heard them talking.

“He didn’t mean to!” Leo said, so fast it was all a jumble of words bumping into themselves. 

“Who didn’t—Mikey?” Raph said. “‘Course he did, he does that all the time.”

“No, he—he’s good, he doesn’t—” Leo sounded alarmingly like he was going to start crying—something Mikey hadn’t even known it was possible for him to do. “Please don’t let him get in trouble, he’s good. He’ll be good.”

“Of course he is good,” Splinter said, his voice coming closer from where he had been keeping an eye on them from the sofa. He sounded the way he did when Mikey or one of his brothers was sick, worry and love all twisted together. “All of my babies are good. Even when they are dissecting kitchen appliances or flooding the bathroom or sneaking the last donut out of the box that I had been saving, April.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” April said unconvincingly. “What’s a donut?”

“Mmm-hm. That crazy little citrus fruit you are holding is not in trouble, Baby Blue,” Splinter added. 

“Why would he be in trouble?” Raph asked, sounding like something was hurting him. 

“Sorry! I had different rules before,” Leo replied. The arms holding Mikey’s shell were tight, and he could hear the heart he was being held against racing, quick and frantic thump-thump-thumps. “I’m really sorry!”

“No one needs to be sorry,” Splinter told him gently. “No one has done anything wrong. And for future reference, in case you are confused, you will never be punished for hiding inside your shell. You are a turtle, and it is an important part of you. Would you scold a caterpillar for spinning a cocoon?”

“No,” Leo whispered. 

“There you are.”

There was a beat of silence, heavy and thick. Mikey wanted to come out and look around but he thought that if he interrupted the conversation they would start to talk about something else. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Leo finally said. “I was only there for a little bit, the house where they—so it wasn’t that bad.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Donnie said in a loud voice. He said it like ‘judge’ meant ‘monster who bites people until they die,’ even though Mikey was pretty sure it didn’t.

It surprised Mikey at first when Donnie started interjecting loudly at things, because he never used to do that. His jokes were always ones slid in under his breath, and his smile when they made Mikey laugh would be quick and sideways and half-hidden in the collar of his bulky hoodie. 

Now he didn’t hide near as much as he used to, and was a lot less secretive about things he wanted his brothers to hear. Mikey thought that maybe he had wanted to be close to them all along, he just didn’t know how to get there. There wasn’t a bridge between where they were at and the island he ended up on. Then his twin came along. 

Aunt Junie called Leo an instigator. She said it laughingly, and told him he was just what this family needed. She was, after all, right about everything. 

“We’ll discuss it later,” Splinter said. He came closer, and Mikey’s stomach swooped as he was lifted up higher from the floor than he already was—Dad must have picked Leo up again, and Leo was still holding Mikey. “Come here, my little turtles. Ah-ah, you are not getting out of this, O’Neil. In fact, you must hug twice as hard so that your mother is here in spirit.”

Silliness was the best medicine. No gloomy mood could outlast six people cramming together for a big group hug. Raph tripped on the skateboard and almost toppled everyone over and the sudden lurch made Leo giggle. Mikey came out of his shell to join the embrace, managing to get one arm around Leo and the other around Donnie and squeezing for all he was worth. 

Mikey and his brothers kept close to each other even after Splinter left to take April home. A pillow fort was constructed in the TV room and they turtle-piled in there with all the best blankets and stuffed animals and snacks. Leo was quieter than usual and sat tucked against Donnie’s side, like he was absorbing his twin’s strength and stubbornness since his own had run out. 

“Hey, Leo?” Mikey asked, when the movie Bolt was over and Raph was snoring and Donnie was a tiny ball tucked under the snapper’s sprawled arm. Mikey knew that Leo would still be awake.

Sure enough, Leo said, “Yeah?” 

“Why don’t you cry when you’re sad?”

For a little while, the only sound besides Raph’s honking snores was the song playing on TV as the credits rolled. I made a wish upon a star, I turned around, and there you were, the song went. 

“People don’t like kids who cry,” Leo finally said. “No one will want me if I don’t behave.”

Mikey blinked, turning his head to find Leo’s face in the dark. His heart was twisting around unhappily in his chest. It hurt. 

“Raph cries all the time but we still want him,” Mikey said. “He’s Raph.”

“Yeah, of course,” Leo said quickly.

“And I cry, too,” Mikey added, the hurt moving up into his throat. “People want me.”

“Because you’re the best, Angie,” Leo told him. “You guys are the best.”

“Whoever told you that stuff before lied,” Mikey said, clinging to his hand. “They lied. You’re my Leo, and you belong here, and we want you. Don’t ever leave us no matter what. Okay?”

Leo nodded, short and punchy. He was shivering like he was cold. Mikey scooted over so he could curl into Leo’s side, because he was a lot of things, but he was a little brother first. And sometimes—when that meant that he was always welcome, and arms would always open for him, and he could snuggle in and be held tight no matter what—that was the best first thing to be. 

“Promise?” he checked.

Leo turned his face, so he could press his cheek to the top of Mikey’s head, and whispered, “Promise.”

The thing Mikey remembered the most vividly about that injured bird they once found was how restless it had been. How ready to fly it was. All it needed was room to get better and grow a little more. A safe place to land. 

‘Look at this guy,’ Dad had said the morning they released it, smiling at the eager noises happening in the shoebox in his hands, ‘ready to leave us in the dust.’ 

‘Will he come back?’ Raphie asked.

‘I don’t think so, my dear. This isn’t his home.’

It was Leo’s home, though. His place to come back to. They just had to keep showing him that they’d catch him. It wasn’t scary to fall down here, because someone would always catch him.  

——

A true photographic memory had never been proven, but Donatello was a scientific marvel in more ways than just the obvious. He remembered everything he had ever seen. The farther back his memories went the less clarity they retained, until they were mostly just emotion given body and movement—but they still were.

When Donnie, Mikey and Raphie found the shrine in Papa’s room, and Papa sat them all down to explain that they used to have another brother, who couldn’t be with them anymore, Donnie suddenly remembered a steady weight on his shell. He remembered not being able to settle for bed unless the weight was there, clicking and purring until they both drifted off to sleep. 

Oh, he thought, we’re orphans. 

The thought didn’t make sense, because Donnie knew what the definition of orphan was, and their parent hadn’t died. He had never abandoned them. He was, at that moment, gently wiping tears off Raphie’s face and trying to come up with answers for Mikey’s endless questions that didn’t all boil down to life is unfair. 

But it was the only word that felt weighty enough for the truth of it all. 

Donnie was a brother who had lost a brother. A twin who wasn’t a twin anymore. There wasn’t a word for that. He looked it up. 

And then, when Donnie was eight years old, he didn’t need a word for it anymore. 

When he had imagined Leonardo growing up, he imagined someone who was just like him in every way. Someone who understood him effortlessly because they were two halves of a whole. Ten minutes after meeting him again, Donatello felt silly about his initial hypothesis. 

Of course his twin would be his polar opposite—they filled in each other’s empty spaces. Leonardo, who was friendly and talkative, spoke up when Donnie’s voice failed him; Donatello, who was observant and defiant, had no trouble baring his teeth at every hurt that Leonardo would have let roll off his back. 

Leonardo lied with every inch of his body and he did it cheerfully; Donnie would always default to the truth even if a lie would have been kinder. Donnie wanted so badly to be close to his brothers but didn’t always know how to get there, a closed door standing between them that he didn’t have a key to; Leonardo had never met a locked door he couldn’t circumvent and pointed out a neat shortcut here, a handy window there. 

Leo took Donnie’s hand and led the way forward; Donnie held on tight and made sure Leo didn’t stumble, since he was always looking up and never down. 

They found each other in the middle. Maybe if they’d had that middle place all along, Donnie would be able to communicate better, and Leo wouldn’t need to pretend so much. Maybe that’s still the way things would be one day. Donnie imagined a drawing of them, purple leaking past his lines and blue leaking out of Leo, like Mikey’s watercolors mixing on the page, spreading until they filled every gap, completing the picture.

All four turtles were in the dojo, doing cool-down stretches. Mikey had skipped the post-exercise routine and moved on to rolling around on his carapace instead, singing Fireflies to himself with twice as much energy as Owl City. Raph just rolled his eyes and made sure to step around and over his littlest brother as he cleaned up. 

Splinter, who had been checking his phone repeatedly all afternoon, stood up swiftly and said, “You boys stay here and finish up. I think we’ll order in for supper today, so agree on something or I will order the worst soup you can think of. ”

Mikey stopped rolling and sat up with a horrified gasp, because he had opinions about soup. 

“Manhattan Clam Chowder!” 

