#it literally hurt my heart writing this

[ninjigma]

QuinObi Week Part 2/5 - First / Next

Day 2: Knighthood/Raising Padawans Track: 'How Bad We Need Each Other' - Marc Scibilia (Spotify / YouTube)

"I'll grab the bags." "And I will grab the Padawans." "But they're already-" The sound of excited squealing from Aayla and Anakin echoed throughout the halls, Obi-Wan unable to stop his own laughter from joining in and Quinlan smiling broadly at seeing the joy return to his friends face.

Kind of just a fun moment for the group, one of their first missions all together, pretty early on in Anakin's journey to become a Jedi. I have a whole little fic thought up for this that I am so sad I didn't get the chance to write but it is the one I am most tempted to work on and publish later anyhow, because it is just an all around bit of fun for the little family XD

Enjoy!

@quinobiweek

[paingoes]

Destroyer

Trigger Discipline

(Masterlist)

this is pre-series, set in the first year delta was given to the emperor. delta and paris are both around 13 here.

(Content: living weapon whumpee, child abuse, dehumanization, power imbalances, minor bullying, slavery, emotional whump, mass death implied)

==============

It was fall break, one of the few times Paris was allowed back into Castle Thales. He dragged the suitcase behind him. There was barely enough time to set it down before the attendants swept him into the dressing room. It was hard to play the handheld with his head up straight, but he’d gotten good at it — in the same way the maids had gotten good at working around him.

His leg bouncing annoyed them enough that they let him take recess. It was only then that he first saw his father, out in the empty hallway, against the backdrop of the purple banners. The Emperor grabbed at Paris’s wrist. He pulled it up to examine the bruises on his knuckles that the makeup hadn’t covered. No hello.

“The school called. Do you think this behavior is acceptable?” His voice was calm, always calm. Paris pulled his hand back protectively.

“They started it,” he insisted.

“Don’t talk back to me, Paris. This is beneath you.”

“I got all As. Four point seven with APs. Did the school call to tell you that too?” He didn’t hide the ire in his voice. That school was out to fucking get him. None of the other students ever got in trouble for fighting. It wasn’t like he could do it by himself.

The look his father gave him killed that argument before it could start. He wilted. The old man paid him no further mind, sending him straight back into the changing room. He spent the remainder of it in terse silence, not even arguing when they placed the crown on his head, the heavy one that always gave him migraines. He never wore it during the school year. He never wore it if he could avoid it. The weight of it felt all wrong.

Nobody mentioned there was going to be a showcase that night. (They might’ve, actually. He never checked his email back then.) Even if he’d known, he still would not have been prepared for the little off-worlder kneeling on the opposite side of the old man’s throne. Dark blue skin, even darker hair. Bright, bright eyes. The Emperor’s new toy. 

Paris realized with a start that they were the same age.

He settled into the throne. The old man hadn’t come in yet; it was weird to share the dais. He watched the other boy try his best to stay invisible, like he wasn’t even there. They’d clearly had different media training. He slipped the handheld back out of his pocket while he waited for the event to start.

He sat through most of the ball unbelievably bored by the whole thing. They’d ceased to be impressive by the time he was seven years old. He never could fix his face; he was sure the discontent was obvious upon it. He didn’t understand how anyone else could manage to be polite about it or why they bothered to. The old man was good at many things, but true spectacle was not among them. That part desperately needed work. 

Still, he was intrigued by the motion to his left-hand side, the noise as they unchained the boy from where he was kneeling and led him into the center of the room. 

The lights dimmed — and his colors burned. He did not fully grasp the technical significance of the display; he doubted most people there did. The handler explained it as a kind of microscopic manipulation of the light, some supreme physical achievement. What it manifested as was the holographic appearance of the scale dragon right over their heads, its shimmering form reflected in all the small particles of air. The mirage was impressive. Paris still did not understand what it had to do with statecraft.

He saw the boy swoon like he might faint, then steady himself. He really was fresh out of the box. His eyes flitted nervously from side to side, trying to take it all in. He flinched at any loud sound — and there were many. He wasn’t used to it yet. When they led him back to the side of the throne, he seemed more grateful to be out of the spotlight than he was upset at being chained. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

It took a while before Paris could get him alone, without the old man watching. He had to wait until after the showcase was over and only the ball remained.

