#personne-writes

[aquietwritingcorner]

Indirectly Responsible

For @tmnt-write-fight for @turtle--thoughts @personne-writes @azucar-skull @teainthesnow @pileofpawns @rbtlvr @drebspells2022

Title: Indirectly Responsible Prompt: Donnie not coping as well as he seems with both the aftermath of Good Genes and how that indirectly led to the Foot Mystics being freed; You don’t know, you weren’t there; Bad dream; “There has to be another way”; Recovery; Turtle Pile Fluff; Scars Fandom:  TMNT 2003 Word Count: 6005  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  T Characters:  Donatello, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo Warning: NA Summary: The Demon Shredder could strike at any moment. All of New York is under threat. And in April O’Neil’s apartment, one turtle can’t help but think that this whole situation is indirectly his fault.    Notes:  So, looking at the timeline, I don’t think that there’s a way for any of the turtles to know that their theft of the Heart of Tengu would lead to the heralds being freed until deep into season 5, so that’s where I’ve placed this. I also know there wasn’t actually much time between Karai waking up in April’s apartment and the final battle, but, eh, let’s pretend there was. ffn || AO3

____________________________________

Indirectly Responsible

Don tossed and turned, shifting around as he slept on a pallet that April had laid out on her floor for him, moving stiffly, uncomfortably. The lights were out, the apartment dark, and quiet lay like a blanket over the sleeping occupants. Inside April’s bedroom Karai slept, Chaplin choosing to stay with her, both guarding and keeping an eye on his mistress. Casey slept on a cot out in the hallway, where he would be the first alert for any trouble that might come up that way. On her couch curled under a blanket, April slept, but with a bat nearby, just in case. The Ancient One had taken to her recliner, hat pulled down over his face, snoring lightly. Splinter slept on a small nest of pillows, curled up in a more rat-like way than he typically did.

Leo, Raph, Mikey and Don all had pallets of quilts scattered around the rest of the apartment, strategically placed. Raph was near the shop stairs, ready for any trouble from that direction. Leo had chosen to sleep under the living room windows, perhaps in defiance of having once been thrown through him.  Mikey stayed near the kitchen, easily able to distinguish between the sounds the appliances made or trouble. Don, for his part, had laid out his pallet near the computer in case an alarm went off.

They had wanted to set up a watch rotation, just in case something happened in the night. However, the Ancient One had insisted that they all sleep. He felt that something was going to happen, soon, that this was the lull before storm, and they all needed to be well-rested for the coming battle. Splinter had trusted his judgment and encouraged everyone to rest while they could.

However, Donatello’s sleep was anything but restful. Dreams—memory fragments?—played through his head, distorted, hard to parse through. Most of what swirled around in his dreams were fragments, small pieces of moments that had no context. They were small enough that, should he remember them when he woke, he wouldn’t be able to glean much from them. Still, they were poignant in is dreams, leaving his mind in turmoil.

His giant, clawed hand around Mikey’s leg. His father’s sad face. Fear and a feeling of needing to get somewhere safe as he ran through the sewers. Being enraged as April held a broom that had just hit him in the face. Rage as Leatherhead and his brothers tried to catch him. Fear as Bishop’s men tried to gun him down. Anger as Leo shot him again and again with tranquilizer darts.

Pain. Pain, pain, pain, pain, painpainpainpainapain—

These dreams weren’t unusual. He’d been having them off and on for months. They’d started a few weeks after he’d gotten the cure for his second mutation. Don theorized that it was because his body had finally healed to the point that it could begin to process the trauma that he’d gone through. They’d fade out after some time, but then would resurface, usually with accompanying aches, pains, and exhaustions as his body recovered.

He had started to have these dreams again during their training with the Ninja Tribunal, something he attributed to the stress of the environment. The Ancient One had theorized that they were an avenue of mystical attack, with some connection to the situation, and led Don through some meditations to try to deal with them. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been much time to focus on that, and the dreams had continued. They grew more frequent, the memories more broken up, and left him with echoed feelings of anxiety, terror, dread, and guilt that he couldn’t shake.

Every so often, though, a more intact memory would come through. It was usually a few minutes of something he’d observed or done when he’d been mutated. Some of them were downright terrifying. Others were just painful. Most of them, though, were enlightening no matter the other emotions accompanying them, and he usually remembered those memories when he woke. Tonight, amidst the fragments that ran throughout Don’s head, an intact memory made its way to the forefront.

He was in pain. He was in so much pain. He hurt. He was terrified. Safe. He needed to get where it was safe. He didn’t know where that was, but he needed it. He’d been trying to get out of this trap for hours, beating, beating, beating on it. But it wouldn’t let him escape.

He was in pain. He was scared. He was tired.

He slumped to the floor of the cage, energy spent for the moment. His captors were just beyond it, talking, although he didn’t understand them.

“There has to be another way, Leo!”

The one addressed shook his head. “There isn’t one, Raph.”

“What about the Utroms?” the third asked. “Or the Triceritons? Couldn’t we ask them for help?”

The big creature shook his head. “It is not an option, Michelangelo. While they could help, by the time a message got to them, it would already be too late for Donatello. His cells would have completely broken down.”

Something in the third one’s expression stirred something inside him, but he didn’t understand it, and just continued to watch.

“Then is this the only option?” the furry one asked.

The big one let out a breath and walked to the wall of lights and noises that he was often at. “As much as I hate to admit it, I am afraid that it is, Master Splinter.”

“There ain’t nothing else?” the first one said. “Nothing we can steal or get for you? Yer a smart guy, LH! Or—or what about the Justice Force? They’ve got all kinds of things, right?”

“I asked,” the third one said. “But… there’s no one there that understands all of, well, this,” he said, gesturing to the group.

The first one looked back at the second one. “So, this is it? We just take Donnie to that mad man that caused this problem in the first place, and let him have him?”

