anne-andrea-blog

[jelly-fish-wishes]

TW: Panic Attack / Eyestrain

ACT 1

ACT 2 - 1 <<< 29 / 30 / 31

Back to detailed drawings lol. Doing the blurry vision is so quick vs the coloured ones. I’m also trying SO HARD to avoid detailed backgrounds xD

[thetasteofbeautyandlove]

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, he’s gonna be so fucking mad at me… he told me not to do something dumb and I do THIS..?! Fuck, there’s so much blood… god I can’t breathe… this is so bad… this is so fucking bad…

[ilikefelines]

A Thousand Cuts Until Insanity

Day 7 (October 20) - Moment That Made Alicent Your Favourite Character • Dowager Queen • Free Choice

Written for Alicent Hightower Appreciation Week 2024.

Word Count: 5604

Summary: Alicent Hightower — stretched too thin, flung far out.

@alicenthightowerdaily

@zaldritzosrose (For the divider's. Thank you.)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59901373

Aemond was the quietest of them at birth, though both his siblings were born red-faced and sobbing. Grand Maester Mellos had been concerned for his health.

“He was born too early,” the venerable man had told his king, “and I fear that he shall not survive the year.”

“The boy has lived this long already,” she remembered her husband replying, “and Alicent tells me he has a fierce appetite.”

That had been true enough, and the knowledge that her husband had been paying attention to their children had warmed Alicent, back then. Of course, he cares, she’d thought with girlish excitement, Aemond is his blood. But with age came wisdom, and Alicent now knew that Viserys’s response had not found its roots in love, or even in a vague sense of concern for his third-born child, but in apathy. It was easy to preserve one’s sense of ease when one did not care. Five of his children died in the womb or the cradle; what’s another?

Queen Alicent Hightower pulled herself out of her thoughts when she heard the herald’s voice. It sliced through the air like a heated blade through suet, and bile rolled in the pit of her stomach.

“Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, her consort, Ser Laenor Velaryon, rider of Seasmoke”—Lord Corlys’s latest attempt to save face, no doubt—" and their son, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.” Immediately, Viserys stirred in his seat at the very centre of the grand table placed upon the dais, grinning with anticipation as his daughter and her bastard ascended the steps.

He kissed Rhaenyra’s forehead, embracing her. “Look how Jacaerys has grown!” he exclaimed, always happy enough to embrace his role as grandsire. “If the lad carries on like this, he’ll soon be old enough to serve as my cupbearer at council.” He swung the plump one-year-old into his arms, causing him to giggle, while all the while Alicent could see Aemond watching with hunger in his eyes from his position on her lap. This was her babe’s third name day, and the feast that was being held this morn was supposed to be for his sake, but you wouldn’t know it from the way Viserys was comporting himself.

As the princess and her husband took their places above the salt, a gong was rung and serving girls began to carry in the royal family's food, whilst down below, half-a-hundred knights and lords of lesser rank dug into their trenchers with alacrity. And that was only at the outer tables – two hundred more guests had managed to cram themselves into the hall, and in the courtyards of the keep, the retinues, with their assortment of men-at-arms and hangers-on, were feasting. Every lord thinks to outdo the other in affinity. Half the inns in the capital were full of nobles who, arriving late, could not be allowed rooms in the Red Keep.

The Small Hall rang with the sound of chattering voices, and clanking cutlery; dogs fought viciously for scraps underneath the tables, as the wine flowed and flowed and flowed. Alicent saw one girl—Lord Tarly’s oldest niece, she was sure—giggling with her betrothed, a Crane squire. She wondered what it felt like, being so uncomplicatedly happy, with your whole life ahead of you; she glanced at the king, whose liver-spotted hands quivered as he brought a silver spoon to his mouth.

At two-and-twenty, Alicent felt with grim certainty that all youth had long been wrung out of her. Still, at least the fare’s adequate. King and court could have no possible complaints to that end. The table upon the dais was laden with hearty beef stew, three large lamprey pies, a giant swan dressed in its plumage, stuffed with songbirds and mutton, and tender morsels of venison swimming in a creamy soup of mushrooms and blandissory, amongst twenty other dishes of varying delicacy.

After the king, the choicest options were served to the table directly below their own, the one occupied by Alicent's own family, who’d been amongst the first to arrive from their seat at Oldtown. Alicent met Lord Hobert's eye — her uncle inclined his head in genteel acknowledgement.

The feast was not a bad one; indeed Alicent had spent many an evening planning the affair with the king’s steward and the Hand, Lord Strong. And yet, the celebrations for Jacaerys Waters’s —Alicent would never think of him as a prince, despite his mother’s brazen lying—first name day had taken up nearly an entire month, with tourneys and balls, and feasting every night. The beggars were well-fed at least, she thought with bitterness; what the courtiers had deigned to leave behind, Alicent had given to the poor that gathered at the Red Keep’s postern gate of an evening.

She manoeuvred Aemond more securely onto her lap. He was too young yet, to stomach any of the other food, so she scooped spoonful's of pottage into his mouth. “Such a good boy,” she murmured to him, kissing the back of his head. Alicent could feel the soft curvature of his skull against her lips, still delicate after his recently ended infancy. “You’ve no trouble with your food, now do you, Aemond?”

Helaena did not do well with loud noises and large groups of people, and Aegon had been all but barred from the feast after the incident in his father’s apartments, Ser Criston his constant shadow, so it was just her and Aemond at the king’s side. After all, he was the name day boy.

“A toast!” Lord Jason Lannister's drunken voice rang out. “To Prince Aemond — may His Grace have cause to celebrate many and more name days in the future!” The entire hall let out a raucous cheer, whilst the little prince looked with interest at all the people who’d come to King’s Landing for him.

“Is this feast only for me, Mother?” her child asked, his voice a breathless whisper.

She gave him a fond smile. “Yes, my sweet. And this evening we shall open your presents!” The queen smoothed Aemond’s hair, her mind far away. Alicent did not notice her son reaching for the king's chalice until it was too late. There was a splash and the chalice clanged against the floor.

“Alicent!” Viserys barked, and she felt herself grow cold, dread pooling into the pit of her stomach. “Control the boy, please!”

Hippocras had been spilt all over Viserys’s new cloth-of-silver tunic, staining it irreversibly. The queen quickly gathered Aemond against her, shushing his incessant questions—" Mother, why’s the king angry?”—as three maids cleaned up the spilt wine. She could hear Viserys’s grumbles and could feel the annoyed looks he was sending her—all the hair on the back of Alicent’s neck rose, goose flesh rising along her arms. She suppressed a yawn, as Aemond squirmed in her lap, wanting to walk: the king called for me last night, did he not?

Alicent could only remember leaving the room. Everything after that was merely darkness, and then a long harrowing walk back to her chambers, where Talya had a warm bath prepared for her. The more Alicent thought of it, the more her palms sweated. Her mouth went dry, and she felt as if her throat was closing up, and no matter how much air she gasped for, she couldn’t breathe—

“Mother?” Aemond asked, and he sounded uncertain. Alicent tried to smile at him, but it came out as a grimace. Odd flashes of memory were filling the queen’s mind—the smell of herbs, a thin scarecrow of a hand covered in mottled flesh reaching for her, peeling skin and the smell of ointment, three rats moving along a bedroom's rafters—and she was going to be sick. She felt liquid working its way up her throat. The queen stood, ignoring the stares of the feasting courtiers, and placed her son down into her chair. She swallowed convulsively.

“Aemond,” Alicent said, voice strained, “stay with your father. I’ll be right back.” She rushed out of the side door behind the dais, ignoring Viserys’s shouted queries. Alicent could hear Aemond crying. She opened the door, barely managing to shut it before the vomit finally caught up with her, spilling out onto the floor as Alicent gasped and coughed and spluttered. Half of it landed on her, soaking the silk of her cornflower blue gown. She heaved and heaved and heaved until she was sure it was over. It's back.

If she were mad enough to return in her current state, the princess and her lickspittles would likely die from laughter. Of late, no one enjoyed her misfortune more than Rhaenyra, Alicent knew, though the queen had means of getting back at the wretch, means which she would allow to grow fat and ripe before she reaped them. The light of the windows illuminated swirling dust motes, highlighting the red in Alicent’s hair.

Her mind felt disoriented as if she’d just banged her head against the floor. Placing one foot in front of the other, Alicent allowed the simple rhythm of left, right, left, right to guide her back to her rooms. The servants ducked their heads as she passed them by. Alicent could sense their eyes following her. I’ll have Larys deal with them. Half the court was at the feast, or elsewise enjoying the grand pyromancer’s entertainments Viserys had ordered put on in the city, so the corridors were deserted.

“Talya!” Alicent’s voice sounded shrill to her ears, as she burst into her apartments. “Are you here?”

Her gown stuck to her clammy skin; she pulled it off, the acrid smell of sick almost overpowering her senses.

“Your Grace?” Talya appeared — from whence Alicent knew not — with an armful of linen, dark eyes wide with disquiet. A frisson of cold understanding settled into them as she took in her queen’s panicked state.

“Water,” Alicent gasped, but the handmaid had already abandoned her previous task, running to fetch a small wooden basin and filling it with tepid water from the ewer. The queen was able to master herself then, as Tayla locked the door and peeled off her mistress's shift and hose and stockings, wiping away her sweat with a cool cloth as Alicent stood in the basin. It was only when she was clean and dressed in a new shift, that the gut-churning fear within her subsided.

“It happened again, Your Grace?” Talya asked, bony fingers digging into the red rough spun of her apron.

Alicent nodded, taking in slow, steady breaths. Viserys will be wondering where I am. She’d left Aemond there, she realised, and anxiety prickled its way up her spine, replenishing her dying dread.

“Clearly. And I was so sure it was over with.” Alicent let out a scornful laugh. Much good that assumption had done her. “I do not know what is wrong with me. Perhaps I've gone mad.”

The handmaid shifted from foot to foot. “You should talk to a maester.” Alicent looked at her sharply, but Talya was uncowed. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but you’ve been like this since young Prince Aegon’s birth. I worry that it'll worsen, should you ignore it again.”

Most servants wouldn’t dare talk to the queen in such a manner, but Alicent had an understanding with Talya. When the young queen returned to her rooms dead-eyed and trembling at night, with the scent of Viserys’s rotting flesh still in her nostrils, it was Talya who attended her and set her at ease.

Alicent scoffed. “I’m sure Maester Mellos shall find my ailment to be eminently curable. ‘Oh yes, Maester, I cannot stand the sound of my husband's voice. It sends me into hysteria.’” Her voice hardened. “No, Talya. Any maester would think me insane. They’d take my children from me. I have borne this malady for six years. I can bear it six years more.” Alicent poured herself a cup of mint cordial from a nearby flagon, swilling it about her mouth to remove the lingering taste of vomit, and stood up in one smooth movement. “Now help me dress. I require another gown.”

The queen returned to the feast garbed in a gown that reminded her of home. The high-necked bodice was all Myrish lace, delicate as a spider's web and stitched onto a panel of cream silk. The tippet sleeves were so long that their points brushed the floor, lined with miniver and edged in a grey dark as smoke. Let them think I left for frivolity. A change of clothing to soothe my vanity. Her eyes slid across the hall. The feast had well and truly reached its peak, the noise so loud that it almost shook the rafters.

“You should never have left so abruptly,” the king told her, as Alicent seated herself with easy grace. She could see Viserys’s pockmarked face, frowning at her out of the corner of her eye, but took no notice. “Aemond’s been pestering my daughter. See to him, before he causes any more trouble.” He glanced meaningfully down at his ruined tunic. 

Sure enough, she found Aemond perched on the arm of his half-sister’s chair. The boy was talking her ear off, something to do with dragons. “Is it true that Syrax is fat?” The little prince asked and Alicent winced.

His half-sister replied in a flat voice, “Perhaps it seems that way because she’s no longer a juvenile.” Rhaenyra fiddled with her golden rings, as Laenor handed Jacaerys to a nurse. The babe wailed as he was carried out of the hall.

“Doesn’t matter. Everyone knows that Aegon’s dragon is prettier,” Aemond declared, with that strange confidence that was unique to toddlers alone. “He even looks like the sun. That’s why he’s called—”

“Sunfyre,” Rhaenyra interrupted, voice heavy with sarcasm. “I never would have guessed.” The golden coronet sitting atop the princess’s braid flashed in the light filtering through the stained glass windows.