“How did you do that?” Paris asked. He leaned against the leftmost beam of the dais, partially obscured by the curtain. The boy was still kneeling there, still chained to the empty throne’s base.

He turned his head slowly. His glowing blue eyes studied Paris carefully; for a moment, he was afraid of the intensity behind them. Paris could not read his expression, did not appreciate the creeping silence he commanded.

“I know you heard me.” A certain defensiveness crept into Paris’s voice. The boy looked at him apologetically, raising a finger to his lips.

“Oh,” Paris’s eyes widened with the realization. “You’re not allowed to talk?”

He nodded his head so subtlety that Paris guessed he wasn’t even allowed to move. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” he promised. 

The boy seemed unconvinced, his eyes passing over the crown in Paris’s hair. Fuckin’ thing. He took it off.

The old man barked his name so loudly that the boy jumped, as if it was his own. Paris just rolled his eyes, replaced the crown, and stepped away from the dais.

“It isn’t your friend,” His father warned him, “Just because you can’t keep your own doesn’t mean I’m buying you new ones.”

His face burned. 

Paris stayed up until the party was over, even when it ran well into the next morning. As the last of the guests trickled out, he sat down on the stairs of the dais. The boy’s handler came to untether him, pulling him roughly to his feet.

“Did it talk to you?” The man asked. It took Paris a second to realize the question was addressed to him. 

“No?” He said. The boy looked at him gratefully, like he’d covered up for him, when he was just telling the truth. The doctor looked somewhat disappointed by this answer. His irritation switched targets.

“You shouldn’t speak Common in the palace. It’s unbecoming.”

Every adult swore they had a right to tell him how to act. Even this total stranger.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Paris snapped. 

The fight drained out of him as his father re-entered the hall. All noise died but for his voice.

“I’ll take it,” his father said, extending one hand out in an almost chivalrous motion. The boy, now unchained at the neck, quickly jogged down the stairs to meet him. Paris watched as his father slid his hand onto the boy’s shoulder, leading him gently out of the hall. He watched as one ringed hand brushed a strand of black hair out of the boy’s face. The boy flinched — ungrateful.

========

The Emperor did the same thing over spring break, the next time Paris returned to Thales. He had to watch the same routine, watch the old man carefully soothe out the folds of Delta’s clothing, run a thumb over his cheek. He’d been given free reign at this one, apparently. Even though he kneeled by the dais again, he wasn’t chained to it. It seemed like he was allowed to take breaks.

“It’s an object,” the Emperor would insist whenever Paris tried to get close. “What use do you have for it? I won’t tell you again.”

He still paid it more attention than he ever spared him. So publicly, as if he wanted him to see. Paris bit into the flesh of his own hand, leaving teethmarks. His father smacked him on the back of the head; he withdrew his hand back to his side, wiping the blood and saliva along his pants.

He could only corner Delta when the night was closing in, when all the adults were too drunk to notice. Paris caught him just outside of the dining room. He flicked at the silver tiara placed into his — its? — hair. It fell a few inches out of place. Wordlessly, Delta readjusted it. He kept his head bowed, his hands at his side, not speaking. Totally resigned to the treatment. 

“He doesn’t actually like you, you know.” Paris said. There wasn’t much certainty behind the statement. 

It got a reaction, but not the one he had hoped. Delta looked up a bit, the side of his mouth quirked up into a disbelieving grin. He thought it was funny. He was fucking laughing at him.

Paris was temporarily too mad to even see. Delta seemed to recognize the danger and immediately became expressionless again.

“Sorry.” There was still a bit of humor in his voice. “Um. Yeah. I know.”

Like he didn’t even care. It didn’t mean to him what it meant to Paris. 

His hands curled into fists. Delta noticed, stepping back a little.

“Your Highness,” He added the honorific on quickly, as if that was the problem. 

“Forget it,” Paris waved him off. 

He walked away before Delta could even respond, retreating to his room. He’d be reprimanded for it later, but there was no way he could go back to the party now. There was something hollow in him that would not let him sleep.