“No.” The second one’s voice was strong. “No, we don’t just hand him over. This is Don. He’s our brother. Someone will be with him all the time.”

“Ain’t gonna do us a lot of good if Bishop decides to just keep us all,” the first one said.

“I know,” the second one said. “But… there’s no other options. I’ve been over this in my head a million ways, Raph. This is the only thing we can do. There is no other way.”

All eyes traveled over to him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way they were looking at him. There was something there and he didn’t understand it. It made him mad, made him angry, and that gave him a surge of energy. He rose to his feet and roared, pounding on the cage that kept him again and again.

Maybe if he did it enough, if he escaped from this, the pain would finally stop.

The scene slipped back again, although not forgotten, fragments overtaking it, trying to cover it up. Yet no matter how much the fragments tried to cover it up, the scene stayed, pushing its way through them, insisting on staying in Don’s awareness.

Rage at Stockman, who seemed as little more than twigs walking. “There has to be another way!” Pain from things being jabbed in his side from Bishop’s men. “There isn’t one.” Fear as a gas filled the new cage he was in. “Then this is the only option?” Loneliness, loss, as he searched for safety, for his family for safety, not knowing when they found him, that they were who he was looking for. “I’m afraid that it is.” The overwhelming desire to runbreakhidefight all at once. “There’s no other options.”

Pain. Pain, pain, pain, pain, pain painpainpainpainpainpain—

“There’s no other way.”

Don woke up with a start. He immediately sat up, ignoring the ache that shot through him, tense, ready to roll out of bed and fight. There were no immediate threats, though, and everyone else seemed to be sleeping. The apartment was quiet, the monitoring systems weren’t going off, and Don couldn’t hear any threats from outside.

“There has to be another way!”

“There’s no other way.”

A shudder ran through Don, and he let the battle-readiness fade away, simply sitting there instead as the ache started to settle into his bones. He tried to calm his breathing, focusing instead on those two phrases. Why did they seem so familiar? What had happened around those words? His brow furrowed as he tried to think it through. What had he been dreaming about?

“There has to be another way, Leo!”

“There isn’t one, Raph.”

“What about the Utroms? Or the Triceritons? Couldn’t we ask them for help?”

“It is not an option, Michelangelo. While they could help, by the time a message got to them, it would already be too late for Donatello. His cells would have completely broken down.”

“Then is this the only option?”

Right. Right, it had been not a dream but another memory. This time one of his family talking. Talking about him and options. Or, more precisely, what they felt like was their only option. The only way they had to cure him.

“So, this is it? We just take Donnie to that mad man that caused this problem in the first place, and let him have him?”

“No. No, we don’t just hand him over. This is Don. He’s our brother. Someone will be with him all the time.”

“Ain’t gonna do us a lot of good if Bishop decides to just keep us all.”

“I know. But… there’s no other options. I’ve been over this in my head a million ways, Raph. This is the only thing we can do. There is no other way.”

Don drew in a big breath, held it, and let it out. The memory was coming back to him, now. He’d seen fragments of it before, but they were all connecting, snapping into place. He’d known his brothers had taken him to Bishop. He’d known they’d negotiated with him for a cure. He’d know that they’d had to go and get something from Karai for Bishop, although he’d had to press hard to get that information out of anyone.

And he knew it was something called The Heart of Tengu. And he knew that it had given Karai control over the Foot Mystics. The same entities that now called themselves the Heralds of the Shredder and had worked to bring about the return of the Tengu Shredder.

Not that any of them had known that until recently.

After she had woken up, and after Chaplin had come to get her, and after they had both decided to stay for at least the night, everyone had settled down to share information. Or, well, that had been the idea. Neither side trusted the other, obviously. Broad strokes were shared, until one, fairly explosive moment when Karai had accused the turtles of bringing the whole disaster about. She’d told them about the Heart of Tengu, then, and how it had kept the Foot Mystics under control. She blamed them for what was happening.

Don had been stunned. He knew that his brothers had stolen something from her for Bishop, to ensure the cure for him. But he hadn’t realized what it was—or just how it had caused this apocalyptic nightmare they were now in.

“This is all your fault!” Karai snapped. “You stole the Heart of Tengu from me! You were the ones that set the Mystics free!”

“We may have stolen it from you, Karai,” Leo said, “but we had nothing to do with setting the Mystics free.”

Karai scoffed. “Then why did you steal it, Leonardo? To control the Mystics? To try to use them against me, only to find them too difficult for you to control?”

Raph growled. “Yer barking up the wrong tree, sister,” he said, and Don could see how he was trying very hard not to grip the handles of his sai, trying not to escalate things.

“It was payment,” Leo said, interrupting anything else that might be said. “We had a need. That was the payment required to ensure the deal.”

Karai spread her hand towards the windows. “And look what that ‘payment’ has cost everyone,” Karai mocked. “Was it worth dooming the world for?” she demanded.

Something sure seemed to settle in each of Don’s brothers and his father, even as Leo spoke again. “Yes. It was, Karai. And I’d do it again. We all would.”

Don took a breath, bringing himself back from that memory, even as the guilt he felt settled into him once more. His hand went to the scar on his leg, all that was left from that infected wound he’d had all those months, and pressed down on it, trying to massage away the shooting pain he was feeling from it. That wound had introduced the outbreak virus into his system, and that wound should have been something he paid more attention to.

The scar was a raised, bumpy thing, about an inch and a half wide, and roughly circular. It made sense, seeing it came from a puncture wound. The initial puncture hadn’t been as big as the scar, but there had been some necrosis around it that had worried Don a little. Fortunately, that, as well as the wound itself, had seemed to heal up with the advent of the cure.

It was a reminder, though. A reminder of what his own inattention and lack of care had cost them. A reminder of the guilt he carried with him. If the pains it sent out into his body from time to time were his only penance, then he had gotten off lightly.

