#advanced learning for early childhood

[jambandatl]

Universal Development: Year Three - Year Four

Weeks 1-52 Week 1-4: Physical Sciences Focus Areas: Exploring basic concepts of physics through play (e.g., rolling balls down ramps). Simple experiments with water and sand to understand volume and weight. Nature walks to observe physical phenomena like gravity and motion. Week 5-8: Social Sciences Focus Areas: Learning about family, community, and basic social roles through stories and…

[slyandthefamilybook]

since we now know that all those "my blog is safe for Jewish people" posts are bullshit, here are some Jewish organizations you can donate to if you actually want to prove you support Jews. put up or shut up

FIGHTING HUNGER

Masbia - Kosher soup kitchens in New York

MAZON - Practices and promotes a multifaceted approach to hunger relief, recognizing the importance of responding to hungry peoples' immediate need for nutrition and sustenance while also working to advance long-term solutions

Tomchei Shabbos - Provides food and other supplies so that poor Jews can celebrate the Sabbath and the Jewish holidays

FINANCIAL AID

Ahavas Yisrael - Providing aid for low-income Jews in Baltimore

Hebrew Free Loan Society - Provides interest-free loans to low-income Jews in New York and more

GLOBAL AID

American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee - Offers aid to Jewish populations in Central and Eastern Europe as well as in the Middle East through a network of social and community assistance programs. In addition, the JDC contributes millions of dollars in disaster relief and development assistance to non-Jewish communities

American Jewish World Service - Fighting poverty and advancing human rights around the world

Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society - Providing aid to immigrants and refugees around the world

Jewish World Watch - Dedicated to fighting genocides around the world

MEDICAL AID

Sharsheret - Support for cancer patients, especially breast cancer

SOCIAL SERVICES

The Aleph Institute - Provides support and supplies for Jews in prison and their families, and helps Jewish convicts reintegrate into society

Bet Tzedek - Free legal services in LA

Bikur Cholim - Providing support including kosher food for Jews who have been hospitalized in the US, Australia, Canada, Brazil, and Israel

Blue Card Fund - Critical aid for holocaust survivors

Chai Lifeline - An org that's very close to my heart. They help families with members with disabilities in Baltimore

Chana - Support network for Jews in Baltimore facing domestic violence, sexual abuse, and elder abuse

Community Alliance for Jewish-Affiliated Cemetaries - Care of abandoned and at-risk Jewish cemetaries

Crown Heights Central Jewish Community Council - Provides services to community residents including assistance to the elderly, housing, employment and job training, youth services, and a food bank

Hands On Tzedakah - Supports essential safety-net programs addressing hunger, poverty, health care and disaster relief, as well as scholarship support to students in need

Hebrew Free Burial Association

Jewish Board of Family and Children's Services - Programs include early childhood and learning, children and adolescent services, mental health outpatient clinics for teenagers, people living with developmental disabilities, adults living with mental illness, domestic violence and preventive services, housing, Jewish community services, counseling, volunteering, and professional and leadership development

Jewish Caring Network - Providing aid for families facing serious illnesses

Jewish Family Service - Food security, housing stability, mental health counseling, aging care, employment support, refugee resettlement, chaplaincy, and disability services

Jewish Relief Agency - Serving low-income families in Philadelphia

Jewish Social Services Agency - Supporting people’s mental health, helping people with disabilities find meaningful jobs, caring for older adults so they can safely age at home, and offering dignity and comfort to hospice patients

Jewish Women's Foundation Metropolitan Chicago - Aiding Jewish women in Chicago

Metropolitan Council on Jewish Poverty - Crisis intervention and family violence services, housing development funds, food programs, career services, and home services

Misaskim - Jewish death and burial services

Our Place - Mentoring troubled Jewish adolescents and to bring awareness of substance abuse to teens and children

Tiferes Golda - Special education for Jewish girls in Baltimore

Yachad - Support for Jews with disabilities

[sunderwight]

SV fic where every Cang Qiong peak lord is actually a transmigrator, but such different varieties that Shen Yuan and Airplane are still the only ones who identify one another as such, and they think everyone else is actually the character they represent and everyone else is convinced they're the only transmigrator.

Yue Qingyuan transmigrated into his character's early childhood, but the twist there is that he was a child of a similar age when he transmigrated, and is fully convinced that he had found a magical portal to another world, somehow failed the test of heroism, and is now stuck in a crapsack dystopia that he failed to fix by not being a good enough portal hero. The idea of transmigrators possessing others bodies never occurs to him because he doesn't realize that he himself changed bodies at any point, he just thinks he got a fantasy world makeover that made his hair longer and swapped out his clothes (he was, like, eight years old at the time).

Liu Qingge also transmigrated into his character pretty early on, but in his case he didn't come originally from our world, he came from a wuxia story's world. He was a swordsman and martial artist there, too. He has no notion of any kind of plot or system, he just thinks that he managed to kick enough ass to ascend to the next life and next tier of learning to kick ass, which now involves more flying around and energy blasts and such.

Mu Qingfang is in one of those "doctor from the future goes to an old-timey/magical world and applies advanced knowledge to max out their doctor skills" type stories. He is from our world but from like, the 1920's-ish, and he never read PIDW or any isekai at all. No one ever catches on to him because anything weird he does just seems like Airplane's anachronistic writing or is no more or else inscrutable to the other characters than the rest of his medical knowledge seems to be. He has some suspicions about Shen Qingqiu being a transmigrator like him, but in his own case he gained all of the original Mu Qingfang's memories when he transmigrated so it could also just be amnesia, and he doesn't want to broach the subject if he's wrong. Also he figures it's not necessarily his business, he's just interested because transmigration is a fascinating medical mystery.

Qi Qingqi, on the other hand, had plenty of familiarity with isekai and such as a concept, but she transmigrated as a teenage girl and is pretty sure she's in her own girl's adventure story. But she's desperately trying to avoid any semblance of plot because the girls in those stories always end up married to guys by the end and she's not into dudes. Consequently she's a little worried that some of the troubles embroiling everyone else are a result of her running away to Girl Warrior Peak and not ever meeting like a handsome prince or anything along those lines. It's well after bingqiu becomes a thing that she realizes she's in a danmei instead, and then she's just convinced that she gay'd up the universe (you're welcome) and starts to relax a bit.

And etc, etc, Wei Qingwei and the rest are all living different tropes and angles of a transmigration experience.

[crumblinggothicarchitecture]

Taylor Swift is a Female Rage icon? Get a Grip.

I’ve just received word that Taylor Swift is calling her show “Female Rage: The Musical.” Here is my very much pissed off response to that nonsense:  

The phrase, Female Rage has an intimately rich history:  

Some of the first accounts of female rage dates to the Italian renaissance. To be clear, women in those days were not allowed to become painters- the arts were seen as the domain of men. They did not believe that women have rich inner lives capable of delivering the type of artistic innovation with which renaissance men were obsessed.  

However, rebels abounded, through the might of their fucking rage. Several women created some of the most compellingly emotional paintings I’ve ever fucking seen. They did it without permission, without financial support, and often under the threat of punishment. They did it as a protest. In paintings like “Timoclea Killing Her Rapist” by Elisabetta Sirani (1659), and another by Artemisia Gentileschi “Slaying of Holofernes” (1612) as it depicts the bravery of Judith as she slayed a traveling warlord out to rape Judith and enslave her city. The painting often is referred to as a way Artemisia was envisioning herself as slaying her rapist. These paintings were used against these women as proof that they were unfeminine- and far too angry.  Both these women suffered immensely for their audacity to call attention to the violation men perpetrated on them. Female Rage bleeds off these paintings- bleeds right through to the bone-deep acknowledgement of the injustice women faced being barred from the arts and having their humanity violated in such a sick way. Both women were hated- and considered far too angry.

In philosophy, also as early as the 15th century, an example of female rage is a philosophical text, often hailed as one of the first feminists works in the western world, written by Christine de Pizan titled The City of Ladies (1405). She wrote in protest on the state of women- writing that “men who have slandered the opposite sex out of envy have usually know women who were cleverer and more virtuous than they are” (“The City of Ladies”). People mocked her all her life- but she stood fast to her convictions. She was widowed at a young age with children to feed and the men wouldn’t let women have jobs! She wrote this book and sold it so that she could feed her family- and to protest the treatment of women as lesser than men. Her work was called aggressive and unkempt- they said she was far too angry. 

In the 18th century, a young Mary Wollstonecraft wrote, A Vindication of the Right of Women ( 1792) upon learning that the civil rights won in the French Revolution did not extend to women! She wrote in protest of the unjust ways other philosophers (like Rousseau) spoke about the state of women- as if they were lesser. She wrote to advocate for women’s right to education, which they did not yet have the right to! She wrote to advocate for the advancement of women’s ability to have their own property and their own lives! The reception of this text, by the general public, lead to a campaign against Wollstonecraft- calling her “aggressive” and far too angry.  

Moving into modernity, the 1960’s, and into literary examples, Maya Angelou publishes I know why the caged Bird Sings (1969) in which she discusses the fraught youth of a girl unprotected in the world. It beautifully, and heart-wrenchingly, described growing up in the American South during the 1930’s as it subjected her to the intersection of racism and sexism. The story is an autobiographical account of her own childhood, which explains how patriarchal social standards nearly destroyed her life. Upon the reception of her book, men mostly called it “overly emotional” and far too angry. Maya Angelou persisted. She did not back down from the honesty with which she shared her life- the raw, painful truth. With Literature, she regained a voice in the world.  

Interwoven into each of the examples I have pulled out here, is the underlying rage of women who want to be seen as human beings, with souls, dreams and hopes, yet are not seen as full members of society at the behest of men. They take all that rage, building up in their souls, and shift it to create something beautiful: positive change. Each of these cases, I have outlined above, made remarkable strides for the women as a whole- we still feel the impact of their work today. They were so god-damn passionate, so full of righteous anger, it burst out into heart-stopping, culture-shifting art. Feminine rage is therefore grounded in experiences of injustice and abuse- yet marked too by its ability to advocate for women's rights. It cannot be historically transmogrified away from these issues- though Taylor Swift is doing her best to assert female rage as pitifully dull, full of self-deprecation, and sadness over simply being single or losing money. She trivializes the seriousness with which women have pled their cases of real, painful injustice and suffering to the masses time and time again. The examples above deal with subjects of rape, governmental tyranny, and issues of patriarchally inspired social conditioning to accept women as less human than men. It is a deadly serious topic, one in which women have raised their goddamn voices for centuries to decry- and say instead, “I am human, I matter, and men have no right to violate my mind, body, or soul.”  

The depictions of female rage over the last few centuries, crossing through many cultures, is an array of outright anger, fearsome rage, and into utter despair. The one unyielding, solid underpinning, however, is that the texts are depicting the complete agency of the women in question. The one uniting aspect of female rage is that it must be a reaction to injustice; instead of how male depictions of female rage function, (think Ophelia), the women are the agents of their art with female made- female rage. They push forth the meaning through their own will- not as subjects of male desires or abuses, but as their own selves. That is what makes the phrase so empowering. They are showing their souls as a form of protest to the men who treat women like we have no soul to speak of.  

Taylor Swift’s so-called female rage is a farce in comparison. Let’s look at an example: “Mad Woman” (2020). I pull this example, and not something from her TTPD set, because this is one of the earliest examples of her using the phrase female rage to describe her dumb music. (Taylor Swift talking about "mad woman" | folklore : the long pond studio sessions (youtube.com)  

The lyrics from “Mad Woman” read “Every time you call me crazy, I get more crazy/... And when you say I seem angry, I get more angry”  

How exactly is agreeing with someone that you are “crazy” a type of female rage in which she’s protesting the patriarchy. The patriarchy has a long history of calling women “insane” if they do not behave according to the will of men. So, how is her agreeing with the people calling her crazy- at all subversive in the way that artworks, typically associated with concept of female rage, are subversive. What is she protesting? NOTHING.  

Then later, she agrees, again, that she's “angry.” The issue I draw here is that she’s not actually explicating anything within the music itself that she’s angry about- she just keeps saying she's angry over and over, thus the line falls flat. The only thing this anger connects to is the idea of someone calling her angry- which then makes her agree that she is... angry. So, despite it being convoluted, it’s also just not actually making any kind of identifiable point about society or the patriarchy- so again, I beg, what on Earth makes this count as Female Rage?  

In essence, she is doing the opposite of what the examples above showcase. In letting an outside, presumably male, figure tell Taylor Swift what she is feeling, and her explicit acceptance of feeling “crazy” and “angry,” she is ultimately corroborating the patriarchy not protesting it. Her center of agency comes from assignment of feelings outside of herself and her intrinsic agreement with that assignment; whereas female rage is truly contingent on the internal state, required as within our own selves, of female agency. As I stated above, the women making female rage art must have an explicit agency throughout the work. Taylor Swift’s song simply does not measure up to this standard.  

Her finishing remarks corroborates the fact that she's agreeing with this patriarchal standard of a "mad" or crazy woman:

"No one likes a mad woman/ You made her like that"

Again, this line outsources agency through saying "you made her like that" thus removing any possibility of this song being legitimate female rage. There is simply no agency assigned to the woman in the song- nor does the song ever explicitly comment on a social issue or protestation of some grievous injury to women's personhood.

She honestly not even being clever- she's just rhyming the word “crazy” with “crazy.” Then later rhyming “angry” with “angry.” Groundbreaking stuff here.  

Perhaps Taylor Swift is angry, in “Mad Woman,” but it is not the same type of rage established in the philosophical concept of female rage of which art historians, philosophers, and literary critics speak. Instead, it is the rage of a businesswoman that got a bad deal- but it is not Female Rage as scholars would identify it. In “Mad Woman” I fear her anger is shallow, and only centered on material loss- through damaging business deals or bad business partners. She is not, however, discussing what someone like Christine de Pizan was discussing by making a case for the concept that woman also have souls like men do. In her book, she had to argue that women have souls, because men were unconvinced of that. Do you see the difference? I am saying that Swift’s concerns are purely monetary and material, whereas true examples of female rage center on injustice done against their personhood- as affront to human rights. Clearly, both things can make someone mad- but I’d argue the violation of human rights is more serious- thus more deserving of the title “Female Rage.”  

Simply put, Taylor Swift is not talking about anything serious, or specific, enough to launch her into the halls of fame for "Female Rage" art. She's mad, sure, but she's mad the way a CEO gets mad about losing a million dollars. She's not mad about women's position in society- or even just in the music industry.

She does this a lot. The album of “Reputation” was described as female rage. Songs in “Folklore” were described as female rage. Now, she’s using the term to describe TTPD, which is the most self-centered, ego-driven music I’ve heard in a long time.

Comparing the injustice, and complete subjugation, of women’s lives- to being dumped by a man or getting a bad deal- wherein she is still one of the most powerful women of the planet- is not only laughable, but offensive. 

[petday]

your art is so so so so inspiring to me which is strange bc my style isnt very similar to yours at all. but it makes me happy to see your art, especially when you make art from things from childhood id forgotten about💫💫💫💫💫🩷🩷🩷🩷

Thanks. Your message and similar messages from others over the years inspired me to try to put into words why I draw 'nostalgic things'. I ended up writing a lot.

There was a period of time when I became cynical about being seen as an 'artist who reminds people of childhood' or a 'nostalgic artist'. I no longer feel that way but I will explain why. Some artists, who I like and respect, will sometimes mention 'nostalgia holding artist's growth back' and 'nostalgia causes learned helplessness.' But I feel differently.

Maybe I perceive time differently. I have lived long enough to witness cycles of 'what is valued, and what is not valued' repeated. For example, I loved what is now called 'Y2K' style, but during mid 2000s, for whatever reason it was derided as something to be left in the past, something embarrassing. "Aren't we glad we optimized things now, and they are 'sleeker' and less complex? Old things were childish, an embarrassing weakness for humans, we must advance and reach our ideal evolution." That became the common attitude. I felt pressure to have the same thoughts. I just couldn't make myself feel that way no matter what, though. Even with the increasing threats about, 'keep up with others or you won't ever develop positive social relationships!' I couldn't change my mind.

(If what is currently valued becomes devalued and then it becomes valuable after that… that's an odd cycle to me. For example, if we like bananas, even when bananas cannot be harvested, we still like them even though they occupy a smaller space in our minds but we don't deride them. Going even further, though, I sometimes wonder if it is possible for humans to eventually remove the 'devaluation' stage, particularly in art 'trends' as I am an artist. Whatever is considered valuable remains valuable. A counter arguement would be, 'no, the devaluation of the previous thing is exactly what causes the next thing to be valued, and then the cycle flows beautifully: X was valued -> Y is valued, X is devalued -> Y is devalued, X becomes valuable again. If you want X to always remain valuable, just develop better patience. Like we cannot pick fruit we like all year, we cannot simply keep adding onto the pile of things we like, something has to be seen as inferior by the majority of humans.' I disagree. I might explain my thoughts against this argument more in the future.)