Rhaenyra had dressed in her usual opulent fashion. Her gown was one of darkest red, like freshly spilt blood, slashed with rich purple damask at the skirts. A heavy chain of gold, to match her coronet, sat along her bodice, wrought in the shape of falcons. 

Beside her, Ser Laenor shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The heir to Driftmark looked handsome in a mauve doublet, with the seahorse of House Velaryon picked out on his yellow half-cape in hundreds of tiny winking diamonds.

Aemond had finally noticed his mother, running to her with a squeal of joy. “Alicent,” the princess murmured, as Aemond buried his chubby face in her skirts, “I understand that you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence. I do wonder at your hasty departure, though. Was it Aegon?”

Alicent’s mind had gone blank, her limbs leaden with sudden fatigue. “What?”

“Were you seeing to another one of my half-brother’s mischiefs, Your Grace?” Rhaenyra took a sip from her glass. The princess's cheeks were flushed pink, her lips stained with Arbor Red. “That boy can’t keep his hands to himself.”

Alicent felt her hackles rising. The princess was freshly twenty-one and Aegon six, and yet she hated her half-brother with a passion that took the queen’s breath away. “Rest assured, Rhaenyra, Aegon is in his rooms, watched over by Ser Criston.”

Rhaenyra is a fool, Alicent reminded herself. Should she wish, Alicent could ruin her with a single sentence, but Ser Criston’s life stayed her hand. The Marcherman had proved himself a faithful knight. She would not use his past mistakes against him. Princess Rhaenyra had thrown herself onto the Kingsguard, stolen his honour and played him for a fool. In doing so, she’d earned herself a dangerous enemy in his person. The queen thought of brown-haired sworn swords and uncanny resemblances. He was not the princess’s only enemy, of late.

“They’re bringing the cake!” Aemond’s high-pitched voice broke Alicent out of her reverie.

Sure enough, servants swarmed their table, carrying honeycombs and sugar spun into the shape of slender towers, cream cakes and fruit tarts, a giant towering jellies and date scones, along with all the fruits of summer. Viserys slurped as he ate a melon, bits of its pale flesh stuck between his yellowing teeth. Juice ran down his chin, as he reached for another.

“Only one cake,” Alicent warned Aemond. She would not have her son sickening himself before his nap. “And if you’re very good, I’ll let you share some more with Aegon upon the morrow.” 

Her son's response was not the one she’d anticipated. “Aegon’s always sad.”

Alicent sighed, beginning to usher Aemond back across to their seats when she heard Rhaenyra’s voice, loud and distinct amidst the tumult of the feast.

“As well he should be,” the princess's voice slurred. “He should be flogged. That’ll teach him to keep his hands to himself. Who was he to touch my mother's belongings?”

Alicent froze, breathed in, and felt her chest expand with it. She glanced at her husband but he was pretending deafness, eyes focused on his lemon cake. So it would be up to her to defend their child. Again. 

“Prince Aegon is being punished as we speak, princess. Surely you’ll not hold a grudge against him forever?”

It had happened three days past. Viserys had bid his eldest son sit, as the king worked on his miniature of Old Valyria. The child had soon grown bored, and the king had been concentrating intensely upon his craft, or so Eddard the stonemason had told her.

Whatever had happened, Viserys had paused when he heard the sound of crashing glass. Prince Aegon, curious as all children of six were, had accidentally broken a Myrish lens. Glass from Myr was worth its weight in spice, and this glass had been a gift to Queen Aemma from the Free Cities, upon her coronation, and a keepsake of her husbands upon her death.

By the time Alicent had arrived, Viserys’s face had been puce with anger, and Aegon bore a red mark on his cheek where he'd been slapped. Their son's fingers had been bleeding from the broken glass, but the king hadn't noticed, so full of rage was he. Aemma Arryn, Alicent realised with sadness, would be appalled.

“‘Punished’?” Rhaenyra's brows furrowed. “He’s been locked in the nursery. That’s hardly sufficient.”

Alicent could hear the courtiers whispering, likely remarking on yet another incident of familial disharmony within the royal House. “Aegon has already apologised for his mistake, step-daughter. You can always purchase another Myrish lens. Such things are replaceable.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“You would know all about replacements, since you are one,” Rhaenyra sneered. The princess had been wroth for a long time now, ever since her uncle had eloped with Lady Laena. “I don’t know what we’ve done to deserve my half-brother. That boy gives us only grief.”

And you’ve given your husband horns, Alicent thought but did not say. 

“You would do better to engage in self-contemplation, Rhaenyra,” Alicent said, loudly enough for half the hall to hear. “Your son’s features are rather unique, for a Velaryon.”

Rhaenyra opened her mouth to reply, features contorting with fury, but her father spoke first.

“Alicent, enough,” Viserys hissed. “Do not make a spectacle of yourself, woman.”

Worry not, husband, your daughter makes enough of a spectacle for us both.

She would’ve said it too, but little Aemond was looking at her, eyes wide with confusion, so Alicent swallowed her reply, ignoring Rhaenyra’s mocking smile and Viserys expression of quiet relief.

Some Targaryen’s, Alicent had come to find, were cowards.

The throne room was uncomfortably crowded. Viserys had shown himself for once, having gathered the strength to leave his sickbed and sit his iron chair. Rhaenyra stood to his right, conversing with him in hushed tones. Alicent had dressed lavishly for their guests, in a gown of dark green satin, its sleeves and bodice slashed with pure cloth-of-silver, that shimmered in the light. She sat on a throne of gilded wood, watching the milling courtiers below.

The queen had been pleasantly surprised when Viserys had told her of the invitation he’d extended to her kin. It’d been nearly a half a decade since Alicent had had cause to meet with her uncle, Lord Hobert. The Lord of Oldtown had brought his son with him. The last time she’d seen Ormund, he’d been a gangly boy of fifteen. He’d used to humour Alicent and her brother’s, back when they were still children residing in the Hightower, playing come-into-my-castle with them, and other games besides.

Now Ormund was a man-grown, with a wife and children of his own and there was a gulf between them, wrought open by separation and the passing of years. He and his father bent the knee to them, eyes on the floor.

“Your Grace’s, Princess,” Hobert said, “it is a pleasure to visit with you. We were flattered by your invitation, my king. To what do we owe the honour?”

A dreadful prescience nagged at Alicent, one she did her best to ignore. She’d asked her husband the very same question, and he’d dismissed her, murmuring something about the importance of reaffirming bonds between family. Raven’s sent to her father in Oldtown had been equally ineffective. Ser Otto Hightower had served two kings —and perhaps a third in the future, if all went well—and his time at court had taught him well the importance of silence. He had not been forthcoming about his plans, simply commanding her to fulfil her duties as she always had. Yet Alicent sensed that it was Otto who’d driven Viserys to his chosen course. Why else would the king have invited the Hightowers to the Red Keep?

“Lord Hobert, you and yours have ever been leal to the Crown,” her husband intoned, “since the Conqueror’s day. Was it not the Hightowers of Oldtown who were the first to acknowledge our ancestor’s right to rule? Such good service deserves a reward.”

The queen frowned. Lord Hobert and her cousin were still kneeling — they’d not been summoned all this way for a history lesson. As the king’s illness had progressed, his mind had begun to wander. Alicent was seized with the sudden fear that Viserys wasn’t quite lucid. She stared at him intently. Her husband wore his robes of state, blackest silk shot through with gold; the crown of the Old King girded his brow, its seven gemstones gleaming. For all her worries, though, Viserys’s eyes were sharp. Alicent breathed a sigh of relief…then felt her breath stop as the king continued.

“As such, we have decided to bestow upon you the fosterage of our youngest son, Prince Daeron. He shall leave the Red Keep with your party within the fortnight.”

Alicent gaped. She’d not been told of this. No one had mentioned Daeron being fostered. She thought of her little boy, six years old and cheerful. To be sent away from all he knew at such a tender age—it was too much, even for the likes of Viserys.

“Husband.” Alicent’s voice was edged with barely restrained panic. “Surely such a thing could wait a year, at least until our son mounts Tessarion.”

Her father’s secrecy now made a terrible sense. He hadn’t wanted Alicent to know about his intentions for his youngest grandson, even as he set his plans into motion. Otto Hightower may have been in Oldtown, but his influence over the king’s councilmen remained. For all that Viserys had banished him, he could not strip away the alliances his erstwhile Hand had formed at court.

She could see it in her mind’s eye. The letters the king's advisors must have received, the way they’d slowly convinced the king of the merits of Otto’s suggestion, subtly, with no mention of her father, and entirely out of Alicent’s sight. Of late, she’d been absent from meetings of the small council. Her Aemond had caught a fever, and whilst Alicent had been tending to him, the lords had no doubt plotted and planned and played her false.

And now they come for Daeron.

The king eyed his wife, considering Alicent’s suggestion, and she felt the beginnings of hope. All she wanted was a year. One year more for Alicent to hold her youngest son close, her baby, her well-behaved boy, who didn’t flinch away from her touch in fear, or look at her with eyes that were far away. Him and Aemond — they were her soul’s joy.

But then Rhaenyra spoke, her voice high and clear in the quiet of the room: “Her Grace is a mother - her heart cannot bear the thought of losing a child, even to kin. But you are the king, Father, and know your duty even when it is hard. I say to send the boy away. We cannot wait until he mounts Tessarion. How long might that take?”

The princess was smiling, smiling, smiling as she said this, lips turned up with triumph. Any chance to spite the queen, any chance to exercise some cruelty. His name is Daeron, she thought wildly, not ‘the boy’. Alicent felt the urge, deep in the marrow of her bones, to take Rhaenyra by the scalp, thrust her into the swords that made up the Iron Throne and watch as her face was cut to bloody ribbons.

Not so pretty then.

But Viserys was already nodding, even before the princess had finished her sentence. Her husband turned back to Lord Hobert, and Alicent bit her tongue as they began to discuss the necessary preparations. She would not be able to sway him now. Alicent’s eyes met Ormund’s.

He looked away.

Alicent felt somebody shaking her and could hear shouting: “My Queen, awake, awake! Something has happened to Prince Aemond.”

Alicent shifted under the weight of the bedclothes, understanding coming to her slowly through the groggy fog of disturbed sleep. Aemond: she bolted up, all at once, fumbling around as she disentangled herself from the furs. A brazier had been lit, and it cast lurid shadows all across her guest chambers, as Talya and her ladies dressed her. From there, it was a short walk to the main hall, Talya five paces behind.

Alicent’s heart was in her throat as she entered High Tide’s hall - she could hear its loud beating. BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, it went. She could see her husband, atop the Driftmark Throne, face in his hands and Rhaenyra’s bastards, bloody and wounded. The Kingsguard, all seven members, stood around them. Ser Criston’s knuckles were white against his sword’s pommel. Lord Corlys and his wife stood beside him, clutching their sobbing granddaughters, silent and grim. The princess was nowhere in sight. 

Aegon and Helaena stood in front of the hearth, tears running down their cheeks. The queen wiped her clammy palms against her skirts and went to her children, soothing Helaena with gentle touches. For once, the girl allowed it. 

Aegon slipped his hand into hers. BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM. Her eldest son was shaking, his purple eyes wide. Distantly, she heard the roaring of a dragon.

“Where is my son?”

The denizens of the torchlit hall murmured lowly to each other, but none would answer their queen. Alicent saw her father, standing at the very back and caught his eye. When Otto looked back, his gaze was full of grief.

Bile rose in her throat. “Where is Aemond?” Alicent asked, louder now, her skin pebbling with gooseflesh despite the heat of the room.

“Ser Criston, show her,” the king commanded. He still held his face in his hands.

BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM. The knight approached Alicent as if she were some mad beast. “My queen,” he said, and his voice was impossibly gentle, “calm yourself as best you can.”

“I want to see my Aemond.”

Something has happened. Alicent knew it from her father’s look, from Viserys’s hunched figure, from Ser Criston’s gentle tone. The knight gripped Alicent’s hand in his own and guided her to the back of the hall, where a padded bench lay. Someone lay slumped atop it, a white sheet over their head, someone with a child’s figure.

Alicent stared at that white sheet for a full minute. BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM. The queen’s blood was ice in her veins as she reached for it, pulled it back and saw—

A knife. Through Aemond’s eye. Its serrated edge shone dully, wet with his life’s blood. The world spun and blurred and then reshaped itself.