Lightning flashed outside, and Don turned to look out the windows. Everything was so wrong out there. The sky wasn’t right, the trees and the buildings were twisted, warped. Everything outside felt like a mockery of what it should be. The people were terrified. Even the criminals had backed off, everyone hunkering down, waiting for the next thing to happen.

And Don knew it was all because of him.

Don couldn’t stay there anymore. He needed to get up, to move, to go somewhere else. His scar ached, and he felt the pain from it creeping into his bones, aches settling into the stretch marks left on his skin from the transformations. It felt like there was a pressure on his shell that was waiting to snap, and he winced as he got up. As much as he tried to hide it and deny it, he was still recovering from his second mutation. His muscles often had a persistent ache to them, something he felt in his very bones, and he still didn’t have all of his endurance back. Training with the Tribunal hadn’t helped that, and he had often found himself utterly exhausted at the end of a training day.

Honestly, it worried him, and some primal part of himself wanted to give into emotions and panic. Don kept that part in check, trying to remember that it was a traumatic thing that his body was recovering from. He knew that there was still a chance that the aches and pains would fade and eventually he’d be back to normal. However, he also knew that there was a good chance that he’d be living with this the rest of his life. Again, it was a small penance to pay for being the indirect cause of the apocalypse.

Don shook his head. The dreams, the worries of a full recovery, he sat them to the side for a moment and very quietly got up, using the nearby desk for leverage as his body protested the movement. He grabbed his bo—both to have it just in case, and for the extra support it gave him--and on silent feet he made his way towards the spiral staircase that led down into the shop.

Sneaking past Raphael wasn’t an easy thing to do, especially when Don felt as bad as he did at the moment, but it was possible, and Don knew the tricks. He managed not to disturb his brother and landed quietly in the shop with only the barest of a stumble, using his bo for balance. He could see more of the outside through the shop windows, and it turned his stomach, making the guilt settle on him even harder. The pain he was feeling flared up in response, and with a grimace, Don quietly made his way through the shop and to the door that led to the hallway, using his bo as a walking staff.

The staircase was there, and Don could hear Casey snoring on the second-floor landing. Every so quietly, Don made his way to the stairs, going down them instead of going up. He headed into the basement, and down to a room that he was told he ran into when he was mutating.

Don paused in the doorway, leaning on his bo and looking around. He wasn’t sure how Kirby’s room had survived the fire and explosion of April’s building, but somehow it had. Kirby’s bed and drawing table were still in there and Don listlessly made his way around the room, his bo quietly tapping on the floor. He looked at the little trinkets and such that had belonged to the man. He’d apparently had no family to come collect the things, and April, not knowing what to do with them, had put them back. She’d intended to clean the room out and rent it again, but with all of them in her life, she never had. Don was kind of glad for that now.

He heavily sat down on the bed, not feeling like staying standing any longer, and reached over to pick up a half-geode that was sitting on the nightstand. He could see where the fire had scorched the outside of the rock, but the crystals inside were undamaged. He gently ran his finger over them, wishing that he knew the significance of this to Kirby. He’d never gotten the chance to know Kirby that well. It had been a meeting, an adventure, and a tragedy.

Something else he was responsible for.

“Don?” Don looked up to see Leo standing in the doorway to the room. He was looking at Don with a mix of curiosity and concern, clearly assessing him. He frowned when he saw Don’s bo propped against the bed in easy reach. “Are you okay?”

Don shrugged and turned the geode over in his hand.

“Just thinking,” he said. “I’m aching a little, too.”

Leo frowned sympathetically, and moved further into the room, coming to sit beside Don. “I can understand that. Anything I can do?”

Don let out a small, half-amused noise. “Not unless you can rewind time and keep me from getting the wound to begin with.”

Leo’s mouth twitched up in a smile. “If I could do that, I would have done that to begin with.

“There has to be another way!”

“There’s no other way.”

Don frowned as the memory resurfaced, complimenting Leo’s words.

Leo, of course, took notice, and his smile faded away, too. “What is it?” he asked.

Don looked down at the rough outer surface of the geode, running his thumb on it. “…Was it really the only way?” he asked quietly.

He felt Leo stiffen a little at his side. “Don, what do you—”

“The amulet,” Don said. “I—I had another dream tonight. Another memory. I was inside the cage LH and I built. You were all outside it, and Raph was saying that there had to be another way other than taking me to Bishop to get the cure. But you and LH didn’t seem to think that there was.”

Leo was still. “I remember that conversation,” he said, his voice muted, but firm.

Don swallowed, feeling emotions welling up in him. He rotated the geode in his hand, keeping the rough side up, letting his fingers scrape along it. “Was it the only way, Leo?” he asked. “Was it truly? I understand why you did it. I’m not saying that. But look what it cost us. The Tribunal. Our friends, the other acolytes. Parts of New York City. It could cost us not just the city, but so much more. Getting that amulet to save me might have doomed the world.” He was staring firmly at the rock now. “I’m not worth the world, Leo. I’m not worth all of those peopl—”

Suddenly Leo’s hands were on his shoulders, and his brother was roughly forcing Don to face him. Startled, Don dropped the geode and looked up. Leo’s face was set, grim, and yet full of barely contained emotion.

“Donatello, I never want to hear you say that again,” he said firmly, fiercely. “You are worth it.”

Don’s own mouth settled into a grim line, the startlement fading. “Am I?” he said. “To you, to our family, yes, I am. But if you compare my life to the lives of everyone else, then no, I’m not.” He gently but firmly moved himself out of Leo’s grasp on his shoulders and leaned down to pick up the geode, wincing as he did. “In the grand scheme of things, my life isn’t worth any more than anyone else’s.” He turned the geode up, looking at the crystals. “There had to be another way to get me back.”