Anyway, what people call 'Y2K style' or 'art that emulates how things commonly appeared in early years of 2000s' is popular nowadays. Even someone who did not grow up with it can become attracted to it. That 'desire' itself is a communication between past and present. Something can make someone feel 'lighter' [in sense of, "wow, the crushing weight of my circumstance feels not so crushing when I look at this'] -- a similar 'light' to how someone in the past was perceiving it when it was the present and not the past. So, even though two people were born in different eras and may not become friends or even meet, they're still connected by that 'lighthearted' feeling they both like. I know it will be seen as 'lower value' soon, but I truly cannot care because as I mentioned earlier, I might perceive 'time' weirdly.

When I started playing video games, a family member would point out, 'those games were made before you were born, interesting!' but that statement confused me at the time since my perception was, 'well, if these games are from before I was born, I don't understand why she is bringing attention to it. Why is it interesting? It's just regular. They're alive in the present now, because I'm in the present and so are they.' That was when I was a very young child. I subconsciously kept the same feeling even as I was reaching teenage and adult years. The feeling echoed when people liked to ask the question 'why are you still playing games from long ago?' as I got older but still played the same 'old' games. The answer: they are beautiful and will remain beautiful, and something made in the past is still communicating in the present, so are they really truly 'outdated inferior games'...? Just because the cycle of valued and devalued happened to be in a different position and those old things were seen as an embarrassment? (Now there are popular games inspired by the era of games many people ridiculed me for consistently enjoying, lol. Similarly, I was using 'crappy' old versions of programs even through 2017. Now people from wealthy upbringing and background use 'crappy' programs willingly. lol)

The present talks to the past all the time, nostalgia is not a dead end. In that sense I cannot see nostalgia as a death trap but rather a connection made from past to present. A string between the past and present that feelings can crawl across and communicate. Feelings such as 'I wish my life took a different direction. I can't make things like how they were back then, it won't ever be the same again, so I'll do nothing.' The criticism of 'nostalgia' is towards that last sentence. But there are things you can do with those feelings. 'Doing nothing is boring. And I keep thinking of that fun drawing I saw... I kinda wanna try to make something.' Making something while thinking of the past and present at the same time, so there is a communication between past self and present self. Pure bitterness communicating with slightly light-hearted view, the 'end result' is artwork/creation.

*I used light-hearted feeling as example, but nostalgia can exist for any feeling, and not just for people who were nice when they were younger. If someone was cruel as a child/teenager, after the person has been an adult for a while, they can communicate with their younger self about what was it about the cruelty that was enjoyable, and then extract a small part from the cruelty that they wish to bring back into the present -- example, the attraction to 'high speed activities, playful mischievousness' can be extracted from 'hurting people on purpose so they will acknowledge/react to you'. The dialogue could be something like, "'honestly, you and I both know spamming people with bad things felt pretty fun at the time, so let's just keep the 'high energy mischievousness' feeling and leave behind the crap that hurt people deeply, and let's make an animation while thinking of that high energy feeling.

^ I don't answer questions or reply to messages often because of giving answers that aren't too long or too short is tough for me. lol. Thanks for liking my art. I like a lot of art that doesn't resemble mine as well. It's fun! Like appreciating different flavours in the same meal even if you cannot make the meal yourself.

[hereforthehitsbaby]

Peeper | Cooper Adams/Abbott x F!Reader

Synopsis: Getting the Halloween season started early with back to back parties was enough to drain you – tucker you out in a heartbeat. But Cooper used it as an excuse to see you, really see you.

Warnings: Dark!Cooper, Mentions of Stalking, Perv!Cooper, Cooper Being a Peeping Tom, Male Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Mentions of Childhood Abuse, Mentions of Fire, Mentions of a Hostage Situation, Mentions of Being Held Hostage, Choking

Rating: M

Word Count: 5.5k

Author’s Note: The SWAT outfit brought this on. You’re welcome in advance. This is second person POV from Cooper’s perspective; I wanted to try something a bit different so I hope you enjoy!  

If you would like to be tagged for my fics, please fill this out

The darkness of night is the perfect way to hatch plans, the perfect way of preying on those who you find interest in. Never does it have to be in a malicious way. No, never does it have to be evil. It can be kind and clean, courteous and courageous, just depending on the context of the situation. Sometimes the darkness can hide a lot of bad things, shroud them in a cloud of abandon so evil can take over. They can run around on short legs, running here and there are supersonic speeds – to which no one can detect a thing. It’s brilliant in a way how evil can push itself through anyone – or anyone for that matter. How it can turn someone so delicate and perfect, into a monster overnight. But not for him, no, the evil didn’t burn itself into him from birth. He was a product of evil, a product of malice, a product of hate. He is the prodigal son of evil, he’s its perfect child.

To hide that part of himself away everyday ate at him, gnawing on his bones and flesh like a disease. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to lash out – surely anyone would from stressful work conditions to life not going the way it was planned out to be. Yet no one can justify it, no one can see that part of him, the truest part of his darkened soul. It’s a mystery, a character for that matter. Though he doesn’t see it that way. He sees it as an extension of his rage, his tumultuous upbringing and constant bullying – it is a part of his personality he can switch off with just the right coaxing. Like any type of characteristic, it isn’t long before others start to notice. Not in the way that you expect, but in a duller manner. Here and there things; His cleanliness, how he doesn’t like to leave his fingerprints anywhere, the order he needs things arranged or how he copes with uncertainty. They never raised red flags – but keen eyes took notice of his particular nature. If only they knew beneath the surface, a killer was in their midst.

Cooper Adams loves to save lives, that is a given. Fire chief for the Philadelphia Fire Department for ten years, in the business for a total of seventeen. This is what he was meant to do, what he was meant to be at the end of the day. He is the solace for those who are suffering, he is the salvation to those who are stuck. He can play God and be rewarded for it – how sweet is that? But to Cooper it isn’t about playing God or being the one who is in control, it’s more than that. It’s being who everyone relies on for stressful situations, the one who knows their way out of any type of deal. It’s prevalent in his eyes when he speaks, the passion he has for his job, his family – everything in his life really. A wholesome, well-rounded American individual; He is the picture-perfect example of masculinity. He’s the picture-perfect example of a psychopath.

Too much anger and rage was directed towards him as a child, and it was not beneficial for a growing brain. Rejection at a young age can cause fear; Fear of intimacy, fear of expression, always needing to people please to get someone to like you. Cooper went through that, way too much to admit. Always fighting to have his mother’s love, which he learned too early that would always come in the form of a hand across his face. His tears were tears of love, according to his mother. Every hit that was administered by her own hands, showed just how much she loved her son. Cooper couldn’t tell the difference until he got older – until she passed away. Alas, he felt free to be himself, instead of being her disappointment.

He never wanted to get into this line of work, other work per say. Like all others, the opportunity presented itself like any other day. A fresh-faced twenty-five-year-old who wanted to make a difference in the world after the tragedies the world faced. He wanted to be a household name, one where anyone in town could say and smiles would erupt. He would always be their hero, their martyr when the flames would not extinguish. If it meant saving everyone, he was always the first on the line. That was until his first ever fire, when he realized the world no longer had a need for his kindness – but his brutality. A seven-alarm fire at Aramark Tower in Center City was supposed to change his life forever, in which it did but not for the right reason. Cooper would’ve never described himself as a violent person, but this day changed everything.

On the twelfth floor sat the culprit for the fire, a worker who was holding a whole room hostage. Some of his very own firefighters were under this man’s unsteady hand. The gun was shaking uncontrollably in the man’s hand as he pointed it towards Cooper’s chest – the smoke slowly growing thicker from the floors above. The haze was starting to set in, and the man couldn’t stop coughing. At the moment he turned Cooper pressed the man’s front against the adjacent wall – letting all of the hostages out, the workers fleeing as the next group of firefighters came up. His own department, his flesh and blood. He was grateful they were there. But not from his firehouse, those ones fled with the chaos. Instead the firefighters from across down stared at him with amused looks, surely enough impressed that a young man like Cooper was holding his own against some sociopath. Cooper was wrong though, that is when he started to notice the evil within. Its bloodied fingers sinking into his flesh like razor wire, slicing and dicing his insides with every scale it climbed. He could feel it climbing up the column of his spine, sinking its meaty fingers through his spinal discs. “Good luck finding your way out, rookie.” Someone yelled at him as they slammed the door shut, barricading him in the inside.

All hell broke loose in that moment, that gnawing sensation he had when he was a child coming back into his adulthood – expect he couldn’t push it down anymore. Clawing at his own throat, he released a guttural scream of agony as the smoke filled the room – dropping to his hands and knees with animalistic movements. “We’re just kidding, bud. Welcome to the-“ Cooper didn’t recognize the voices, he didn’t understand who it was. The man he once held against the wall was cowering in the corner, rocking back and forth with the gun pressed into his palm. He stared at Cooper like he wasn’t human, but a creature. All Cooper could see was red, filling his vision, covering his mask to the point where he could not see. He could feel it though, his body moving languidly like he was swimming – graceful, intricate, serene. He was swimming out in Myrtle Beach like when he was a kid, feeling the crisp summer sun scorch him. But boy was it worth it, it felt safe again – knowing nothing could hurt him.

As if to wipe the sunscreen off of his forehead, Cooper brought his hand around his mask to clear off the water from it. Though it wasn’t water, and he was not swimming in the ocean. Instead in front of Cooper laid six bodies, cut into pieces. Blood coated his mask, his gear, his soul. Everything was red; The white walls coated in heroic blood of those firefighters. The man who held everyone hostage, a gunshot wound to the temple. Cooper’s eyes flared at the sight, chest heaving as the axe shook within his hand. The monster he always suppressed, let feed on his trauma and rejection as a child, finally found its place within his world – within his life. It was clear the fire was starting to burn closer to his floor when the sprinkles went off, a showering of clear and red flowing down the walls. The dark carpet soaked with the blood of the victims, and the chaos of his dissociation.

Cooper walked neatly over to the deceased man and laid the axe next to him, letting the sprinkles above soak his gear until no red stood. No one saw him go up to this floor, he never commed in like he was supposed to. No one would know it was him; The cameras are long gone. “Always the monster, Cooper. You will never outrun your evil, son.” His mom’s tender voice swept into his brain, causing him to tear up – for the amount he loathed that woman, he still missed her voice. Oxygen was starting to run low in his tank, but he knew he needed to get out. Instead of staying on the twelfth floor, Cooper managed to make his way down to the sixth, panting, out of breath, and soaked. “Adams! Where the fuck were you!?” His fire chief at the time yelled, dragging Cooper out of the doorway and into the conference room for a moment. “S-Sixteenth fl-floor. P-people s-screaming, d-d-dead.” Cooper managed to let out before he collapsed, the hard linoleum whacking against his head. Everything went dark so quick, but for the first time in his life – he felt justified.

Cooper gasps as he hears your voice coming from outside of his car, his hands shaking at the recounting of his trauma. Cooper hated waiting around, letting his mind wander, because every time it always brought him back to his first kills. The first ever lives he took, before The Butcher was his name. In a way he felt for those firefighters, knowing how the aftermath made him look to be an almost casualty of The Ripper. The narrative he chose for the last seventeen years has worked in his favor, and he would keep it that way. But alas, it eats at him just like that little demon did. But you, you were what he needed – you were his solace. You kept him sane and didn’t even know who he was. It was perfect. All Cooper could do now was slowly break you, and you’d never even know.

As you walked past Cooper’s black suburban, you pulled the nurse’s cap off of your head – thinking it appropriate to be a nurse for your first of many Halloween parties. The outfit complimented your body so well; Cooper loved watching how it hugged you in all the right places, showing off his favorite parts of you. He has seen you look at him so many times, like you fully saw him rather than it being through him. You made him feel alive, feel sane in such a cruel world. How could he ever thank you for that? Bringing himself back to reality as you walked to your front door, Cooper swallowed down the panic ready to break free from his throat, closing his eyes to ground himself. All this waiting, contemplation, it was all for you. All these months, silently pining over you, he knew his time would come soon. Your time will come soon. He wasn’t going to let this will they won’t they play out anymore. This wasn’t going to be like one of the books you liked to read – it was going to be better.

Thankfully with everyone in their Halloween costumes making their way back home, Cooper could easily blend in with the rest of the crowd. His costume was unconventional – but accurate, and cool. He managed to nab one of the Philadelphia SWAT tactical gear a while ago. Never did he think it would be of use, but here he is. It left him looking inconspicuous, blending in with all of his surroundings. When the streetlights would shut off at midnight, he didn’t need to worry about getting caught or even being seen. He could go full incognito and not have to worry – because at the end of the day no one in the neighborhood watched. They never looked out for each other or mentioned when things felt off. They were complacent in their day to day, keeping their lives separate from everyone else. That’s what Cooper loved the most about your neighborhood – no one would be suspicious of him, or know he was there. Seven-foot-tall fencing covered your property; Around the sides and back into the woods. It was private, spacious, and perfect for you. He was happy you took his advice and haggled the price. Though it was only left as a sticky note on your work desk – he convinced you that you wrote it. Cooper hated gaslighting you but, it was the only way for you to get that home. He always felt guilty but, it worked out the way it needed to.

The kitchen light came on in the front of your house, your nurse costume slowly being shed away from the uncomfortable feeling of it. Cooper felt his knuckles tighten around the steering wheel as he watched you, finding his perfect moment to slip out. Your back was pressed against the kitchen counter, looking out into the interior of your home versus outside. A gaggle of college girls dressed as nuns wandered by, causing Cooper to see his opening. Slipping out of his suburban, he put on the SWAT helmet, buckling it right under his chin as he kept his eyes forward, humming to himself to keep him sane. A small smile was present on his lips as the girls stopped for a moment, checking their map location to see if the party was the right way. None of them even acknowledged him as he walked past, keeping his eyes set on your home instead. Coming from the opposite way was a few frat guys dressed as priests, causing Cooper to roll his eyes at the on-the-nose couple outfits. The squeals the girls let out at the guys made his hair stand on end, reminding him too much of the Lady Raven concert last October. The last time he saw Riley, Logan…the last time he could be a dad.

Thinking about his kids made him grow tense, worried – it sucked being away from them, but this was for the best, for now. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how they were doing in school, he kept tabs from miles away. Cooper never wanted to stop being a dad, and he wasn’t going to start that anytime soon. Bringing his phone out of his vest pocket, he brought it up to his ear, mimicking a phone call as he rounded the fence you had up, standing on the left-hand side as he walked into your yard. Silently he thanked you for never replacing your camera out back, or the motion lights for that matter. Having it be this easy for him was a dream come true, plus with your neighbors away – others unable to see him creeping around back, there was no way he wasn’t going to see you now. He tucked his phone away into his pocket once more as your back porch came into view, the stairs on the left side flush to the door. That is when Cooper smirked to himself, chuckling low into the night – seeing the one thing you forgot to do, lock the back door.

In fact, it wasn’t even closed but cracked open the tiniest amount. As a former fire chief, he needed to know these things; If a seal was loose or not flush enough against the grain, it could invite oxygen in, make the fire rage on harder if the door were to be kicked in. Thankfully no fires would be breaking out at your place, not when he made sure they wouldn’t. That itch inside of him was starting to blister, his pupils dilating with the thought of creeping through your home. Cooper was so dead set on watching you tonight through your windows, that he didn’t even consider the option of going inside. With all the clunky gear on though – he was hesitant. He didn’t let that stop him from what he really wanted; You. As his back was crouched under your living room window, he used the edge of the flashlight on his belt to push your door open, the instant smell of nutmeg and cinnamon flooding his senses.

With every inch the door started to open, he grew cautious, knowing at any point he could push it open completely and be met with you. He didn’t think you’d run and tell anyone, that was a fact he was certain of. But he didn’t necessarily know if you’d fight back. A feisty little thing like you wouldn’t surprise him, everyone has their own demons they deal with. To Cooper, more or less he didn’t want to ruin the clean research he has done on you over the last year. When he saw you after escaping police custody that night, he knew you’d turn everything around for him. A giver, a lover, an angel on this Earth – you brought joy wherever you walked, and didn’t tell a soul about your own struggles. He wanted to take that away from you, claim your suffering so you could be happy. He would take everything away from you if it meant you would be happy, safe, and serene in your own life. He didn’t want you to know pain – only joy.