“Take out the knife,” Alicent whispered. “Take out the knife! Don’t leave him like that.”

Ser Criston reached over. The blade squelched as it was pulled out of the socket, and all Alicent could see was Aemond's expression, a rictus of pain. Alicent was certain that her son had died like that, alone and screaming.

Alone.

She fell to her knees, tears running down her face. She could taste them on her lips, fresh and salty. BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM.

“Wake up,” she said to her son’s cooling corpse. Alicent shouted at the top of her lungs, the hall echoing with the force of her shrieks. “Wake up! Wake up! You have to live, you’re only ten, you have to live and grow and take up the sword—you’ve always loved it, my special boy. Don’t you want to be a knight? You must marry and have children. You’re a prince, don’t you see, Aemond?  Stop this at once, rouse yourself, you must needs live!”

She could hear whispering behind her, a voice saying, “She’s lost her wits,” and another murmuring about bastards and kinslaying and yet another, shushing them both. BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM.

Aemond didn’t heed her. The boy stared with sightless eyes at the ceiling, as if he weren’t ignoring his mother, as if he weren’t being disobedient to the one who’d birthed him in a bed of blood. Alicent came closer, still sobbing, and cradled his head in her arms, holding him close, her tears falling onto his face. She kissed her child’s head and felt the hard curvature of his skull against her lips. Blood was running down Aemond’s cheek from his bloody eye, pooling onto the bench below him, coating Alicent’s fingers.

My babe, my boy, why does he not look at me? The blood staining Alicent’s hands twisted itself into the shape of a grave, split into strange writhing creatures, slithered up her arms and face, blinding her until her vision was filled with red. BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM.

The queen heard the sound of a door swinging open over her heartbeat, and Rhaenyra’s tinkling laughter reached her ears. She turned to look. The princess had arrived with her uncle, both of them dishevelled and talking loudly. It took her but a moment to realise what had happened. She saw her bastards. Her smile died.

BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM.

And then: “It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them. The legitimacy of my sons' birth was put loudly to question.” Viserys’s desperate face. “My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons.”

BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM.

Alicent glimpsed the bloody knife on the floor, the one that’d killed her son. She stood and slid it up her sleeve. Her world was red. The princess was still kneeling in front of her bastards, back turned. Alicent walked forward. The princess stood and turned towards her, but not quickly enough. Alicent stabbed the knife through her arm, felt it cut through gristle, felt it scrape against bone.

BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM, BOOM-DOOM.

Rhaenyra's blood splattered across the stone floor. That was sweet, but her screams were sweeter.

Lyman Beesbury’s body was still lying in the chamber of the small council, when the queen returned there at dawn to meet with Ser Criston. She’d dispatched him to Dragonstone with half a hundred men-at-arms, the night of the king’s death. Alicent had smelt Viserys rotting through the wooden door and acted accordingly.

Her sworn sword stood before her now, a bloody sack in his hand. “Did you find them all?” Alicent asked him, almost trembling with anticipation.

“Most of them, my queen.” The knight hesitated, his expression nervous. “For all we took them unawares, Prince Daemon managed to escape with his sons.” Ser Criston’s hands were crusted with viscera: acting as the queen’s headsman was a bloody job.

“Princess Rhaenys? The girls?”

“I had to kill the princess. She wouldn’t stop fighting, you see.” His expression was almost distressed. “But the girls have been taken captive.”

Ser Criston upended his sack. Five heads rolled out, bouncing onto the floor and stinking of decay. For Aemond. Alicent gloried in the sight.

"Good," Alicent looked into Criston's beautiful eyes and cupped his cheek. The knight leaned into her touch. "You've done well, Criston."

Much later, after all was said and done, the Lord Confessor found the Dowager Queen alone in her chambers. She held two skulls on her lap, one of them large, the other small. Larys stood shadowed in the entrance, out of sight and listening.

“Your grandsire lies dead, little bastard, no more to bolster your crimes. Here’s his crown. Go on, have a look.” The queen hefted the small skull in front of her face. Its empty sockets had a clear view of the jewelled crown girding her brow. “And you, the beloved daughter, how did you die? In bed, at play, or dining, with the laughter of your loathsome get ringing in your ears? It matters not. I ask you, what is Viserys's favour worth now? No doubt your soul burns in some fiery pit, under heavenly purview.” With sudden violence, Alicent threw the skull down. It cracked. “Aemond, be well content. You are avenged, as has ever been mine intent.” 

[moochalove]

Last Nights Mistakes and New Beginnings (Pt. 2)

(yandere!kazuha x pregnant!reader x scaramouche)

Another part finished!!! This kinda scratches my brain but i need more…. so expect a part 3….

i got into some darker themes and I intend to keep them around so please be warned.

word count: idk but it’s pretty long 🗣️

not proofread 😋

TW: panic attacks, yandere themes, implied noncon but nothing detailed

Rolling over to stretch you notice the sun seeping through your curtains. Ah, that’s right, he’s still here. Well you suppose it wouldn’t hurt to drop him off wherever he needed to be, then come back and sleep some more. With one last stretch you stumble out of bed, heading to the living room you notice Scara curled up with the blankets surrounding him. He even sleeps weirdly….. You stop and think for a moment, should you wake him up? Or should you just let him sleep longer…

“It’s not nice to stare, Y/n.”

Cutoff from your thoughts you take a few steps back, eyes settling back down onto his now awake figure. “S-sorry, I was just trying to figure out whether to wake you or not- I…” Rubbing his eyes he throws the blankets off of himself. “Yeah yeah, save it.”

And you thought you were cranky when woken up early, huh.

“I’ll give you some time to get ready.” Turning on your heel you walk back to your personal bathroom wanting to wash up quickly, “By the way, hope you slept well.” You weren’t sure why you were inclined to say that. Shrugging it off you leave him to gather his stuff. Scara, on the other hand was taken aback by the comment. Was he a flustered? Maybe. Surprised? Definitely. Was he gonna reciprocate the act somehow? Hell no, it’s not like he owes you anything! Nope, nothing at all! Huffing he folds up the blanket before placing it back in the basket.

While reaching down he notices a funny looking book, “How to prepare for motherhood!” Did your sister leave it here? He was curious to ask you more questions but it definitely wasn’t his place. Shrugging he ignores it and tosses the somewhat neatly folded blanket onto the book.

Coming out of the bathroom your face was freshly clean, teeth: brushed, hair: combed, contacts in if needed. You were dressed casually, but still wearing a baggy shirt so no one would notice your baby bump. Grabbing your keys you jangle them around before teasing, “let’s go drop the baby off~!” “Ugh, as if!” his face is slightly red and churned. He combs his hand through his hair- you are reminded of a certain someone by this singular action.

Staring at him your mind floods back positively bad feelings. The way he treated you oh so gently, like a porcelain doll that would crack under too much pressure. And the way he pleased you like a lover should. As if he’d been a starving man and you, his first meal- but it seems you were just a side dish- an appetizer before the real meal he could ravish any other day.

Scaramouche stared back at you a little distraught, “Oh my g- What is it now? You look like a deer in headlights.” He’s already poking your face and shaking you slightly.

Your mind is retelling you the events of that night at a pace you can’t even comprehend. The tight feeling in the head that hurts so much yet feels hollow and empty is telling you something’s wrong but you haven’t been caught up to speed yet-

“Hey, this isn’t funny! What’s wrong?” he sounds genuinely concerned.

Once your mind starts running at a pace you can’t imagine, it starts linking certain events of your life together like it’s some tragic movie. A horrible one at that.

Scara is shaking you now he’s practically begging you to snap out of it. Oh, how you would laugh at the way he’s begging, the way he’s actually concerned. You wouldn’t think someone like him had it in him.

By the time you regain consciousness you’re lying on the couch with an ice pack on your head with a straw attached to a bottle of water. Trying to move and get up at the sudden reminder that you were supposed to drop Scara off you shoot up only for your head to pound in return, “Ow… what the f-“ this action causes you to lay back down.

Scara is practically inches away from you, eyes wide with relief and a small smile plastered on his dumb looking face. “You’re awake! I was sooooo- um..” he quickly backs off with a sigh, “I was just getting tired of being here, was just about to call someone to come pick me up. But it seems sleeping beauty has finally woken up!”

“What the hell happened?” you reach to hold your head, slowly recounting the events that led up to a blank space in your mind. Your face scrunches up, realizing you had a panic attack in front of Scaramouche…. You contemplated on telling him the truth of making up some random bullshit. Both of you look like you’re about to say something, “So-“ “I’m-“, with a small chuckle of you both wait to see who will speak first.

“I just wanted to say that i’m.. I’m sorry for whatever that was earlier. I don’t know what came over me. Perhaps I didn’t get enough sleep.” Your words trail off and your ears start to feel a little warm. “It’s okay, Y/n, I-I was worried about you, you know?” Scaramouche trailed his last words, looking off at some painting you have hanging up on your wall, “Anyways… I’m not too sure what happened with you but it’s none of my business so don’t try n explain yourself because I really don’t care ,” you could only feel a little guilty and embarrassed but you nodded along, “Let’s go grab some dinner.” Huh? Why did he wanna get dinner? Perhaps he felt bad about what he said? Oh well, it’s free food! Surely you would need to replenish all your engere after this whole ordeal. Plus, you needed to stay healthy so the growing life within you can stay alive and healthy.

You’re hit with a sudden realization that you’re not wearing an oversized shirt or sweater of some sort. Had he removed it in attempt to see if there was something physically wrong? Like a wound of some sort? Okay- maybe if you get up slow enough he surely won’t notice? right? RIGHT? Just act natural- slow and steady does it! Or do you just look awkward slowly rising? Hit with a sudden way of embarrassment you shoot up before turning to run to your room to change, “O-oh no…. I forgot my phone… in my room… haha… i’ll be back….!” slamming the door behind you you’re sliding the oversized hoodie on and grabbing your phone then putting some casual slip-ons. When you walk out you notice the previous hoodie folded up to where you were laid.

“O-okay! let’s go!” He can tell you’re still frazzled just by the way you’re so inconsistent with your actions and moods. Maybe it was just “that time of the month” for you. Scara knows how scary women can become during that time. It’s best if he just ignores it and goes along like nothings wrong, lest you end up berating him like his sister did that one time.

The car ride was silent, only asking where he wanted to eat and some small talk.

When your food comes out, piping hot and steaming, you’re fighting the urge to cool it the best you can before shoving it in your mouth, very well knowing that choice would result in a burnt tongue, and the roof of your mouth scorched. Scaramouche on the other hand- he’s taking his time cutting the food up into nice bite-sized pieces, although you see he’s also fighting the urge to scarf down uncut meat that’s laid on his plate. You both hadn’t eaten all day after all so of course you’re making an excessive amount of noise with exaggerated huffs and puffs, blowing your food cold. The way you’re both chugging your drinks down. I’m sure you would both regret ordering the amount of drinks you did when the bill is shown.

Both of you stare at each other while the bill sits in the middle of the pile of plates that would soon be taken away.

“Well, I take this is your treat? Of course for making me stay longer than I wanted to-“ before he can finish you’re cutting him off with a overdramatic voice, “Oh thank you! I’m so relieved knowing that you are paying tonight!” He can only scoff, he’s using an unopened straw and pushing towards you. Your face churns as you can practically feel your hairs popping out but you still put on a cocky smile, “I’m sure you’re well aware of what you just did? Whoever comes in contact with the bill must pay-“ “IT WASNT DIRECT CONTACT!” With another overdramatized action you’re pulling out your wallet with a slight ‘sigh’. All the while Scara is watching joyfully.

On the way back to the car you get a phone call.

Maybe it was a work related issue? Not wanting to risk it being an important call you answered it.

What happened next you could’ve never anticipated would happen.

All you really remember was that the call consisted of Kazuha, who was clearly drunk, and busying himself with a woman as you could hear giggles, moans and whimpers coming from himself and the other participant. He claimed you left with Scaramouche and he was still with you. Claiming how he must’ve left with you, since he went missing after you both got kicked out, and how he never came back to their shared apartment. The way he kept reiterating that he “wasn’t upset, just disappointed” I mean, he wasn’t wrong- you did leave with him but it’s not like you guys did anything? It scared you a bit how controlling he was trying to be even though you weren’t even in a relationship with him. The last thing he said before he hung up was that he would be over soon and that he didn’t want to hear any excuses. It scared you even more how he kept his calm and collected demeanor up. If it weren’t for the context you’re sure you’d be excited to see him.