Ignoring that, Splinter said, “I will be right back.”

Donnie watched Leo watch him go, and knew that his twin’s mind was racing even though his breezy smile hadn’t budged an inch. Leo worried constantly, maybe even more than Raphie did. He was always buzzing with what-ifs, like his brain was a jar filled with angry bees—what if he did something wrong? What if he made someone mad? What if he was too noisy, took too much at supper, didn’t help enough with chores, what if, what if, what if? 

Donnie knew, because sometimes Leo told him. After bedtime, when they had to whisper so Splinter’s keen ears wouldn’t catch them staying up late, sometimes Leo would ask, “Did I mess up today?” 

And Donnie would have to jerk his thoughts onto this new track—this crooked, narrow road that Leo was always running on, with its confusing roundabouts and bridges to nowhere and unpayable tolls. 

He wanted to say that Leo could mess up a billion times and still never reach the end of Donnie’s love. Like how the unobservable universe was so big that light from the Big Bang still hadn’t reached Earth from over there. It was as big as that. 

But Donnie struggled with words even when they weren’t monumentally important ones. And Leo’s face would look so afraid in the dim light of the glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling, those constellations in Leo’s new room that matched the ones in Donnie’s down to the last star. He would be convinced that this was the day he did something bad enough that Papa sent him away. It didn’t matter that that would never happen, because even impossible things could be scary.  

So instead of what he wanted to say, Donnie would tell him, “You were good.” 

It would always make his brother smile and sink into the pillow, like all that worry was the only thing propping him up. Then they would talk about a hundred other things until they forgot to whisper, and Papa or Raph inevitably found them out and carted a giggling Leo or an unrepentant Donnie off to his own room. 

One day, Donnie was determined to make it stick. Even if Leonardo was the worst person in the whole world, he would still be Donatello’s person. That made him the best. It was unquantifiable. No one was a better subject matter expert than Donnie was. He’d stake the scientific reputation he didn’t have yet on it in a heartbeat. 

For now, he nudged Leo’s knee with his foot. 

“Hey,” Donnie said, “let’s be ninjas.”

Leo’s smile turned into the grin that Donnie preferred, the crooked laughing one. He only cared about good behavior when he thought he was being graded on it. Otherwise he was the first to encourage sneakiness, because if there was one thing Leonardo believed in, it was having all the information available all the time. 

Donnie knew that was how Leo kept himself safe in those other places he lived in before he came home, those places he didn’t like to talk about. The ones that taught him not to cry when he was sad and not to hide in his shell when he was scared. 

If there was one thing Donatello believed in, it was that Leo should feel safe, even if that meant breaking a rule or two or a hundred. 

“Where do you two think you’re going?” Raphie said suspiciously before they’d made it more than two steps. “Pops said to stay here.”

“Or else we’ll get gross soup,” Mikey piped up. “Instead of really good soup, like creamy chicken chili. Or minestrone!”

“Angie, it’s too hot outside for soup,” Leo said patiently, verbally dodge-rolling Raph’s question by humoring Mikey. “If we ordered a bunch of soup the delivery person would cry. You don’t want taco salad in a tortilla bowl? Or an Italian hero with extra pickled cherry peppers?”

Reminded of the whole wide world of food delivery possibilities, Mikey started rattling off all of his favorite meals without pausing for inconsequential things like air. Raph sighed, because it instantly became twenty times harder to agree on supper. Leo beamed up at him, like he didn’t just do that on purpose.

Donnie knew an opening when he saw one and slipped out of the dojo first, following the sound of Splinter’s voice to the front of the lair. 

“...haven’t told him you were coming. I did not want to give him a reason to be anxious all day,” Papa was saying, sounding anxious himself. “He’s so prone to worry, it just eats him up. I thought once you arrived, I would go back in and let him know you were here, and we’d—get it rolling fast, get him all swept up, so he didn’t have a chance to be afraid.”

“Dad knows best,” an unfamiliar voice said kindly. 

It made Donnie’s spine go straight, all of his attention sharpening to a point at this sudden proof of a stranger in his home talking about his twin. He inched forward on silent feet to peer around the corner. 

A big creature stood with Splinter, a few inches taller than him and covered from nose to tail in large overlapping scales. She had a curved spine that created a hunched-forward posture and a long narrow head similar to an anteater’s. With the big tote bag hanging off her arm and the green sundress she was wearing, she looked like an animal librarian straight out of one of Mikey’s chapter books. 

She didn’t seem dangerous. But Donatello watched her with narrowed eyes and wished he hadn’t left his bo behind in the dojo. 

“As for moving,” Splinter was saying, “I am still uncertain. My boys would be able to—to go to school, and make friends, and play in the sun. That would mean the world to me. But the house in Neo Edo needs a lot of work, and the Hidden Cities are dangerous, too. For a multitude of reasons.” 

“And you have family here in New York, as well,” the stranger said, her tone understanding. “It is a lot to consider. You haven’t brought up the possibility to the children yet?”

“I haven’t. Blue’s life has been in upheaval enough as it is. I wanted him to have more of a chance to get settled. Besides, it is not a decision that needs to be made right away. We can discuss it as a family and decide together.”

“Of course, Hamato-san,” the stranger said warmly. “These follow-up assessments are mandatory, and, I’ll admit, an excuse for me to visit with my little ones again. But there isn’t a doubt in my mind that you’re doing right by him.” 

Donnie let go of his suspicion just long enough to wonder about the possibility of moving away from New York City. He wouldn’t want to be apart from April and Aunt June for any extra amount of time. But it sounded like he would be able to go to school in that Neo Edo place and he would like that a lot. 

“Here I am,” Leo’s voice said in a whisper as he stepped up beside Donnie. He was holding his bokken across his shoulder, probably because he wouldn’t have had a chance to store it properly and come listen in on Papa’s conversation without Raphie catching him again. “What’d I miss?”

But he was already looking around the corner for himself, and that smiling expression he was wearing changed in a heartbeat to something pale and shocked. His arms fell to his sides. 

“Miss Toto? Why is she here?”

His voice was too loud. Both adults glanced over at where Donnie and Leo were standing, and Donnie felt caught. But Leo took a couple quick steps closer, dragging his sword behind him like he didn’t care at all that the shiny finish might get scuffed on the concrete. 

Papa looked pale himself somehow. “Blue—”

“Am I going back?” Leo said, getting louder. “Are you giving me back? Why? What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything,” the stranger said, hands clutched tight in front of her chest. Her eyes were wide. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” 

“No, you said!” Leo shouted at Splinter. “You said, you said you wouldn’t, you said I could stay, you said I was good! I was good, I was! I did everything I’m supposed to!” 

“Baby, I would never send you away, ” Splinter said, arms open to scoop him up, but Leo stumbled backwards out of reach. Leo couldn’t hear him or anybody else, heaving in frantic gulping breaths. 

The sword in his hand started to glow, as if a light had turned on inside it and was shining through patterns carved up and down its length, even though the whole thing was solid wood and didn’t have any carvings a light could shine out of. The shine got brighter and bluer until Donnie had to squeeze his eyes closed against the glare. 

When he opened them again Leo was gone, but the light was left right where he’d been standing—a perfect circle cut out of thin air, the color of the sky in summertime. It was humming, the way things with an electrical charge hummed, and spinning as playfully as a pinwheel.

“Oh, my spirits,” Miss Toto breathed. 

“Did he just,” Splinter croaked out. 

Of course, Donnie thought, finally solving that big puzzle in the back of his mind.  

Donatello was the first of Leo’s siblings to notice the healed burns on his hands, if the others had noticed them at all. Faint discolorations, smoother than the rest of his textured skin. They didn’t seem to hurt anymore but Donnie worried about them anyway. 

He had gone straight to Splinter with his observations, hovering at the other side of the kitchen table waiting to be acknowledged; but Splinter had been too engrossed in the contents of a folder to notice the round eyes level with the tabletop staring unblinkingly at him, like a fox stalking a bird.

‘Papa,’ he said. Splinter jolted in his seat, slopping tea over the rim of his mug.  

‘Holy—Purple! You will give me a heart attack one day, and then who will feed you?’ He closed the folder and turned his chair, and Donnie trotted around to his side. ‘What’s up, buttercup?’

‘Leo burned his hands,’ Donnie said.  

Splinter’s face did something funny, and he asked quickly, ‘Did he hurt himself just now?’ 

‘No. They were there already. How?’ 

‘Ah. How did it happen?’ he clarified. Donnie nodded, and Splinter weighed his words for a moment before he said, ‘A few days before he came to live with us, the house where Blue took his kendo lessons caught on fire. But someone rescued him—plucked him and his friend right out of danger and left them safe in a basket of clean blankets. We are all very lucky.’ 