As the back door swung open enough to slide his body through, Cooper stood fully erect. The SWAT gear was a bit much trying to push through the gap, causing a creak to sound. Standing still half in and half out, Cooper pushed through the last bit with a grimace, hoping you didn’t dare to come around that corner. With the layout of your home, as soon as he entered through the back door, he was met with the foyer; Winter boots, coats, and scarves hung from the hook on the wall – the warm light flooding through his body. It caused him to feel nostalgic, those times in the late 80’s to early 90’s growing up; Halloween was such a magical time, full of bright colors and warm flavors, things were good – he could be a good boy if it meant the beatings would stop. “Fuck,” a low whimper came from the opposite side of the wall, causing Cooper to stop in his tracks. He was ever-so-slowly closing the back door, making sure no creaks or groans happened as it was shut, clicking over the lever lock, as well as the two deadbolts. The curtain pulled flush to the glass; No one would see a thing.

Another whimper flowed effortlessly through the air, circling around Cooper in whisps of gold and auburn. He felt his cheeks heating at the anticipation, his toes tingling with excitement. Placing a booted foot across the fresh carpet leading to the living room, Cooper let his head peak out from where he was standing, extending out the smallest of bits to catch a glimpse of you. What he had failed to realize was the position of the living room to the foyer; You could not see him from your position but, he could see you. The couch was pushed under the bay window in the living room, a plethora of plants sat in the sills spot. The arm of the couch was a few inches away from the wall to which he was creeping around, giving him the most beautiful picture he has ever seen. It crossed his mind for a brief moment to take a photo of you like this, but he did not want to break the image set forth. He was enraptured by you, a beautiful creature in a dull world.

On the couch you laid flat, one leg tossed up around the back of the couch whilst the other fell open against the coffee table. Your platform heels were still on your feet; The clean plastic leather heavy contrast with the red bottoms. The nurse’s dress you had on earlier for a costume was pulled up and pushed down around your midsection, baring your breasts for all to see. All the while your left-hand was delicately placed between your thighs, running up and down your slit with a squelch. Your right hand was cupping your breast, toying with your nipple, your entire body shivering from the feeling. “Yes,” breathlessly you moan into the open air, grinding your hips against your hand. The second the pads of your fingers make contact with your clit, you knew you were a goner. The softness of your fingers contrasting with the warmth of your cunt caused you to slip into your own mind, not aware at all of your surroundings; You liked it that way.

Cooper on the other hand couldn’t get enough of you, trying so hard to suppress a moan he threatened to let out. His cock jolted at the moans you were letting out, throbbing harshly behind his black jeans. All it would take is undoing his belt buckle the slightest of bits to relieve some of the pressure, and he couldn’t handle it anymore. Cooper’s eyes never left your face as he peered down at you, his tall stature making everything you were doing abundantly clear. Sneaking around the corner enough to hide his body from you, Cooper undid his belt as quietly as he could, tucking the buckle into his pocket to get it out of the way. A quick flick of his thumb caused his jeans to unbutton, and the zipper to fall down easily. A wave of cold sweats broke out around his body as his skin was to the open air, the breeze cutting through his black briefs.

His gloved hand slid down the front of his briefs, running the padded side down his erect cock. The friction was a delicious burn at first, but it was not going to hold him over. Snaking his fingers between his teeth, Cooper ripped the glove off as fast as he could, shoving his hand back into his underwear and releasing himself. When the heated, erect flesh of his cock met the cool air of your home, he whimpered. Not something he would ever consider himself to do but, you made him weak in the best way possible. His bare thumb pressed against the base of his cock, trying to steady himself. A small bead of cum was pooled at the head, glistening against the firelight. Hearing your scandalizing moans set Cooper on edge, causing him to twitch due to your sweet mewls. He knew he wasn’t going to last very long, a year without any type of contact with another person would do that. Cooper wrapped his thick fingers around the underside of his cock, squeezing in slow increments to get used to the feel again.

He was burning from the inside out, his body up in flames as he watched you – while touching himself. Slowly he slid his meaty hand up the full length of his shaft, pulsating his hand in short doses; He could feel his eyes rolling back at the relief. He never found pleasure in pleasuring himself – it felt like too much work when he could make someone else feel good with him. As his eyes laid upon you sprawled out, pleasuring yourself for anyone to see, he could understand why the self-indulgence of masturbating was intoxicating, why many loved it. For him he felt the tension of the last year start to flow away; Each stroke of his strong hand sent a cascade of pleasure down his spine. He could find himself drowning in it all if he wasn’t careful, but the recklessness in him wanted to paint your face.

Peering down at your half naked form, Cooper gained a steady pace on his cock, finding the right rhythm that worked for him. In tandem with the tight circles of your fingers, he found it erotic that the same ministrations were giving him pleasure as they were you. It felt like you two were connected, not physically but on another level. He could feel his cock stiffening at the thought, his tip a violent shade of purple from all the arousal. He needed to be closer to you, this distance was eating him alive. Cooper was never this careless, he never would’ve made himself known in a situation like this. The smell of your arousal and the thin sheen of sweat on your forehead caused the animal inside of him to peer out, the one that released from him seventeen years ago, the one that put him on the map as a brutal killer. It seemed to have climbed his ribcage, puncturing his lungs, spleen, kidneys as it rose. The feral monster within him gnawing at bone, sawing through muscle and tissue in order to rise higher. Primal grunts and groans were releasing out of Cooper at an alarming rate – he couldn’t hold back much longer. For his legs took him not where he wanted to be, but where he desperately needed. Directly. Over. You.

“C-Cooper!” You moaned out sweetly, bring him back into reality. Cooper’s eyes flared out of their momentary hypnosis to see what he was being met with. Instead of hiding behind the wall of your foyer, watching you touch yourself from afar – Cooper was hovering over your head by the arm of the couch. His glistening cock mere inches away from your face, his eyes as dark as the night. He was fucked out of his mind and you were loving every moment of it. The sight of him so feral, so taken with the sight of your arousal, it was enough to cause your climax to speed up. “Touch me,” you whimpered softly, bringing the hand that was on your breast up to swipe over the wet head of his cock. The cum spattered on your thumb with a simple flick, you did not hesitate to rub it against your bottom lip. Cooper wasn’t even phased that you knew his name, someone who you have never had any contact with, or knew of what he had done – he presumed. But that was just it – it was your job to know everyone in town. To know who your next victim could be.

Cooper’s gloved left-hand didn’t hesitate to grasp at your throat from behind, restricting the blood flow to your brain. The euphoric sensation of pressure building in your head caused your orgasm to crest – a bright burning life of warmth behind your eyes as your fingers worked double time. Your body shivered with each stroke; Long, languid moans seeping out like a broken waterpipe – the flood kept coming and you didn’t want it to end. Watching you get off on your own hand caused Cooper’s climax to ignite. With a few rough thrusts into his hand, Cooper felt his balls pull up into himself – ready to burst at the seams. The animalistic scream he managed to get out was strangled as he gripped at your throat harder, his cock pressed against your forehead. Simply looking up at him was enough to make him cum. You felt like he was mere moments away from ending you where you laid, but you knew he wouldn’t – couldn’t for that matter.

Your name left his lips in a mewl of passion as his cock met its end. A clean shot of his seed cascading down your chin, your breast, and to your clothed stomach. Every bit of cum he was letting out was enough to make you wet again; A man without the touch of a woman, or himself for that matter. Each thrust of himself into his own hand caused thicker shots to flow over your body – you weren’t going to stop him. Instead, you held out your tongue as he kept going, catching some of his salty seed in your mouth. With Cooper’s eyes screwed tightly shut, you brought your wet fingers up to his naked hand, running it along the protruding veins on the back of his hand. That was enough to wake him from his quiet slumber above you, feeling the pressure building harder within your head. As the last of his cum shot out across your tongue, Cooper let his hand around your neck relax, his eyes falling open. The sight below him was a masterpiece, one he wishes he could make last forever. His essence covering your body – a fucked out look on your face. This was his own personal heaven, and he never wanted to come down from it. Your gentle gaze met his blissful one, and he felt his heart stammer. Nothing in this world could compare to your beauty; Distance did not due you justice. As he stands above you, he got to see the real you – he couldn’t get over how gorgeous you truly are.

“Lovely to finally meet you, Mr. Adams,” you huffed with a laugh after swallowing his load, biting your lip as you slowly sat up. It broke Cooper out of his daydream, his cock soft against the waistband of his briefs – still a mouthful even when not erect. Standing at full attention, you glanced down at your body to see the aftermath – feeling a flush growing over your skin at the sight of being covered in him. You could tell it was affecting Cooper as he put his cock back into his briefs, the crotch on his jeans stiffening slightly. “You as well, Miss.” He managed to let out, chuckling as his eyes cascaded down your body. There was something dark within him that he was trying to push down; You didn’t like that. It’s what drew you to him those months ago, made you want to move to this town, to be close to him. You knew who Cooper Adams is, how he was stalking you. You played into every hand of his, wanting him to know you were the good in his world. You two could rule together, be the parents of evil – to let it out instead of holding it in. He is The Butcher, and you are The Baker.

“You’re so beautiful,” Cooper murmured, not wanting to seem out of the ordinary but he needed you to know. Your eyes glanced up over him in his SWAT outfit, feeling the slick between your legs growing once more. His broad shoulders looked so form fitted in the tactical vest. His thick thighs were highlighted by the rugged denim of his jeans. His large feet covered in beat up leather boots – he is the walking embodiment of sex, and you wanted to climb him. Feeling flattered at his words, you started to make your way over to him, watching how the black of his pupils cancelled out the auburn of his irises – showing that Cooper wasn’t fully in control, but the demon inside him was. A lump formed at the back of his throat as the post nut clarity set in, trying to find his words without making a mistake. “I thought you’d be afraid of me, if you knew who I was.” Cooper mumbled, keeping his eyes trained on your carpeted floor, feeling a flush rise upon his cheeks. You felt your lips pull up into a soft smile, showcasing your loving nature. Bringing a hand up to Cooper’s cheek, you gently caressed at the small stubble growing on his chin, his disheveled brown hair in his eyes. Your right hand came up to push the hair out of his face, giving you a good grasp on his locks as you raked your fingers through. Sliding down the back of his head, at the base of his neck you wrapped his hairs around your fingers, tugging at the root with precision. Looking up into his eyes, you let a sinister smirk fall to your lips, your lips a mere few centimeters off of his; “I fear no man.”

If Cooper was right about anything in this world, it was that you were his match. The Butcher and The Baker, wreaking havoc across Philadelphia.

---

General Taglist: @rubyfruitjungle @cherryinterlude @lilly3434 @amethystblackkchaos @rosaleelovesdilfs @babygorewhore @dirtylittlefairytales @redpillbluepill @strangererotica @minedofmoria

Cooper Adams Smut: @exhoism

[sunalee]

the hood and the healer

summary: The town's vigilant always visits your tent with a wound to be taken care of.

with: Kim Mingyu

warnings: historical!au, mentions of injuries, a bit of angst and grieving, open wound (nothing graphic), healer!reader, childhood friends to lovers?, unspoken feelings, fluff. word count: 1500+

The evening comes, and it’s the time for you to close the doors of your humble hut to rest. Fortunately, there weren’t too many villagers seeking your care today: two children who got into a fight in the streets, a wounded guard who prevented a robbery, and a lady with a skin disease in her knee, who needed weekly treatments to improve her health.

You can’t exactly call yourself the best healer in the realm, your tools aren’t the most advanced, and neither are your skills, much to the short time you’ve been practicing. But you’re proud to help in any way you can. 

The well-being of your patients it’s what matters most, and you do whatever you can to provide that, paying close attention to every ingredient chosen or bought, cleaning and tending them to later produce ointments and other types of medicines. You learned all the recipes from your late father’s journal, your inspiration of healer, who taught you everything you know today.

His manuscripts are now all you have of him since your childhood home was demolished four years ago, on orders of the current governor, Mozan. That tyrant ravished almost every knowledge source in town, monopolizing to his own hands so that people pay more for services they had in abundance. So many valuables, research, and medicines that could bring so much improvement were lost that day, and with your father’s death, you had to learn from the worst scenario how to get back up and move forward with your life. 

It’s been a tough and long process, but even though you still didn’t accomplish a comfortable situation, you’re grateful for what you’ve done so far.

Organizing the glass balm jars on the shelves, you’re startled by hurried knocks on the door, so suddenly that almost makes you drop the jar you’ve been holding. 

Who could it be at this hour? For precaution, you take a medium branch from the pile you gathered early to the fireplace, hard enough to leave a good concussion. You take a deep breath before unlocking the door and slightly opening it.

A tall, hooded-dressed man is waiting on the other side. The white fabric of his haori almost hides his brown uniform underneath it, but you don’t pay much attention to that, eyes focusing on the way the man is holding his arm close, a clear sign of injury.

You don’t need much more than the warm-brownish eyes gazing at you, and the wooden bow strapped to his back to recognize your childhood friend Mingyu. 

“Do you have time for one more patient?” His pleasant, deep voice vocalizes a question a little embarrassed and restrained as if he did something he shouldn’t and now it hurts like hell. And from the way his body is curling forward, he won’t be able to endure that wound much longer.

And you know exactly what got him into this situation. Oh, how much you want to give him the slaps his mother forgot to do. 

Sliding those thoughts aside, you make room for him to enter, guiding the dark-haired man to the futon where you tend most of your clients. You preferred to quiet yourself, feeling down your throat the hard lecture you wish to free, but you let your worry lead you, removing his belongings and upper clothes until you spot the ugly hole covered with blood on his shoulder.

“Arrow.” He informs, hissing when you touch the wound with a white cloth to clean it and inspect it better. “I put some pressure on it on my way here, but I suppose it’s worse than before. It feels like it.”

“Fool.” You whisper to yourself, but Mingyu catches your words, chuckling in response. He has to agree with you on that. He turns quiet, watching you as you meticulously check on him, searching and finding other bruises along his torso and back. He noticed the signs you leave and sadness in your eyes at every scratch found, making him feel guilty for making you so concerned. 

Ensured enough, you return to the main wound. Thank goodness Mingyu wasn’t stupid to ignore it, as without proper care it could quickly become infected and worsen his situation. It isn’t large, but you’ll need to give it a few stitches to close it and quicken the healing process. 

You leave for a few seconds, gathering the material before returning with a basin of water, some more cloths, strips, an ointment, and a canteen of water for him to recover his energy. You offer some seeds to lessen the pain, but he denies them gently, knowing how much you struggle to find these seeds in the woods. He’s been through a lot more pain than this, he can take it. 

“Tell me if it gets too much.” You encourage him while cleaning the wound, gazing at him one last time before taking the needle and twine, and starting to stitch his skin. Mingyu does an excellent job at hiding the intense pain in his body, taking deep and even breaths to relive it. His resilience stuns you so much, how can the patient be calmer than the healer? 

 It’s a horrible sensation, especially on someone so dear to you. It’s something that you pray to never need to repeat. You finally finish the nerve-wracking stitches, content with your work but still nervous as you inspect it for any mistakes. 

“You’re worried.” He points out after a few moments,  noticing the way your body is stressed by the whole situation.

“How did this happen?” You decide to ignore it, gathering the material to start patching him up. 

He sighs. He won’t win this fight. “I broke into one of Mozan’s vaults. There weren’t any patrols at first, but a few archers appeared later on as I collected the coins.” He tells the story so casually that you could believe he does that every day after breakfast. “I got away in time, but one of them hit me in the shoulder as I was riding.” He confesses frustrated,  not quite meeting your eyes. “Don’t worry, I made sure to lose them before I came here.”

You chuckle in disbelief, trying to ingest what you just heard. How can he presume that you’re more worried about two archers breaking into your house than your only friend, who almost died at their hands?

Honestly, you never will understand what goes through Mingyu’s head. But clearly, it’s majority nonsense.

“Was that funny?” He asks, visibly confused. Your urge to hit him grows, but you rather fill your hands with the ointment to rub on his wound. Maybe if you press your fingers just a little harder, it’ll hurt him enough.

But you love him too much to do that.

“Why do you keep doing this?” You can’t take it anymore. You can’t keep watching him putting himself in danger over nothing. “What’s so nice about robbing the rich, hm? Why do you keep risking your life on this? It’s not worth it,Gyu!”

“Of course it’s worth it!” He sneers, getting defensive. He doesn’t want to argue with you, but he won’t just let you assume his purpose is pointless: you need to understand his point.  Pursing his lips, he keeps on explaining. “You know I’m not doing this for money. I’m doing justice to everyone who suffered for the greed of these men. To all who starve, while they stuff themselves with wine and meal. I’m doing this for us, _______.”