Scaramouche is already waiting in the car, growing impatient by the second. Once you sit down your mind starts to slowly pick up the pace. What do you do? He said he would be there soon? How soon? Was he just planning to talk it out? Was he worried about his friend? Should you be honest? What if- A hand placed on your shoulder snaps you from thoughts. “Knock it off. You’re doing that thing again.” Hah, it was obvious that you were freaking out. Taking a deep breath you start to explain the situation. By the time you get halfway through explaining Scara is urging you to drop him off at his house and for you to get home and lock up, or go to a friends house.

The car ride was… something to say the least…. Speeding when nobody was around then acting like normal law-abiding citizens the next second.

Tires screech loudly from when you slammed on the brakes. Scara practically went flying and hit the window. He’s unbuckling the once neglected seatbelt, before he you exchange numbers in case anything happens, like if he needs to contact the authorities if you can’t. Stumbling to the backyard to sneak in. You, on the other hand, you’re speeding back home on the back roads. You had planned on parking inside the garage and locking up. From what Scara had told you, every now and then Kazuha will get absolutely wasted and make the worst decisions possible.

Also mentioning that ever since his friend’s death he’s been a lot more controlling of certain people. Like apparently one time he was so invested in the woman he was practically bat-shit-crazy over her, tracking her every move, monitoring who she spoke with, what she wore, and even some of her actions. Once she had enough and wanted a break from him he let her go, surprisingly he let her go, but soon after she was allegedly admitted to a mental hospital. Surely these are just rumors, right? There’s no way that someone like sweet and caring Kazuha would actually be like this? Right?

Once you’re parked you’re heading inside and locking everything up. One thing you should’ve did was let a friend know of the situation but it totally slipped your mind.

You decide to wait it out in your room. Laying on your back and gently rubbing your stomach, “It’s okay. Mommy is gonna be okay. So please, don’t worry..” Your skin is stretching every day, it’s an uncomfortable process but a needed change. It’s not like anyone was gonna see your body again after this. Nope, the one time you drop the “strong independent young woman destined to be the next ceo act” you end up pregnant, and the father also happens to be a sleazy alcoholic who was also crazy.

You could feel the sorrow in your heart. Eventually, you would have to tell your child that he shouldn’t be the kind of man his father was. Well, that can be something you worry about in the far distant future, for now you just gotta keep him alive and well.

There’s a gentle knock at the door.

You just have to wait it out.

It turns louder, more impatient.

It’s now a loud pounding. You can hear your name being called gently despite the knock being the opposite.

•

•

•

It stopped. Maybe he’s finally regained his composure and is willing to give up. Huh? Is the door know rattling? Really? Is he really trying to do what you think he’s doing? Crap. You don’t have enough time to hide.

Once the door swings open you’re locking your bedroom door and reach for your phone. Hell. you need help. Oh god. He’s already at the door, rattling the door handle and banging on the door. You’ve barely opened the keypad. You’re frantically tapping the screen.

Once the call goes through you feel as if you’ve been saved! Surely they’ll come help!

A hand is placed over your mouth firmly, “Ah, i’m so sorry, it seems my girlfriend’s sister dialed this number! Yes. I assure you everything is alright! No, no need to send someone over. I understand, we’ll give her a thorough talking. Thank you.”

Once you hear the call end your blood runs cold. You want to scream and make a break for the door but you’re not sure if you can make it.

Kazuha lets out a huff before combing through his hair, “I wish you would just talk to me, Y/n. I wish you would just listen.” He tosses the phone off into some corner before he’s pushing you down on the mattress.

You try protesting to his attempts to undress you, yelling at him saying he’s drunk and that he’s being delusional. It seems to go through one ear out the other, he’s not listening. But his calm and lover-like demeanor is present all the while. He’s kissing you gently and whispering sweet nothings in your ear, he’s feeling up and down your body, squeezing whatever his hands can grab. You hate how he’s acting like he didn’t do anything wrong. You want to scream and disappear from the face of the earth, hoping to never see his face again.

Kissing your neck seems to draw you from your thoughts, “My sweet little princess, be honest with me. What did you do with him?” you gulp nervously (or is it from fear?) you reply, “After we got kicked out, I dropped him off at his moms place. I swear baby- we didn’t do anything. It’s not him I love, it’s you!” oh how you wished to rip your tongue out and scrub it clean. With a ‘tsk’ Kazuha is starting to fiddle with his pants, “I already told you to not make excuses. Please, sweetheart, just tell me what you did and i’ll forgive you.” Covering your face, hiding your eyes, threatening to spill unwanted tears you try refuting but he seems to stuck on the idea you “cheated” even though you did nothing wrong.

The rest of the night is another blurry one, but not from the alcohol, from unwanted memories. From that day on you tell yourself you’re gonna take a break from work and fly home to spend the rest of your pregnancy with your family. Sure it seemed irresponsible and you didn’t exactly have the funds for it but you’re sure once you tell your parents your situation they’ll understand and lend a helping hand.

•

•

•

Scaramouche on the other hand, he’s sitting in his younger self’s bedroom, everything is outdated to his likings now but some things remain to what he still enjoys. A cracked phone lays before him, wondering if he should call to see if you’re alright, perhaps the situation has changed? Biting the skin of his inner cheek he decided against it, ultimately deciding to call in a few days.

Fiddling with the cheap metal rings on his fingers his mind keeps wandering back to the idea of you. Had you really caught his interest? You? Of all people? Pfft, as if some lowly scum such as yourself could dare to invade his mind! Yet, here you are. The way you laugh, your smile, your everything. It truly captivated him.

He thinks back to how you both practically agreed to take care of your new baby, Meowmeow. Hopefully you would be able to feed her tonight. He needs to consult his mother about his new cat so he can get all the finical support he needs. Although he’s sure she’ll just flash him a dumb smile saying, “Oh, such a silly thing to want to invest in. Well, it’s not like you ask for much so i’ll be a good mom and help my son!” or at least something along those lines.

His mind also plagued him with not so happy thoughts, like the idea of you truly disliking him and pushing him away. Maybe revoking his rights to care for your stray animal and shutting him out forever. No use in worrying about it now, it’d be best to do something else for now. Even when his mind would slip in images of you here and there. Oh well, it’s not like he didn’t mind.

[h-didanart]

…. So Nexus right?

I haven’t watched the episodes but I’ve heard about how he basically tortured Ruin and Moon by digging through their memories and stuff.

Which

Kinda

Might’ve

Given me an idea

It’s not canon to the au, of course but

But like

I can’t just not do something with it

So

Trigger warnings: Dissociation, panic attacks, flashbacks (though they don’t show heavy violence), implied torture, implied SA (? It might not be super obvious to those unfamiliar with the main au//fic)

Extra warnings: I got feelings when writing this, so, uh, you’re probably going to cry. As always, Bloodmoon is an unreliable narrator, even more so in the type of mental state they’re at here. Read safely

———

And You Drop Us Like That In A Nexus Of Torment

———

They stared at the ground, claws shaking as they tried to lift themselves up. Their breathing was ragged and their vision was blurry, barely able to make out the patch of grass they had been dropped at.

They winced at the ache in their joints, but managed to sit up. Their arms moved to hug themselves after a second.

They were alive. They survived. They… where were they?

They looked around, tensing up at the darkness that surrounded them.

It was dark. It was so dark they can’t see—faint light.

Faint light behind them. There was a source of light. They had to focus on that.

They turned to the light, a blurry mess of yellow and white standing in the distance.

They had to get closer.

They had to get away.

They moved to stand, legs giving out at first before they tried again.

Once they were standing they moved to approach the light source, trying to ignore the way their injuries burned with every move— they don’t have injuries, they do, they don’t, then why can they feel the gashes in their legs? They aren’t real, but they are there, they’re not there, they never left, they did, they can feel him, he isn’t here, they’re gonna die, they won’t, they’re gonna die, they—

Tripped and fell.

They sat up, tears falling to the ground.

They can’t think about that.

They had to keep walking.

They had to focus.

They had to make it home.

They stood up again, now face to face with what seemed like a house.

They knew that house.

They stared at the house and its bright lights. There were people inside.

Maybe they could help. At least they would be better than I’ve always been curious about what really happened in October- Don’t -Let’s see what you have to hide~- Please

A hand went up to their mouth to muffle the sob that escaped.

Keep it together.

They took a breath and walked up to the door.

Slowly they raised a hand to knock, but hesitated. They rubbed harshly at their eyes, suddenly self conscious of what they undoubtedly looked like.

They took a shaky breath and finally knocked.

It wasn’t a very loud knock. They steadied themselves and knocked again.

They let their arm fall back down, other arm wrapping around themselves tightly. They stared at the door, anxiously waiting for whomever would open it.

After a while, they got their answer. A yellow figure with striped pants stood there, probably confused if not scared. Not like there was much to be scared of.

They tried to look at his face, their gaze immediately dropping to the floor the second one of his rays came into view.

It was muffled but they heard him say their name. It kinda sounded like their name, at least.

They took a breath and their voice box crackled on. But nothing came out. They tried again, getting straight to the point.

“Is Solar home?”

All of them stood there in silence for some time.

Sun moved to the side.

The door did not close.

They stared at him- as much of him as they could see at the moment. He gestured to the area inside.

They glanced inside, then back at Sun.

They watched him hesitate before reaching out a hand towards them. They looked at it, for a long time. And slowly their own hand went up to his.

He guided them into the house.

A pressure let up in their chest.

The inside was brighter than the outside, and the smell of cat fur and sweet foods put them at ease.

They found themselves sitting at a couch a moment later. They heard as Sun left, his footsteps followed by a different set of footsteps.

Their footsteps echo through the la—daycare He’s leaving them to die

They brought their knees to their chest, burying their face in them.

They’re on the flo— against a play structure They can’t move He’s laughi— dead silent

They clutched at their hood.

They just want it to stop

A burning sensation started bubbling in their chest, their breathing only accelerated with it.

Not here. Not here.

They heard themselves whine as they ground their teeth together in a ditch effort to avoid the inevitable.

For the love of God not here.

They felt a wet cloth land in their head.

Their claws immediately reached up at it, their legs pushing them against the couch’s corner.

Someone sat close to them.

They stared for a second or two.

Tears started pouring out of their eyes before they even pounced on him. He held them gently, rubbing circles on their back.

They still couldn’t let themselves break down however, they had to warn him. But the only thing that could come out of their voice box was sobbing, and they wouldn’t be able to stop once they started.

They held tighter onto him.

A feeling of weightlessness overtook them, only making them cling onto him more. And then a door closed.

They were in his room.

They looked up at him. Solar looked back at them.

They… supposed they could cry for a bit. He wouldn’t judge. He wouldn’t laugh.

They could do that then.

So they let the sobs escape, and they let themselves shake in his hold, and they let themselves be scared. And through it all he held them, and he cradled them, and he comforted them.

That’s all they needed at that moment.

[shartfinz]

Your autism spectrum symptoms are high.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Take and Give

Hey, more gore and horror for you, inspired by my recurring nightmares :) This isn't quite as bad as Grass, but there is implied rape, so tw for that and body horror? (Btw ppl on my taglist, if you want to not be tagged for my horror, drop me a DM or ask and I'll remember to take you off for those)

They came and took it again. My skin is bare and cold to the touch. I can feel the shivers down my spine, my thighs quivering with the memory. It is a bad dream, these days, more a nightmare than my fitful sleep.

I remember the past, sometimes. I remember the moments under the sun, when I had hopes and aspirations. I remember, though it is nothing more than a lie now. 

They do not scar me, do not sully the facade of my beautiful body. But they wound me all the same, with their words and starvings and the things they do to my insides, the things I cannot mention. It hurts and I bleed and I throb.

The bleeding is good. It means they do not have me yet. While I bleed, while my stomach is flat and my ribs show, I am safe. I fear for the moment I swell, fear it like I do their taking. It will come, I know that. I can only escape for so long.

So I do what anyone must, in that situation. They take me again, and again, and I struggle, even with the drugs, even with my malnutritioned weakness, even with the hopeless knowledge that I will fail. I scream and claw and bite, flailing helplessly.

They grow frustrated with me, and in a single blow, silence me. I feel the sharp sting of their rage, the blood leaking down my cheek. It is glory, relief, safety in the knowledge that the bleeding is good. So when they throw me in the cell once more, and the cold stone floor sinks into my bones, I pick myself up.