===========

Delta moved the pawn forward, his claws clicking delicately against the piece. The whole board shook from the turbulence of the ship. 

Even in summer, it seemed like they were making a concentrated effort to keep Parks out of his own house.  He saw his dad more, though. It was tour season; he was obligated to tag along. It meant that his schooling never truly ended throughout the year, but he didn’t mind so much. Everyone said he was a natural.

Delta was the only person even close to his age on the tours. As much as he’d been discouraged from interacting with him, they saw each other constantly, the only ones at each other’s eye level. He would’ve sworn the kid sought him out on purpose. 

He didn’t talk much, but he was good at listening, which Paris cared more about. They broke off from the main group in the downtime, descending deeper into the ship. There was an old chess set laying around in the crew’s lounge. Paris had climbed up to the top shelf to get it, letting it clatter loudly against the coffee table. Delta knew how to play; it was weird, the things he knew and didn’t know. The things he was good at. Paris got the sense that Delta was letting him win. 

They were halfway through the second game when the doors opened up, entirely too many personnel for the situation at hand. The Emperor was among them. Paris shrank back.

He startled as Delta’s handler abruptly backhanded the boy, knocking him out of his seat and onto the floor. He heard Delta take a sharp inhale of breath, but remain silent otherwise. 

“Apologize.” The doctor’s hand was in a vice grip against the back of the boy’s neck, nearly pressing his head to the ground in the forced bow.

“I’m sorry,” Delta responded immediately, without hesitation, even though it hadn’t been his fault. The doctor shook him a little, prompting a stronger reaction. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”

Paris had asked him to. It’d been his idea. But his father was standing right there. He couldn’t bring himself to admit to it, not after he’d already been warned. 

“It’s okay,” Paris said softly; the words felt sickly in his mouth.

As he caught the expression on the Emperor’s face, he could tell it hadn’t mattered. The old man hadn’t believed it for a second.

The doctor released his hold, pointing sharply back to the exit. Delta scrambled to his feet, practically running out of the door. He hadn’t been looking at Paris when he’d apologized and he didn’t look back at him when he left.

They all followed out onto the balcony for the show of force. With the handprint still across his face, Delta sat by the edge of the platform, his eyes closed in deep concentration. In the next moment, there was calamity. The large fortress walls all broke down beneath their own weight, sending the enemy castle tumbling down into the sea. All the residents had still been inside. The old man kept a tight grip on the back of Paris’s collar, making sure he saw all of it.

===========

The clipshow continued in the Emperor’s office, all the shades drawn and the lights dimmed. It was a supercut of the weapon’s military record, all the carnage, even the burnt bodies. Some of the shots were truly gratuitous. Paris wasn’t allowed to look away. 

“Twelve years in the making and you’re selfish enough to endanger it. You can’t be that desperate,” his father said.

“I wasn’t trying to endanger it.” Paris’s fist clenched and unclenched against the chair. “I didn’t…think it was a big deal.”

“And I assume you know more than the experts, like always.” It was still dark in the room. The clips were still playing silently.

Paris’s lip bled a little from where he bit it. He had matching cuts along his tongue. He shook his head.

“I don’t know how to make this more explicit to you, Paris. It is a weapon. It may look like a person, but its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.” The video showed a still-living hand reaching out from beneath the rubble. “It does not need you confusing it or meddling with its programming. When I tell you not to interact with it, I am doing it for your own good. Its reactions are unpredictable. The last thing I want is for you to become one of its casualties.”

Paris flinched as his father’s hands slammed down onto the desk. His voice still came out calm.

“It only exists to be commanded — and that command is not yours. You will not meddle with my property. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered beneath his breath.

“This will not be a conversation next time,” the Emperor promised. Paris nodded. His throat was choked up.

He slinked out of the still-dark office, back down the hall to his room. He was glad summer was ending. He didn’t even want to be home anymore.

He was surprised to see Delta still pacing the halls with his handler, not yet placed back in his cell. He briefly made eye contact with Paris, then immediately cast his gaze back down to the floor, chastened.

……

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety

[foolishlovers]

so humbling when the only thing ppl have to say in their comments on your 145k fic is something negative lol

[goldenandhappy]

Law: We have to go back Bepo. We have to save them.