“This isn’t the right way to do it, and you know that.” You firmly rebound, even if it’s clear in his eyes the purity of his intentions. His heart is the greatest you’ve ever seen, but his emotions aren’t enough to assure his safety. “Your father would never agree with what you’re doing right now.”

“My father is dead because of them!” He raises his voice, gaze turning into flames for a moment. Breathing hard, he realizes what just happened, and tears start forming in the same place, making you regret bringing up such a sorrowful memory. “He was a righteous man who fell into their trap.” He gulps down, trying to contain his growing emotions. “ -and I’ll not let anyone else suffer as he did. I won’t let any child lose their father the way I lost. And I don’t care if I have to go through hundreds of arrows to guarantee that!”

You stare at each other for slow, silent seconds, until Ren regains his calmness, eyes softening as he realizes how he handled things. You continue to tend to his wounds without muttering words, but you can feel his regretful gaze on you. The only sound echoing in the room is the flames covering the woods in the fireplace.

You finish the last bandage before returning his clothes, not really meeting his gaze.“All done. Try not to make any brusque movements with your arm, and remember to change the dressing around the same time for the next few days.” You give the instructions, holding the now bloody bowl in your hands to discard. “I’ll get you medicine for the pain.”

A gentle hand holds your arm before you can move away, making you stay still as you search for an answer inside those beautiful blazing eyes of his.

“Forgive me… For being so harsh with my words. I know you only worry for me, and I’m immensely grateful for your care.” He tries to apologize, shoulders soothing as you offer him a small smile in return. 

“It’s all right. Forgive me for the things I said to you as well.” You answer, also regretfully. Mingyu didn’t lose his father to a disease like you did, and neither had the honor to stay with him in his last moments; his father was murdered in cold blood, and punished publicly for confronting the tyranny without fear. An honored soldier, who did nothing but protect his people. If you were in his place, you would be just as furious as him. You move closer, rubbing softly his good shoulder. “Now, let me bring your medicine.”

He lets you go this time, taking a moment to look around the room as you search on the shelves.

“Looks like the roof has some holes in it.”

“Termites.” You explain, grabbing a green bottle, the smell of calendula filling your nostrils as you confirm the content. “They’ve been growing fast outside, and ended up coming to my house as well. Once I get enough, I’ll repair the damages.”

“I could help you with the coins, you know.” He not so discreetly proposes, but you know very well where those funds came from. “Winter is coming, and these holes won’t do you any good with the cold.”

“I can handle it, Gyu, but I appreciate the offer.” You leave no room for conversation walking back to him and passing the medicine. “Take twice a day, ten hours apart. It doesn’t taste very well, but it will help you through the pain.” You instruct, noticing after that he doesn’t take his eyes off you as he catches the bottle, amused by your stubbornness. As always. 

“Thank you, _______.” He says, not only for what you’ve done, but for every wound, pain, and struggle you’ve helped him go through, since his childhood. One day, he'll honor everything, starting by giving you a better place to live. It won’t be today, nor tomorrow, but certainly one day.

He rises from the futon and surprises you with a tender, slow peck on your forehead. You’ve never questioned Mingyu’s feelings before, content with just being a dear person to him. 

But perhaps, something deeper could arouse in the future.

“Take care, my healer.” He says with a hint of humor, already dressed with his uniform and belongings. Walking towards the entrance, he turns to you one more time. “Until next time.”

“Not wounded, I hope.” You almost plead, making him giggle so genuinely that brings a smile to your face as well. It’s good to see him well. 

“But that’s the funny part.” He answers with a cheeky grin, and with the last wave, he leaves your hut, closing the door on the way out.

Already missing his presence, you start gathering the used material from the ground, but you find a small bag that wasn’t familiar. There’s a note beside it, but you decide to check the content inside, finding a good amount of gold coins that make you speechless. Shaking your head in disbelief, you open the note, already knowing who gave you such gift:

“You said you didn’t want help with the roof, but you didn’t say anything about the medicine’s price.”

— Gyu.

© sunalee 2024 — all rights reserved.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Why König Was Bullied/ Why He Loved His Family

TW: Severe Bullying, Kids Being Cruel, Severe Social Anxiety, Growing Up Mentally Ill, Chronic Feelings of Being Unsafe, Unstable Environments Growing Up, Isolation, Loneliness, Self Esteem Issues, Anxiety, Social Anxiety,

I'm gonna say it. I think König actually had a great childhood home. He wasn't bullied because he was an abused child, he was bullied because he was a socially awkward kid raised by socially awkward parents. He was bullied because he was chubby (his mama loved giving him sweets) and because he was weirdly big and not in a hot way, just in a lumpish oaf sort of way.

On his own, König loved to keep his own company. He would make up imaginary worlds in his mind and play with stuffed animals and model trains. He read fantasy books, and became an advanced reader for his age. He loved learning as much as he could about the world around him, and his Oma nicknamed him 'her little Why' when he would never stop asking why things were the way they were. He loved to play outside most of all. Almost all his free time was spent outdoors, and he developed a deep love of nature, hiking and camping.

Kids are cruel, and one kid looking a little bit awkwardly proportioned and being awkward to boot was the perfect target. It didn't help that (especially in the beginning) he just liked to do his own thing, regardless of what others thought. He liked playing with his stuffed bears and rabbits at recess and he loved to read more than he liked to play sports. He was a bit awkward in both speech and body, growing too big for his body to adjust to too quickly and always a bit nervous to speak to others, leaving him a lonely child with nobody to play with. Nobody wanted to play with a boy who still played with stuffed animals or played imaginary games with himself. He was the kid who would call himself the dog when kids played house. He had to hold other kids' coats at recess just to be acknowledged.

König had a hard childhood due to the isolation. Kids got crueller when puberty set in, and they got more overt with their bullying. It didn't help that König hit puberty early and shot up like a reed. He grew strangely thick facial hair for a twelve-year-old, and people would pluck hairs out of his face when he wasn't on guard. After his growth spurt, shoves and nasty playground names became black eyes and rumours traded between classes. Everywhere he looked people watched him, talked about him, scorned him. He developed mild scopophobia, and the fear still lingers with him in adulthood.

König always had the potential of developing social anxiety. Just genetics, really. But growing up in a poorly equipped rural town didn't help. He didn't fit in, and for that he was tormented throughout life. Bullies would find out who his crush was and kiss them when he walked by in the halls. Girls would ask him out, and when he eagerly accepted they would laugh in his face. Worst of all was how they'd torment him for startling easily, and laugh whenever he physically lashed out in a panic. They loved to scare poor König, and did whatever they could to get a reaction out of him. He learned to keep his emotions guarded and to himself, but he still tears up when he thinks about how they once set his stuffed rabbit on fire after school. Whenever König felt like he'd learned to take it all, something else would come along and remind him that no, he would never fit in, and he would never be safe.

König grew up to be cold, harsh and cynical. He refused to let others play with his emotions. He became hardened as a man. However, deep inside of König, there was always a little boy who just wanted to read fantasy books and play with his stuffed animals in peace. He took to taking long hikes and camping outside when he needed time away from home. As a preteen, he was humiliated by how fat he seemed as a child, and horrified by how thin and lanky he became as he matured, so he began working out vigorously and filled out into a powerful, handsome young man. When girls would ask him out as a teen, he'd scoff and shoo them off, even though they genuinely wanted to be with him. He'd been burned too many times to know when someone truly wanted him. He didn't realize that he was a highly intelligent, strapping teen that had become a heartthrob among some of the other socially outcast children. Sadly, König would never learn, instead focusing on how his bullies would mock his height from afar (they'd long since learned that fighting a 200 lb young man who learned to fight from a war vet was not a good idea after all). But no matter how much König tried to get out from under their thumb, his bullies ruled his life.

But while school was a battleground, every day this brave little soldier would march home into his mother's open arms. His father would be there to remind him of how strong he was, how proud he was of his little soldier son. Home was his sanctuary away from the war outside.

König's mother was very much a housewife. A big, tall (at least 6'1) woman with broad arms and a powerful jaw, Annabelle Leichenberg looked more like a warrior princess than she did the sweet and doting mother that she was. She was always a bit awkward in the village, and many other mothers made fun of her for being harsh and dismissive in her exchanges of village gossip. She was a practical woman who had no time for their prattling nonsense. All her time was spent doting upon her loving family. She was a dutiful, determined woman who never backed down from a challenge. Despite working in the next village over, she would spend as much time as she could with König and her four other children. She would teach König to braid his sisters' hair, and played card games with him and his brothers late at night. She made sure his siblings never picked on him too much, and she spoiled him rotten with strawberries from the garden. To this day, König swears up and down that nobody makes strawberry tarts quite like his mother.

Contrary to his brash and outspoken wife, König's father, Fritz Leichenberg, was a quiet and studious man. He was the tallest man in the village by far, but he was a shy and soft man who preferred his books and his record player to the drunken sports rallies every Friday night, making the other village men consider him effeminate and weak. König's father was a professor of agriculture, and so preferred to spend time in his garden with his wife or reading stories to his children. He was surprisingly soft-spoken for his size, and seemed to always be shrinking away from conversation, preferring the company of his many houseplants to the boisterous drunks at the bar. Fritz liked to play piano on the baby grand in the foyer, and the family would gather and sing around him (Annabelle could never hold a tune, but Fritz never seemed to mind). Fritz was the major disciplinarian in the household, but it seemed his punishments were composed more of long lectures and discussions than spankings that the other children at school got. König was very close to his father, and learned from him the strength of being comfortable with his masculinity, and learned how to be gentle from him. He originally wanted to be a professor like him, but became a soldier when his grandfather passed away.

König had a good relationship with his siblings. He was the second youngest of five. The eldest was Friedrich, then Stephan and Lisa, then König (Kilgore), then finally Klara. König's brothers were awkward, but they fought back hard against their adversaries. Lisa was actually rather popular among her age group, and she managed to keep people in her age bracket from targeting König as well. The brothers and Lisa tried their best to protect König, and even his younger sister ended up becoming a defender and prevented her classmates from targeting her brother. König loved his siblings, but even they could be cruel to him on occasion (particularly when they had friends over). However, they cared for him as a sibling, and they did their best to ensure he was always safe at home.

König also lived with his Oma and Opa (on his father's side). His Opa was a veteran, and taught all the children how to fight. He took a shine to König in particular, and tried his best to encourage his grandson to stand up for himself. His Oma was a bit more skeptical. She loved König, but she always worried about him. She would often try to get him to make new friends, but sadly these efforts were in vain.

So all in all, life was not all doom and gloom for König. He grew up a social outcast, but in a loving home. He's fiercely loyal to his family, and skeptical of anyone he does not consider to be of that ilk. He will always be paranoid, he will always be afraid of people watching him, and he will always have that horrible trait of being ruder than he intends to be. But, in the end, he was loved and raised in a good home.

Bonus:

On König's first day of school, his mother bought him a toy. It became a tradition that every first day of school, she would buy him something special. With all the years that passed, most of these things were broken or lost, but he kept the wooden train set his mother gave him on his very first day.

[lightsaber-dorphin]

Jedi Order Corps and Subdivisions

More of my worldbuilding for the inner structure of the Jedi Order. This time focusing on the Corps and the schools of thought/ roles within the Order.

Some of these are canon, others are my own creation. The Jedi consolidating to one temple on Coruscant during the Ruusan Reformation is canon, but I’ve taken my own liberties with it. Without further ado, lore!

Prior to the Ruusan Reformation, there were a number of independent denominations of the Jedi. Most of them merged into one order based in the Coruscant temple during what was called the Reunification.

Many denominations had different ideas of what a Jedi should be/ how they should use their powers. As a result, Jedi from certain traditions tended towards certain jobs within the reunified order. The corps and their branches formed as a result of certain traditions and teachings being passed down by Jedi who occupied certain roles.

The corps aren’t administrative divisions. Individual Jedi have their corps and branch affiliation listed on file as a marker of what they specialize in/ what they’re trained to do. Jedi are selected for missions based on their corps and the specifics of the mission, and answer to whichever body sent them on the mission. (see my Jedi Order Bureaucratic Structure)

Reunified Jedi Order:

One permanent location on Coruscant

Wayfinders:

Wandering Jedi who are technically members of the Order & follow its precepts but don't answer to the Council

Nonspecific:

Individual members can and do have corps/ division affiliations, but the group as a whole doesn't have a corps/ division affiliation

Usually part of the Sentinels or EduCorps

People aren’t selected to be trained for these jobs it’s all volunteer work

A lot of people do it part-time or for short periods, but a few folks make it their permanent gig

Maintenance workers:

Sometimes someone says “what if instead of going on missions I patched all the holes in our drywall” and why would they stop them

Lots of part-time volunteers

Most are Sentinels, because their philosophy encourages learning random useful skills

Quartermasters:

Distribute supplies

The Order buys stuff in bulk and then Jedi pick it up from the quartermasters office

Kitchenmasters:

Jedi way of saying chef

Transport mechanics:

Do you know a Car Person? Imagine if they were a monk.

Accountants:

The most dedicated to preserving the Jedi way of life of any group in the Order

Without these unthanked warriors the Jedi Order would’ve been destroyed by late-stage capitalism

Most are Lore Keepers

Lawyers:

Usually hired from the outside

Inspired by "Jedi Counsel” on ao3

Sometimes a Jedi goes to law school

Temple Guards:

Protect the temple and are its first responders

Based on the lore from "Nameless"

Very connected to the living force within the temple

A little spooky!

Education Corps:

Advance in rank via academic achievement

Maven is the title equivalent to Knight

Can have multiple padawans at one time (but usually don’t)

Lore Keepers:

Strongly believe in the importance of academics

Believe knowledge is the path to connection with the Force

Based on "The Librarian's Lineage"

Preceptors:

Teaching is hugely important to the Jedi, and all Jedi teach & learn how to teach to some degree, but for Preceptors it’s their main focus

Like the MedCorps it has a lot of transfers

Normal Preceptors:

Classroom teachers

Have formal education training

Either work for the Department of Classes or the Department of Primary Classes

DoC and DoPC are roughly the same thing, except the DoPC is for the general education classes all Jedi take as children and the DoC is for elective and continuing education classes

Battlemasters:

Teach lightsaber classes

Have formal education training

Inspired by "Careless to Let It Fall" on ao3

Main differences are that there’s more than one & they take education classes

Crèchemasters:

One lead crèchemaster and two-ish assistant crèchemasters per every 6-ish younglings

Formal training in early childhood education

Must serve as an assistant crèchemaster before being a lead crèchemaster

Assistant crèchemasters are from "aphelion" on ao3

Exploration Corps:

One-on-one apprenticeships

Rarely in the temple (unless they have a padawan, when they’re required to be there more often)

Usually have a bed in a communal room at the temple instead of their own apartment

Use Knight title. Yes this is sometimes confusing

Vanguards:

Wandering explorers/ patrol the galaxy

Instead of responding to specific requests they visit places & are available if anyone wants their help

Specific purpose is to make sure the Jedi don’t neglect/ are unaware of certain parts of the galaxy just because it hasn’t requested Jedi aid in a while

Seekers:

Find potential Jedi and offer them a place in the Order

Bond with new initiates and ease their transition into the Order

Archaeologists:

Expertise in Force-temple ruins

An undead Sith~ sleeping in your bed. Who you gonna call? Ghost! Busters!

Work closely with the Lore Keepers

Most likely to become Wayfinders or leave the Order (by percentage not numbers)

“Former Jedi who got really interested in a niche of archaeology without many Force-related ruins” is a thing in the archaeology community

They can work on normal digs but the Senate won’t approve sending them/ use of Jedi funds

Medical Corps:

MedCorps padawans are very rare. Most members transfer in from another corps

Student healers from other corps have a healing mentor in charge of their healer training, separate from their lineage-master

Healer is the equivalent title to Knight. Healers-in-training are called Student Healers, no matter what their rank is

Knight Corps:

Knights being a fifth corps

This is the corps we see most in canon

One-on-one apprenticeships, Knight title

Guardians:

Focus on fighting abilities & lightsaber combat

Consulars:

Negotiators, ambassadors, diplomats

Focus on Force abilities

Sentinels:

Focus on non-Jedi skills such as hacking

Considered a midpoint between Guardians and Consulars

Shadows:

Jedi spies

Answer to the High Council

Watchfolk:

Permanent/ long-term posting within a system

Agriculture Corps:

Focus on nature-related abilities

Grow most of the food for the Order

Very involved in disaster relief work

Rarely in the temple & usually have a bed in a communal room instead of a personal room

Have long-term postings & typically get settled there

Padawans are assigned to a group rather than an individual

Maven is the Knight-equivalent title

The chapter that inspired this whole project

Terraformers:

Large-scale Force usage

Can revitalize uninhabitable areas

Use the Force to rapidly speed up regrowth, kickstart life on planets where there is none, etc.