Donnie had shivered, and bonked his forehead against Splinter’s arm so his father knew to wrap him up in a tight hug until the shivering stopped. He didn’t want to think about Leo trapped in a fire, so instead he thought about the person who had rescued him. 

‘Who?’ he asked when he could manage it.

‘Who saved them? No one seems to know,’ Splinter said. ‘The boys only remembered a blue light.’ 

Leo saved himself, Donatello realized now. He always saved himself. It was the only thing that made sense. The proof was right in front of them, burning like a star in the living room. 

But now the edges of the circle were wobbling, and then compressing, the whole thing beginning to shrink. A door closing, with his twin on the other side. 

Donatello didn’t need to think about it. He heard a cut-off gasp from the scaly anteater, and Papa yelled “Purple!” but he was already running. He ducked his head to clear the top arc and hopped over the bottom, disappearing neatly through the blue seconds before it dwindled into nothing. 

In just one step, he had gone from the lair under New York to a big open countryside. He’d never seen so much greenery in his life. It was cooler here, and quieter—even with the rush of the river nearby, it was easily half the average decibel level of Manhattan. He could smell fish and sesame oil and salt, a hint of smoke, damp wood—town must have been behind him. Ahead of him, the footpath he was standing on winded away toward the water.

Donnie headed forward. There was a big house up the hill to his left and he could hear other children there. But the door hadn’t taken him to the house. It had led him here, trudging through mud and weeds along the bank, until he rounded the bend and found exactly who he was looking for. 

On the opposite shore, Leo was hiding under a rocky outcrop, where the stones of a towering cliffside formed a secret alcove. Sunken boulders in the water created a natural ford where Donnie could cross and he plunged right in. 

Leo must have heard him coming, but he stayed curled up small. He was crying so hard his face was red and his eyes were squeezed shut, which made Donnie’s eyes sting, too. He hated when his siblings cried. He hated not knowing how to fix it. One day he’d invent a solution for everything that hurt them.

Until then, he’d crawl into this muddy hole, and scratch his knees and palms on the rocks, and put his arms around his twin. It was the right thing to do because it was what Raphie and Mikey would do. It made Leo cry even harder, and that hurt Donnie’s heart more than anything else in his whole life ever had, but he just held on tight.  He’d be one of those stones that the river crashed against. Nothing would move him until he decided to move. 

When Leo quieted into hiccups and wet-sounding sniffles, Donnie thought it was safe enough to let go of him with one hand. He used the other to wipe Leo’s puffy face with the balled-up end of his purple sleeve. 

“Don’t leave again,” Donnie said. “You promised Mikey.”

“I don’t want to,” Leo choked out. “But they—” 

“That anteater wasn’t there to take you away,” Donnie told him matter-of-factly. “Otherwise Papa would have caused a scene. She was just there to visit. It sounds like we have a house around here somewhere, and Papa is thinking about moving. But he hasn’t decided yet. If we did move, you’d come, too.” 

Leo pulled back to stare at him, all dirty and wet and miserable. After a moment, he mumbled, “Miss Toto is a pangolin. Anteaters don’t have scales. You’re dumb.”

“You’re dumb,” Donnie replied, heart lifting like a balloon at Leo sounding more like Leo. “Papa will never let anyone take you away. You don’t have to be good all the time.” His twin’s eyes fell down to look at the muddy stones between them. He didn’t say anything, but Donnie could tell he didn’t believe it yet. So Donnie presented the facts: “Raph is bossy and acts like he’s right even when he’s wrong. Mikey never does what he’s supposed to and makes huge messes with his paints and cries when he gets in trouble. And I’m mean. And I bite. But Papa loves us, even when he says we make him want to tear his hair out. And he loves you.”

“How do you know?” Leo asked, like he’d like to be convinced, but he was still clutching at his old truths instead of this new one. 

“Because I know everything,” Donnie told him plainly. “I’m smarter than you and the older twin so you have to listen to me.” 

Leo made a quiet noise somewhere between crying and laughing. His eyes were gold like Donnie’s. Would that ever stop being amazing? Probably not. Here was Donnie’s other half, the most important part of his heart, back where he belonged. He really was dumb if he thought Donnie was ever going to lose him again.  

They walked hand in hand to the house on the hill, which turned out to be the orphanage where Leo used to live. A few of the kids in the yard gave them strange looks, but Leo didn’t stop to say hi to any of them, which told Donnie everything he needed to know. 

A boy with amphibian features stepped right in their way. He had big protruding eyes and webbed hands and a round, flat head. His mouth stretched from ear to ear when he opened it to call out, “Back already, Lucky?” 

It caused a twitch to pass through Leo’s whole body, not a flinch but not not a flinch, either. He smiled back automatically, and Donnie knew he was about to play along with whatever mean joke was being played on him, because Leo was smart and always knew what the quickest way out of a bad place was. 

But Donnie was smart, too. And he didn’t care about getting out as much as he cared about getting results.

He stopped in his tracks and twisted his head around on his neck in the way that always freaked April out. She said it made him look like an alien from a horror movie, so naturally Donnie practiced it in the mirror a bunch of times. 

He’d never had the chance to use it on anyone else until now. He was pleased with the way it made everyone in the yard stand really still. 

“You know turtles eat frogs, right?” Donnie said. “I heard they taste good with ginger and scallions.”

Heard from his baby brother who had an unhealthy obsession with the Food Network, anyway. 

The frog boy shut right up, his throat ballooning defensively—prey instinct to make himself a more difficult meal. 

“It was nice to see you guys,” Leo said brightly to the terrorized crowd of his former foster siblings, circling behind Donnie and pushing him bodily into the house. Once the door was closed behind them, he added, “They all think you’re an oni now! It was just a nickname, Tello.”

“Good,” Donnie said, smug. “And it’s not just a nickname if you hate it, Nardo.”

Leo took his hand again and led him down the hall. There was a landline phone in the matron’s office that they could use to call Papa. It seemed like a majority of the kids were out of the house, making the most of the sunny day, because they didn’t run into anyone else.

“It’s ‘cause I’m bad luck,” Leo said suddenly. “Turtles—you know, in the stories—they’re good. Since I kept coming back to the orphanage, the older kids started saying it’s ‘cause my luck got messed up. That’s why they call me that.”

“You’re not bad luck,” Donnie said, wishing he’d taken a good bite out of that frog kid after all. “You’re the luckiest thing that ever happened to me and Mikey and Raph and April and Papa and Aunt June. That’s a lot of luck for one turtle and you saved all of it for us. But if you don’t like that name I won’t let anyone call you that anymore.”

Leo hesitated long enough that Donnie knew he was about to do something very brave, like tell the truth, even though a lie would be safer. 

Sure enough, he said, “I don’t like it.” 

Donnie nodded. He’d make sure their brothers and sister knew, too.  

The door slammed open again behind them. Donnie turned around, ready to pick another fight with another stupid bully and maybe show off his sharp canines this time, but the kid who appeared in the hallway wasn’t one of the ones they’d passed by in the yard. 

It was a white rabbit with long ears tied in a topknot. He had a bokken strapped to his back, glossy black where Leo’s was cherry red, handle wrapped in gray cord instead of blue. The rabbit was completely out of breath, bracing himself with a hand against the wall while his shoulders heaved, and he stared straight at Donnie’s brother like Leo would disappear into thin air if he so much as blinked.

“I saw the blue light and ran all the way here,” he huffed. “Give me your hand.”

Donnie bristled at this stranger telling his twin what to do, but Leo’s face was pure sunshine. He shoved his hand out immediately and the rabbit took it, neither of them bothering with so much as a hello. Uncapping a marker with his teeth, the rabbit scrawled something on the inside of Leo’s palm. 

“This is my new phone number,” he said, not letting go of Leo’s hand even when he was done writing and the marker was put away. “When you didn’t call at our usual time,  Auntie asked if you even knew her number, and I realized you only had the number for our house that burned down. And when I called here, Miss Toto said I’d just missed you. And Suzy said you got adopted for real and went to live in New York and weren’t coming back.” 

His eyes were big and wet and his mouth was wobbling, but he stubbornly wasn’t crying. From this close, Donnie could see the charm dangling from the guard of his wooden sword—a little blue turtle. 

“Don’t ever disappear again, Stripes,” the rabbit said. “We promised to stick together forever.”

“Forever, Snowy,” Leo told him, in his voice that meant he meant it. “I always come back.”

It wasn’t until Donatello and the rabbit were sitting in the den, watching two tiny sheep yokai kill each other for their turn on an ancient Nintendo 64 while Leo used the corded landline in the office, that introductions were made. 