“There wasn’t.” Leo’s voice was firm, sure.

“There would have been, in time,” Don said. He grabbed his bo and used it to help him stand up, moving across the room to put the geode down on a shelf.

Leo stayed where he was and shook his head. “There was no other option,” he repeated, his voice rising a little bit.

“The options weren’t fully explored. I’ve seen the notes and I—” Don started.

Leo suddenly leapt to his feet, fire in his eyes. “You don’t know! You weren’t there!” he said forcefully, his voice raising even more.

Don turned to look at him, and Leo backtracked, reigning himself back in.

“I mean, of course you were there,” he said, his voice a little quieter. He ran a hand across his head, frustration in the movement. “But you weren’t—you weren’t you,” he said. “It was like I said to Raph and Mikey once. I kept looking to you to ask what we were going to do but… you weren’t there.” He looked at Don, with pleading eyes. “You’ve got to understand, Don. We explored everything as best we could. There was no other way.”

Don took a breath in, turning to stare at the geode for a moment. Its crystals caught the little light in the room and reflected it. “Then it’s my fault,” Don said quietly.

Leo stared at him a moment, confused. “What?”

“Then it’s my fault,” Don said turning back around. He leaned on his bo. “You’re right. I wasn’t there. I was… I was a raging, mindless beast who didn’t understand anything that was happening.” His jaw tightened a little. “I didn’t know anyone or anything. I didn’t even understand when I was safe. All I knew was pain and rage. I wasn’t there.”

“Don, I—” Leo started, but Don shook his head and cut his brother off.

“I wasn’t there before that, though.” He looked Leo in the eye. “I saw Leatherhead’s notes. He noted the point in my own notes when I became unreliable. I was too sick, too far gone with the virus to accurately interpret the data anymore. I wasn’t ever going to be able to find a cure, because I was already ‘not there.’ By the time we got back from the past, my reasoning was too far gone.”

Leo was silent, the analysis evidently taking him by surprise. Don forged ahead, reaching to run his fingers over the geode again.

“I never was going to find a cure,” he said firmly. “And it was my fault for not taking the wound seriously to begin with.” Don’s voice began to pitch up a little. “And I only got the wound because I froze up and Raph had to push me out of the way. If I had just moved, or if I had taken the wound more seriously, then I wouldn’t have double mutated,” the words spilled out of his mouth, falling quicker and quicker, his grip on his bo tightening. “If I hadn’t double mutated, then all of you wouldn’t have gone to Bishop for a cure. He wouldn’t have instructed you steal the Heart of Tengu. The Foot Mystics would have never gotten free. They wouldn’t have been able to kill the Tribunal and our friends. The Demon Shredder wouldn’t have been revived. And the fate of the world wouldn’t be hanging in the balance!”

Don whirled back to face Leo, who had been silent, watching as Don laid out his reasoning, grasping his bo with both hands now. “So, you see, Leo, this is all my fault! The world could end, we could all die, and it’s all my fault because I didn’t move out of the way of an enemy in time!”

For a moment, there was silence. Then Leo looked at Don and frowned. “Alright,” he said, crossing his arms. “It is all your fault.”

Don wavered where he stood. “What?”

“It is your fault,” Leo said. “You’re right. If you hadn’t gotten that wound, then none of this would have happened.”

Don hadn’t been expecting Leo to say that, and he stared at his brother, his mouth hanging slightly open. The words stung. They hurt, even though Don knew they were true, and he tightened his grip on his bo again.

Leo wasn’t finished though. “But I’ll say it again. You don’t know. You weren’t there.” Leo took a step towards Don. “Your notes may not have been reliable towards the end, but they were better and more extensive than anything Bishop or Stockman had.”

“But… they made the cure…” Don said, confused.

“Yeah, they did,” Leo said. “From your notes.” Leo sighed and put his hands on Don’s shoulders, both comforting and supporting Don. “They lied to us, Don. They said they had a cure when they didn’t. Master Splinter and Leatherhead told us about it later, but it was too late by that point. You were closer to a cure than they were. They just had better resources and equipment to finish what you started.”

“They—what?” Don stared at his brother, trying to process this new information.

Leo nodded. “Leatherhead said that the only reason your notes were as well-researched and extensive was because you were testing yourself. Don’t you see, Don?” Leo asked.

Don stared at his brother, waiting for Leo to explain.

“Because you got that sting, you started your studies and research long before Bishop or Stockman even knew there was a problem. You had the most complete and accurate information available. Because you double mutated, your research went to Bishop and Stockman, and they were able to make a cure. Without you, without your research, without that sting, the city would still be suffering from mutated creatures.”

Leo gave Don’s shoulders a squeeze. “Yes, we stole the Heart of Tengu as payment, but it was because Bishop lied to us about what he could do. Not to mention, Bishop started the whole mess to begin with, with his fake invasion.” He gave Don a tight smile. “You didn’t bring about the danger we’re in now. Bishop did, by trying to build a fake danger, and then by lying to us.”

Don stared at Leo, blinking as his brain processed the information. “…Oh.” He could feel himself trembling just slightly. He shook his head. “But—still. You stole the Heart of Tengu to save me.” He glanced at the doorway, as if he could see outside through it. “I still feel responsible.”

Leo shook his head again, and adjusted his grip, leading Don back to the bed and sitting them both down. He shifted again, sliding an arm along Don’s shoulders to pull him in. “You’re not. Besides…” Leo hesitated. “I don’t know how to explain it, but… it feels like this was always supposed to be us? I think… I think that even if it hadn’t been to save you, then something would have happened to the Heart of Tengu anyway, and we’d be in a similar position.”

Don eyed Leo skeptically for a moment, but then relented. Leo had always had a sense about these things, even more so since he returned from the Ancient One. It had seemed to sharpen, somehow, during their training with the Tribunal.