Conservationists:

Don’t believe in using the Force on the scale that Terraformers do

Use the Force to help individual plants grow, stave off rot and parasites, connect with animals, etc.

Beastmasters:

Creature specialists

Force-sensitive animal control

Inspiration

[witchofhimring]

Being the daughter of Alys Rivers

Alys x daughter reader (platonic)

ft. alysmond/ alys x aemond

-Alys will either be your bio mother or adopted. If you are born to Alys it is by her own choice. Likely she wanted a baby of her own. If you are adopted it is because your birth parents did not want you and left. Taking pity, Alys will take you in.

It was quiet in Harrenhal, the only noises those few that remained awake. Alys sat by the hearth holding a small squirming bundle. She gazed down at the baby's face, your eyes closed. One long finger caressed thin hair. Your shuffled slightly but other then that were still. Alys had always wanted a child but never had the chance. Now she did Alys felt a warmth in her. A feeling almost completely foreign. She's had little in her life, her mother gone, father pretending she did not exist, and any child she cared for taken once old enough. Now she finally had a baby to herself. Y/n yawned slightly and opened her wide eyes. A few snuffles was all that left her. "There there Y/n. Go back to sleep." Alys cooed.

- Your childhood is dominated by Alys. There are not many kids in Harrenhal and Alys trusts no one else with you. You are working at an early age as a maid. It was mostly menial tasks, your mother forbid you doing anything dangerous. She allowed you to have fun after work and play amongst the few children. However you never stayed long and went back to mother. Alys sewed a lot of toys for you. Your dresses as well were made of good quality. Because Alys was given so little as a child she made sure you wanted for nothing.

Alys noticed her daughter eyeing a toy bunny in shop. It was a cute thing, made of dark brown fur and buttons. Of course Y/n did not say it aloud, these things cost money. But Alys was not adverse to giving her daughter something. So when Y/n went back to her chores Alys popped into the shop and asked how much it was. Giving her a wary eye all the time, the shop keeper named the price. It was not too bad, and the toy of good quality. So she bought it. No doubt they would whisper that the bastard daughter would do some ill by it. How foolish they were. She found Y/n by the hearth finishing het sewing. At first Y/n did not bother looking up, so concentrated was she. Alys crept towards her daughter, toy in hand. "Y/n, I have something." Turning, you saw the toy you had been eyeing in her hands. Delighted, you took it with a thanks. Alys watched as you fawned over your new toy.

-You receive an advanced education for a girl your status. From the library Alys pilfers books and parchment. You are taught to read and write from a young age. Language foreign to Westeros is heard upon your tongue. Most important, magic. Alys teaches you all she know and shows you images from the flames. You learn of prophecies that have past, are happening and will happen. In the night two witches chant their spells, learning secrets beyond the knowledge of mortal men.

Everyone was asleep in Harrenhal. That was, unless one did not count the two witches wide awake. Your mother had crawn a circle out of chalk, symbols drawn with a white thin finger. Once done Alys knelt down, green dress fairing out behind. You stood back slightly. Not out of fear, but to learn. Alys said words none other but you two understood. Although Alys knew them on a much deeper level. At your young age there was still so much left to learn. So you watched and memorized her actions. When younger you had always feared that guards would burst in and cart you two off for witchcraft. But now you knew mother would always be there to protect. From the center came a ghostly apparition. Its skeletal body twisting and turning grotesquely. Anyone else would have fled. But you were so used to stranger things that little fazed you. It leaned towards your mother and whispered something soft. Then it was gone. "What did it say?" Alys turned and smiled. "He is coming."

-When war broke out you never left Alys's side. She kept you near at all times. Days grew darker and all knew bloodshed would find itself at Harrenhal. Alys continues teaching you magic. When Daemon came to Harrenhal Alys kept you inside. Afterwards Alys is even more vigilante over your protection. Alys drew symbols around the door, telling you that no one but you two would be able to enter. The days grew darker and your mother spun her web.

Prince Aemond came astride his great beast Vhaegar. You and Alys knew first, sensed him, smelt him on the air. "Y/n, go to our room.' Obeying, you waited. A few times you heard a thunderous knock at the door. Someone took a heavy object and tried to break it down. Nothing worked and you were safe. Unfortunately you were not spared the screams because you could hear them. Men, women and children crying out. Sitting on the bed you tried to block them out with little success. When the door finally did open it was your mother. Without a word you flung yourself into her arms. "It's alright Y/n. We are safe."

-Others may have feared her, but to you Alys was everything. For the next few days your mother had you stay in the room. When you asked what had happened she said "everything is well". Trusting, you stayed. A week later she finally lets you out. Prince Aemond terrifies you. It is not his actions (Alys would have torn him apart if that happened), but his general presence. There was something dark within this young man that unsettled you greatly. Sometimes he would look at you but say nothing. But Alys seemed unworried and he seemed to like you mother. The change was odd. You no longer had to work as a maid but were allowed to solely dwell on studying. Your dresses were nicer as well. Dinner was sometimes taken with the Prince and your mother. It was a strange new world.

You stayed by your mothers side, small hand clinging to her dress. This room once belonged to the lord of this castle, however you had never stepped inside. Standing in front of you was a rather tall man. Or rather he looked so tall to a young girl such as yourself. He looked down his pointed nose, silver Targaryen hair framing a narrow face. His one eye made you shrink. Aemond Targaryen, prince, rider of Vhaegar and kinslayer. "How old is she?" "Eight. But my daughter is not given to childish exploits. So do not mistaken her for an invalid." Alys's grip tightened on you. Feeling safe by your mothers side you looked up at her. Alys showed no fear in the face of a man who had slain his own nephew. Your mother had faced more terrifying forces than this mortal man.

-You did not like Aemond. At least at first. He terrified you, and his monopolization of your mothers attentions brought jealousy to the surface. Aemond had very little to do with you. Alys had become more protective, keeping you by her side. Now that the castle was under Aemond's control (and by association hers) Alys took this opportunity to teach you magic more freely. None would dare to speak of the witch and her daughter (at least not yet. One day you were sitting outside, the light in your palms gently floating. It was liberating to conjure in the open with no worries of getting caught. Someone approached but you ignored them, thinking it was your mother. It was only when they spoke that you realized it was Aemond. Immediately you jumped up, the light disappearing in a thin trail of smoke. Aemond seemed apprehensive, but eventually asked if you wanted to ride on Vhaegar. Looking to the dragon, you were not entirely sure it was safe. But curiosity won.

Lets just say when you and Aemond finally got back down Alys was there. Yup. Aemond was fucked.

You should have been far more terrified. Vhaegar was enormous and even a claimed dragon was no pet. She turned her steely eyes upon you. Likely, it was Aemond's presence that stopped her from turning you into a snack. "Have you ever ridden with anyone else?" It would make you feel better if you knew he'd done this with someone else before. "Yes. My sister and your mother." Well, if your mother had done it, then dragon riding was not too bad. Right? After a tiring climb you reached the top of Vhaegar. Already you were well off the ground. Aemond who had been right behind you adjusted a harness around your waist. With one call Vhaegar was in the sky.

It was the most terrifying and terrific sensation of your life. High in the clouds you had never been so close to death. Never before had you witnessed such a view. Above Westeros you flew. "This is what it must feel like to be a god." You thought. Eventually Aemond decided it was time to land. And waiting in the courtyard was Alys.

Oh shit.

-Your mother began to show signs of illness one morning. At first you were unworried. But time when on and still your mother was ill. You tried to help, providing drafts and good foods. Still, your mothers condition stayed, neither worse or better. Finally, your mother one day came with a surprise. She was expecting a child.

"Probably an upset stomach." You thought. As the days passed by however, you began to worry. Not only was your mother nauseous, but unnaturally exhausted and complained of pains and aches. Finally Alys brought out her box and asked you to wait outside. Nervously you paced outside the door. After a few minutes, which felt like an hour, Alys let you back in. Instead of grief or worry a jubilant smile adorned her face. When you asked if she was well your mother pulled you into a hug. "Oh Y/n it is the best new. I am excepting!"

-You were excited for another sibling. Over the months you had warmed to Aemond (somewhat), so having him as the father was not so bad. Everyone had to leave Harrenhal and a cottage became home. You helped assemble a nursery and look after your mother. So busy were you that the war seemed a distant conflict. There was peace for a time. Unfortunately reality came crashing down in the form of Daemon Targaryen. Heavily pregnant, your mother said it was time to go. All three of you were forced on Vhaegar to meet Aemond. When you landed there he was, the Rouge Prince and his dragon. He helped you and Alys off. "She see's much and more, my Alys." With a kiss for Alys and a pat on the head for you, he was off. The two dragons circled one another. Your mother grabbed your hand and ordered you to follow, Into the forest both of you went. When you asked what was happening Alys told you to be quiet. Into the woods both of you went, the witch of Harrenhal and the little sprite.

Everything was deadly quiet. Your mother huffed and puffed ahead, the baby behind a strain. Frequently you looked back and above. In a rather short period of time the two of you were well away from Aemond. Suddenly with an almighty thud something hit the ground. Like an enormous hammer was slammed into the earth. The both of you nearly fell over. It was only because your mother had a hard grip that you managed to fall down. For a few moments the two of you stood there. A feeling heavier than an anvil settled on your soul. For a moment you were no longer there, but above looking down on a scene of carnage. Two dragons lay in the river, shattered ground beneath. Then suddenly you were underwater. Vhaegar's harness was still attached to its dragon, and rider. The sapphire glinted in his socket. Coming back, you were on the ground. Your mother's terrified face was all you could see.

"Mother, he's dead."

[angstydisaster02]

An analysis about why Bakudeku is one of the most inspirational relationships. (Manga spoilers)

First part : my thoughts

Tbh, I really have this impression the manga is coming to an end very soon, which breaks my heart because I don’t know what I’ll do without my daily leaks. However, I trust Horikoshi about the rest of the story and I do think he’ll make an open ending about which “ship” is canon, even if we all know that the biggest and most developed relationship in the manga is bkdk.

It would be interesting to see the “after” of this war, the hospital beds, the tears because they lost people, the relief because it’s over and the final conversation beg the ending. Knowing Horikoshi until now, never made things randomly because everyone is thinking in advance, including the conversation between Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo.

You can’t tell me the author of this manga who always did things with a smart brain will put aside such an important detail about the dynamic between his characters.

A part of me hopes we’ll have the bkdk talk at the hospital or somewhere else because there’s no way these two idiots keep living their lives as if nothing happened. I have high expectations due to the fanfics, but I’m pretty sure I’ll never be the same once the chapter with the bkdk talk comes.

Second part : the analysis feat manga panels

looking forward, it’s incredible how Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki’s relationship started in the worst way (I’m not including the childhood memories) and…Ended up being something like that.

I’m emotional when I think about everything they’ve been through, the many realizations about losing each other, the development of their relationship after an emotional scene such as Deku Vs Kacchan 2, the way they need to push each other’s up to be the best version of themselves in any situation.

It’s not a surprise if these two are mean to be canon (in a platonic or romantic to way, depends about your opinion !) and each little moment highlights this statement.

Think about it : they all learned one of few important things with the other’s presence by their side, on purpose or not. Their dynamic is something unique you can’t find in others shonen or mangas, because they have this specific bond, the one getting stronger though the years because their mistakes became a reason to improve and be a better person for this childhood friend they knew since the early days.

Izuku Midoriya needs Katsuki Bakugo like Katsuki Bakugo needs Izuku Midoriya.

You can’t take away this part of their soul, and even when people like AFO tried, they ended up paying the price by revealing how much they care about each other.

Don’t startd with the Heroees rising thing because I can write an entire novel about them, but this is another proof of how they’re made for each other. Their relationship improve though the years and it’s only the beginning, I can’t help but imagine how future bkdk will have an amazing relationship once they figured out everything and untold truths.

They’re each other’s pillars, holding the other up to do the best and watch from afar their other’s improvement.

That’s why the hospital conversation might be the peak of their relationship: the moment when they’ll both break their shield, welcoming the tears and listening how life is a fragile line on a thread.

None of them refuse to break this meaningful thread, because this is something they’ve built for years, and it’s their biggest strength (and biggest weakness like Shigaraki pulled out)

In conclusion: they’re driving me crazy and I have no regrets following their journey because it’s probably one of the best relationships I’ve seen (and I watched a lot of anime/manga, read a lot of books and they’re still superior !)

Thanks for reading my analysis because it’s one of my guilty pleasures when I’m passionate about something, especially my comfort ship ! Take care of yourself <3

[pinkiemachine]

We need the entire El chronicles! (not in a pressurey way)

Lol! Okay, so here’s all I’ve got so far of DAWN OF SUPERMAN, to recap (full versions linked below):

SEASON ONE:

—Krpyton gets destroyed by both their collapsing sun and a massive civil war.

—Jor-El and his family try to escape Zod and his followers and head to the secret Kryptonian colony.

—Zod finds them and when Jor-El ejects his loved ones into space in escape pods, Zod opens fire, killing Zor-El and Alura, and knocking Lara, Cal, Kara, and Krypto of course. Jor-El evades capture.

—Lara and Cal land on Earth and Lara dies from an injury sustained in the blast. Cal is then left in the care of the humans John and Martha Kent.

—Clark has adoptive siblings, Micheal, Sean, Rueben, and Suzie.

—Cal’s desire to find his alien family leads him to become an investigative journalist and he moves to Metropolis in his early/mid twenties where he meets Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen.

Now, the rest of the season I haven’t fleshed out as mush as I have Season 2, but that will be fixed in months to come. For the moment, here’s the basic outline: The premier two-parter follows the events stated above, along with lots of little anecdotes of Clark’s childhood. Then, once he arrives in Metropolis, things become a bit episodic. One episode, we’ll be watching Clark try to adjust to life in the big city and become Superman for the first time, then the next, we’ll be exploring Lois or Jimmy’s characters, fighting interesting villains like Livewire or Banshee, and building up Lois and Clark’s relationship. (Side note, Martha made Clark’s suit for him. When Clark was a kid, he asked her once to make him an outfit that looked just like the ones in his family holophoto, including his family crest on the front. Naturally, Clark had outgrown that old costume, but just before he moved out, Martha surprised him with a fair well gift: a new Kryptonian-style suit.)

HOWEVER… there’s another story growing beneath the surface. Ever since Clark became Superman, he’s had eyes on him. The whole world is watching this man become the most powerful, most undefeated superhero of all time, but that’s not precisely why the government’s interested in him. They’re interested because he’s wearing the same crest as the alien woman they found twenty+ years ago. Waller is immediately on the case, and she sends out a lackey to bring Superman in for questioning. (Haven’t decided who this character is yet.) When Clark realises that the men in black suits are coming after him, he immediately gets spooked and worries for his family. If they got hurt because he was being reckless and showing his powers publicly, he’d never forgive himself. So Superman’s gotta lay low for a while. Eventually, though, Waller figures out his secret identity, but Lois winds up being the one to save Clark for just a little bit longer, threatening to run this story in the papers if they don’t leave Clark—an innocent and upstanding citizen—alone. But as soon as the two of them have a moment, Lois immediately asks what’s going on and Clark reveals that he’s Superman.

By now, Waller is getting antsy, but there’s someone else who wants to join the party. Lex Luthor. He’s been funding the research on the Kryptonian pod, and LexCorp has been reaping the rewards of learning the secrets of their advanced technology for years. He crafts a machine/suit/(need to read the comics) that can go toe-to-toe with Superman and almost beats him. Doesn’t though. Lex will remember that.

By now, Clark is sick of running and hiding. Time to take the fight to them. With help from Lois and Jimmy, he tracks down the secret base where the pod and his mother’s remains are being kept, and the final battle commences. Waller loses, Lex loses his hair, they both swear revenge, and Clark takes back what’s rightfully his. He buries what’s left of his mother on the farm, and stores the pod in the shed temporarily. It’s a triumphant yet slightly melancholy ending for our heroes, especially as Clark and his brother get a chance to really talk some things through while he’s home visiting. Then Lois gets introduced to the family, and for a moment, everything’s right with the world.

Little does Clark know, though, that there’s a probe droid on Earth, watching him, and now it’s flying back out into space to report what it’s found to its boss. Zod.