Bepo, internally: You fucking dipshit. You self-sacrificing maniac. There's no way in fucking hell we'll let you sacrifice yourself for us again. They'll get to you over my dead body.

[faaun]

this is the hardest assignment i have ever ever done i just took my 3rd ritalin my eyes r still tearing up from the exhaustion..it's 9:31 AM it's due at 12:00 PM aaaa

[frecklystars]

I might actually open my inbox for the first time in [undetermined specific amount of months] there’s over 500 unread asks in there ;-; I’m rly touched so many people have been reaching out to me even when I haven’t been here

[mr-payjay]

my thoughts on silver spoon & candle in iii18

[dreamtigress]

WIP Wednesday

Honored to be tagged by BOTH @tinyarmedtrex and @thesleepyskipper!

I'mma cheat a little bit, and change this to Work Is Published (finally) Wednesday. Mostly because there comes a point when I have to say STOP to myself on edit runs, and then say IT IS READY. And put it up on A03.

So, here, have a taste of Geheugen, (Remembering) the 13th story in my Kanej Wensen series. This one comes directly after Thuiskomst, and features a Kanej fight, with hurt, comfort, and confessions. (And make up sex.)

Kaz was rather grateful for the blithe conversation after their harsh tones and heavy revelations. He did want to check in, though. “Inej…”

“Yes, Kaz?”

“Are we alright?”

“I think so… I might have pushed a bit hard, on questions about the farm. I’d meant to be more patient. And I do realize that you are telling me things, that you are trying.”

“I appreciate you telling me about Orlov. You can tell me the other stories when you’re ready, if you want. I’d rather we didn’t have to yell at each other to get to that point, though.”

Inej rested her chin in one hand, her elbow on her thigh. She sighed out expressively. “In all your studying of Jesper and Wylan, have you ever watched them have an argument?”

“Twice, while you were gone, but I’m sure both were because of me.”

She looked at him speculatively, eyebrows raised. “Okay, we're going to revisit that later, because it strays from the point I’m trying to make.”

“Okay…” Kaz shifted uncomfortably, wondering where she was going with this.

“The point is that couples fight. Even healthy, happy couples. Usually, it means they end up resolving whatever it is they’re fighting over. You should see some of the arguments my parents have. Mama once chased Papa out of the vagon with a rolling pin. I'm fairly sure it wasn't actually about the skillet bread burning. So, if you’ve not seen Jes and Wy fight much, it's because they don't do it in front of you. But trust me they do. Then they figure out what it is they need to resolve. And then sometimes they have make up sex. Loudly. Which is where I’m assuming you picked up that term, by the way.”

Read the whole thing on A03!

Soft tagging: @downn-in-flames, @stormkpr, and @porcelainmortal if they have a WIP or something they want to share!

[candied-cae]

I am super fucking pissed about Wee John in this last episode.

Why. The. Fuck. Was. He. Not. Included. AT. ALL. During. The. Escape??????????

Legitimately, where the fuck was he? I was fuming for a lot of that because he's my favorite character, so I was looking for him. While everyone was stripping the English of their uniforms and getting dressed up (at least partially) in disguise, he is the only character not included.

They make a point about Fang not getting a proper shirt, which already pissed me off enough, that he had to wear what was essentially prison stripes while everyone else was in uniform, but Wee John wasn't even there. He wasn't in the raid. He wasn't in the run down the beach.

He just wasn't even fucking there. And if it was something Kristian decided he didn't want to worry about hurting himself over, particularly looking out for his back and knees, I understand not asking him to run over and over again for reshoots. But the fact that he didn't even get dressed with them... and that's the second time he's been excluded from a plan apparently due to his size (remember that he didn't get to participate when The Revenge dressed up as rich boys for Nigel Badminton)...

It is legitimately breaking my heart. One of the things I love about this show is the love is gives to its fat characters and actors. Fang gets to have his tummy out 24/7 and he's treated like a snack by Lucius, Wee John got to have an incredible dress, Oluwande is the crew's most eligible bachelor, and we even got a delightful fat character in 2x07 who spent his whole time dressed in only some leather halters and pants...