My legs tremble with weakness, my heart pounding with the futility of my actions. I stand on the cusp of a metaphorical cliff, poised to dive into the abyss below. I take a deep breath, and dive. My forehead slams against the concrete. My nose screams with agony. My blood splatters like the blossoms of hope. So I do it again, so my nose shatters. And again, so there are shards of teeth scattered amidst the red. And again, until my face is a bloody mess.

They want a pristine whole of a meatbag, and I will not let them have it.

When they come in, I laugh at the horror on their soulless faces. It is as though they have seen the world from my view, for once. This time, when they take me, it is while I wear a mask. I mock them for that weakness.

They guard me more closely now, having lined my cage with mattresses. I play dumb and innocent while they watch, biding my time. I do not have another chance at this, I know. I have to act, and swiftly.

So when they leave at long last, I dig my fingers into the mattress, clawing until my nails come loose and the metal of the springs appear. I straighten it best as I can, remembering the old tales about coat hangers.

It goes right into me, the same way they take me, brushing against the hateful places they try their best to reach. Blood leaks out, a good sign. I scrape and scratch and claw with the spring, ripping free the cushioning they so adore. I pray the wounds go septic, both the ones within and without. 

They come back from their lunch to find me cackling at their foolishness. Their disgust turns to rage, rage at my disobedience, at my rebellion. They bring out the bit, meaning to silence me once more, but I know better now. With my broken, fractured teeth, I sever my tongue, spitting the flesh at their feet, and widening my foul mouth at them.

No, I am no longer their precious temple to defile. I am ruins, haunting and hateful and horrible, unwanted by them.

They tie me up, keep the bit on, force feed me when I try to refuse food. They think they can torture me, bring me back under their thumb. But the scars of my face, the tongueless nub in my mouth, and the blood that flows constantly from within tell me otherwise. When they take me, which is getting rarer and rarer, it is with an air of distance, of hatred for me and what I have done to their property.

One day, as they take me, I shift my weight just right. My knees are hyperextended, my elbows locked and beneath me. When they bring their weight crashing down, I hear four simultaneous cracks. No, no more willowy limbs for them. No more pretty snub nose for them. No more pretty body for them to use and abuse.

That is when they realise they have lost. It drives them into a frenzy, knowing that even my death would be a victory for me. Any wound upon my person would be a wound to themselves. 

So I am thrown out unceremoniously, in a bloody bag of chopped up limbs, deep out in the ocean, where I can be at peace at last. I get the last laugh, even tongueless and voiceless.

For all that they took me, they can never have me.

Taglist here:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @fortunatetragedy, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou (Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[dreamties]

there's nothing really wrong with me; i'm just choking almost constantly || Polyam! Ghostface x GN! Reader

title from Twinkle Lights by The Sonder Bombs

Reader is dealing with the aftermath of their sexual assault, to which they still haven't told Billy and Stu that it was even a thing that happened. After a particularly rough night, the boys comfort them.

1st person POV

TRIGGER WARNINGS: there is reference to past SA, but it's not too graphic. the reader talks about it and there's like, references about it through out the text- and I know it can be really traumatic for some to read it so PLEASE be careful and read at your own risk. panic attacks, nightmares, i believe that's it !! let me know if I need to add more warnings!!

I blink awake, filled with an erratic, heart-pounding panic. It takes a moment to realize where I am- home, in my bed, by myself. I'm not at the trailer and I can't feel his breath down my neck anymore. 

I let out a shaky breath and sit up slowly, trying not to shock my body anymore.

My body feels unstable and wrong as I walk through the house. My mind and body caught in a fuzzy sort of dream state. 

I dial Stu's phone number, because I know he'll ask less questions than Billy- and that's what I needed right now. Just a distraction.

I school my voice to properly fake that sort of "I'm fine, nothing bad has ever happened to me" tone.

I clear my throat. "Stuey? I know it's a little late, but-"

"Nah, it's okay, baby. Whaddya need?"

I laugh- of course Stu sounds so chipper, he was likely up looking at Play Boys or watching total torture porn (aka a load of trash). 

"Could you pick me up? It'd be nice to stay at your place tonight." 

I can practically hear him grin on the other line. "Ab-so-LUTE-ly!"

I kind of half-giggle and thank him. I pull on an extra-long hoodie and grab the handmade Michael Myers plush my friend gave me off my bed. I wait out on the front porch for him to arrive. 

I settle into Stu's bed, and he hurriedly puts his magazines and other items under his bed, careless to the minor scrumpling to his merchandise. 

“Hey baby,” he kisses the top of my head and I try not to shrink away too much when he does so. I know it’s Stu, I know I’m safe- I can still feel his touch around my body, his hands at my throat, though. It’s so hard not to think he’s there with me, in bed next to Stu and I.

I smile at him and let him turn his lamp off even if the darkness and the looming shadows in his room are wholly disorienting.

I can feel a light tickle against the shell of my ear, like someone is whispering, “I won't be able to stop myself.” I shake him off of me and turn to my other side.

Just leave me alone, please.

I probably toss in my sleep the whole night, but Stu doesn’t seem bothered when we wake in the morning. My eyes are bleary and blinking back tears, hoping he doesn’t see. 

I should know better than to think Stu could keep any secret from Billy. I'm still surprised, however, that Billy jostles into the Macher's kitchen at 9am, already with a prickled attitude.

I drop the spoon into my bowl of cereal, milk splashing up and over onto the counter. I try to school my expression into something more neutral, so my surprise doesn’t hurt him. 

“Billy,” I greet. 

He replies back with my name, which I can only half-hear through the fuzzy, distant feeling in my body. 

Billy sits on a stool next to me, moving my bowl a little further from my reach. “Why were you up so late?”

I half-laugh, still tired, still groggy. “What, I’m not allowed to stay up?” I tease. And the hurt sick feeling settles in my throat. 

Billy shakes his head and sighs- he’s clearly frustrated. 

Stupid. Stop teasing him, he’s- I physically shake the thought off. Trying desperately to repel the negative energy like water to oil. Get it together.

“C’mon,” Billy tries again. He seems abnormally pissy, and I wonder what Stu told him on the phone. It’s no way that either of them could have figured it out, but the lump in my throat still grows at the possibility. 

“Just- missed Stu. That’s all.”

“You brought along your plushy,” he says, like that’s supposed to prove anything. “And that big hoodie of yours that you only wear when you’re sad.”

“Did Stu tell you that?” I try not to sound too antsy or annoyed. I know they’re only worried. Of course they’re worried- of course they know my tells like the back of their hands. I should have just stayed home, even if that meant waking up with the feeling of him pressed against my body. 

He nods. “You always tell us what’s wrong,” and he whispers my name in that hard-soft tone he gets when he’s anxious. I shiver.

“Nothing’s. . . nothing’s wrong.” I try and I know it’s bullshit. It’s a dumb attempt and Billy sees right through it. “Nothing that you can fix.” 

And I know Billy takes it as a personal attack- that I think he can’t take care of me. That his comfort isn’t enough, that he isn’t enough. I don’t know how to tell him that’s not what I meant, though, without telling him what happened. It feels hard to breathe, I take a shaky, sharp breath in. It doesn’t help. 

I don’t even know what’s going on, my eyes teary and blurred. My ears are ringing out. My body feels so fuzzy and too soft at the edges. My thoughts muddle in my brain and I don’t know if I'm breathing or talking or breathing or- I gasp out. 

Stu’s hands hold my shoulders tightly, trying to ground me. He’s done it a hundred times before, and it works nearly every time. 

My breath is labored, heavy and quick. Too quick. I still can’t feel myself breathing.

Billy and Stu both try to reassure me- I think. Their voices still unclear through the fog. 

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry, sorry, sorry,” I repeat, till the word feels unsafe and garbled through my lips. “Shouldn't have to- shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have to. Have to- have to worry.”

My voice sounds so far away, like I’m speaking into a dying microphone, to the clashing, screaming crowd before me. Feeling so unheard, so unseen, even at center stage. 

The fog fades around Billy’s voice. “Hey, hey, it’s fine. Just- stop apologizing,” my name is slow on his tongue. “Can you hear me? C’mon, baby, you’re worrying Stu.” 

And I should respond. But everything just feels so- off. I’m not even sure what I’d say. I don’t want to explain myself. 

When the fog finally finally cuts through, I can breathe again. I’m sitting on the tiled floor of the Macher kitchen, with my knees pulled up against my chest. Billy and Stu sit on either side of me, their hands tentatively retracted from my body. 

I can finally breathe in the clearing. I could cry, if feeling my feelings didn’t hurt so much. If everything didn’t hurt. 

My breath takes a while to steady, and when it does, Billy takes this as a sign to pounce on me again. 

“What happened, baby?” And he sounds so . . . concerned. It hurts to know I’m hurting him. My body aches with every pound of my heart against my chest. 

“I think I had a panic attack,” I managed. 

Stu lets out an awkward laugh, and I don’t freak out this time when he touches my shoulder. “No shit!” 

He murmurs an apology and repeats himself, quieter now. It was sweet. Stu was so sweet and I can’t get over myself to just- live and not cause all this . . . all this angst and trial and tribulations between us. Billy would remind me- if I vocalized this ache - in my own words, that having tough emotions aren’t a burden. It feels like it is though. 

“I’m sorry,” I try and Billy shushes me. He seems annoyed still, I know it’s just the look he has when he’s scared, though.

Fuck, he’s scared. Get yourself together.

I swallow down the lump in my throat.

“Okay, fine. I can’t apologize, I get it.” I realize now that my voice croaks out, like I'd been crying. 

My eyes still feel hazy around the edges and they still struggle to focus on anything properly. 

“What can I say then?” I teasingly ask, and I feel sick to my stomach. 

Please don’t ask me why. Please don’t ask why. Please don’t ask why. Please.

“What’s up with you?” Billy asks. I’m not sure if that’s any better of a question though. 

“I- I can’t tell you.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

Stu sighs, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. His fingers tense when he speaks. “Please? We won’t- Stu glances at Billy and then back at myself- I won’t ask any other questions, I promise.” 

I give a humorless laugh in response. “Real assuring.”

“C’mon, I can’t control what Billy does,” he whines.

And there it is again. The lump in my throat. His breath tickling against my face. “I just can’t control myself around you.”

The attempts to shake off his incessant greed seem to only be in vain.

“Just- just get off of me, please,” I have to wrench the words out of my throat. “Please, ‘m sorry for- I’m sorry- just. Let go.”

Stu quickly winds his hand from my shoulder and puts his hands up, in defense. He looks at me all confused, his eyes wide and his brows furrowed. 

He lowers his hands and gives me those stupid, big blue puppy eyes.  “What’s wrong?” And he says it so gently. His voice felt warm and comforting.

“Just- I. Give me a moment.” 

“Okay,” both boys reply. 

“I- I think I was sexually assaulted.” My voice comes out in a tight whisper, lodged somewhere between my throat and the tension of the kitchen conversation. “I thought- I thought it was my fault or maybe it didn’t- it didn’t happen. Or- or maybe I misremembered it but-”

My voice gets caught and I let out a measly sob. 

“Woah,” Billy carefully reaches a hand out towards me, but doesn’t touch me. “Woah, woah. Baby,” he whispers. “What- who did this to you?”

I sniffle. I didn’t want to tell them.

It felt so much more real speaking it aloud. 

His voice feels dirty against my body, and I just want to get away from him. But he’s in the walls, he’s in my dreams. And I can’t escape. He’s sitting with me as my boyfriend’s try to comfort me. 

“I know better than that. I should have known better than that and-” my throat feels all funny, like I can’t breathe again. A sharp intake in, a shaky breath out. “And I still let him put his grubby hands all over me.”

“Woah, baby,” Billy’s voice is impossibly quiet and calm. He appears more apologetic and concerned with how I am, than the dark, revengefulness that usually seeps out of him when someone hurts me. “Baby, look at me, okay?”

I keep my head snuggled at the top of my knees, straining my eyes to look in his direction. I hum, not trusting myself to speak without crying. 

“It’s not- it’s not your fault. Whatever happened, it’s-”

My mouth seems to be on its own agenda. And my head feels impossibly fuzzy again. Everything is so . . . so disconnected. I tap my fingers against my shins, and they don’t feel like they’re really there at all. No matter how many times I tap them in the same familiar pattern. 

Nothing feels right. 