SEASON TWO

—Zod shows up, tries to manipulate Clark, but they wind up fighting instead, and Clark beats his butt off the planet. He does manage to spook General Lane, though, and now he’s dead set against Krpytonians and what they could do to the planet if they so choose.

—Anyway, now Clark knows that his father is actually alive, and there’s also a secret colony of Kryptonians out there. He decides to look for them.

—The team (plus extra members) journeys into space where they meet all sorts of new aliens, including Green Lantern, and they also cross paths with Kryptonite.

—Then they find Kara and Krypto, who lead them to the colony.

—Along the way, they also manage to track down Jor-El, and he and Clark get to have a well-deserved reunion.

—They go to the colony together, but Zod follows them. There’s a big battle, Zod gets booted to the phantom zone, his ship is destroyed, and the colony is saved.

—PSYCH, just kidding. One of the extra members of Clark’s team is military, and he has secret orders from General Lane to kill any and all new Kryptonian forces he may encounter. So, using some Kryptonite he kept hidden, he makes a bomb and blows the colony sky high.

—Clark, Kara, and Krypto are the only Kryptonians to survive.

(Clark briefly wants to set Earth on fire…)

—Then Clark discovers that, on Jor-El’s ship, his father had made many recordings and created an A.I. Version of himself for company. This is now all Clark has left of him as they fly back to Earth.

—The ship later gets parked up the Arctic, becoming Superman’s Fortress of Solitude.

—Clark’s laid low with grief, but Lois and his family are there for him now more than ever. There’s still hope for the future.

THEN comes JUSTICE LEAGUE: HEROES RISING!

At the moment, I’m still working out which stories of Superman’s will be adapted into the show, but the main idea is that every season, there will be at least one or two BIG over arching plots that center around one of the main characters and an arch foe of theirs, like OG Teen Titans. But less episodic. Or, at least… not episodic like putting a tournament episode right in the middle of the Judas Contract arc, and more so like Avatar the Last Airbender episodic, where we’re having fun, but also learning more about the world and how various aspects of it work. The first major villain(s) will have something to do Zatanna and/or Green Lantern.

Speaking of the other heroes, here’s a quick little tidbit: So, Batman’s actually the one who brings the Justice League together. It falls into one of his contingency plan models. In case of emergency, CALL EVERYONE. During his first two seasons of BATMAN: GOTHAM FILES, he’s already come across The Flash—and Wonder Woman, over the course of the first two seasons of WONDER WOMAN: HEIR TO OLYMPUS, she’s become familiar with Atlantis and their royal family. And if you remember, Clark’s already met Green Lantern (Hal Jordon). Now all that’s left is Zatanna, hence I thought a Zatanna-centric Season 1 might be a good idea. Magic is a threat the rest of the Justice League can’t easily combat on their own. But I also had a thought, like what if I combined the Zatanna villain with the GL villain—SPACE WIZARDS!!! Idk, just thinking about it. Anyway…

I sadly haven’t had a chance to write Season 3, but what I do know (for just general stuff that’s supposed to happen eventually) is that Lois and Clark do get married and have a little boy named Jonathan. Then, some time later, Clark and Kara get called away into space on urgent business, and that’s when someone new appears: Con-El, aka Conner Kent, aka Superboy. He comes crashing down to Earth in an escape pod just like Clark’s, claiming to be a member of Superman’s family. After much convincing of the Justice League, they let him stick around until Clark gets back to truly vet him. In the meantime, he slowly gains the other heroes’ trust, becomes a member of the second generation of Teen Titans (The New Teen Titans) and helps save the world. HOWEVER… turns out he’s been working for Lex Luthor this whole time! Dun dun dun! I’ll save the rest of that story for later, heheheh…

Then, of course, when Jonathan grows up, he becomes the next Superboy and joins the third generation of Teen Titans, (Ultimate Teen Titans), and has some adventures of his own. Haven’t decided what his big arc will be yet.

Would love to do a mini-series following Kara when she was lost in space. T’would be cool.

And that’s currently all I have written, story-wise, for the Kents. Personally, I don’t really see many of the other SuperFam characters to be especially relevant to the story, or interesting, so I’m probably gonna either scrap them or repurpose them, unless there’s just, like, a MASSIVE fan outcry. It’s just that the whole point is that Clark and Kara are THE LAST KRYPTONIANS. The last of their kind, that’s part of their whole story—being alone. You can only get away with new Kryptonians falling out of the sky so many times before it gets old. And Conner was lying about his origins, so I can get away with that.

Here’s some fun stuff I wrote about Krypton and Kryptonians 👇

Here’s the Fall of Krypton and the El family’s escape 👇

Here’s the next part of Clark’s Origin Story 👇

Here’s a deep dive into Lois and Clark’s relationship 👇

And here’s Season 2 in-depth 👇

[starmocha]

Part 2 of me yapping about bird men is coming, it's in my drafts, but uhhhhh.....I also want to yap about the other two men in my heart (aka I clearly have a type and it's "I'm just a soft baby that wants to be taken care of instead for once in her goddamned life and these men are more than ready to take on that task") 👉👈

[if anyone wants to read part 1 of me yapping about Gavin and Sylus, here ya go]

Victor (Mr. Love Queen's Choice), aka Daddy

CEO of a large investment and financial company (Loveland Financial Group (LFG))

Birthday: January 13 (Capricorn)

183 cm

Evol: Time control

Flower motifs are red roses (love, passion, beauty; burgundy roses can also mean commitment)

Animal motifs are panda bears. During his childhood, for his birthday, his father even adopted a panda at a zoo in his name

Associated with winter because he was born in the winter lol

Tall, dark, and snarky af

Perceived as cold, stoic, serious...but he is a softie with you

Highly respected in his field

Grinded through school so he could begin his career early

Workaholic

Childhood friend of MC...but it's complicated...

Gourmet chef. Man even opened a secret restaurant he sometimes cook at whenever he fancies (key note: the restaurant is only opened whenever he's in the mood...and it's insanely popular too).

Will cook anything MC craves, and even knows ahead of time, so he has everything prepared in advance.

Calls you Dummy (affectionate). Sometimes adds in a "moron" or "fool" to shake things up a little bit ig 😀

Scolds MC a lot, but he loves taking care of her, too.

When he loves, he loves deeply 😩🫶

Believes in you, will guide you when you need his assistance or advice, but overall, he wants you to believe in yourself and trust your own judgment

Zayne (Love and Deepspace), aka Zaddy

Chief cardiac surgeon

Birthday: September 5 (Virgo)

186 cm

Evol: Ice

Flower motifs are jasmine (love, sensuality, beauty)

Not explicitly official, but Zayne is sometimes associated with seals due to a childhood incident with MC.

Associated with winter because of his Evol

Tall, dark, and snarky af

Perceived as cold and serious, but is a total softie with you

Highly respected in his field

Grinded through school to begin his career early

Workaholic

Childhood friend of MC....and I guess it was also lowkey complicated, too

Average home cook, but we love to see that 🫶

Tries to learn recipes MC shows interests in. Does his best to perfect the recipe so he can cook for her.

Doesn't really have a pet name for you (yet), but I make him call me Darling and it heals me immensely 💕

Chides MC frequently, but it's also because he loves taking care of her and looks out for her.

He will be vulnerable for you, he will tell you how much he loves you, what it does to him, how you are healing for him. He loves holding hands, the feel of your hand in his. Pls caress his face, let him feel you, it's all he wants, all he needs. ZAYNE'S VULNERABILITY IS HIS SEXIEST QUALITY I'LL DIE ON THIS FUCKING HILL i just love zayne so fucking much pls love him too ok is this also me realizing zayne is touch-starved like me asklsa;;;sk

Believes in you, but worries about you, too, even if he knows you are capable. He can't help it. He just wants you to be healthy and safe, and not having that 100% certainty kills him inside. 🥺

THEY LOVE CATS. BIG SOFTIES. Victor is also a cat dad to one named Pudding and it's adorable af. If Zayne's career isn't so demanding, I would also say give this man a cat, too, but we know he wouldn't want to take on responsibilities he couldn't give his 100% to. 🥺

This brand of spicy is top-notch. Absolute elite shit 🤌 god me and who fucking when???

Head empty. Just long-haired Victor and Zayne to heal my tired soul 😩🫶

I like them for their personalities. 10/10 would recommend. 😀

[mal3vol3nt]

if i think about aang for too long ill start crying. this poor bby went through literal hell because of sozin’s greedy bastard ass.

because of sozin, he was told too early that he was the avatar. he was TWELVE and had the weight of the world on his small shoulders. everyone he knew started treating him differently even tho he was the same person he’d always been. the monks wanted him training all the time and his friends didn’t want to play with him anymore because it’d be “unfair” (mind you, aang had always been more advanced at airbending than them. the avatar title just made him “too skilled”). and to top it all off, the monks wanted him and gyatso separated because of his avatar responsibilities. his childhood was literally swept away from him before a war even started.

and then when he was freed from the ice, he was crushed with the realization that a century had passed by. he had to come to terms with the fact that everyone he knew had already passed within that time. but the grief didn’t end there because he was then hit with the fact that not only were the ppl in his previous life dead, but EVERY single air nomad had been murdered. there was not a single person alive who shared his culture or native bending element. he was completely alone. he was the sole survivor of a genocide. a genocide that SOZIN directed in search of him. imagine waking up one day and being told that everyone who is like you has been killed because the perpetrators were looking for you and you alone. i think i’d die from heartbreak man. aang’s grief… he’s so damn strong for being able to even smile let alone be a shining symbol of hope for other people.

and then to be hunted down everywhere he went as he quickly tried learning all the elements, knowing that his friends were in danger because they were helping him, and that their futures relied on his ability to rise to the occasion at TWELVE. every other avatar had time. they were able to grow up a little before being sent off at 16 to complete their training for several years. aang was 12 and had a strict timeline (only a few months) for becoming a realized avatar. he was a BABY

and then when he ended the war and all the nations began rebuilding, he assisted everyone as the avatar and only air nomad left. he saw every nation in the crowd at zuko’s coronation. every nation except for his own. because there was no one left. just him. a child.

sozin when i catch you-

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 42

The Mara jumped from Tegan into the Fifth Doctor, then also affected Nyssa and Turlough. The Mara will stay with them all forever in the back of their minds. (Audio: The Cradle of the Snake)

The Brigadier has forced the Fourth Doctor to write apology and thank you letters before but always thoroughly edits them to make them more polite or completely rewrites it himself if they're too rude. (Novel: The Time Lord Letters)

Turlough had a childhood sweetheart named Deela. Since they had been teenagers, they decided to make the key to the vault of his winter palace their literal kiss. (Audio: Kiss of Death)

The Third Doctor taught Jo Venusian aikido. (Audio: The Sacrifice of Jo Grant)

While at the Academy, the Doctor wrote a paper dissecting romantic love. He concluded that love was nothing but chemicals and metabolites. His professor gave him an absolutely dreadful grade on it because the Doctor missed the point of the assignment entirely. (Audio: The Wormery)

The TARDIS recalls that the Ninth Doctor was beaten after losing a war "against Death." She misses this incarnation. (Short story: What the TARDIS thought of "Time Lord Victorious")

The TARDIS had a lot of issues trying to translate Peri's accent. (Audio: The Lost Planet)

Putting the sonic screwdriver through the laundry can result in all the dirt molecules being agitated until it forms a mud creature. (Comic: Laundro-Room of Doom)

The Eighth Doctor once became depressed with his model train set because he wanted something less perfect. After he returned from an adventure, he found that a disaster had occurred among his model trains. When he went to clean up, he saw that the miniature people in his train set had started putting things right, so he decided to let them fix it themselves and hopefully learn things from the experience. (Short story: Model Train Set)

At one point, the Doctor switched out the TARDIS stereo system for a micromodulator switch, which is capable of shrinking things, and forgot about it. The Tenth Doctor and Rose were accidentally shrunk using it, and while shrunk, he got stuck in a spider web. (Comic: Which Switch?)

Type 1 TARDISes were notoriously temperamental and sometimes attacked and consumed the scientists working on them. When the Eleventh Doctor managed to calm one down after winding up in early Gallifrey, Rassilon noticed this and had him work on developing Type 1s, taking advantage of his advanced knowledge. (Comic: The Lost Dimension)

When these scientists had asked who the Doctor was, he eventually decided to let everyone call him Theta-Sigma. (Comic: The Lost Dimension)

Vortex drillers were used by early Gallifreyans to tunnel through the time vortex. They were discontinued because of the damage this did to time. They kind of looked like castles, but instead of turrets, there were drills. There would be altars for Gallifreyan cults inside, and they had mineralic circuitry. (Audio: The Auton Infinity)

The War Master once manipulated Jo into thinking that he was her uncle. (Audio: A Quiet Night In)

"Theta Sigma" was simply a unique identifier used by the Doctor in his youth. It should not be spoken out loud outside of the Academy (not that this ever stopped many people who knew him at the time). (Novel: Falls the Shadow)

First 1 Prev 41 Next 43

[tangledinink]

Chapter Twenty-Four of I'm Sorry, Teenage Mutant What Now? is now up! The Hamato Clan advances forward in their new mission, and their second-ever outting goes... differently than the first, at least? Read it on ao3 or below the cut!

[ prev ]

Don’t worry, Dad, he had said. I’ve got this.

I can handle it, he had said. I know how to lead a team! He had said. I’ll look out for them, he had said.

He had said, nooo, Dad, really. You hang back slightly; that way if anything happens, you can swoop in and help us. It makes more sense to keep you in the back pocket. Let us try taking the lead, we need the practice…

And damn, was Mind Raph pissed at him now. What the hell was Past Raph thinking?! Why did he think this was a good idea?! Because now here they were, him and his sister and three little brothers, sneaking into a goddamn Macy’s, of all places, and he had no idea why he thought coming in here without their dad was a good idea.

I mean, they hadn’t. Dad was here-- he wasn’t even far away! He could be here in about ninety seconds if he wanted to, Raph was pretty sure. He was posted up just inside the entrance of the department store, all hooked up so he could hear them through the radios Donnie had programmed and could receive images and video; perfectly capable of directing them all and ready to leap in at any moment should anything go wrong. 

But still! You try explaining that to Mind Raph. ‘Cause Mind Raph was losin’ his damn marbles right now all up in his head, and it was starting to get on his nerves.

It’s fine. We’ve got this! Nothin’ has even happened yet-- we just gotta find the armor piece. That’s all. In and out, easy peasy. This is low stakes! There are no employees, this place has been shut down for renovations for months now, it ain’t on anyone’s radar, and you’ve been trainin’ for this…

Which was true. Only a week and a half had passed since their original trip to the Foot Shack, but they had meant it when they said that they were Hamatos, too, and that they wanted to help-- and they had put in the hours. They had to push Dad a little bit, to convince him they were actually for-real serious and they weren’t gonna back out or change their minds, but once they got that through his head, he had started to teach them for real.

They got up before the sun now, all rising bright and early to meet their father and receive his lessons. Mikey had been meditating for some time now with their Dad, but now they all did, each and every day, in the mornings and before bed, attempting to draw out their ninpo once more. They had long studied martial arts under their father’s tutelage, but now they did drills each and every day, sparring with him and each other, sharpening what they already knew and rapidly adding new tools and maneuvers to their arsenal. What their father knew (and was willing to share,) about the Hamato Clan and their ways, he taught to them. Their ‘ninja’ lessons, mostly from childhood, mostly taught simply as a game and for the fun of it, were now genuine. They weren’t just learning how to sneak anymore-- they were learning to evade an enemy, to move silently to avoid detection and spare themselves from combat. They weren’t learning to hide, they were learning to blend in with their surroundings, to become invisible, to cover themselves in an enemy’s blind spot and wait for the perfect moment to strike. 

All of a sudden, nothing that they were being taught was for the sake of fun or games or mischief. They were survival skills. They were imparted upon them not only as a legacy, a piece of a long, sacred tradition for them to carry onwards, but as a prayer for safety; a means to keep themselves alive in the face of danger. A path back home from every mission.

And Raph had known all this for a while now, had been aware of it, at least. He knew the severity of the situation, and he was willing to make sacrifices for it. Not just for the ‘world,’ or whatever, or their clan, but for their family. And okay fine, he did, admittedly, miss the precious little free time they had once had, and he did quietly mourn the hobbies that they had to put aside for the time being in order to dedicate themselves to this instead... But it was temporary, and it was worth it. 

He knew all that. But it hadn’t felt real until earlier this evening.

“Boys!” their father had called, not more than an hour or two ago, his voice echoing from the top of the stairs to the Lair where they had all been gathered, trying to get in as much last-minute practice as they could. “April! Come up here for a moment.”