“If you’re sure, Leo,” Don said, slumping a bit against his brother, tired and aching.

“If Leo’s sure about what?”

Mikey’s sleepy voice interrupted, and Mikey poked his head around the door. Raph was right there with him, moving to stand in the doorway, eyes moving over the pair, clearly assessing the situation.

“If I’m sure that Don’s not responsible for everything that’s happened,” Leo said.

“He ain’t,” Raph said bluntly.

“Ohhh,” Mikey said. “This is because of the Heart of Tengu thing, isn’t it?”

Don shot a Mikey a startled look. “How did you—”

“How did I know?” Mikey said, coming into the room and plopping himself down on the other side of Don. “You mean, how did I know that one of the two turtles with a huge guilt complex was totally and absolutely going to take what happened and blame himself?” Mikey grinned. “Come on, Donnie, gimme a little credit.”

“I don’t say this often, but Mikey’s right,” Raph said. He strode forward and poked Don in the forehead, before taking his bo from him and setting it to the side. “You’ve been overthinkin’ everythin’ durin’ your recovery. Wasn’t hard to figure you’d take what Little Miss Shredder said to heart.”

Don frowned and looked down at his leg again. His hand traced over his scar, wincing a little as he did. “I guess. It’s just—”

“Nope, no ‘it’s just’,” Mikey said. “Whatever Leo said, he was right.”

“It ain’t your fault, Don,” Raph said, his voice quiet. “It never was.”

Don sighed, his hands rubbing at the stretch marks on his thighs. “It still feels like it is.”

“Well, no matter if it feels like it or not, it isn’t,” Leo said.

Don looked up at his brothers, giving them a weak smile. “It’ll take some time for me to internalize that,” he said.

Raph made a shooing motion, obviously trying to encourage Don to lie down. “Yeah, well, while you’re working on that, we can work on you,” he said. “Yer hurting right now, aren’t you?”

Don grimaced. “It’s… never really left,” he admitted. “It’s just worse tonight.”

Raph let out a huff of frustration. “Don. You’re suppose to tell us these things.” He looked over at Mikey and Leo. “You two know what to do.”

“Right-o!” Mikey said, and practically tacked Don to the bed.

“Hey—what--!” Don protested.

“Nuh-uh,” Mikey said, draping himself over Don’s shell like some sort of starfish. He put his head right on top of Don’s. “You said that heat makes your shell feel better, so I’m about to be your own personal heater!”

“You’re too heavy to be a heater,” Don grumbled, trying to get comfortable under Mikey’s weight.

“I’ve got his legs, you get his arms?” Raph said to Leo.

“Sounds good to me,” Leo said.

“Guys, you don’t have to do this,” Don protested. “It’ll fade back to a tolerable level eventually.”

“Hm, I dunno, bro. Eventually sounds like it’ll take to long, especially when we can do something about it now,” Mikey said. He booped the back of Don’s head with his snout. “Come on, Don. Let us help you.”

Don sighed and relented. He was well and firmly trapped, as his brothers started to massage his limbs, trying to help with the pain he was feeling. Mikey’s heat on his shell helped, too, although he wasn’t about to admit it out loud. Slowly, Don started to relax as the massages and heat started to help the bone-deep aches he was feeling.

“You’re still recovering,” Leo said to him, softly, as he worked. “Physically, mentally, and emotionally. Let us take care of you. Because while you might not think you’re worth the world, to us you are.”

Somewhere above Don, Mikey snorted. “That was one of the cheesiest things you’ve ever said, Leo,” he cackled.

Don heard the thwap of Mikey being hit. “Shut it, chucklehead,” Raph said. “It might be cheesy, but it’s true.”

“Never said it wasn’t,” Mikey protested. “Just that it was cheesy.”

Don chuckled quietly at the interactions and decided to stop protesting his brothers’ actions. He let them do for him, and then, when they all somehow curled and squished and fit on the bed, the bedframe miraculously holding under their weight, he didn’t protest, but instead let himself be cocooned within his brothers’ warmth and love. They talked, softly, about stupid things, silly things, and wishes and dreams, until one by one, they all fell asleep with each other, feeling safe and secure in a way that none of them had in far too long.

Don wasn’t sure he’d ever completely recover from his second mutation. He had a feeling that the aches and pains would come and go, becoming something he would deal with the rest of his life. He still felt guilty for what was happening, too, feeling indirectly responsible for the current state of the city. But right now, at this moment? He let himself trust in his brothers’ words, and refocused his mind on them, instead of his guilt.

And this time as Don slept, not a single dream or memory disturbed him.

It was hours later when two figures silently crept to the doorway of the room, looking in on the sleeping pile of turtles that was on the bed. Arms and legs were intertwined together, making it hard to tell who was sleeping on who and where one turtle began and another ended.

“You see?” the Ancient One said, very softly. “I told you—they needed this night. Their bond is strengthened. Donatello’s spirit is a peace, cutting off that avenue of attack. This bonding will only serve them well in the coming battle.”

Splinter looked over his sons, too many emotions running through him for him to properly express any of them. “It will,” he agreed instead. “I can only hope that it will keep them safe.”

For a moment, Splinter hesitated, and then he stole out of the room, returning moments later with a couple of large blankets. The Ancient One blinked at him.

“How are you going to cover them up? They are all tangled,” he asked, although he moved forward to help Splinter unfold the blankets.

“As I did when they were mere babies. I will cover the whole pile,” Splinter explained. “Creating a ‘shell’ for them to seek comfort in.”

“Ah.” The Ancient One nodded, and helped Splinter cover the sleeping pile of turtles, smiling to himself when he saw how Splinter took the time to adjust a limb here and there, and press his nose to each of his sons’ heads.