“Who are you?” Donnie demanded bluntly. He’d heard enough about ‘Snowy’ that he could probably write the guy’s biography if he had to, but somehow Leo had never mentioned his best friend’s actual name. 

“Usagi Yuichi,” the rabbit replied. He hesitated, sizing Donatello up, then asked, “Are you his family? His actual one?”

“I’m his twin,” Donnie said, feeling prickly and overprotective. He’d only had Leo for thirty-two days and he would defend his spot in Leo’s life with violence if the situation called for it. “He has a big brother and a little brother at home, too. He doesn’t need any more than that.” So there, he thought. 

To his credit, Yuichi got the gist of Donnie’s bottom line quickly. Instead of any of the reactions Donnie was waiting for, Yuichi wrinkled his nose.

“Yuck, I don’t want to be his brother. I’m going to marry him someday.”

Donnie considered that carefully, and decided it was acceptable. They shook on it then quickly jumped apart when Leo wandered back into the room. He collapsed on the sofa between them with a gusty sigh.  

“I think we’re grounded,” he said. “But everyone was shouting too much for me to be sure. They’re coming to get us now. Splinter said stay in this exact spot and wait for him or he’ll have a conniption. What’s a conniption?”

“It means he’ll cry a lot,” Donnie replied. 

“I don’t know how to get to New York,” Yuichi piped up, frowning. “Nee-chan says it’s really big, too. How am I supposed to visit?”

Leo slid his bokken from his belt and laid it across his lap. There wasn’t a single etching or carving on it anywhere, the glossy lacquered finish completely unbroken. If Donnie hadn’t seen those strange glowing runes for himself earlier, he’d have a hard time believing in them now. 

“When I really need to go somewhere, a door opens,” Leo said. “It happened when your house burned up, Snow. We were trapped inside but I got us out. I’ve never done it on purpose before but I think I could. Maybe.”

“Not by yourself,” Donnie said immediately. He didn’t want Leo to get the wrong idea that his family would let him go traipsing off through magic windows all alone. “Or Papa really will have a conniption.”

Leo smiled down at his hands, that crooked, happy smile. He didn’t say anything, which Donnie knew meant he still didn’t believe it all the way yet, but he would someday. He was too smart not to. 

When Splinter arrived nearly two hours later, Donnie didn’t notice him at first. He and Leo were busy conducting experiments, since they had a magical sword on hand and some time to kill. They had collected a bit of a crowd at that point, Leo’s actual friends clustered around him—including a tiny otter who made it abundantly clear why Leo was a professional Mikey-wrangler within seconds of meeting the kid—as he tried to make his bokken glow again. 

“It’s not gonna work,” Niji said with absolute authority. Her scales were teal for now and she kept hitting Leo’s foot with her tail to be annoying on purpose. “Or it would’ve worked already.”

“Google how many tries it took to invent the lightbulb and get back to me,” Donnie replied without looking up, scribbling notes on the back of an algebra worksheet he stole from a bookbag lying on the floor nearby. The lizard girl hissed at him and he hissed right back. 

“Your brother’s mean,” the tiny otter dangling over Leo’s shoulders said with obvious delight. “He made Midori cry.” 

Midori was, of course, the frog yokai that Donnie had threatened to eat. Word got around quickly it seemed—half the room was keeping a healthy distance from the turtles. Donnie tried not to look smug about it, but he didn’t try very hard. 

“He’s nice to me,” Leo said, squinting in concentration. “I think he only makes bullies cry.”

“Doesn’t Midori make fun of you, Renren?” Yuichi asked, poking the otter’s diamond-shaped nose. 

“Yup!” Ren wriggled happily, getting in everyone’s way, obnoxious and noisy and loved for it. “That’s why Koko’s brother is mean and cool. Next time Midori tries to call me a name, I’ll show him the picture Suzy took of his face all puffed up like a balloon!”

“I shouldn’t encourage this,” the Suzy in question, a fluffy owl named Susumu, said primly. “But Midori is such a jerk. I made like twenty copies of the photo in case Miss Toto finds out.” 

“Then I expect to find twenty copies on my desk before bedtime, young lady,” Miss Toto announced firmly, and a ripple of chaos spread through the room as a dozen kids realized their guardian had come home without warning. Even some of the ones who weren’t actually doing something wrong scattered with the ones who should have been working on chores or homework. 

That’s when Donnie realized Splinter was standing in the doorway, looking like he’d just been watching over them for a little while. 

He waved and said, “Hi, Papa. I found Leo.” 

“Don’t you wave at me,” Splinter snapped. “You are in so much trouble, mister. Jumping face-first into a portal! Who raised you?”

“Is that a trick question? I don’t like those.”

Leo shrugged Ren off his shoulders and stood up fast, shoving both his sword and the otter into Yuichi’s arms. When he faced Splinter, he looked like he wanted to hide inside his shell and live there forever, but he only hunched his shoulders and tucked his chin instead. 

“It was my fault,” he managed to say. “I yelled at you and ran away and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I won’t ever do it again. I’ll be—” 

But by then, Splinter had crossed the room in a few swift strides, and scooped Leo up into his arms the way he’d wanted to back in the lair, and Leo was too startled to speak.

“You can’t just disappear like that, Blue!” Splinter chided fiercely. “Red and Orange are frantic, June keeps forgetting herself and trying to call the police, April just about stormed the Hidden Cities on her own, and I was ready to sell my soul to the nearest witch for another finding spell! It is a whole mess back home!” 

He rubbed his furry cheek on the top of Leo’s head and closed his eyes. It was the closest Donatello had ever seen his father get to tears and it made him feel uneasy. Donnie shoved his notes into Yuichi’s already-full hands and scrambled over to tug at the front of Splinter’s jacket. He was lifted up immediately and Splinter held them both. 

“You are my precious treasures, and I had no idea where you were. Do you have any idea how frightened I was?” Splinter said. 

Donnie watched Leo’s face wobble and scrunch up miserably as he struggled not to cry again. His twin was the only person he’d ever met as stubborn as him.  

“Sorry,” Leo mumbled, “sorry, I’m sorry.” 

Papa’s next breath shuddered out of him. He squeezed them extra tight, and kissed each of their foreheads, and then said, “It’s okay. It’s okay now. We are all going to go home, and have a long talk after this, but it is okay .” He looked right at Leo until Leo nodded slowly. Then he added, “But you’re both grounded until you’re at least thirty! You are never leaving my sight again! If you think I’m joking, you have another thing coming!” 

It was his silly-scolding voice, and it soothed the last of Donnie’s worries. Leo’s worries weren’t gotten rid of so easily, but somehow he managed to have more hope inside him than fear. 

So he was brave enough to lay his head on Splinter’s shoulder and say, “Okay, Papa.” 

That surprised Papa so much he nearly fell over. The tiny yokai children in his path squawked in alarm, and Donatello laughed because the suddenness of the almost-fall made his stomach swoop. 

A moment later, just a second behind, Leonardo laughed, too. 

——

When Leonardo was fourteen years old, he split his time between the yokai world and the human world almost evenly. 

Neo Edo was where their ancestral house was and where they went to school. It was where they had nosey neighbors and block parties and parents night at the junior high, where people recognized Leonardo and his brothers at a glance and collectively referred to them as ‘Yoshi’s boys’.

But there was a part of Leonardo’s heart that belonged to New York City. His portals to the lair always opened up easily, even eagerly, giving the truth of the thing away to anyone who knew what to look for. 

It was home. The first one Leonardo had ever had that he could believe was his to keep. 

“Blue,” Splinter called from the doorway of the living room, pausing on his way through to the kitchen, “what are you doing?” 

Leo, more out of boredom than anything else, was poking Raph in the face while he tried valiantly to read the last chapter of his book, and then looking innocently away every time his big brother leveled a glare at him. 

“Nothing, daddy,” Leo called back in his sweetest voice.

“Orange, what is Blue doing?” Splinter tried next. 

“Invoking the Cain Instinct,” Mikey answered without lifting his eyes from his canvas, three days in on his latest painting and fully in that headspace where time and space didn’t exist and he would only eat if someone physically put a sandwich or something in his free hand. That didn’t stop him from knowing exactly what his brothers were up to at any given point.  

“For what purpose?” Splinter asked.

“Dee went to pick up April from work and the twins are like ninety percent of each other’s impulse control,” Mikey said. “Also Lee is just like that as a person.” 

“That’s true,” Splinter conceded, and stayed to watch the show.  

When Raph finally slammed his book down it was Leo’s cue to gleefully scramble to his feet and run for his life. He shrieked with laughter when he was caught and scooped right off the floor in seconds. 