But the fact that Wee John was singled out and left behind, and the fact that Fang was singled out and othered at that very same time... It fucking hurts. As a fat person who has loved getting to see so much love for fat bodies... it stung to see that the comedy couldn't even suspend its reality long enough to say "there are a few fat people in the Royal English Navy, so Wee John and Fang get to be dressed up too."

[insurged]

one liner starter call? maybe? (ᵔ◡ᵔ)

[mad4turtles]

these are so cute!!! if you’re still feeling energized for these… would you want to write some Leo and Raph post-movie? 👉👈

Ask and ye shall receive! <3 Sorry it took so long :0

---

The funny thing is, Raph barely remembers.

He remembers, viscerally, how the head Krang (Prime the voices supplied) had dug into his brain, using his own memories against him to hunt down his family. He remembers the searing pain, the terror, the illusion of freedom only to face his failure in the distorted form of his brothers, father and sister, walking corpses that spat hatred and bitterness, screeching “WHY?!” until blissful darkness took him.

He remembers how his shoulder and shell had pulsed with an ache like nothing he'd ever felt, the cold press of the solid tentacle that so easily pierced bone and flesh, his body trembling as he struggled to stay upright, conscious, just a moment longer.

He remembers Leo's face, the terror in his baby brother's eyes, his body curled around the key under Raph's shaking frame. He remembers Leo's quiet voice breathing his name like a prayer, then the muffled screams as Raph's escape pod encased him and shot him into the air—“Raph, wait, no! Wait, Raph! RAPH—!”

He remembers the heartbeats it took for him to get between Leo and the creature hell-bent on killing him—you idiot you JACKASS I told you to GO why don't you LISTEN oh god oh christ Leo Leo LEO NO—the pain of a blade scoring through nerve endings and the sickly warmth of blood dripping down his shoulder—it hurts it hurts I made it he's alive he's okay you're okay little brother I got you I love you I love you take care of the others be safe I love—to the moment the world went dark.

The blurry parts are every moment after. He has... feelings of the time he'd spent as a zombified slave, intents and ideals fed into him like sludge through a straw—the Krang are superior, you are the proof of our might, you will serve us well, squash them, kill it, kill him, KILL HIM—

(He thinks, sometimes, he can still hear it; the sweet nothings of violence the Krang had promised, a seat by the throne built over the bodies of millions, the corpses of his family.)

His left eye saw flashes of what his body was doing, moving to the whim of another, smashing and slicing without restraint, but nothing concrete. 

Not until he had Leo struggling to speak, to breathe with his hand (tentacle) wrapped around his throat. 

That part is crystal clear.

A part of him is glad it is because it brought him back to his senses, back to his family. The other part—watching Leo lower his hands, stop fighting, willing and ready to let Raph kill him—hates it with every fibre in him.

That his little brother's last words to him would be the most heartfelt he's ever said after two years of senseless frustration and quarrel, his last act of submission after years of posturing and arrogance to hide mountains of insecurity...

And then, of course, there was the sacrifice.

Listening to Leo's hollow laugh—“You're one to talk, big bro. Hero moves are totally your style.”—and watching from the ground as the portal closed, more powerless and useless than he's ever been... it broke something in him. 

I told him to step up to be a leader, a hero. I did this.

It hit him like a bus, and he fell to his knees.

I drove my little brother to kill himself.

And then Mikey pulled the fabric of reality apart with his bare hands and pure, untameable love, and they pulled Leo from the brink of death barely in one piece.

And then they go home. The world was saved, and the adventure was over. Fade to black, roll the credits, and happily ever after.

God, I wish.

Because it's been two weeks since then, and Raph remembers. And the piece of him that shattered when Leo shut himself in the prison dimension with a monster lies scattered in his heart like glass shards pricking his chest every time he breathes, every time he looks at Leo still recovering in the infirmary.

The Hamato clan prove their bond by hardly ever leaving Leo alone for longer than a few hours. Splinter soothes him to sleep with Japanese lullabies from their childhood. Mikey and Casey Jr bombard him with videos, memes, drawings and other goofy things to make him smile. Donnie uses him as a soundboard as he rattles off ideas of future projects, his tablet in one hand, his other laced with Leo's in an iron grip. April brings a wheelchair she'd 'sourced', wheeling Leo around at speeds that make Raph nervous until their whooping laughter fills the lair.