“I shouldn't have been such a tease. I- he told me to stop, said he wouldn’t be able to control himself if- and, and I didn’t listen, Billy. Was so confused, didn’t know where I was, Stuey and- and he- I told him that. But I should’ve listened. He w-warned me and I should have- I’m sorry.”

“Hey, shh,” Billy tries once more. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, baby. Whatever- whoever it was, who convinced you . . . it doesn’t matter, okay? He doesn’t- you didn’t make him do anything. You-” even Billy struggles with it. 

He sighs, “what do you need from us? Just right now- what do you need at this moment, okay?”

Stu tries, as well. Learning from his previous mistake. 

“Is it okay to hug you or touch your shoulder right now?”

I shake my head. His hands at my throat, his voice tickled against my face. 

His hands at my throat, telling me to behave. 

Taking my “i’m fine”s and “okay”s out of context, blatant ignorance of my confusion.

“Could we just- could we sit on the couch maybe?”

It felt better, safer, in the openness of the living room. 

Like I wasn't going to suffocate and, like, explode or something. 

Stu's hanging his limbs off one end of the couch, and Billy tentatively perches on a couch arm. I assume Billy is sitting strangely to give me space- Stu's position is natural though. He always sits weird, and does things weird, which I love. I love him. I love Billy, and I'm just. I'm hurting them- I'm sitting in the middle of the couch, shaky and strange, and hurting them.

“What can we do?” Billy sounds gentle. He sounds sincere. I think . . . he is. The whole situation is strange and terrifying. I want to go back to sleep and hope when I wake that the past few months were some fever dream instead. 

I let out a shaky, heaving sigh. 

“I don’t- I don’t know.”

“That’s- that's okay. Baby,” his voice is sturdy, despite the uncertainty bleeding in.

“Yeah!” Stu smiles at me, and it feels sort of warm. It feels almost good. 

“You shouldn’t have to deal with someone so damaged.” I stare at my feet and my hands fidgeting absently in my lap. Tears pricking, stinging at my eyes.

I stumble over and retract apologies in my head. Trying to justify what he had done to me, to pin what he said, to pin his hands around my neck and push me down, as my own fault. As my own actions. 

I can’t tell Billy that. Not to him, not to Stu.

Billy has this restrained look in his eyes, and his face is twisted into an almost scowl. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I know I shouldn’t have said that. Because Billy thinks he’s broken, all the time.

He’s told me or alluded to his mom’s disappearance, to his asshole father. About the disconnect between himself and his own thoughts, his hands and his actions. He’s told us why he’s only ever felt safe and trusting in the arms of his lovers. 

And that he’s so afraid that one day, we’ll up and leave him, too. 

That he’s too damaged, too broken, to be loved. 

And I go and fuck it up again. I only know how to hurt.

“That’s, wait- that’s not. I’m sorry, Billy. I-”

And his voice is uncharacteristically sweet. It’s calm and low, and I can’t hear held back anger.

“It’s okay.”

“What?” My voice is small and squeaks out, unsure. 

“It’s okay. Baby," Billy says my name with my name with care. “You’re not- you will never be too fucked up to be loved by us.”

Stu smiles, protective. “I- we will never let that happen to you again.”

They offer physical comforts, they lean closer but not close enough to touch me. 

Maybe I shouldn’t be so trusting. He had promised to never hurt me and I followed him blindly. But Billy & Stu aren’t him. And I should be allowed to put my faith into others, without fearing I'll be hurt again.

I lean into Billy's touch, allowing him to encase me in his strong arms. Stu leans against us, bringing his long, sweater-clad arms around the huddled mess of us. 

Maybe it's against my better judgements.

Maybe it's a mistake.

But maybe, too, this is safety. This is love.

[lunolu]

I made a little comic about Caelus going through his traumas, as a aeons-know-how-old stellaron. It’s not canon whatsoever and in fact is my headcanons and views of the character.

!!!WARNING!!!

Even though most of it is implied, this comic does contain graphic depictions of abuse, murder and death; it is also heavily focused on a panic attack. It’s monochrome, so the blood and scars are just various shades of grey, but if you are uncomfortable, please be mindful of that.

If I didn’t mention any warnings here or in tags please feel free to let me know

Click image for better quality. Click alt to see text better

Thank you if you read this far (･ω･)

[kaseyskat]

it's my birthday and i am celebrating by writing adaine abernant having a full panic attack <3 truly love to see it here i think

plaintext below cut:

For all that she enjoys the sounds of music, Adaine must say she's not as fond of it when it is reverberating around her, louder than her own heart beating in her chest and making her own limbs tremble underneath her alongside the roaring of the crowd. 

There's a reason she has yet to attend one of Fig's concerts in person; she loves listening to Fig play, she loves watching her best friend in her element, but her ears ache with the intensity of the bass and even as the people around her cheer and scream the names of two of her friends, she cannot help but feel sick in her stomach. 

Fig had gotten them all front row seats to this concert. Around her, Adaine can see Fabian with Riz on his shoulders cheering, can see Kristen sipping a drink and pumping a fist in the air, can see Zelda and the rest of the Seven off in the distance, and next to her, Ayda is watching the concert with full attention. Her friends are clearly enjoying themselves, which only makes Adaine feel worse about the way she's starting to sway with nausea. 

Pathetic. All the magic in the world and all the strength in healing her mental state and Adaine is still being rattled by fucking music. 

Adaine's hands are sweaty. Fig is singing and her voice is beautiful just as Adaine has always known it to be but the words don't register inside of Adaine's mind, drowned out by the reverberating roar of the amps and the ever-steady pounding of the drums. You should be better than this. Everyone else is enjoying this. You think anyone is going to like you if you can't even be at a concert without having a fucking panic attack? Pathetic. 

[city-of-c0rpses]

My body's all icky... I don't like it... it wont stop even with my scratching till my skins all red and raw... why won't it stop...? I want it to stop.... it feels like I'm there again... I hate it... I don't wanna feel like this anymore...

[delenygma]

❓Dano!Riddler Headcanons: Part 20 | 💚 Breakup (Requested by Angst Anon) 💚❓

TW: panic attack, drug use (implied).

🟢 "I'M SORRY, EDWARD."

You press send and place your phone face-down on your desk. Shouldn't you be feeling... Something? Anything? Perhaps. But instead, you feel an emptiness; the space in your chest where your heart once resided now feels like a void.

🟢 You have committed yourself to Edward more deeply than in any previous relationship. You were always there for him - constantly, without fail. Fuck. You loved him (You don't think you have ever loved anyone else like this.) But somehow, that still wasn't enough, was it?

🟢 "No." Edward stops in his tracks on his way to the desk. He lets out a muted choking sound, his phone slipping out of his grasp. There is no air in his lungs anymore.

🟢 There is no air, no light, nothing. Just the sound of blood surging in his ears. He just stands there - like the fucking idiot he is. He wants to move, but he can't.

🟢 Violent tremors begin to ripple through his body. It suddenly becomes so forcefully clear to him why you didn’t have this conversation with him in person. Oh, God. You were frightened of him. You were worried that he might harm you. (Would he?)

🟢 You were always so kind to him - so gentle, so nurturing. Your bodies fit perfectly together.  (The thought that he will never again feel your warmth beside him makes him want to disappear. Completely.)

🟢 You have truly seen him, and you understood just how utterly revolting he could get. You have tasted his blood, and he has tasted yours. So… Why did you choose to leave now?

🟢 God. He needs to destroy- To destroy everything. Everything about himself - not you, for you are still perfect, faultless. But him?

🟢 You pick up your phone and hurl it against the wall. Lashing out like a petulant child. Isn’t that exactly what he would do?

🟢Meanwhile, Edward falls onto his knees. He pries up one of the floorboards, splinters digging into his fingertips.

🟢 He reaches out to grasp the small ophthalmic bottle hidden beneath.

[wyked-ao3]

writing share #2 (probably will get re worked just a little)

well since someone ( @tragedycoded ) asked for the next lines I think will get me glared at I will put it under the lines (there will be some reworking of the scene but vibes will stay the same. Right now I'm working on editing and rereading the story before writing the last quarter of the book so I can fill any points I missed lol)

this contains spoilers, Tw past S.A, panic attack and trauma

TPKODR tag list

@thatuselesshuman @gioiaalbanoart @lychhiker @goth-automaton

@thecomfywriter @evilwriter37 @saebasanart @the-golden-comet

@mauannacreates @kind-lion @alinacapellabooks @kuebiko-writing

@kaeru483 @differentnighttale @theink-stainedfolk @unstableunicornsofasgard

@mysticstarlightduck @demon-sneeze @dnd-and-insanity @smellyrottentrees

@honeybewrites

🚫🚫🚫🚫this contains spoilers, Tw past S.A, panic attack and trauma🚫🚫🚫🚫

Daimhín looked over at Oisìn's laugh as he knew it was a rare occurrence, the ringing noise of it was music to his ears. He would never tire or the sound. Especially if he got to see Oisìn's smile that went with it. He leaned forward broadcasting his intention so Oisìn could opt out. Their lips met in a brief touch before Oisìn leaned into the kiss. Daimhín enjoyed the warmth of Oisìn's lips against his. The kiss deepened slightly and Daimhín shifted to pull Oisìn closer. He saw Oisìn's eyes widen and went to pull away but the next thing he knew he was falling. He inhaled and held his breath as he hit the water. As he surfaced he looked up to see Oisìn had darted and his hat must be on the deck because it was not in the ocean with him. He sighed as he realized some of the things he had noticed about Oisìn that hadn't made sense, made more sense and given Oisìn and his crew had been captured by Cutthroat…his thoughts trailed off as he blanched.

chapter and pov switch

Oisìn saw Daimhín leaning in and didn't mind, as their lips touched he sighed, when their lips met a second time he melted into the kiss. Daimhín tasted faintly of apple and smelled of cinnamon, he relaxed into the kiss further. The next thing Oisìn knew was he didn't feel safe, he felt cornered and he could feel the past trying to drag him under. He felt his hands push Daimhín away without thought and he darted towards the lower deck. He needed to find somewhere safe, he wasn't safe here. He faintly heard a splash and realized someone went overboard and it clicked. In his mind he had pushed Daimhín away and they had been sitting on the rails. He saw Adoh and said, “capt'n overboard.” As he darted past him. That was his last coherent thought he had before he dove in-between some barrels of rum in an empty area of the ship

[froggyphycosis]

Sleepless nights and something handcrafted

Fic based on a headcannon by @turtleblogatlast which is here (might contain spoilers so I'll link it at the end aswell if you want to read it after)

Summary

Pretty much all of Leo's comics are destroyed from the Kraang and Shredder so he has to read them all digitally. Mikey finds out and does somthing about it.

5899 words

Uhhhhh tw's and cw's real qiuck

Swearing

panic attacks

Nightmares

Implied/refferences to death (in a dream though nothing serious or majorly descriptive)

And characters being in pain

Eughhhh that sounds bad but I swear this fic is hurt/COMFORT so

(if there's anything in forgetting to tag let me know please!!)

______________________________

It's quiet, and calm.

Its reached that rare lull in the lair where everyone is off to do there own thing peacfully without another brother to cause chaos or niose along with them.

And suddenly, (and not at all surprisingly) Mikey finds himself bored, lying in his hammock and to tired to do anything and lonely without the immediate proximity to one of his older brothers.

It's an achievement if anything, it's the first time since the invasion that there hasn't been anything to do, no medical checkups to take care of, no panic attacks to be had... Just peace.

No one is actively dying, the chores are done, hes already cooked dinner (dad had even joined them aswell! He'd been doing that more often since the invasion, it warmed Mikey up a little on the inside he liked it when dad ate dinner with them and secretly hopes he keeps doing it).

So what does Mikey do then? he already knows he's gonna seek out one of his brothers, but who....

Well Donnie is busy in his lab right now using really loud machinery, and as much as Mikey *loves* sitting and drawing in the lab with him, it would be to loud to concentrate on anything.

He could go and hangout with Raph.... but he's training, trying incredibly hard to acclimate to the lack of sight in his right eye, and Mikey doesn't want to interrupt that.

So that means.... he can hang out with Leo!

Great! The portal duo for the win! He thinks triumphantly. Mikey can't think of anything that Leo could be doing right now. He knows that Leo isn't out with Usagi, since he went out with him before dinner, and he probably wouldn't have gone to April's without texting the group chat first...