Raph’s act of revenge was aggressively nuzzling the top of Leo’s head with his cheek, rumbling playful turtle sounds at him that wouldn’t have convinced a single living person that he was actually angry.  

Leo could have hidden in his shell if he wanted to—and no one would yell at him for it, or threaten to crack it open to get him back out, or do anything more than carry it as carefully as they carried Mikey’s until they found a comfy place to put it down—but he didn’t want to. 

Ever since he was a little kid who first crawled under his big brother’s blanket after a nightmare, who first learned to skate while holding onto his big brother’s hands, he knew where he was safe. 

“Is that the sound of Nardo making someone’s life more difficult than it needs to be?” Donnie’s voice rolled drolly from the entrance of the lair. “Note my tone of utter disbelief.”

Leo squirmed around in Raph’s arms until he could free one hand and make a grabby motion toward the sound of his twin. Even if he couldn’t see him, he could smell him, and Donnie had definitely come home with Starbucks. 

“I’m rolling my eyes,” Donnie said, but he crossed the room and put an iced coffee in Leo’s waiting hand anyway. 

“Boys, I got the keys to the roof!” April hollered from the turnstiles. “It’s go-time, baby!”

“What roof?” Splinter asked suspiciously. 

“One that I’m definitely allowed to be at and have keys for,” his honorary daughter replied, lifting her chin. Not even the FBI would be able to crack her. 

Raph set Leo on his feet, then swiped his cup away and took an annoying slurp before Leo managed to snatch it back. 

“You don’t even like coffee!” he complained. 

“Big brother tax,” Raph replied unrepentantly, making his way over to begin the perilous undertaking of extracting Mikey from his creative process without losing a finger. 

“Try not to end up on the news,” Splinter said, knowing when to pick his battles. “April, you are in charge. Red, you are also in charge. Blue, you are in charge in a third and different way.” 

“Can I be in charge of Donnie?” Mikey asked, raising a paint-smeared hand.

“Of course you can, Orange,” their dad said. 

“I’m running away,” Donnie announced to the lair as a whole. 

The familiar noise washed over Leo like sunshine. He totally understood why regular turtles could bask in that stuff for hours. He sipped his latte and drew a gleaming silver katana from over his shoulder, an ancient bunny charm dangling from its bright blue guard. 

Leo smiled up at Splinter as he passed him in the doorway, never missing an opportunity to duck in for a hug. His dad always tucked him under his chin and held him tight, as if he was still that little eight-year-old boy terrified to death of being abandoned. 

“Have fun, my Baby Blue,” Splinter said. “And if you don’t come home with a cheesecake for your poor father, don’t bother coming home at all.” 

Leo snorted and started to laugh, and by then Mikey had had enough lingering around, whining at the top of his lungs, “Come on, Lee, let’s go already! It’s Cannonball Day!”

“Yeah, Fearless, lead the way,” Raph rumbled fondly.

Donnie stood there watching him with steady gold eyes exactly like his own, and said, “We’re all waiting for you.”

Leo grew up in an orphanage, an unwanted bad omen, and now he had two houses and two hometowns. He was one of four brothers and he loved them with a conviction that he hadn’t known existed outside of storybooks when he was a child. He had a shortcut home from anywhere and a family who would fight god to keep him. 

Hamato Leonardo—who was called Koko by his old friends, and Stripes by his best friend, and would always be Blue to his dad—was a very lucky turtle. 

[thestrangestthlng]

Thoughts and prayers rants...

So, now that I've had almost 48 hours to marinate on this and cycled through my emotions, I am in a much better headspace to talk on the whole 9-1-1 of it all.

But this bears repeating: We fell in love with Tommy because he made Buck fall in love with Evan.

So, first and foremost, I've decided that canon stopped for me at 8x05. lol. I am going to continue with my BT train like that shit show didn't happen. And for me, for a while, I am going to let the show end there. I will go back, probably after the hiatus, but not how I was. I do love all the characters on this show (some more than others) and I still want to be able to see their journey, but I need a break from that manipulation stunt. I'm still going to share all the positive BT stuff I see and all the beautiful Lou content I see.

Secondly, now that I am over the initial hurt of the breakup, I'm just mad. We were manipulated intentionally with 8x05 for us to feel worse when the break up happened. That was unnecessary. And that was cruel. And I know that a lot of this is because it was the icing on a shit week. Emotions were already raw due to the election and it was reallllllyyyy bad timing for this, but that doesn't make the way they did it okay, just that it can explain why there was such a strong reaction for many of us, on top of the completely justified anger.

Breakups happen, and that's okay. If it was the end of Tommy's time on the show, that's okay. I am a Buck girlie and I always will be. But... the breakup was reductive, stereotypical, and just poor storytelling. I get they want to leave doors open a crack, because you never truly know, but turning him into an OOC stereotypical biphobic gay man is disgusting. You had this beautiful thing and you shat on it. I am going to do another post about my personal relationship with groundbreaking storylines next.

That was a miscommunication. That was a breakup where someone chases after you and is like wtf actually just happened. It felt like whiplash, because that is not how breakups are formulated in media. You know how else you could have written him out of the story?

At the date (and the basketball tickets are actually a really sweet touch when you think about it) Tommy could have told Buck that he got a job offer in another city or state or that his parents are ill and he has to go home to take care of them and asked Buck to go with him. At the apartment, it could have been buck telling him that as much as he could see a future with him, he can't go with him.

Would it have sucked? Yes. But it wouldn't have induced this amount of rage.

For over six months Lou and BTs have been at the receiving amount of a ton of vitriol. And that's not to say that there weren't antagonizers on this side of the fence or that BTs never did anything wrong, but this isn't a both sides bullshit piece. People can suck everywhere, but only one "side" harassed an actor and his family with death threats, he read about the "stoning" calls, used slurs on a regular basis. All of this persisted for months for it to turn out that he was the only one who seemed to give a shit about the story and it's representation. There honestly doesn't seem like there would have been anyone better for it.

You know what's ironic? It was the Buddie's hate and vitriol that pulled me into fandom and made me love Tommy and then Lou. When they would run their mouths, I would look into it and I found a man who genuinely seems like (he is still someone we don't know) a wonderfully kind, sweethearted, genuine man. He looks like a bundle of light and his smile can warm even the coldest hearts. So their vitriol made me a fan. So thanks BoBs.

Buck and Tommy wasn't just about Buck's queerness and definitely not about "wanting to see two white men kiss". It was about our love for Buck. We saw him happier and more fulfilled than he's ever been. We see his life being lived and full of love and stuff and joy.

Again:

We fell in love with Tommy because he made Buck fall in love with Evan.

And you know what, not matter how reductive and all the phobics that breakup was, they can never take that away from us.

[vigilskeep]

there are so many things in veilguard that have made me go "wait what??? okay i guess i have to totally rethink the character i'm roleplaying now" that it's literally impossible to guess what thing you're referring to as The Thing That Happened. obviously extremely curious to hear what it is once you've detangled it

it’s kind of like that but it’s also less that and more... okay i should probably just say it, i’m being weird and unhelpful and i need to write it out anyway so i can think

MASSIVE SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT for a companion quest, do NOT say i didn’t warn you. also please don’t respond to this if you know more than me i am in distress but i still don’t want spoilers

so i just finished lucanis’ “a murder of crows” quest. and lucanis. first talon. for some reason. (this is the writing choice i’m ??? on. also i’m ??? on lucanis’ whole storyline, frankly. the writing was. well. like i said, we’re not unpicking that right now, i don’t want to get into it at this point, not the conversation i’m having.)

lifelong trauma of being in the crows and fighting to get someone in a talon’s position and keep them there -> the thing that gave sol all their diseases and made them, to be frank, fairly suicidal

viago: ultimately can handle it without them, especially with teia’s backing.

lucanis: CANNOT handle it without them. holy fuck. for like twelve hundred different reasons, unthinkable, completely laughable, that he can handle this. who is going to protect him. the only reason this could be better at keeping sol mentally stable than watching viago’s back is that they will never feel purposeless or need to go looking for an adrenaline rush, because forget crows, an ambitious blackbird could eat that man alive. he can’t scheme. he can’t even SCHEME and the very fact that he trusts sol DE RIVA demonstrates this. sol is a crow! from another house! does he have no memory at all of the fact that his own parents died in crow infighting? sol could have been playing him this whole time, it wouldn’t have even been hard, and if they were that kind of person, then right now the first talon’s house would have just fallen directly in their hands like a gift from the maker, and they can’t even say a part of themself they can’t shut off isn’t thinking about it that way! how is sol supposed to keep someone like that alive?