Even Draxum stops by to check on Leo's progress, help change bandages or fix stitches, and Leo lets him, more so after the goat Yokai admits in a soft voice they've never associated with the scientist that he's proud. Leo denies his tears, but they all know better.

Raph, meanwhile, does what he can and keeps his distance.

He'd hugged the daylights out of Leo when he first came hurtling through the portal, broken, trembling and terrified. Then the adrenaline wore off, Leo was laid in a bed, and Raph remembered oh, I nearly killed you with my own hands. I sent you to die.

He's as hesitant to touch Leo as he is with anyone coming near his face, his entire right eye a sensitive mess of slowly healing scars. Everyone has noticed, even Draxum, but they leave the can of worms shut for now.

Leo has noticed. And it's funny that after everything Raph put him through, he never flinches when Raph gets too close. If anything, he leans into it as much as he can, and it's Raph who backs away with a stuttering apology.

Raph knows it isn't right. His family assure him day in and out that it wasn't his fault, none of it was, and he believes them, he does. But he remembers how Leo's throat nearly gave under his strength, his hollow laugh and how he thought being a hero meant dying for the world because Raph pushed him too hard, and he falters.

It's the worst thing he could do to Leo right now; avoid him after he nearly died for them, but...

I nearly killed you.

It comes to a head one night, three weeks after the world nearly ended. Raph is laid out on his bed, settling in for the night with a book Draxum had lent him when there's a knock at his door. “C'mon in,” he says, and only after the door slides open does he question why any of his brothers would bother knocking on his door.

“Hey.”

He's ashamed to admit he jumps at Leo's tired voice in the doorway. And he jumps for real when he realizes his bother is standing—well, more leaning against the car door with his wheelchair behind him, his grin lazy and his brow drenched in sweat.

“Freakin'—Leo!” Raph scrambles off his bed, nearly tripping over tangled blankets. “What're you doin'? You're gonna pull a stitch again!”

Leo shrugs. “Wheelchair's cool 'n all, but it's weird if I have to look up and up at you when I'm trying to talk to you.”

Raph slaps a hand over his eyes and groans deep from his chest. “Swear to god, Leo—get in here.”

Leo grins and limps carefully over to Raph's bed, dropping onto the mattress with a sigh of relief. Idiot, Raph thinks half-fond, shutting the door and leaning against the headboard, crossing his arms and offering a smile he hopes doesn't look strained. “So, what's up? Leg actin' up again? Donnie's awful dubstep stuck in your head? If that's the case, bro, I can't help you—”

“Are you mad at me?”

Raph's jaws snap shut. He looks at Leo and—oh.

There's a hollowness in his eyes, resignation in his smile, and that cold, awful feeling in Raph's chest surges anew.

“No, Leo, no,” Raph stands up straight and moves to kneel in front of Leo, putting them at eye-level even as Leo averts his to his lap and twisting, still healing fingers. “I'm not mad at you. Why would I—what made you think I'd ever be—?”

“You're avoiding me,” Leo mutters, tapping his fingers and picking at the Jupiter Jim band-aids Mikey stuck around his knuckles. Raph watches, listens and regrets as Leo's chin wobbles, eyes shining. “You—I mean sure, you're there when I call you or, or when we're watching a movie with the guys or eating dinner, but—you haven't... you haven't looked at me, not really, since I got the all-clear from Barry. You look through me like I'm a ghost or, or something so small that I'll break, or you'll move like you wanna hug me then you stop and I don't—I don't know why.”

When Leo looks up, tears are spilling down his cheeks even as anger, confusion and an aching longing burn like embers in his eyes. Raph almost flinches.