So he's definitely free!

Mikey hops up from his hammock with more excitement than is probably necessary, and skips his way to Leo's room.

"LEO!" he shouts, slamming the door open with his foot, and happily watching as Leo jumps out of his shell.

"FU-JESUS Mike what in the all living HELL do you want??"

"Company!"

"The fuck do you mean company??"

"I'm like, reaaaaaaaaal bored right now, so I need a sibling to fill that void! And I'm obviously picking you!" he doesn't move from where he's standing, because if Leo is actually doing something he doesn't want to be interrupted from, Mikey will leave.

But just as he thought, (and maybe kind of planned) Leo rolls his eyes affectionately, switches his tablet to one hand and holds out his arm, Mikey doesn't need anymore encouragement than that, he dives into the bed and cuddles himself right up into Leos side.

"Sooooooo what'cha doin?"

"Reading comics," he snorts.

Mikey pauses, looking around the bed,"What where? thought you were doing somthing with your tablet?"

"Yeah I was I'm reading them on digital." Leo lifts up the screen, and holds it out in front of him, Mikey can see the grainy image of one of Leo's favourite JJ comics. "they all got destroyed remember? And I couldn't buy them so I just read them on here."

Mikey's stomach drops.

Oh crap, he had completely forgotten most of Leos comics were *destroyed*. He glances over at the corner of the room, where sure enough, a heap of his old comics were laying in a pile, destroyed beyond repair.

"Oh Leo.... I am so sorry, I had completely forgotten about your comics that must be awful," Mikey sinks a little feeling bad for even having come into the room now "sorry for bringing it up."

"W-what Mike's it's fine it doesn't even matter! I'm not upset really!" Leo looks midly shocked and a little guilty, which is stupid because Mikey brought it up.

He chucks the tablet to the side nonchalantly, rolling his eyes "Its fine! I don't even really read comics that much anymore ya know??" he smiles nervously.

Yeah, because you don't have any, is what Mikey wants to say, but he very patiently keeps his mouth shut.

Mikey knows he's lying, he can see it, he's far more perceptive than his brothers are. He can see the way Leo's eyes get a little bit shinier,the way his brow creases and he avoids Mikey's eye contact like it's the plague.

And the box turtle's heart sinks.

It's not okay, *it's not*, all of his old comics that are still intact enough to keep, but not enough to read, are piled up in the corner, a constant reminder of lost childhood.

It makes *Mikey* want to cry looking at it, he can't imagine what it must feel like for Leo to look at it every night.

Mikey doesn't push Leo on the subject, they end up going to play animal crossing with Dee instead but it doesn't leave Mikey's head for an instant, bugging him like and itch at the back of his skill that he can't itch.

He's going to find a way to fix this, even if he has to walk across a mile of broken glass to do so.

________________________________

Mikey doesn't sleep that night, even if his body is exhausted, (even months later his body still feels drained from opening that portal).

He probably shouldn't be awake, they did all agree on set sleeping times, or at least lying-down-and-trying-to sleep-times the name was a work in progress.

And he might be a little hypocritical for not following that since it was his idea-But! In his defense, he was on an important mission! So it was like totally 100% fine.

He was trying to find copies of jupiter Jim comics for Leo, because he was obviously sad about it, even though he wouldn't admit it. And Mikey was *officially*, the worst little brother in the entire whole wide universe, if he'd didn't *try* and do somthing about it.

So that's what he was doing obviously.

Leo was the bravest person he knew. He had been through hell and back for his family, and even the world, for people he didn't know.

He was an incredible big brother, and leader, and Mikey decided this was his way to give back just a fraction of that kindness in return.

Then again.... the universe seemed pretty against him right now, blessing him with the lack of any physical copies, of any kind of jj comics, on the entire internet.

Mikey spent the whole night, scouring the internet, and using every website he could think of to find them, but alas, not a trace. Dammit, why couldn't dad have found really well known dvds and comics thrown away in the sewers for Leo's and Donnie's birthday? This situation would have been so much easier.

Maybe like Harry Potter, or something, he wonders how much different their life would be if that ever happened, maybe Dee would've believed in magic sooner. (he makes himself snort with that one).

It takes him 5 hours before he finally stops and decides to throw in the towel, he's going to have to quit, there isn't anything anywhere. Which just sucks, because Mikey hates losing, and hates giving up on anything even more, but he closes the laptop down anyway with a sigh, and shuffles down into a more comfortable position.

He glances at the clock across the room, and eughh boyyy.... Well it's 7 o'clock, so he's going to have to get up in 10 minutes to make breakfast.

He stayed awake all night.

Whoops.

Stupid vintage comics he thinks darkly.

He'll have to go up topside to try and find some in a comic book shop tommorow he thinks as he finally let's his exhaustion give in and closes his eyes.

_____________________________

"UGHHHHHHHH," Mikey groaned loudly, dropping the comics in his now 5 fingered hands. His loud outburst garnering several odd looks from the staff and other shoppers in the store.

"April they have to be somwhere right??"

Casey and April both glanced at eachother, and then over at him sympathetically.

"Look Mikey..." April starts, before CJ pipes up next to her, having resumed flicking through the comics.

"Mikey, we have been to almost every comic shop in new York, big and small i mean this as politghtly as possible, I don't think we can get Leo's comics back." he looks at Mikey softly, "I'm sure he would appreciate the effort though."

He couldn't help but diflate at that, he's failed *again*, he's failed Leo....

April walked around the box, and pulled him into a hug that he happily buried himself into, and Casey, in a rare show of public affection, joins aswell.

But when he finally pulls apart and swipes an orange sleeve over his eyes, he suddenly gets a plan so cool, so ultimately awsome and incredibly smart that even *Leo* would be jealous.

"Okay, guys, I think i know what i need to do," he looked up at April and gave her the most mischievous grin he could offer "I think we're gonna need to take a trip to the art store."

"ohhohohohono what does that look mean?? What are you up to?" she squinted at him hands planted on hips

"hush now april," Casey places a hand on her shoulder, and the other on his heart "that look can only mean great things," he grinned "so Mikes where we heading?"

______________________________

Leo hopped across the platform over to Mike's train cart, his leg was acting up today much to his own dismay, not so bad to tell anyone though.... Just bad enough that walking was a little inconvenient, he probably didn't need any meds to be honest, he should be fine.

He gets to the door of the train cart and slams it to the side as hard as he can, (payback for the other day) it bangs when it hits the frame.

"Ohhhhhh Miguelllll!!!"

He gets sight of Mikey staring at his tablet, (it's almost a mirror of April without her glasses Leo thinks with a smile) before he slams his sketchbook closed, and shoves everything within arms reach off his desk, Leo has already been there a few seconds watching this unfold.

Okayyyy....That was....Odd...

"ohhhhhh hey Leoooo...," Mikey smiled nervously, hands tapping against his plastron. It's a stim he's had since was a tot, "so ummmm what are you doing in my room?"

"nothinnnnng.... So what were you drawing?" he glanced down at the sketchbook that had been shoved on the floor, still open, he could only make out the faint sketches of boxes and nothing else, before Mikey slammed it shut and held it to his chest.

"N-nothing," his little brothers face doesn't look caught anymore, it looks worried now, and that face twists somthing in Leo's stomach.

"wait, shit, Mikey have your hands been acting up again??" oh fuck oh no "Mikes we talked about this, if they start hurting you have to tell somone even if you don't think it feels that bad."

He feels a switch go off on his brain the second he thinks Mikey is hurt and everything else goes out the back window.

His little brother has a tendency to fix things, not in the way that Donnie does, with his intellect and his smarts, with nuts and bolts and tech and limitless knowledge.

Mikey fixes sadness, and hurt, he comforts and loves with a single minded focus that leaves anyone in its wake absolutely astonished at how plentiful and sincere it is.

No matter who it is, where it is, or when it is, if it's broken he'll fix it.

But he will *always* leave himself behind.

Its not intentional, he doesn't mean to, he'd take care of himself if he realized. But once Mikey has his mind made up? Its done. He'll get it done no matter what, leaving him to forget about himself.

He's lucky enough to have a family that recognises it, and help before it gets to bad.

"What no my hands are fine Leo seriously!"

"yeah Mikey, maybe so, but I'm still gonna take a look now put 'em out ."

Mikey doesn't retaliate, just takes his wraps off exasperatedly and lays his hands out for Leo to see.

He doesn't react when Leo softly presses down on the scars, and bends his finger and elbow joints gently so they probably weren't hurting.... And the shakes are small and unnoticeable unless you look hard.

So Mikey is fine.

Then why was he so jumpy before???

"hows your leg doing Leo?"

Leo's head snaps up to meet Mikey's gaze, feeling to shocked by sudden line of questioning to actually answer immediately.

"o-oh uhm my leg is fine Mikey, thanks for asking."

He feels the tension drain out of him now that he's sure Mikey isn't hurt, he looks fine, if a bit panicky, and Leo is starting to wonder what kind of secret he's hiding in his sketchbook. The blackmail opportunities could be unreal....

He's *definitely* trying to cover something up, now Leo *can* just outright say that he knows that, but watching Mikey try, and fail, to lie about it, would be waaaaay funnier.

"OH really.....?" Leo stares him dead in the face even though its not being returned at all "so if your hands aren't hurting, why won't you show me your art? what kind of things were you drawing exactly..?"

Mikey squeaks, and his face dips into his shell a little before popping out again fully, to yell "U-UH ITS TUPER SOP SECRET!!!"

Damn, Dontron probably heard that from his maximum security sound proofed lab, *and* with full volume music blasting through his headphones.

"awww come on, please tell me, please please please please!!" he clasps his hands together and makes what he hopes are decent puppy dog eyes.

His little brother doesn't answer him, instead he sinks down further in his shell.

"Mmmmmnnno, and you still haven't told me why you were in here either?"

Its probably the most awful attempt Leo has ever seen at changing the subject, but he takes pity on his brother and decides to go along with it anyway.

"Nothing really I was just bored and wanted to see if you wanted to come and play Mario kart with me?" he grins "you do owe me for the entertainment I provided you with the other day."

The box turtle visibly perks up at this face now fully visible.

"omigosh!! yes! absolutely! I would love to!!" he threw hi sketchbook behind him, and hopped off his chair "lead the way Leon!!"

Leo couldnt help the laugh that sputtered out of him. How Mikey could go from dying of fear, to sunshine and smiles in such a short time was beyond him.

"yeah yeah alright, would you mind giving me a hand though? my leg is kinda sore today."

Mikey swings round and looks at him accusingly "I thought you said it was fine??"

Oh shit yeah.

"Y-yeah it is!! its just a little sore, promise, now come on give me a hand you goof."

Mikey rolls his eyes, but can't help the grin that over takes his face and agreeably lends Leo his shoulder.

He won't bother Mike about whatever he's hiding, Leo may be crazy curious, but he knows that if Mikey does anything to dumb or to stupid, he's got him to rely on and go to when he's in need of help, so Leo feels comfortable in letting him hide whatever it is he's hiding, plus he thinks he'd know if it was somthing bad.

____________________________

It was roughly around 3am, and the little sleep Leo got these days was unfortunately interrupted yet again with another nightmare, another dream about the Kraang again, but this time it was concentrated on *Mikey*.

His mind kept playing a loop of the exact moment when Mikey left-when he was gone, gone gone gone gone gone, went cold in Leos arms and, and-Leo woke up. Drenched in his own sweat, hot and frozen at the same time, still stuck in the position he fell asleep in. Unable to move, it took him an eternity before his *useless* muscles finally dragged themselves upright and out of his bed.

He was sprinting towards Mikey's dimly lit glittery train cart before he even realized he was doing it. Chest heaving, and the ache in his leg only second hand awareness at best.

Warm orange light was pouring out of the cart, and the smell of that citrus diffuser his baby brother always insisted on using was so subtle, but so overwhelmingly comforting, that it sort of makes Leo want to cry.

The lights being on must me he's awake then, and Leo thanks pizza supreme in the sky, because waking up his brothers from the little sleep they got nowadays felt awful. And doing it to Mikey always felt the worst, because that was his little brother he was waking up, and for his own stupid needs too.

Stupid. stupid. stupid. Stupid.

He slides open the door as quietly as he can,his eyes taking a minute to adjust.

Mikey is passed out on the floor, pens pencils, headphones and other art supplies scattered around him and it makes his heart momentarily jump into his throat seeing he's not awake-not alive *not moving*. He snaps out of the spiral quickly though and realizes he needs to calm down right now or he's gonna pass out.