you see what it’s like trying to sleep while sol is having this discussion in my mind.

ahem. anyway. pathways for sol’s life assuming they indeed make it through the game:

becoming lucanis’ guard dog the way they were for viago, which (even if they could mentally handle that, which they can’t. or can they??) means switching house loyalties which would surely destroy them eventually -> bad

somehow trying to persuade lucanis to give this up, as if that wouldn’t be throwing house dellamorte completely to the dogs, which at least sol can’t imagine any crow is capable of, let alone someone so dedicated to clinging to what remains of his family that he couldn’t even kill a traitor -> bad

going ahead and leaving the crows, but sol now has to leave BOTH viago and lucanis behind and also lucanis is going to die in there because they left him to do this alone -> bad

solution: sol is back on their original “if a blighted dragon eats me by the end of this, i don’t have to experience consequences” train

and maybe they’re right and i should not worry about this because i’m painfully aware it’s VERY bold to start deciding what happens after the game at this point, when they might still get trapped in the fade or turned into paste or something. and admittedly they did know and dread the possibilities from the first moment they felt something for lucanis, which was why they so wanted it to be anyone else, because anyone else in that lighthouse could have given them a different world, and he is the one who regardless of his best or worst intentions can only tie them tighter to a burning building. and SURE, i see the solas/mythal breakup parallels of sol still leaving, i’m looking at them, that doesn’t mean i have to LIKE them

he hasn’t even kissed them. they’re doing all of this unkissed. lucanis dellamorte when i get you

again please absolutely do not respond to any of this with even the vaguest of hints if you know more about the rest of the game than me 🙏 it’s probably best if no-one responds to this at all lmao i am just thinking out loud. you can reply with a “that’s rough buddy”. for sol

[sambargestuff]

I actually campaign for the NDP. Like, I knock on doors and talk to people about the election, the local candidate, the world. You know, stuff. I've been doing this for around 35 yrs (I started young and I'm old). My riding is traditionally NDP with the occasional red Liberal.

Let me tell you what I've seen in the last few elections.

Increasingly, working class people are turning to the Conservative Party. They aren't served by the current economic realities of Canada and they're looking for a party that will deliver them without actually making life too much different. See, they hate being screwed over themselves but they don't have any class loyalty and they're not really into changing the world. They just want a bigger piece of the pie. Social progress scares them and they like a party that confirms that they are right in what they believe about trans folk and indigenous people. They don't trust women and they don't trust people of colour. They don't know about Gaza and, this may be hard to accept, they don't care. Someone has been whispering in their ear about Trudeau. Online, I presume; where the stupid lie to each other, to keep each other perpetually angry.

Now, I don't support Trudeau/Liberals, so I can totally talk about that they've done wrong (don't even get me started on electoral reform) but I can't talk to these people because they live in a different reality from me. Their arguments usually go something like: Trudeau is a crook because of masks, vaccines, and the carbon tax. I mean, sure, he's a slimy trust fund baby but none of those things were criminal, actually. You can disagree with policy decisions but the vitriol is way out of proportion

Jagmeet Singh and the NDP have no chance with most of them because (1) he has brown skin and wears a turban (although they rarely say that part out loud, sometimes they do) and (2) he has supported the Liberal gov't in their minority. When you point out the progressive changes under the minority gov't prompted by the NDP, they don't care. I've talked to seniors who benefit from Pharmacare and young families that benefit from the national childcare program and they don't care.

Mostly, it's the men who don't care. And, like what just happened in the US, the white men are going to vote Conservative.

I don't know if ABC is the way to go. I'll vote NDP because they do have a good chance of winning here. But if I lived in a riding where they had no chance, I might plug my nose and vote Liberal to make sure the Cons have one fewer MP in Parliament. I'm just glad I don't have to make that choice.

Then, I'd spend the next 4 yrs developing the NDP in my riding, talking to people about what matters to them and how to achieve it, and calling my Liberal MP every time I feel like it to tell them what I think. I'd write letters to the editor and attend municipal townhalls to discuss local issues. I'd canvass door to door between elections to talk to people about legislative changes, etc. I'd join groups that interest me and make connections there too. When the next election comes around, I'd canvass for the candidate that I believed in.

Democracy doesn't happen on voting day alone. The rich know this and that's why they're paying bots to whisper in the ears of gullible, angry people.