“Didn't I do everything right?” he cries through sniffles and the start of a sob. “I stepped up, I took things seriously and—and I saved you, I saved everyone, I was—I was a hero, right? I mean, that's what you wanted, right? For me to stop acting like a know-it-all little shit who nearly gets his big brother stabbed and the whole world destroyed because of a s-stupid, stupid move, and—“ Leo ducks his head again, banging clenched fists against his skull as his shoulders shake with the force of his tears. “A-and you were right, Raph, you were right, and I, I know I already said I was sorry but please, god, just—tell me what I'm doing wrong, what did I do wrong? Why won't you look at me, why won't you hug me, Raph, I need you, please, just tell me, what did I do—!?”

Raph doesn't tackle Leo like he so desperately wants to—has wanted to for weeks—as his throat closes and his eyes burn. Instead, he reaches for Leo's wrists and pulls his fists away. Leo goes silent, frozen, eyes wide as Raph cups his face between his giant hands. 

The same hands that dealt lethal blows and nearly strangled him. 

The hands that also hoisted Mikey onto his shoulders for piggyback rides, gave punishing noogies that left them gasping with laughter and rubbed shells to soothe him to sleep after another bout of insomnia.

These hands belong to Hamato Raphael, who loves Leonardo more than life. And he'd been a selfish, blind fool to deny his brother an ounce of that out of fear when he needed it more than ever.

“Leonardo,” he says, surprised when his voice doesn't break as his heart did with every word out of his brother's mouth. “I'm not mad. I've never been mad for what you did. Scared outta my goddamn mind? Yeah. Scared that I might hurt you again? Constantly. I know it's stupid because it wasn't me, it was them, but I... I couldn't risk it. I was... I was still scared and messed up.”

He swallows hard. “And I was... I drove you to get yourself killed. I thought you'd hate me for it. I hate myself for it, for everything I did that day. So I stayed away...”

Leo stares. Raph brushes a stray tear from his striped cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“But I had no idea what I was doin' to you by leaving you alone like that,” he admits, nearly ducking his head. He doesn't, because Leo needs to see, not just hear, how much he knows he messed up. “I thought you'd be afraid of me comin' anywhere near you after all that. I had no idea you were lookin' for me, Leo. I didn't know you felt that way. And I'm sorry.”

His right eye stings worse than the left as hot tears fall down his cheeks. He swallows a sob and pulls Leo's face closer until their foreheads meet.

“Leo, I'm so, so sorry. I never meant to push you so far, make you think you had to—to do that to feel worthy of anything. I get frustrated with you when you don't listen to me, or you go off on your own to prove a point, but, god—" He sniffles. "Before you're a hero or a leader, you're my little brother first. I love you, Leonardo. I love you because you're you. Nothin' you do will ever change that.”

Smaller hands clutch his wrists tight enough to bruise. “Even if—” Leo hiccups, “Even if I almost get you killed? Even if I piss you off and never listen and—”

“Even then,” Raph says, pulling back enough to grin at Leo. “Even then. Whether you pull some self-sacrificing bullshit and scare me to death, or you steal the last slice of cake I was saving from the fridge, I'll still love you. And Leo? I'm proud of you. I'll always be proud of you.”

Leo stares at Raph, wide eyes searching for a lie, a trick. There's none, Raph knows, but it twists something in him that Leo would ever think there would be. 

They should've done this a long time ago.

Then Leo's face crumples seconds before he bursts into tears. 

Raph breaks through every boundary and wall he'd made, pulling Leo to the floor with him and finally, finally, wrapping his arms around his little brother, holding him as close and tight as he dares. Leo throws his arms around his neck and squeezes, and it should hurt, would, if Raph were anyone else, but he can take it. He'll take anything, everything, for them.

“I'm—I'm s-so sorry, Raph,” Leo sobs, burying his face into Raph's good shoulder and clinging for all he's worth—so much, Raph thinks, he's worth so much, and he doesn't even see it. “I'm so sorry, I—I didn't mean to, I just—I love you, Raphie, I—I just, I wanted to—”

“Shh, I know, little brother,” Raph hushes, rocking them gently like he used to do when they were small. “I know, and I forgive you. I'm sorry I pushed you away like that. I didn't mean to, but it doesn't change that I did. I'm sorry. And I love you too. Always.”

Leo squeezes tighter. "I forgive you, too," he croaks. "Don't go away again. Jerk."

Raph's chuckle catches on a sob. "Don't worry. I ain't goin' nowhere."