The two slowly left the room then, leaving the turtles alone to finish sleeping throughout the night. In the morning, battle would come, the Ancient One was sure, and for that, the four would need to be bonded strongly. But tonight, their bonds had been strengthened. He just hoped that it would be enough.

But for four turtles who were sleeping in a pile, under blankets put over them by their father, nothing could feel more safe and secure in that moment.

[demodraws0606]

People complaining about Tsukasa5 already are pissing me off, because like, it's so unbelievably obvious what this event is trying to do and the fact that people are so hung up on "urgh dur tsukasa strong why can't he do a wall climb".

Like, first of all, a lot of Tsukasa's strength has been used as comedy before and also it's never been said that Tsukasa could specifically do a wall climb before so people calling this a retcon or a stretch is really dumb to me.

Sure we can make jokes about it, but this is not like a serious writing problem or anything.

Also are we just gonna ignore the fact this event is literally just a reference to his 3rd event in a silly trenchcoat. Or the fact that this is obviously meant to be WxS's downtime and training arc to prepare them to face the loose plotpoints in the future?

His inner dialogue when chasing the ninja is very clearly a reference to the whole Pheonix thing, how he can't reach it no matter how hard he tries.

The wall climb is like an extremely fucking on the nose metaphor to him climbing over his issues as an actor.

THERE IS ALSO THE WHOLE THING THAT HINTS THAT TSUKASA CAN ONLY OVERCOME HIS PROBLEMS IF HE HAS HELP FROM OTHERS (AKA tsukasa would've literally BEEN INJURED, if it wasn't for the fact the troupe's leader was there).

In fact this literally followed an event aka Tsukasa 4 where he FAILED to do his role correctly.

It's almost like this event is meant to be a transition point between Tsukasa 4 and 6, where Tsukasa builds up the knwoledge on how to face his problems.

But no this is just mid event because it's very silly and "wow plot is stupid why can't tsukasa wall climb".

WxS fans are slowly just turning into VBS fans in terms of how whiney they're being i swear

[themistas]

il faut un cap 🫸 CLAIR 🫷

on va pas commencer un nouveau WIP là ❌

il y a eu une inversion 🔄 des rapports de force

JE 🧍‍♂️ suis maître de mes écrits

👉 VOILÀ les conditions

elles doivent être REMPLIES ✅

[emmanuellececchi]

Sorry if I'm not around much...

I am focusing on the editing of my modern romance and I have a few things to do at the house (like always) and I also have decided to take more frequent breaks, from my computer in general. I noticed the last two times I did it, my "creative juice" had been more steady.

I still have fun plans though. This thing about betar reading is exciting me non-stop. I love reading, my work had been for a long time about revising scientific articles, I love fantasy, sci-fi and so on. So why not put that all together? Également : Je peux aussi faire un "beta-reading/ une première lecture en français, donc ne pas hésiter ;)

The other things is about my modern romance. I am lacking some face claim (a lot) in my story. And I thought to myself, what better way to present my characters than telling you a bit about them and asking you, mutuals and followers, what face claim would fit the best?

As I am lacking a good library of face claim, I'll rely on you to suggest someone. After all, why not? It'll be fun to see how you perceive them and I'm sure we will find a good fit for each of my crew!

So here we are. I am editing steadily and I might even a bit of an excerpt to share soon!

[taintedandviolent]

Il n'y a pas d'amour éternel meme dans les livres il n'y en a pas.

Just realized I put together an all-floral outfit

[noa-de-cajou]

Day 17 : Washing something / Blurry image / The ultimate horror

Dolmund belongs to @corneille-but-not-the-author

The following text contains mention of relationship abuse and trauma and just. Well. References to Leonova. Which comes with a whole lotta ptsd.

Listen. I like my things clean.

Khaliun used to tease me about it, you’re such a cleaning freak, and that never failed to get a rise out of me, I'm a surgeon, Khaliun, of course those godsforsaken instruments need to be spotless or at least sanitized do you want RUST in your RAW ASS WOUND-

She'd laugh and say Ether, I'm kidding!

Said she couldn't help herself, that I was cute when angry.

Leonova sure as hell didn't find it cute when I plunged my scissors into her eyes. She was into a whole bunch of things, seemed to really enjoy gouging my eye out, but clearly the opposite wasn't well received. Should have felt satisfying to give her a taste of her own medicine – doctor pun intended – but it didn't.

Not only did it feel gross but now the blood won’t come off.

Her blood on my scissors, his gift.

I've been scrubbing with all the products I found but it's still not back to its original color. It’s still red, brownish, incrusted, like rust, and it's. Not. Coming. Off.

It wasn’t meant to be used like this. It wasn’t… It’s scissors. Not even surgical scissors. It’s to cut hair, hair, not threads, especially not flesh –

Cut hair. Cut hair. She cut it. My hair. I rub my hand against the back of my neck. It's short. It’s okay. It's short. I cut it. I cut it myself. Nothing to grab, nothing to sell, I'm fine. I’m okay.

Alright. Back to scrubbing.

It's gonna come off eventually. It's gotta come off.

That cloth I'm using's way too dirty. Can't even be called a cloth, that's a rag at best. Those scissors deserve better.

What would have happened if he didn't give those to me? How would I have escaped? Maybe if I used the knives on the table? Who am I kidding, I could barely stand, let alone outrun her.

I would have died. Alone in that basement, killed by the woman I loved most, with no one to tell where I was, no tomb, no memory, all of those years for nothing-

I scrub harder.

Even if it’s useless.

Fuck, it's been, like, an hour, when is it gonna…

Maybe never.

It’s ruined. I ruined it. She ruined everything. Now I won't be able to even cut my hair without seeing those damn stains. And she's a vampire so she’ll regenerate while I'll have to see this constantly.