I hate the idea of voting for the liberals strategically instead of the ndp but I am actually terrified of what would happen if pp won next year

~~~~

[arcanecor3]

Sister parallels.

Okay so, this is me trying my best to explain my view of the parallel between these 2 scenes

Firstly, a little thing to keep in mind is that in this parallel, s2 Cait represents s1 Vi and s2 Vi represents Powder 

A big fight just happened, s1’s was the Vander rescue mission and s2’s was find Jinx, and both ended up going wrong because of someone who was supposed to help (Powder; s2Vi). After everything goes down at the s1 warehouse, we see Vi screaming and she is angry (i’ll come back to that later), and then Powder shows up with the “my monkey bomb finally worked” line we all know, and on s2 we have Caitlyn being the angry one because Vi didn’t let her shoot.

a little parallel with the lines:

“you did this?”-s1vi to powder

“you stopped me”-s2cait to vi

“i was saving you”-powder to s1vi

“that was a kid! what if you missed?”- s2vi to cait

Now, both s1 Vi and s2 Cait are blinded by anger and grief, so even tho the other person (Powder; s2vi) is explaining themselves (in Powder’s case it wasn’t the greatest explanation, but she does states that it was an accident, and s2 Vi was being rational), they don’t really listen because of all the anger.

then, Vi slaps powder, making her fall, and that’s when Powder desperately asks: “why did you leave me?” to which Vi answers: “because you’re a jinx! do you hear me? mylo was right". Now on s2, basically the same thing happens, just in a different order: s2 Cait says: “I keep telling myself that you’re different. but you’re not. it’s her (Jinx’s) blood that runs in your veins”, then Vi asks her: “then why are you the one acting like her?” and Caitlyn hits vi, knocking her to the ground. AND IN S2 WE EVEN GET A SHOT OF ANGRY CAITLYN LOOKING AT VI CRYING, JUST LIKE S1 VI LOOKED ANGRY AT POWDER CRYING. LIKE HOW SICK AND TWISTED IS THAT.

Then both s1 Vi and s2 Cait walk away, leaving the other one crying alone on the floor. 

The thing is that crying is the exactly what we expect from Powder, since that’s how she was during the entire scene, because that’s how her character is. but not Vi. Because during the entire of the s2 scene vi wasn’t actually crying, in fact, Vi barely cries in the whole show, the only time we see her actually sobbing is during the bridge scene from s1e1, when she saw her dead parents. And since then, she has trained and fought to become a person who can protect those she loves. And even when everything goes down at the s1 warehouse, we only get to see her a glimpse of her crying before she tried to go back to powder, but she’s mainly angry, that’s the way Vi usually reacts to these situations. She gets angry. And she tries to do everything in her power to go after who hurt her/the people she loves.

But this s2 scene is different. She simply has nowhere to go. Once again, she lost everything. Her family? dead. you might argue there’s Jinx but as Vi herself said: “my sister is gone”. the last person she had was Caitlyn, and she left, and Vi now feels like she ruined everything again, because that’s how she is, she burdens herself with the guilt and blames herself. So when you see Vi just, on her knees, crying, it’s just so devastating when you think that she is like that because her life is essentially over. All there’s left to her is cry. Just like Powder in the end of s1e3, s2e3 Vi lost everyone.

But that’s when the parallel ends, because it’s when Powder was in that desperate state that silco came, and even though his character divides opinions, you can’t deny that he took care of and loved Powder (who became Jinx).

Vi doesn’t have anyone to come and save her, to wipe away her tears like she had done so many times before for Caitlyn and before that for Powder. She is alone.

thank you to whoever read this entire thing for contributing to my arcane obsession, and shoutout to my amazing friend who helped me put this together @crzytoogetherr 🥰🥰

[hearts4werka]

NNN day 9 | Shattered Promises

summary: a dangerous war was declared, the one thing you feared would happen in your life ever since your husband Matthew joined the military. The fear of him possibly dying out on the battlefield without a proper goodbye always managed to deliver you nightmares and now your worst fear came true, Matthew had to go off to fight for his country. Is he going to make it and come back home safely, or maybe you’ll forever hold the weight of him in your heart even without him among the living?

warnings: ANGST, military, war, violence mentioned, possible murder, missing limbs, dark times, happy ending (or is it?), sorrow, depressive times, vivid nightmares, triggering content & possibly more! Viewers advisory is supervised and proceed with caution!

authors note: we’re almost there at the double digits! Kinda got this random vibe today and the idea just popped into my head, this is gonna take a lot of military vibe music to get me through this and keep me in the spirit, I’m sorry as this can be kinda inaccurate in some ways 😭, luv yall and hope y’all enjoy this one

no nut november | masterlist | guestlist

- a month before the war

Laughter fills the air as our joyful golden retriever, Danny continues to jump and deliver eager licks to the side of his face while he lays down on the couch next to me, the television shadowing a soft glow over our faces alongside sunlight pooling in the room, dancing along the shadows of the living room. “Hey, Danny! Calm down there buddy!” He calls out, chuckling between each word, I observe the playful fight, thinking nothing bad could ever happen to our small little family with our fur baby. My hand slithers its way over to pet and ruffle the hairs on Danny's spine.

The whole moment was filled with pure enjoyment and true love, my heart twisting with delight as Matt finally managed to lure Danny off from on top of him and shelds himself with my body, grabbing a hold of my biceps and pull me in front of him. My laughter only intesifying as now Danny begins devoting his attention off Matt to me, hopping onto my chest but this time without eager licks and just relaxes against me, Matt dramatically gasps but a sweet chuckle quickly overpowers it, "Looks like someone has a favorite parent." He jokes, slipping out from under my body and sitting down before me.

After another playful moment passing by, Danny begins to feel tired and snuggles into Matts lap and slowly drifts into peaceful sleep. A romance movie plays in the background as me and Matt starts to chat in soft whispers to not wake up our fur baby. Admiring how at peace and happy he seems in a simple moment like this, feeling like nothing could take away the joy we've build throughout these years of our relationship, I let myself rest my head down onto Matts shoulder, tiredness now shadowing my features. "I got two little cute sleepyheads now, wanna go to bed now?" I nod my head and murmur a positive response.

Slowly and gently removing Danny off his lap to stand up, straightening his legs and turning his head to look at my sleepy form that’s now beginning to fall asleep. He walks over and picks up my body, bridal style just like he had on our wedding and every time I was tired, as well as at unexpected times. I loved him dearly and would never let anything bad happen to him, I was always a deep sleeper but ever since Matthew decided to join the military I was afraid about him possibly dying on the battlefield and I couldnt bear the dark thoughts roaming inside of my mind, it started with simple flashes of him in my mind but then turned into full nightmares I couldn’t bear.

It started flashing his image as he carried me over to our bedroom and laid me down, covering my body with the duvet before undressing himself and sliding under it next to me, he wraps a warm arm around me and pulls me into his chest, nuzzling his face into my hair as a feeling of safety washes over me but when I close my eyes I can only see him, laying on the ground-shot and dead- while his buddies drag his limp to the side for shelter, trying to revive him back to live but without proper medical care it was impossiple for them to. My heart twisted with sorrow as my eyes immediately pop open, unable to fall asleep no matter how hard I tried. I shift my body to face Matt and hide my face in his chest while clutching onto his body as if I would lose him then and there.

- Present day

The morning approaches, sun barely rising over the horizon, casting a warm soft glow over our bodies as I throw the duvet off my body. Seeing Matthew is stil asleep so I make it my misson to quietly get dressed and exit the room, feeling like doing wanting to do something special I decided to make a hot breakfast for him when he decides to wake up. As soon as Danny catches a glimpse of me walking down the stairs he immediatly runs over and demands some head scraches as well as sustenance, chuckling at how much energy he has in the morning, "Oh you want some head scraches? I'll give you some head scarches, you little cutie." He follows me into the kitchen, grabbing his feeding bowl and placing it on the countet but as I was about to get his food I hear something weird from the radio, immediately turning up the volume to hear more context and its coming from the news.

"Welcome everybody, your news-reporter speaking. The United States Of America has declared war upon another country and we need every soldier we can grasp over the age of 18, this is not a drill but a serious war our country is under. Please seek immediate shelter and consider flying out of the country for safety if youre near any of there states..."

I immediately freeze, being unable to move as the other words coming from the reporter become irrelevant to my brain, "every soldier they can grasp" my brain cannot comprehend the state of fear I am before Im pulled out of my thoughts when Matthew comes rushing down the stairs, seeming like he just woke up telling by his messy hair falling over his forehead. He walks over to me, seeing how scared I have become and places a reassuring kiss on my forehead, “It’s going to be okay, darling. I'm going to be fine, I wont leave you." He softly speaks, assuming I've hear all of it on the radion while he got a call, cradling me in his arms and kissing the top of my head to calm me down in any bit, he's known this was my worst fear and the repeative vivid dreams I've woken up to multiple times and him trying to calm my nerves.

He pulls away from the embrace and leans down to be face level with me, his expression softening as my eyes become glossy and shiny with worried tears swirling around in them. "I promise I will come back to you as soon as I get back, you can come with me to the pickup bus." He reassures, wiping away the slowly sliding tear with his thumb on my cheek. My arms wrap around his neck and pull him back in, feeling as this could be the last time we speak and feel each others warm embrace. "I'll go get ready now." He pulls away before turning around and walking back upstairs to dress himself more properly and apropriate, my soul eternally freaking out and not wanting this to be real. Maybe its just a dream-yeah a dream-now I just have to wake up from this nightmare of a day, oh wait, its actually very much real life. Soon I follow Matt into our bedroom and dress myself properly as well, getting rid of the pyjamas and now in outside clothes.

- At the pickup spot

As we approached the bus, my heart ached and twisted in various ways that made me feel sick to my stomach. Other familys and couples surrounded the bus, saying goodbyes and crying as they got on the bus. Matt holds my hand before turning to face me and pulls me into a soft kiss which only lasted a minute before he had to pull away, "Be safe and please don't die out there." I stammered, full of worry and fear for his life. the news reporter stated it would be a dangerous and serious war which only heightened my pulse, for now I had to take his words and cling onto them as much as I can for them to be true. He gave me a last reassuring kiss on the forehead before he got onto the bus, some of his buddies recognised me and I recognized them since Matthew would have them over often and before they got onto the bus to join Matt, they walked over to me and suddenly picked me up into the air. "woah, guys, what are you doing?-" I questioned but without a response in return, they carried me over to where Matt was sitting, he popped his head though the window and suddenly kissed me, I melted right into it and kissed him back almost immediately. It was filled with pure true love and caring, the world around me disappeared and the happy cheers of others started to become more faint to my ears, all of my worries disolve into the air and my only value left was the moment right now.