And Raph had, admittedly, sulked a bit, because they had been sparring and he was right in the middle of kicking Leo’s ass, but they did it anyway. In fact, he had snipped at his little brothers for grumbling about it, herding them and April all up the stairs and to their father’s room. 

And there were five bundles of clothing lined up on his bed; all carefully folded and tucked into neat, black squares, interrupted only by flashes of crimson red fabric. 

“... What’s this, Dad?” Raph had questioned, glancing over at their father, brows furrowed, and their dad had sort of cleared his throat, seeming almost embarrassed. 

“Ah. Well. I know it is a bit silly, but… This is-- these are the Hamato Clan’s colors,” he explained, slowly, carefully unfolding one of the bundles, spreading the Gi out on the bed for them to appreciate properly. “And this is the Hamato Clan’s symbol. Traditionally, this is what a ninja would wear on a mission of the clan,” he paused slightly, laughing weakly. “I never went on any official missions, so I never got one, but I thought… Well, firstly, if my children are going to be sneaking around the city like ninjas with me, they might as well look the part,” he reasoned, smiling the tiniest bit. “And… also. If anyone ever deserved to bear the mark of the Hamato Clan, then it is certainly you five.”

There was a beat of silence, and he had sort of rubbed the back of his neck.

“You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to--”

Mikey had cut that thought off quickly, flinging himself at their Dad in a tearful hug, nearly knocking him over.

“I LOVE THEM!” He had wailed. “They’re so cool! We get ninja outfits!”

“I like the fabric. Is this silk?...” Donnie had observed, picking one up to run his fingers along.

“Wow, Yosh, I didn’t know you could sew!” April remarked, and Dad laughed.

“Who do you think made all those Halloween costumes?”

“The Hamato Clan’s colors are black and red?” Leo muttered softly to himself, shooting a glare in Raph’s direction. 

“I think it’s good,” Raph had teased in response. “I look good in black and red.” 

Leo had groaned, rolling his eyes, and Raph had joined Mikey and Dad in their embrace, wrapping his arms around both of them.

“It’s cool, Dad. Thanks,” he had said. “You didn’t have to make this for us.”

“Ah,” Dad had hummed, waving a hand slightly, as if to dismiss him. “Well. I wanted to, anyway.”

Even just thinking about it now, Raph smiled the tiniest bit, tightening his hand into a fist and feeling the crimson-red fabric wrapped around his palms. 

We’ve got this, he repeated inwardly, forcing himself to settle slightly. You’re a member of the Hamato Clan. And your family is counting on you. And you can handle this.

“Alright, Donnie,” he said, taking care to keep his voice low. “Which way is your track-a-ma-thingie sayin’ now?”

Donnie scoffed softly, rolling his eyes. “Okay, first of all, that is not what it’s called. Please treat my inventions with respect,” he muttered, flicking his goggles down over his face, his lips pursed into a pout. “Energy signals are strongest in the northeast direction,” he explained, pointing. “So if we head in this direction, we should eventually get close enough that we’ll be able to isolate and recover.”

“Uhm, is it just me, or are we literally playing hot-and-cold with Donnie’s weird glasses?” Leo muttered, jerking a thumb in his twin’s direction.

“This is an advanced geothermal location tool…!”

“Hey, look! Donnie’s tracking thingie got us this far!” Raph hissed. “And it’s the only lead we’ve got, so until it blows up in our faces, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Are we sure it actually works? No offense, Dee, but this is a super weird place for a mystic armor piece to be,” April observed, looking around. “I mean… we’re literally in a department store.”

“You’re all disowned as my siblings. All of you,” Donnie hissed.

“I didn’t say anything bad!” Mikey protested.

“Except for Angelo.”

“Hell yeah!”

“Also, yes, of course it works! I don’t know why there’s a mystic armor piece in a Macy’s, how would I know that? But if you want to go on a thematic trip to recover a mystic armor shard from beneath the beautiful ripples of a sacred waterfall or something, we’re going to have to catch a Greyhound, because we’re literally in the middle of New York City,” Donnie hissed. “Of course it’s in a Macy’s! We’re lucky it’s not in a 99-cent-pizza-slice-kiosk a block from Times Square!”

“Shhh!” Raph hissed, glaring at the group. “We’re ninjas, remember? Shut up! We’re on a stealth mission!”

“Ugh,” Leo huffed a bit, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, sure, but it’s not like anyone is gonna hear us! We’re literally the only ones here.”

Somewhere down the hall, off in the darkness of the building, Raph heard a clatter and an echo.

---

This was often Casey’s job. So she was used to it by now. It wasn’t especially exciting, but it was at least better than lookout duty, which was her other, more frequent assignment. (That, or lookout for the lookouts…)

Sweeping.

She really only got to do this if the team was smaller, and they were already confident that the mission would go smoothly and there weren’t any threats… And, honestly, sweeping was basically the same as lookout, just mobile and with slightly different timing. But she would take it!!! Anything was better than lookout duty. Besides, having the chance to play a role in the Foot Clan’s rise to power was a great honor, and the more she got to contribute, the better. 

Even if it did just mean that she entered the building first, stealthily did a few laps to make sure there was nothing dangerous, and then signaled everyone else to follow.

A part of her was proud of this. If she just looked at it on a surface level, she could puff out her chest and feel quite satisfied with the role she played; at being the frontlines, at being who they trusted to ensure the safety of both the mission and their leaders, to be the first line of defense.

(... The other part of her, though, the part of her that looked a little deeper, knew it was really mostly because she was unassuming and disposable. She held onto the pride anyway.)

Casey frowned as she moved through the store, peering around corners and around bends for any sign of life. She wasn’t so foolish as to let her guard down entirely, and she took care to keep her footsteps quiet and purposeful, sticking to the shadows just as she had been taught… But she had done this dozens of times now, and nothing ever happened save for that she got a chance to at least stretch her legs. And she supposed she was grateful for that, but…

Ugh! God, couldn’t she do something cool for once!? She simmered silently as she shuffled through the shadowy space, grinding her teeth quietly in her skull. She noted quietly to herself that she needed to stop doing that because she was starting to get headaches, but then kept doing it anyway. And she had perhaps allowed herself to be just the tiniest bit careless. Careless enough, at least, to accidentally swipe a small sign off a nearby jewelry counter. She resisted a groan of annoyance at her own clumsiness, grateful, at least, that no one else was around for her to embarrass herself in front of…

Or, so she had thought.

Cassandra froze at the hissed tone of hushed voices that filtered down through the hall, only moments later.

“What was that--”

“Shut up! What about stealth don’t you get--!?”

For a moment, Casey thought that she might have imagined the noise. She had never run into anyone on a sweep before-- not even once. The idea that she suddenly had was so shocking that she almost couldn’t process it. After about half a second of gaping, however, she came to her senses, gritting her teeth and giving a ferocious shake of her head to dismiss the thoughts.

Shape up, Recruit. This is your chance to be useful for once! She scolded. This was not the time to flounder or back down. This was her shot. Honestly, it was probably just some group of teenagers who had wandered in here on a dare or something, hoping to take some pictures so they could brag about it to their friends later… But that hardly mattered.

Any unknown or unauthorized presence was a threat to the mission. 

All you have to do is go investigate and scare them off. Simple. Easy. And then you’ll be able to say you actually did something on these missions, for once!

No problem, right? It should have been easy. Cassandra may still be a low-level grunt, much to her chagrin, but she was still a member of the Foot Clan. She was perfectly capable of moving swiftly and silently through the shadows. 

Not that she needed to.

Because they came to her.

She just barely had the time to tuck herself back behind the corner of the nearby jewelry counter by the time she realized they were approaching, shoving her back up against the glass and crouching down low. Apparently, they did, in fact, have the capability of moving quietly, despite their earlier displays.

“See anything?” A voice whispered, betraying them, and Casey couldn’t help but smirk a tiny bit to herself. Okay, maybe not that quiet.

“Shhh. Hang on. I know I heard something…”

Finally, Cassandra just barely built up the courage to shift, ever-so-slightly, in order to turn her head enough to peer out at the intruders. And in her mind, she was still fairly confident that it was just some kids looking for some kind of entertainment and adventure in the form of a misdemeanor. 

She was not expecting to see five figures donning the Hamato Clan colors, nor find their emblems stitched boldly onto each of their chests.

For a second, Casey froze, ice shooting through her veins. The Hamato Clan?! What were they doing here!? Were these the same kids she had spent all that time spying on before, or had they called in reinforcements? She narrowed her eyes, straining slightly to try to examine them in the darkness, and concluded that they did look ever-so-slightly familiar… She grit her teeth, her hand shifting slightly, wavering just the tiniest bit as it moved to the communication device on her belt.

As much as she hated to admit it… Five Hamato ninjas was not a challenge she was confident she could face down all on her own.

It wasn’t her place. 

She needed to alert the rest of the clan. If she didn’t, she would endanger the mission. Endanger everyone’s else’s safety.

This was her job-- literally her job. To go in first and weed out the danger and report back. 

She needed to report back.

So why was her hand hesitating like this…?

Her fingers shook slightly, wavering near the edge of the device, and her foot shifted ever-so-slightly beneath her in her hesitation.

“What was that?”

Hurriedly, she snapped her finger down against the button that she knew would signal the rest of the clan, still waiting outside, alerting them to the danger, and she leaped up to her feet-- gathering whatever scraps of the element of surprise she still had at her disposal and leaping at the nearest enemy.

“Oh shi--!” The Hamato, armed with a sword, just barely managed to dodge her attack, ducking down and away from the swing of her arm, nearly losing his balance in his hurry.

“I told you I heard something!” He wailed, dancing backward, and Casey snarled in reply, chasing after him. She didn’t have much of a chance, however, and now it was her turn to dodge-- just able to avoid the kusari-fundo that came whipping into her view a moment later, flashing inches before her eyes as she swore and backed up.

“Now is so not the time for ‘I-told-you-so’s,’ Nardo,” Another hissed, jumping at her with a staff, nearly taking her head off with a sharp swing. Casey was both quietly impressed and annoyed with the strength behind it, twisting her stance so she could shoot a leg up and kick the weapon off-kilter, throwing off her opponent’s footing and sending him stumbling slightly to the side.

“Oh, please, like it wouldn’t be if you were the one who called it!” The swordsman scoffed in response, jumping forward to catch the other, grabbing him by the arm so he could correct his stance and keep him on his feet. Casey took the slight opening the distraction of their banter provided to turn on the other intruder nearby, her eyes wide behind her glasses, doling out a sharp kick to her leg before dancing away. But even as she did this, the other members of the Hamato Clan closed in.

Cursing under her breath, she reeled backward, trying to find the distance she needed to reevaluate when she was practically surrounded. But every time her eyes were locked on one intruder, another jumped at her, just a flash of movement out of the corners of her eyes, and it was all she could do but block, parry, and dodge. Casey bristled when the sword wielder came whipping towards her, his weapon drawn, and she just barely had the time to hold up her arms to block, bracing herself for the coming impact of sharp metal--

“STOP!”

The boy’s movements slowed ever-so-slightly as he faltered at the cry-- giving Casey just enough of a chance to duck away from the oncoming strike, leaping out of his range. 

“Don’t slice her in half!!! What’s wrong with you!? She’s, like, a kid!!!” The largest of the group yelled, gesturing wildly. Casey gasped, immediately bristling in offense.

“Excuse me!? I am not a child! I am EIGHTEEN!” She shrieked. Well, almost eighteen, anyway. KINDA. Her ID said she was eighteen, which was really the most important part.

“See? She’s a legal adult!” The swordsman argued, shooting the other an annoyed look. “And, uh, also a part of a legion of evil ninjas? Sooooo…”

As soon as his eyes had left her, Casey seized the opening, ripping her kunai from her belt as she lunged forward. Twisting her leg sharply to collide with his chest, she sent him sprawling to the floor, his sword clattering as it fell from his grip. The moment he was down, she pinned him there with a foot to his throat, pressing him in place.

“Ack! Hey, stop!!! I’m a minor! This is child abuse!” He cried in protest, wriggling a bit beneath her even as she drove her heel in deeper to his windpipe, eliciting a very satisfying choking gasp. She didn’t have much opportunity to take advantage of her position, however, because no more than a second later, the largest of the group was charging her. Her eyes widening slightly, she abandoned the pinned swordsman in favor of leaping backward to dodge the coming attacks, falling quickly back into the pattern of defensive ducking and dodging, because that was not something she wanted to be hit by, thank you very much!!!

Come on, backup, come on…! Hurry up…!

---

The second that they had heard that noise down the halls, Yoshi had been on his feet, tense and ready to run. And now, as he raced towards his children, he spat curses at his past self for not starting to move right then and there-- for letting them approach without him in the first place. Had he honestly believed that this would be safe!? Had actually expected there to be no threat here!? 

Stupid, foolish, arrogant man…! 

He was already moving as fast as he could, but as soon as he could hear the sound of combat, he somehow managed to move even faster.

---

Cassandra hissed softly through her teeth, feeling sweat tickle its way down her brow, her chest heaving with breath as she ducked away from another blow. She was fast and she was capable in the face of combat-- but so were they, and there were five of them. It was all she could do to stay out of reach, repeatedly dodging and blocking blows, but she was quickly growing exhausted. Please hurry up! She pleaded in her mind. She’d keep going until she physically couldn’t any longer. She wouldn’t back down. But she wasn’t sure how much longer she had until she hit that point. 

The largest one-- he was the real problem. She gasped as his arm went swinging towards her, quite nearly losing her balance in her rush to avoid the blow. He was so big. And on the rare occasion that she was actually able to send out a counter-attack, they seemed meaningless to him, practically bouncing off his body as though he couldn’t even feel them. How was she supposed to penetrate a literal wall of muscle like this!?

Why the fuck do I have to be so damn small!?!?!

“Hot Soup!” Shrieked the smallest of the group, all but throwing himself at her, his leg moving in a wide arc, and for a split second, Casey bristled-- 

But she hadn’t spent all those years training for nothing.

There was an opening. Just a small one-- but his arc was just a bit higher than it needed to be to cover himself completely, and as soon as Cassandra had zeroed in on the chance to counterattack, she was darting forward, teeth bared and eyes narrowed with focus. 

His ribs were exposed.

And the small one, they didn’t quite have the time to react and adjust, to close the opening. But apparently, the big one did, throwing himself in her path to physically shield his brother, a sharp, protective snarl that sounded almost like an animal rumbling from him. Cassandra was forced to recalculate, her trajectory rapidly shifting--

But that was fine.

Because in his rush to protect his brother, he had left himself open, too. 

The jewelry counter was right there, and all it took was a nimble flip to the side, pushing off with her right ankle to gracefully toss herself over the surface and transition quickly into a wide kick. The counter was littered with spinning displays, the plastic trees all adorned with earrings and necklaces, and Casey caught the base of one of them with her foot, hooking it with the bend of her ankle and throwing her whole body hard to the side.

She may be too small to pose a real threat to the big one. But a little creativity could always even the playing field.

So could weapons.

A sharp, choked cry just barely wrenched itself from the largest Hamato as he went stumbling backward, the jewelry display slamming into his side and crashing down to the ground next to him with a horrendous clatter. She was dimly aware of his siblings crying out as well around him in concern-- which meant she had a very clear, very free path forward to bury a kunai into his stomach.

The world narrowed down to her goal and her target. Her fingers tightened around the knife. All her muscles tensed. And she pounced for her victim.

She had just barely begun to move when the impact of a hurricane slammed her back down to the ground, a short shriek of shock escaping from her chest with the absolute force of it.

“Dad!”

“All of you! Get out of here! Now!” An unfamiliar voice snapped, strained with panic, though Casey barely processed it through the sensation of her arms both being twisted back to her spine, creaking in protest as she was pinned down to the ground. She just barely managed a thrash, but the pitch of the pain in her joints quickly convinced her to remain still, and a high-pitched snarl of fury just barely managed to escape her.

No…! She had them! She had him, she had finally had a chance to turn the tides--!

“But what about--”

“I said go! Right now! I will be right behind you--”

The familiar thunk of a throwing star embedding itself into nearby drywall had Casey’s head snapping upward. And she just barely contained a shrill, giddy little laugh of delight.

There was the back-up.

The pressure in her shoulder released a second later as the weight disappeared, the eldest Hamato forced to release her in order to retreat and dodge the oncoming barrage of shooting stars. She absolutely cackled, on her feet in a second, and this time, finally, she was on the advancing side.

She finally got to take the offensive.