You know what, lying to me for years and tearing off my eye was already bad enough, but sure, let’s say that was fine, but trying to ruin the only things that I have left from him, to sully his memory, my memories like that, it's the last fucking straw, now it's midnight and this bitch has gotten me scrubbing blood that had three years to dry off a fucking pair of scissors and… and…

It's not coming off.

Maybe she cut my hair with it too. My memories are too hazy. I can't remember. I don't want to remember. I want to erase it.

It’s not coming off.

I want to puke.

I scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub but it's not coming off it’s still there I remember everything and my eye hurts and my chest is too damn tight and I don’t want to remember.

Everything's blurry, I can barely see anything now, come on, get it together, you shouldn't cry for this, you've been through worse and…

And the worse in question is in those stains.

It’s not coming off, it's not coming off, fuck this, fuck everything, I hate this, why do I even bother, why won't it FUCKING-

“Ether?”

Shit. Shit. I scrub harder. Harder. Come on. Come on please please please-

“Ether, I'm coming in.”

No no no it’s still there I have to get it clean before-

The door opens. I squeeze my eyes shut, a tear escapes. Dolmund’s there. I can't see him but I know he’s standing there. Shit.

“What the hell are you doing kneeling on the floor?”

Can’t he mind his own damn business for once? How do I explain this? How do I explain…

“It won't come off.”

Great. Amazing. Couldn’t have sounded more pathetic if I tried. My voice doesn’t even remotely sound like mine. Good job, Ether.

Dolmund walks up to me. I'm so hunched over it makes him taller.

“... Again?”

Yeah. Again. I guess I just never learn. He doesn't even sound mad or disappointed and that's probably the worst part. I cough, try to get my voice to work.

“I need to… I don't know. Thought I might give those bad boys a good scrub again. Never hurts to try, right?”

“Never hurts? Look at your hand before saying shit like that.”

I open my eyes.

The cloth is all stained with blood. So are the scissors.

Didn't even notice my nails breaking.

And now it’s even bloodier than it used to be. Tears well up in my eyes again. Great. Just great. Can this evening get any worse? Stay tuned to find out.

Dolmund sighs with all the weight of his chest.

“Put those away and go patch up your hand.”

“I c-can't.”

“Why?”

“How am I going to defend myself if you try to kill me?”

That's ridiculous. He wouldn't do that. Rationally, I know he wouldn't.

But I thought Leo wouldn't either.

“Ether, you have eight guns on you. Use them. Defending yourself with scissors? You still in kindergarten or something?”

Oh, he thinks he’s so funny. I’d punch him if my hand didn't hurt like a bitch.

“Yeah, yeah, you can glare at me all you want once you put those away.”

“But I need-”

“What you need is a drink, Ether. A drink, and to get the fuck out of your room and fix your hand, your only good hand, in case you forgot.”

He narrows his eyes at me.

“I can deal with an hungover doctor. Not an injured one. Put. Those fuckers. Down.”

…

I do. Put the fuckers down, that is. After washing my blood off right away with some water. I shut my drawer tight. Out of sight, out of mind, or whatever.

“That’s better. You comin’, or do you need help walking too?”

He’d help me, if I said yes. But he knows treating me like I'm sick would be ten times worse. I can pity myself just fine, thank you very much.

And we know we both need way more than what we can give each other.

“I'm good.”

Just a little wobbly on them legs. Wooooo.

“Hope you got something strong enough.”

“You bet.”

The drink is indeed strong.

It's the only thing keeping my mind right and clear lately. I’m glad Faloi and Khaliun are dead so they don’t have to see this, but it’s their fault for getting killed in the first place.

Hey, at least I did Leo one better.

Can’t sell or eat a fucked-up liver.

[seirindono]

hola hola

is the not-so-anon spitefully-perfect again with fic updates :D

still figuring out how to drag things out with reader getting to meet the other skeles (considering im only on the second chapter and still havent really done much with the main skeles), but so far, none of the skeletons outside of the house like reader (lust sans is a particular prblem, bcos reader was a huge fan of his modeling career, but oop hes like really mean </3)

but like- what if i just-

yknowwww

threw ... killer in there..... and maybe some others

... theres gonna be a lot of skeletons lol

A very late answer (hiatus *ahem*) but hey, it's good to see you again "anon" d(°∀°d)

I feel like slowing down the pace/dragging things out is the hardest part of story telling really. You don't want relationships and interractions to seem rushed or superficial but it's hard to give everyone as much screen time with so many characters+get a feel of how each one would react to others etc (Just look at TMS sigh). Not to mention some might need more… time than others (Lust ahem all evil sanses) You've probably already found a solution, but yeah, my advice would be to focus on strong dialogues. Efficient and natural dialogues. That's the core of an impactful and appealing scene and can save you a lot of time when developing characters.

Of course writing more is never a waste of time but I understand the urge to just skip the awkward first meetings and stuff to go straight to the good part hehe, but they'll all love Reader in due time, no need to rush !

E… Hm, And Killer, you say? Others too hm…

Yes… Well, of course

[sous-le-saule]

Avis de tempête

(Le musicien fantôme, épisode 6 – parce que.)

« Ce n’est pas une tempête normale ! » me crie Esteban, couvrant à peine le hurlement du vent. Bientôt je n’entends plus que des bribes de ses explications – « jamais vu ça », « trop soudaine » et quelque chose à propos du baromètre que je ne comprends pas.

Ses hommes, mêmes les plus expérimentés, arborent des mines au mieux préoccup��es, au pire franchement alarmées. Pour ma part, je l’avoue sans honte, je suis terrifié et me cramponne à m’en casser les doigts au premier cordage qui m’est tombé sous la main. Esteban me fait de grands signes pour m’intimer de me mettre à l’abri, avant de se tourner vers le timonier. L’homme a l’air résolu et aussi calme qu’il est possible de l’être dans une telle situation. Esteban lui tape l’épaule avant qu’ils se séparent, chacun se ruant là où sa présence est nécessaire, et ce geste de confiance me donne quelque espoir. Le timonier est un vieux briscard, il va nous tirer de ce péril.