(The shattered pieces in his chest pick themselves up one by one. They're crooked and bent, but they're lined with gold and stronger than ever.

Kintsugi, his mind supplies. Beautiful in its brokenness.)

Eventually, Leo's sobs ebb into sniffles. Raph nuzzles Leo's damp cheek against his and smiles. “I really am proud of you, Leo. But do me a favour?”

Leo sniffs. “Hm?”

“Never pull that shit again, or I will sit on you.”

That startles a watery laugh out of Leo. “That's—pfft—that's the best you can do?”

“Have you seen me, bro? I am a literal tank, I will actually crush you.”

"Fatty."

"Watch it, kid."

Leo giggles tiredly, drying his tears with the tails of Raph's mask. He doesn't let go, and Raph is in no rush to make him even as he grows heavier in Raph's arms, loose-limbed. Raph grins. “Tired?”

“Mm-hm,” Leo mumbles, nuzzling his face into Raph's shoulder. “...m' tired... carry me?”

Raph's sigh would make Drama-tello proud, put-upon as it is, but he stands and takes Leo with him, shifting him in his arms bridal style. He can see how damp Leo's face is, mask drenched with tear tracks, eyes red around the edges and damn, they should have done this much sooner. But they can start now. Raph can make up for it, for everything, now. 

“Where to, Blue?” he asks.

Leo huffs a short laugh at their father's baby names. “My room,” he says. He hesitates, then looks up to meet Raph's eyes. “... stay with me?”

Raph blinks. They have sleepovers all the time having spent most of their childhood sharing beds and rooms. But it's been a while, a long while, since Leo has asked to sleep with Raph. The twins usually seek each other out for comfort first, the rest of the family naturally gravitating afterwards. 

Then again, this is different. And Raph's answer would be the same either way.

He smiles. “Sure thing, little brother.”

(That's how Splinter finds them in the middle of the night during his rounds, squeezed together on Leo's narrow mattress, Raph's massive frame curled around Leo like a protective barrier. He smiles, tucks their blankets over them and presses a kiss to their foreheads. Right before he shuts the door, he sees them smile as they dream.

Nightmares can't touch them. Not with Big Raphie around.

And he always will be, fears and memories be damned.)

---

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Also, reblogs are appreciated <3

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

you never know what you'll get (the weather report is always wrong)

sometimes I feel like I could spontaneously combust

light up and let go

burn for a while and maybe it'll be so hot it gets cold

cool off and set it free

nobody in the world with me but me

freeze to death and burn back to life

dawn of the final days

when everything else is gonna fade away

the ambiguity is the charm, third season around

for once I'm the one who stays

what will the weather be like today?

either I end up burnt to a crisp or with frostbitten hands

one way is a light

the other just happens in the night

~ xoxo, Love yoU

[luckyyyduckyyy]

Oh my God doomed romance. Bittersweet pure and whimsically doomed romance. Can barely get off the ground sweet beautiful romance. Otherworldly pinning and hard lessons romance. Romance that could honestly be viewed as platonic but still hurt just as hard because love is still love even when it's not romantic love romance.

I must write oh no... The demons are making me write when I'm so backlogged on other works but oh my God whimsical doomed romance!!!!!!

WHY DO I GET THE MOST AMAZING IDEAS AT 2AM MAN

[anidealistatbestburntoutatworst]

kunikidazai and shakespeare,,, what a duo

i leave it to the imaginative little ppl reading this to come up with a preface

dazai: “i love you, kunikida”

kunikida *brows furrowing a yearnfull sadness coming over him*: “dazai- you say you love rain, but yet you open your umbrella. you say you love the sun, but you always find a spot in the shadows. you say you love the wind, but you close your windows the first you hear of its rustling . these reasons dazai, are why i am afraid when you say that you love me too.”

[that-was-anticlimactic]

there’s something so sacred about sharing what you love with others: whether it be a song or food or clothes, a show or a movie or pictures. it's just... such a deep and personal thing, you know? having someone carve out a little part of their heart and gift it to you with an abundance of joy and excitement and passion... yeah.

[chadchrmings]

today on the "hook family are destroying me"....