By the time we pull away, the driver calls out for everyone to get on board as they will be driving away soon, they let me down onto the ground and hop onto the bus themselves, from a distance now I watch as they close the doors and drive away, a feeling of loss washes over me which I can’t brush away no matter how hard I want to trust his words that he’ll be okay but it seems thats a promise he can’t make. I leave the spot and get into Matt’s car in which be drove us here in, feeling his scent lingering still in the air as I drive off back home.

- a year after the start of the war

Everyday after Matthew’s gone off to fight for his country’s freedom, I’ve waited patiently for him to return back home, dreaded the time I would hold him in my arms again, feel his lips on mine or him holding me and calming me down after a terrible nightmare. They’ve only became more intense and I couldn’t bear being alone anymore but got used to it after awhile, everyday I would plant a single white rose in his name since he always loved gifting them to me to remind me of his love and now it reminds me of him, now that a year has passed I could have a whole garden of them.

I was sitting outside infront of my collection of white roses as the sun shined, the sun ever started to remind me of him, of how brightly his smile would light up any room he walked in. My poor baby, gazing upon the growing garden and every single time get reminded of him so I never forget him, I could never forget my poor baby. He was the only man I’ve truly loved and wanted to grow old together, now the only thing I have are reminders of him and dissolving hope of him still being alive out there. “Please come back, my darling.” I murmur under my breath before suddenly being ripped out from my thoughts.

My phone buzzes, indicating an incoming call, I pick up my phone and pick it up, putting on my professional voice and serious face instead of the broke woman I was, “Hello?” I spoke into the receiver, waiting for the caller to speak. “Hello, is this Ms. Sturniolo?” My eyebrows furrow in confusion and skepticism, it slowly easing into my voice. “Yes, this is she. I-Im sorry but who’s calling?” “A former friend of his from the army, I’m here to inform you that your husband Matthew Sturniolo has been pronounced dead duo to a fatal shot in the arm and bleeding out while on the battlefield”

I freeze, the words slowly sinking in before my phone drops on the grassy ground, here I was grasping onto the lasts of my hope that he’s still alive and now he is presumed dead, my hands cover my face as uncontrollable sobs leave my mouth. Tears staining my face and hands, I can’t believe this, he promised he would come back, he… is dead. The worst of my fears has now came true and it hit me like a thousand bricks, I feel something shatter inside of me beyond repair.

I feel… broken? Like a part of me has been ripped out of me without my permission, he has became a part of me and build me into the person I am today, but without him by my side I don’t think I can continue being the same person and living my life normally, he was the only man I’ve loved truly and now he has been taken away from me. What have I done to deserve such punishment? I continue to lay on the ground, consumed by complete depression and a feeling of loss. That night I haven’t returned to my house and slept outside in front of the white roses, the thing that reminded me the most of my dear husband.

- a month after Matthew being presumed dead

The sun slowly rose up over the horizon and I was off to go preform my mundane routine, getting out of bed has been the hardest part every morning and, every emotion has been wiped off my face after… you know after what, I slumped over to my dresser and thrown on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie I stole from Matthew, his specific scent still lingering on it. Walking downstairs, I walk into the kitchen and grab Danny’s bowl, filling it with food and placing it back down in its spot, he doesn’t greet me anymore, the only thing he has been doing besides eating was sit outside near Matthew’s grave in which I would join him every morning, I placed a hand crafted cross on the top of my white rose garden to indicate his grave, some of the older ones have started to wither and loose their beautiful white petals.

It reflects the feelings I feel, being like a withered white rose without him by my side, slowly loosing my color with each passing minute. I exit the house and drop down beside our dog, gazing upon the grave before I speak in a soft voice in hopes that he’s somewhere here, listening to the words I speak from my broken heart. “I wish you could be here with me, I can’t be the same person without you. If you’re listening to me, I love you more than anything in the world.” Every word stings the same amount, my throat feeling tight as I feel tears swirling in my eyes.

“Why wish when I’m right here?”

The sudden words take me out of my focus, the voice sounding too familiar to miss, looking around as my eyes catch a glimpse of Matthew. Wait… Matthew?- I stare at him as he suddenly is walking towards me but there’s something different about him-he’s missing an arm-so he isn’t dead after all? I could be imagining things, I wipe my teary eyes before he extends his arms, my body immediately rising from the ground and running into his warm embrace, feeling the touch I’ve dreaded to be able to feel again on my skin.

“I told you I would come back.” He happily cheered, holding me in his embrace and placing a lingering kiss on my forehead. I feel like myself again, the part of me I thought I lost forever has returned, Danny comes running at us and jumps up and down, wagging his tail aggressively in joy. “I-I thought you were dead, I thought I lost you forever… I-I seriously can’t believe you’re alive, you know they called-“ before I could finish my sentence, he smashes his lips against mine and stopped me from ranting for half an hour about what it was without him for all of this time without him. I slightly relax into the kiss, our dog barked and we chuckled into the kiss together, today I was put back together and felt like myself again now with Matthew beside me again. I’m me again, my other half has returned into its place, I’ll be forever grateful for the lord letting him live and stay with me in earth longer. My poor baby has finally returned and that’s all that matters to me right now.

Guestlist!

| - @sturnsxplr-25 - @strnzzvsp - @luvvs4chriss - @sturniolosweetheart33 - @pussypie456 - @choclatestarfishwithahat - @venusxsturnio - @bagsbyclair0 - @sturnstvs - @dykes4chris - @hoe4matt - @cayleeuhithinknot - @strnilolover - @marrykisskilled - @phone4pills - @emely9274 - @cupiidk1lls - @lily-strnlo - @nicksgirlfriend - |

[infinite--92]

The Little Joy of the Family

Lily and Sophie had hit it off almost instantly. They were the same age, shared similar interests, and now, the same unique experience of living with this condition. It felt refreshing for both of them to find someone their age who truly understood what they were going through. One afternoon, after spending time at Miranda’s house with the other members of Infinite 92, Lily extended an invitation to Sophie.

"Hey, how about you come over to my place this weekend?" Lily suggested with a bright smile. "I'd love for you to meet my younger sister, Hannah. She's 18 and has the same condition as us. I think it would be great for her to meet someone new who understands."

Sophie, eager to deepen her bond with Lily and curious to meet her sister, agreed immediately. "I'd love to! It would be nice to meet another person who’s going through the same thing."

A Visit to Lily's Home

The weekend came quickly, and Sophie found herself at Lily's doorstep, greeted warmly by Lily. "Welcome! Come in, make yourself at home," Lily said, ushering Sophie inside. The home was cozy and welcoming, filled with pictures of family moments and a comforting atmosphere.

"Hannah's just finishing up in the shower," Lily explained as she led Sophie to the living room. "She’ll be out in a minute. I’m really excited for you two to meet. She’s a bit shy, but I think you’ll get along well."

Sophie settled onto the couch, admiring the warmth of the space. It felt lived-in, full of love and memories. She could see glimpses of Claire in the family photos—her round belly in every picture, even in her wedding dress, surrounded by smiles and joy.

After a few moments, the sound of footsteps approached. Sophie looked up as Hannah emerged from the hallway, still drying her hair with a towel. She was dressed casually in a loose, pale blue t-shirt and shorts, but the unmistakable roundness of her belly was clearly visible. It was slightly smaller than Lily’s and Sophie’s, but just as pronounced. She had a soft, youthful face, with wide blue eyes that showed a mixture of curiosity and shyness.

Meeting Hannah

Hannah paused for a moment, seemingly surprised to see Sophie. Then she gave a shy smile. "Hi, you must be Sophie," she said, her voice soft. "Lily’s told me a lot about you."

Sophie stood up and smiled warmly. "Hi, Hannah! It’s so nice to meet you. Your sister has told me a lot about you too. I’m really glad we can meet."

Hannah blushed slightly, her shyness evident, but there was a spark of excitement in her eyes. “I’ve never met anyone else like me before,” she admitted quietly as she joined them on the couch. “I mean, apart from Lily and Mom.”

Lily sat down next to her sister, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I thought it would be nice for you two to get to know each other. Sophie’s going through a lot of the same things you are, and I think you’ll find you have a lot in common.”

Connecting Over Shared Experiences

The three girls spent the afternoon talking, sharing stories about their experiences and the journey they were on. Hannah opened up gradually, her initial shyness fading as she found common ground with Sophie.

“It started for me around 15,” Hannah explained. “Just like Mom said it would. At first, I was so scared. I didn’t know what was happening to my body, and I felt like everyone at school was staring at me.”

Sophie nodded, understanding the feeling all too well. “I went through something similar. I only found out a few months ago, and it was really overwhelming. But meeting people like Lily and the others has helped me a lot.”

Hannah gave a small smile, looking at her sister with gratitude. “Lily’s been my biggest support. I don’t know how I would’ve handled it without her. She helped me see that this isn’t something to be ashamed of.”

Lily grinned and nudged her sister playfully. “And now you’ve got even more people to support you. Sophie’s been a great friend to me, and I know she’ll be a great friend to you too.”

Finding Comfort in Each Other

As the afternoon turned into evening, the girls continued talking, laughing, and bonding over their shared experiences. They spoke about the stares they received from strangers, the uncomfortable questions, and the gradual journey toward accepting their bodies.

Sophie noticed how Hannah began to relax more and even laugh openly as they talked. It was clear she had been holding a lot of her feelings inside, and this was the first time she had the chance to speak openly with someone her age who truly understood.

“I’ve always been so self-conscious about going out,” Hannah admitted. “Even though Mom and Lily have been through it, I felt like I was the only one. Seeing you, Sophie, and knowing there are others like us, it makes me feel... less alone.”

Sophie reached out and took Hannah’s hand gently. “You’re definitely not alone, Hannah. We’re all in this together now. And we have a whole community of amazing women who understand what it’s like. You’re part of that now too.”

Hannah’s eyes welled up slightly, and she gave Sophie a grateful smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

A New Friendship Blossoms

The evening wrapped up with Lily ordering takeout, and the three girls shared a meal together, chatting about their favourite shows, hobbies, and their hopes for the future. By the time Sophie left, she felt a deep sense of connection with both Lily and Hannah. It was like finding another piece of the puzzle in this unexpected journey they were all on.

As Sophie hugged Lily and Hannah goodbye at the door, she felt a warmth in her heart. Despite the challenges ahead, she knew she had found true friends in these sisters, and together, they could face whatever came next.

And for Hannah, this meeting marked a turning point. She no longer felt like she was facing this strange condition on her own. With her sister by her side, and now Sophie as a new friend, she felt hopeful for the first time in a long while. The bond between the three girls was the start of a beautiful friendship, one that would grow stronger as they navigated their unique journey together within the loving support of Infinite 92.