She threw herself at the elder Hamato, laying down blow after blow, and was frustrated to find that for every strike she delivered, he was able to block with ease and find the space to counter. She hissed in pain as the sharp of his hand collided with her shoulder, sending her stumbling slightly, and she twisted her ankles slightly to find her footing again--

And all at once, the Hamato Clan was gone. She didn’t even realize that the other five had already retreated until the last remaining shoved her away and darted off, disappearing in a blink, as though he had never even been there.

For a moment, Cassandra was frustrated. She bristled, considering chasing after him-- considering turning to the rest of the clan to see who all was assembled, to follow them, to continue the fight.

But she wouldn’t move without the orders from her senseis.

And once she had half a second to breathe, she was tickled to find blood on her hands that did not belong to her. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning.

Perhaps she and her clan had accomplished more than she had initially believed. 

---

The shrill cry of a honking car cut through the air, blasting through the previous quiet. Or, at least, relatively quiet, considering they lived in New York City.

April gasped loudly, jumping and clapping her hands over her ears and wincing a bit, shrinking back against the assault to her ears. The sound seemed to absolutely echo through the alleyway where she and Mikey were playing, working on their latest chalk mural together. It didn’t last more than a couple of seconds, but she was still a bit dazed when she finally opened her eyes again, her heart beating it her chest.

Whoa. That was a little scary. She hadn’t expected that.

She giggled a tiny bit at how startled she was, letting out a long breath. But when she turned around to face Mikey again, she was surprised to find him curled up in a tiny little ball on the ground, his arms and legs both tucked in close to his body and his chin ducked down against his chest.

“... Mikey?” April said, frowning a bit, tilting her head to the side as she leaned over him. “Are you okay?”

It took a second, but eventually, Mikey peeked open an eye, looking sort of confused for a moment. But then, all at once, he untensed his muscles, all his limbs unfolding as he rolled over onto his butt instead, sitting on the ground and staring up at her.

“... That was loud!” He said.

“Yeah,” April agreed. “Uhm. Why are you on the ground though?”

“I got scared!!!”

“Yeah, but… why did you get on the ground ‘cause you were scared?”

“Oh. Uh. I dunno,” Mikey said, shrugging a bit. “I just. Curl up sometimes, and stuff…”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Uh. I’unno. ‘Cause… it’s… it feels safer and stuff,” he said.

“But don’t you fall down like that?”

“Uhm…”

“And doesn’t that hurt, though, if you just fall over like that and curl up?”

“Well…”

“And then you’re on the ground.”

“Yeah, but…”

“And where’d you learn to do that? That’s weird. I’ve never seen anyone else do that before,” April continued. “Also, why do you--”

She broke off when Mikey blinked widely at her, sniffled, and then rapidly teared up, staring up at her and giving an absolutely pitiful sob. 

April’s eyes widened in shock at the rapid shift.

“Okay, okay fine, it’s not weird! Don’t cry! You can be a ball! Here, we can go back to chalk now-- Pleaseeee stop crying! Mikey, come on, cut it out…!”

---

They didn’t stop running for a while.

Raph’s heart was in his throat.

He could run faster than April could, and he was pretty sure that most of his siblings were not running near as fast as they really could, all worried about their father, but he endeavored to keep himself in the rear anyway. Leo could head the charge; he was staying in the back. He was making sure no one was being left behind.

Including their father.

He let his father be behind him. But just barely.

It wasn’t until they were about a block away that Leo finally managed to open up a portal, having been attempting since their retreat began, slicing through the fabric of the world with his odachi. Raph didn’t think he had been meaning to teleport them all directly into his own room, but he wasn’t in any mood to be picky about what part of the house they got portalled to. 

It wasn’t until the fizzling blue light curled in on itself behind them, the portal sliding closed, that Raph finally allowed himself to breathe again.

And as soon as he did, he felt like he was going to fucking collapse.

It was mostly just adrenaline, he was pretty sure, more than actual injury, but he suddenly felt just the tiniest bit lightheaded as a sharp ache climbed its way up his ribcage, and he grabbed onto Leo’s bedpost to steady himself with a small wince. Either way, his siblings were all crowded around him in a moment in worry-- and so was their dad.

“Red…! Are you okay? Are you injured? Let me see--!” Their dad bit out, his eyes wide with frantic worry, and Raph kind of stared at him in response, his own gaze echoing his. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times before he was finally able to summon up actual words.

“Pops, you’re-- you’re bleedin’.”

All four of his siblings’ heads snapped around to turn their attention to Dad, and Mikey shrieked.

It wasn’t bleeding that bad, honestly. 

But Raph was pretty sure that was because the throwing star was still embedded in his dad’s shoulder.

“Oh my god…!” April squeaked, her eyes wide, and their father immediately shrank back slightly, turning his shoulder purposefully away from the others. 

“I am fine. It looks worse than it is,” he dismissed quickly, keeping his eyes trained squarely on Raphael. “Red. Answer the question. Are you injured?”

“I-- It’s just sore. ‘M fine,” Raph said quickly, still a bit breathless. One of his hands wandered up to his ribs, just to check to make sure he wasn’t lying, and it sure was sore, and he was, admittedly, bleeding a little-- but not bad. The pain wasn’t awful. It hurt, but he had had worse in football. 

His dad had a fucking ninja star sticking out of him.

“Dad, here, sit down, we-- we can call--”

“Do not call anyone,” their father instructed sharply, throwing the group a look that said do not argue with me, and Raph clamped his mouth shut. “It is fine. I promise I can handle it. Purple, go and fetch the first aid kit and an ice pack for your brother. Orange, go with him, please.”

Whereas Donnie had no qualms with excusing himself from the current situation, (he was looking a bit ashen,) Mikey hesitated, his face pinched with worry.

“But I--”

“Mikey,” Dad cut him off quickly, narrowing his eyes slightly. “I need you to listen to me. I do not want Purple by himself right now. He needs you to go with him.”

Angelo frowned, and he swallowed. He opened his mouth, just for a moment, like he was going to argue further. But then he didn’t, slipping from the room at a hurried pace, rushing slightly to catch up to his older brother.

Raph’s body sagged slightly with relief. He swore he saw Dad do the same.

And almost as soon as the two were gone from the room, to Raphael’s absolute horror, their dad twisted himself enough so that he could reach around and deftly yank the jagged piece of metal from his shoulder.

“Dad!” Raph yelped, his eyes widening. “What are you doing!? What about--”

“Calm down, Raphael,” Dad said, and it was almost eerie how calm he was. With cold, practiced, measured movements, their father wasted no time at all in bandaging his own wounds, removing his mask and tearing it with his teeth so he could tie a tourniquet, using his sleeve to staunch the bleeding. 

The way he moved-- it was like he had done this a thousand times before. A shiver raced down Raphael’s spine, and he stiffened ever so slightly, a wince pinching his features for just a moment.

“There,” Dad said as soon as he was done, quickly turning his focus back to his eldest. “I’m fine until Purple gets back with the first aid kit. Let me see your injury,” he said, gentle but insistent, and Raph huffed, wrinkling up his nose, but he lifted his shirt up for Dad to see, anyway.

There were a few small punctures and scrapes, but nothing more than a few centimeters deep or so, all small and just barely bleeding. And it certainly hurt, but Dad’s careful, prodding hands didn’t bring about any sharp pitches of the pain, and Raph was fairly certain he had managed to get away without any cracked ribs-- just bruised ones.

“I told you I’m fine,” Raph muttered under his breath, and their dad glanced up to shoot him a look.

“You’re lucky,” he hissed, gritting his teeth, bristling for just a moment before the heat died out. “I’m sorry.”

“Dad, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t want any of you to be hurt--”

“You’re hurt worse than I am!” Raph protested, gesturing wildly to his arm, still sluggishly bleeding. “And the only reason you got hurt is ‘cause you were coverin’ us!”

Their Dad stiffened, shoulders hunched slightly. “That’s not--”

“Yes, it is!” Raph snapped in reply. “We’re not stupid, Dad, come on! It’s--” He cut himself off, grinding his jaw slightly and sighing deeply through his nose. “... Just don’t apologize, okay? You didn’t do anythin’ wrong. You’re the one who bailed us outta there. And got ninja-starred. We’re the ones who--”

“You did fine, Raphael,” Now it was Dad who cut him off. “You all did fine. This wasn’t… I didn’t expect them to be there,” he sighed, frowning a bit, looking to the side. “... But you all did well. I’m very proud of all of you. It’s not your fault, either.”

He kept quiet for a moment, frowning as he glanced over at April and Leo, who had been quiet the entire time, wide-eyed and seeming slightly shaky. 

“Are either of you injured…?”

They both shook their heads ‘no.’

“We’re okay, Pops,” Leo said, letting out a long, deep breath. “... We’re alright. Thanks.”

They didn’t talk for a bit after that, all just sitting together and waiting for Donnie and Mikey to come back-- just sitting and processing, and coming to terms with the fact that they had all made it out okay.

And Raph had never been much of a thinker.

But he was thinking now.

His hand wandered up and down his own side, pressing gently at the bruised muscles and soft, torn skin as he pondered.

---

There was this pinch in the back of Yoshi’s throat that he was fighting off.

He should have known this would happen. 

“Yoshi.” His teacher’s voice was all gentle and soft and patient, but Yoshi scowled, glaring off to the side-- his shoulders hunched up and his body slumped in the chair. The room was empty except for the two of them, all the other students having been dismissed aside from him-- all filled up with unoccupied desks and chairs and making Yoshi feel stupidly, annoyingly small. 

“It’s nice to see you in class again, Yoshi,” his teacher continued, despite his lack of response, leaning over slightly so she could rest her elbows on the desk she had Yoshi parked in front of. She kept trying to catch his eyes, but he refused to let her. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Yoshi wrinkled up his nose, shrugging noncommittally. 

It had been a week and a half since he had last been at school, and it had been such a battle just to get Jiji to let him come today. Not that that was especially unusual. Yoshi had never attended school regularly. School wasn’t a priority for him. Training was the priority. Lessons with Jiji were the priority. Studying the Hamato Clan history was the priority. School was not. He went to school like it was a hobby-- something to do in his spare time. He would usually show up for perhaps a couple days a week, usually less, and the rest of the days during which he was absent would be explained away with some excuse or story or another. Something about his health-- Yoshi didn’t really keep track, truthfully. One of his second cousins, a doctor, but more importantly, a medic to the Clan, would always provide all the documentation required. Everyone, it seemed, had accepted a long time ago that Hamato Yoshi usually just didn’t go to school. Had accepted him as an occasional, wavering presence, fading in and out of the edges of everyone else’s lives.

Except for Miss Ito. 

For some reason, his fourth-year elementary school teacher just couldn’t accept that fact.

Jiji hadn’t wanted him to come today. Yoshi had had to fight for it. When he was younger, he used to whimper and cry, feeling sorry for himself, but nowadays, they usually fought. He had gotten sick of feeling sorry for himself. Now he’d just yell at his Jiji until he either got his way or his throat got raw.

Usually, it was the latter.

Jiji hadn’t wanted him to come, and Yoshi had convinced him that he should get to, and now Miss Ito had him sat in front of her desk in an empty classroom, talking all gentle to him, and Yoshi thought bitterly to himself that now he was never going to win that argument ever again. 

“What happened to your arm, Yoshi?”

Yoshi grit his teeth slightly, his frown deepening at the question that he already knew she was leading up to.

“I tripped,” he responded easily, finally looking up at her just so that he could give her the coldest look that he possibly could, trying as best as he possibly could to summon the energy of an angry, bristling cat. Don’t mess with me. Back off. 

She didn’t seem perturbed, of course, because she never was. She looked more sad than anything, and Yoshi had always hated that.

“I see,” she said. “That must have been a pretty rough fall.”

Yoshi rolled his eyes.

They were just bruises. She acted as if he was missing a limb. Even worse than that-- she acted like he was some sad, pitiful little child, being tossed around the room by some abusive drunkard or something. He was sure that that was what she assumed, and it made him prickle with defensiveness. It wasn’t like Jiji was hitting him. They were just training. Sometimes, things happened during training. It was no one’s fault. Jiji didn’t mean to. It was just an accident. Jiji had apologized, like, eighty times. Yoshi knew he would never hurt him on purpose. 

It had been a difficult sequence they were learning, that was all. It was Yoshi’s own fault-- he was the one who had misstepped and been too slow. And now that his face had healed, he had finally been able to convince Jiji to let him go back to school for a day. 

He hadn’t been thinking when he rolled up his sleeves earlier-- he just did it. His sleeve got wet when a classmate spilled her water, and so he had just rolled it up out of the way. He had forgotten that he had anything to hide. No one was supposed to see it.

Certainly not Miss Ito. No one else would have even cared except for Miss Ito. 

He could already hear Jiji saying, ‘I told you so.’ 

“I fell down the stairs,” he said dismissively, shrugging a bit. “But it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt. Can I go now?”

Miss Ito sighed very quietly.

“... We missed you at the sports festival last week. I’m sorry you weren’t able to be there. I know you were excited to participate this year,” she observed gently. “And all your classmates were looking forward to--”

Yoshi stiffened, this little lump kind of swelling up in his throat.

“Can I go now?” He said again, cutting her off.

“Yoshi--”

“Am I allowed to leave? I have to go. There are people waiting for me,” he pressed, harder now, standing up from his seat even before he was dismissed, staring the teacher down. Challenging her, almost. Daring her to say no.

Please, please, please just let me go. Don’t make me late getting home. Don’t call anyone. Don’t send a letter home. Just let me go, and if I run, I can still get home on time, and Jiji won’t have to know--

She sighed very, very deeply, giving him those same sad, sympathetic eyes that he didn’t want on him. There were people out there who were sad and needed sympathy. He was not one of them.

“... Alright, Yoshi,” she said. “But you can come talk to me if you ever need anything. Okay?”

Yoshi frowned, giving only a grumble in response as he grabbed his bag, eager to leave.

“Will I see you in class tomorrow?” She asked. 

Yoshi hesitated just for a moment, clenching his jaw a few times.

“I dunno yet.”

---

Dad was at a doctor’s appointment with Leo. Raph was at work. Donnie was in his lab. Mikey had checked. He had taken two full laps around the house to account for everyone and make sure that really, truly, he had the clearance for what he intended to do. Everyone except for him and Donnie were out, and shouldn’t be home for another hour-- and he had the entire house in between him and Donnie. He’d hear him coming with plenty of time if he decided to emerge from his coding binge, which was unlikely. 

He did one last sweep of the first floor, just to make sure, his skin itching and crawling nervously and his stomach doing repeated and unwelcome pas de chats. Repeatedly, he thought, are we sure about this? He thought, sneaking around like this feels wrong. He thought, what if this is an awful idea? What if we get in trouble?

But then he also thought, I have to protect our family. I have to help, too.

He thought, I won’t let anyone else get hurt on my behalf. Not again. 

And he tempered his resolve.

As quiet as a ninja, he slipped into his father’s room, leaving the door just barely cracked behind him so he could hear if anyone approached. He had been a bit worried that his dad would have moved it to some new hiding place, and he’d have to waste a bunch of time searching for it-- but he didn’t.

The chest was in the exact same place in his closet, tucked inside the box with the clothes, just where Leo, Donnie, and April had found it the first time. It felt heavier than he remembered, somehow. He took care to cover his tracks, awkwardly hiding the bulky object inside his denim jacket and made a hasty escape. His heart was up in his throat because even though he had taken every single precaution, he couldn’t help but feel like someone was going to burst through the door and ask him what the hell he was doing at any moment.

His heart rate didn’t even begin to settle until he had made it back to his own room, closing and locking the door behind him and curling up in his bed.

Originally, he had intended to sit and think about this for a while-- to prepare himself for what he was about to do and get his mind right. But now, he was afraid that if he did, he’d lose his nerve and chicken out. And he had already thought about this. He had already thought about it long and hard and made the decision. He didn’t need to wobble on the subject any longer. The sooner, the better. 

He opened up the chest, pulling the familiar, ghostly white scrolls out from inside. And the moment he did, suddenly, he was not alone in the room. 

The mist that filled the air made him sneeze a few times.

“Greetings, young Hamato,” said Ghost-Sensei, as if he didn’t even mind that it had been weeks since they last spoke, as if nothing had changed, as if he already knew what Mikey planned to do. “What wisdom do you seek?”

Mikey bit the inside of his cheek, squaring his shoulders and curling his hands into fists.

If his family didn’t believe that he could protect them-- that he could protect himself-- there had to be a reason. There had to be something wrong. 

If he couldn’t protect anyone, then he would learn how.

“Those basics you were talking about before? With the ninpo and Hamato Clan traditions and my destiny and stuff?” He said. “I’m ready to learn all that. Teach me.”

[ next ]