Je m’efforce de regagner ma cabine mais le tangage est tel que je heurte de plein fouet le bastingage, contre lequel je m’écroule, immobilisé par un nouveau haut-le-cœur. Lorsque je relève enfin la tête, je ne peux détacher les yeux des vagues colossales couronnées d’écume qui surplombent le navire.

L’une d’elles balaie soudain le pont, m’entrainant avec elle, le soufflé coupé et balloté comme un vulgaire galet. Par miracle, je parviens à me raccrocher au grand mât. Crachant et trempé, je plisse les yeux dans l’obscurité qui nous est tombée dessus il y a quelques minutes, quand les lourds nuages noirs ont avalé le soleil d’un coup. A la lumière d’un éclair, je tente de voir si quelqu’un manque à l’appel, espérant que personne ne soit passé par-dessus bord. J’essaie de repérer Esteban, mais tout n’est que chaos et cris et courses en tous sens.

Je vais mourir ici. J’aurais pu être plus prudent et rester à quai. Mais je ne parviens pas vraiment à regretter ma décision. Au moins me serai-je senti un peu vivant avant de trépasser. Moi qui ne suis pas particulièrement religieux, je me surprends à recommander mon âme à Dieu. C’est tout ce que je puis faire.

Dans mon effroi, je ne comprends pas tout de suite ce que mes oreilles perçoivent. Je me figure qu’il s’agit de quelque musique céleste répondant à mes prières et que ma dernière heure est arrivée. Jusqu’à ce que je reconnaisse la mélodie. C’est moi qui l’ai composée.

Comment ? Comment est-ce possible ? Ai-je perdu l’esprit ? D’où vient cette musique ? Et comment peut-elle dominer les mugissements de la tempête ?

Un autre éclair déchire le ciel et je me fige, comme hypnotisé. J’ai eu le temps d’apercevoir la silhouette d’un navire, fendant les flots déchainés dans notre direction. C’est lui. Ce ne peut être que lui. Le Musicien fantôme.

A cet instant, un craquement assourdissant et funeste m’emplit d’une terreur sans nom. A une vitesse affolante, l’Icare commence à couler.

[moinsbienquekaworu]

I'm going to Give The Fuck Up

[maddiesbookshelves]

I haven't even touched a book since April, I can't wait to be done with this thesis, I'M SICK OF IT

I've read a few manga since they're so quick to read, and some of them were absolutely amazing so I'll probably talk about them more in depth...... whenever I can start doing reviews again

I've also ordered Elliot Page's Pageboy, which should arrive at the end of this month. But again, I won't read it right away since I'm still crying working on my thesis. And I can't wait to get back into the Memoirs of Lady Trent series, which I read A SPOILER FOR WHILE DOING RESEARCH FOR MY THESIS, WHAT THE FUCK. I'm telling you, this thing is gonna be the death of me

[safiresyrup]

I can't see your art, I don't know what beauty beneath eyes like yours could be, what it looks like, how you’ll love, what you’ll know, why I should follow you home -s’s.

[galionne-diging]

working on some post ep 48 headcanons

[reorientingtothexdaylight]

not all self care is resting and laying back and relaxing and doing nothing. sometimes, self care is getting super intense about your interest and fucking up your back because you're bent in an uncomfortable position just to draw that one drawing that you must draw. sometimes, what replenishes your energy isn't quiet. sometimes, it's physical and demanding. but it still replenishes your energy. there is no finite stock of energy, you can even build it up like you can build up muscle!

[yumeyumeappleo]

Hello hello! I am but a smol fan of your writings musings and art pieces, im relatively new, but you sound so much like someone I want to chat and hang with that I couldn't wait any longer.

bro what kind of bot is this

[emmanuellececchi]

Evening rambling on...

At the moment, beside writing a few shorts for LOTR, I didn't write much. Not even for my modern romance or for my medieval romance. I had a few ideas I wrote down but since then, nothing.

I need to do some research and it is a daunting task. That and editing the story, changing some things, adding the details I find from my research. Among other things, I need to have a better idea of the geography, of the way my people are clothes, trade, laws, rulers and co.

I have the calendar and, even though I was playing very hard with the idea of the ringed world, each time I want to go for it, I remember that I need to add even more things (animals, plants, weather patterns, etc.) that will be impacted by the shadow of the ring.

But a calendar and a vague idea of how they look like or are clothes is not enough. I want something more in-depth. Why are they in conflict? What is the base? Religion? commerce? control of lands? So many things I need to set. That and also the few madmen and women that are in many history.

I know I can just focus on my main characters but I don't feel comfortable if I don't have the whole worldbuilding set in stone. I need a map, distances, duration of travels, way of travels. Limits, mountains, and ocean. Weather patterns, even on a Earth-Like world, need to be known. Where are we? Southern Europe like? Northern? If I add a mountain what will be the impact and so on.

On one side, I really want to do all that. On the other side, if I begin that, I will not write much, even less than now. I have a few shorts hanging, but not sure if I'll finish them. I have a few fanfics that are waiting desperatly for my attention.

Let's just say that the fire is not really burning bright right now. At least, I love dearly the little I write. But I wish I could do more.

We'll see I guess

[all-alone-he-turns-to-stone]

Hiatus

Hello people! This is just a quick message to inform you all I'm taking a small break of writing. The last couple of fics I wrote flopped badly and I realised I didn't like what I was writing. So I'm taking a small break.

For the requests I have: don't worry, I still have them and will get to them eventually!

For the series I started and never continued: I still plan on continuing them one day! I just don't know when.

I'm still gonna be on Tumblr, reading your fics and reblogging stuff!

Thanks everyone for everything I love you all!