Having a panic attack in his little brothers room is not the most optimal place to do so, so the slider takes a minute to compose his frenzied nerves realizing how worse it's gotten since he woke up. So sitting next to his *sleeping* brother, he breathes in and out in slow even breathes, in the way they all learnt to, it was almost muscle memory by now.

Ha, if only it was that easy to actually calm down.

Leo stands up joints creaking and leg whining in the protest, oh right, he ran here, that's gonna hurt like a bitch tommorow he just knows it.

Picking Mikey up is usually no problem, hes small and lightweight compared to his brothers, but with his shaking arms and tired body, (that's currently down a leg) the task is almost monumental, and he feels out of breathe by the time he's dumped the box turtle into his hammock.

He can still hear soft music playing from Mikey's headphones and he picks them up and listens to it. His mind is still groggy from all the running and panicking, so it takes a second to realize whats playing.

Oh! It's Mr sunshine! Ha, he's so good.

Oh, wait. it's Mr sunshine. maybe they should talk about that later...

He turns the headphones off and puts it on his desk along with his pens, pencils, rubbers, rulers-who needs four rulers?? Where did he even get this all from?who needs this many art supplies and aren't half of these markers dried out anyway??

He can't even be bothered to ask right now, he unceremoniously dumps all of it back on the desk without further question, he picks up Mikey's phone, hoping that he was just listening to music and not staring at that it, would be awful for his eyes. But when he picks it up however he's not greeted with music, but a comic book. And not just any comic book, he notices belatedly,but his favourite.

Jupiter Jim and the eight giant dragons of evil why would he be reading that?

Leo blinks a few times, a bit confused to say the least, before he finally glances down at the sketchbook in his hands.

And sees and exact replica of the page but in pencil.

And then it clicks. everything clicks.

holy shit, Mikey is trying to recreate his favourite comic book. But there's no way??

Now Leo doesn't know much about art, he half listens to info dumps about trashy a.i art, and the hatred that Mikey has for wearing gas masks (against solid protests from himself, Raph and Donnie to do so otherwise

But Leo knows that making a comic book is *hard*, harder and more time consuming that it has any right to be, even for a good artist like Mikey-and he would know! He tried making his own when he was like 12 only to get frustrated an angry 2 minutes in, and quit (he hasn't tried since).

And secondly, how did he even realize he had wanted the real version of a comic anyway? He hadn't *asked* for one, hadn't hinted at wanting it. He swore Mikey was actually a fucking mind reader sometimes, maybe this was just another "mystic warrior thing" he doesn't get.

And then, the sudden, very violent urge to cry swamps him. Even if Mikey never finishes this project never gives it to him, he still *wanted* to.

The fact is, that Mikey, with injured arms, and a hundred other more intersting and wonderful projects more worth his time, is going to attempt to make a comic for *him* and it sort of makes Leo want to cry. It *does* make him cry.

He holds the sketchbook close to his plastron and let's the tears slip down his face. He doenst know what he'd do without his family, without Mikey, he doesn't know what he's Done to deserve the endless patience and comfort that his brothers provide.

He leaves after a minute or two, when the tears on his face stop flowing, leaving sticky trails down his face, and his breathing is no longer raggid from the crying. He leaves the sketchbook and phone where they are, closed and turned off.

Hopefully Mikey will think it was another brother that came in and fixed this all up for him. Or maybe he'll simply belive he cleaned up and put himself to bed and just doesn't remember.

"goodnight little brother, get a good rest."

_____~roughly 2 weeks later~________

Mikey took a deep breathe in, and a deep breathe out. His head was starting to ache from lying it down on his desk for so long, he had decided to take a short break from drawing Leo's comic a while ago, much to his disdain. Although he can't say specifically, since everything in his head feels like molasses, and he's to busy concentrating on the never ending pain in his hands to think about it for to long.

It feels almost nauseating. His body thrumming uncomfortable, the itchy, fiery energy getting stronger, hands shaking more fiercely until it reaches its peak, and his while body seizes up and let's go.

(Its his own fault, this doesn't happen unless he pushes himself to hard. Apparently 6 hours straight of art is not good for you.

Noted.)

He *wants* to pick his head up, he *wants* to carry on drawing, he *wants* to be able to do this for Leo, but he just *can't*. He's useless, his own body is betraying itself, consuming itself in and endless mystic well of power that it itself created, and Mikey can't do anything but sit here and whimper in the dark.

He feels pathetic, he doesn't even know how long it will last. The longest period was 6 hours, which is the closest to living hell he's ever been, beside watching Leo throw himself into the prison dimention, followed closely in second by opening the actual portal itself.

He can't even move enough to grab his phone and call his brothers, he can't scream or talk. So he sits there, and cries and sobs and hiccups openly, and loudly, praying that *someone* will hear him. Thankfully but no sooner than he had started crying, had the small sliver of light coming through his door begun to get bigger, and his train cart door began to open.

".... Angelo?."

It was donnie.

*Thank god.*

His voice was still failing him, unable to speak but overwhelmed with the desire to say *something*, he just cried harder.

"woah woah woah! Okay okay Angelo I'm right here okay? Your safe, your fine." he crouched down by the desk so he was closer to Mikey's face "I'm... I'm gonna pick you up now okay Angleo? If I end up hurting you in any way just uh chirp okay?"

Donnie put an arm underneath his legs and shell, and lifted him up into a bridal carry, pausing slightly to listen for the sound of Mikey's distressed chirp, before continuing forward towards his door. Mikey slumps and closes his eyes, pressing his warm face into Donnie's cool arm. He let's out a sigh of content, no longer cramped from being stuck in a stiff and awkward position, for who knows how long.

Donnie sighs,in that long suffering kind of way he always does when his family has done something stupid, but Mikey doesn't bother to open his eyes to see what face he makes.

Mikey thinks he must have fallen asleep at some point, because when he's next aware, he's being handed off to a very worried looking Raph.

"hey big man sorry to wake you up, you can carry on cuddling with Dee in a minute he just needs to do somthing okay?" Raph is smiling down at him and holds him just a little tighter.

Mikey nods, and rubs his eyes turning his head so he can look at the scene in front of him, (his hands barely even hurt anymore, maybe they rubbed that special cream that Draxum made on them) they're in the TV room now, illuminated by the projection screen paused hlaf way through on one of Leo's favourite movies, him and Donnie are placing various pillows and blankets on the floor.

Leo is whispering something to his twin in a frantic, worried, hushed tone that Mikey is to tired to parse right now.

But Donnie looks at Mikey for a fraction of a second, before rolling his eyes affectionately and placing down the last of the pillows, (they were probably talking about him, he hopes he isn't barred from making breakfast tommorow though, he wanted to make omelettes) huffing, when Raph unceremoniously flops down on top of them shell first, Mikey still being held against his plastron. Raph opens up his arms and Leo snuggles right up beside him, whilst Donnie snuggles into Raph's other side.

Mikey can feel himself start to drift off into comfortable sleep again, when he feels a familiar finger rudely poke him in the face. He opens his eyes just barely to see a familiar blue mask and worried brown eyes peering back at him.

"sorry mi hermano this'll be quick, I promise, what were you doing that caused your arms to flare up so badly?"

Mikey feels annoyed that he's being kept up for this but sighs and concedes "mmmmm I was drawing for a really long time.... and i didn't take any breaks..." he mumbles, shutting his eyes again, falling faster into darkness this time.

"oh....." Leo sighs softly "your to nice for you own good little brother..." Mikey barely even registers his brother's voice anymore, to busy falling asleep to even notice it.

_________________________________

Mikey grins and closes the comic book, he holds it out in front of him looking at all his hard work.

Its done. It's finally done. It took him a month of non stop drawing almost every day to do it.

But he did it.

He puts the Comic down, just to spin around his room and kick his legs, orange flecks of mystic trailing behind his flapping arms.

__________________________

"Oh Leoooooooo~," he sang, sliding into the living room hiding the comic behind his back, and directly away from the view of his older brother "guess what."

"What?"

"I said guess."

"....Mikey are you being serious right now?"

"Yuppers!"

Leo threw his head back and sighed "you know I may sound like Donnie right now, but there are an infinite amount of things to guess from so you may have to give me a hint."

"okay! So I got you gift, buuuuuut you have to guess what it is."

Leo's back straightens and he stares at Mikey with much more exitement "wait are you being serious? You got me a gift?"

"Yeah haha I did, would you like me to just give it to you?" he feels nervous now, he's not really sure he's ready for this, but is going to do it anyway against his own better judgement.

"Uhm yes obviously?? Now gimme" Leo puts out his hands and makes a grabbing motion like an impatient child awaiting to be given something, it's clearly to lighten up the situations which Mikey is making weird with his nervousness.

"Pftttt okay okay here take it."

He walks over to Leo and passes him the comic praying that he likes it, Mikey does, he's so proud, but that means nothing if Leo doesnt like it.

Leo takes the comic and looks closer, his eyes widen when he realizes what it is he's holding, "oh my god Mikey did you *make* this?".

"mhm! I noticed you didn't have any physical copies of your comics and they can't be bought like anywhere, online or off, so I decided to make you one!"

Leo's hands tremble as he deftly turns each page oddly quiet.

Mikey watches as his face morphs into something warm and touched, his smile big and eyes watery-

Wait what?!?

A big fat tear slips down Leo's face without a hand coming to wipe it away and Mikey stands there stunned.

He's watched Leo cry many MANY MANY times, whether it be due to a scraped knee, or a broken scateboard when they were little or due to nightmares over the Kraang, Mikey's seen it all. Him and Leo have always cried the most. But he's never seen Leo cry over something as simple and as meaningless as a comic book before.

"Mikes, did you *make* this for me?" his voice wobbles as he speaks, a disbelieving smile still stretched across his face, still holding the book and flipping through its pages slowly and carefully, scanning each page like he hadn't read them all a million times before, like they were something new, something precious.

Mikey feels slightly vulnerable and embarrassed when Leo looks up at him, remembering that there are definitley some really awfully drawn pages in there, nights where his hands wouldn't stop shaking, or the pose was just to difficult and seeing him cry over it is a bit worrying.

Mikey looks at the corner of the room, man he should really do some dusting, "um, yeah, sorry by the way, some of them are really badly drawn, a-and i know you've already read it a million times so it's really not that goo-"

Leo cuts him off by grabbing the strap around his shell and pulling him down onto the been bag into a 10/10, ultimate crushing big brother hug.

Mikey doesn't fight it these hugs are the *best* hugs.

"mikey- i cant-*holy fuck*, this is like, the nicest and most thoughtful gift i have *ever* been given the fact you even noticed I missed my comics makes me want to hide in my shell and cry so hard my tear ducts will explode, don't you *ever* apologise ok?"

Mikey felt HIMSELF tear up.

Your artwork is incredible and so so beautiful, Leo sniffs and Mikey feels so happy, (he's pretty sure his arms are glowing, not that he can see from where his snout is buried in Leo's shoulder) "i can't believe you put in the effort even with your hands to make a whole comic book just to make me feel better, that must have taken forever."

"I'm-im-yeah, I'm so glad you it Leo."

They stay like that for far to long, sitting on a bean bag that is way to small to fit them both, laughing and chatting and crying whilst look through the comic.

______________________________________

It's not his old comic book, with ink smudged and faded colours, with nights spent rereading and loving. cherished, on its spot on the shelf, with worn edges and a broken spine. It's not the gift he was given when he was 9, a start of a long love for the franchise, and hours in the further of areas of the sewers to find more of them.

It's not any of that but it's something *more*.

Becasue it's *Mickey*.

It's his little brothers drawing, its long nights spent caring about him, and hope to make him just a tiny bit happier.

It's work, and shaking arms and passion. It's family and love and warmth, it's sleepless nights and something handcrafted, and Leo can see it etched into every line of the page. It's not old like it used to be, it's something wonderful, and something new, it's a gift, and every single line is different now because the adoration Mikey has for all of his brothers is radiating out of them.

Each mistake on the page is another mark of Mikey, another mark of his gift and it's meaning.

He can't ever get back what he's lost, he'll never be the same as he was, but he thinks now, whilst looking at the pages softly, this is maybe just a little bit better, just a little but more exciting and new.

Mikey will never know what this means to Leo, because to him, this is just another "small" act of kindness the same as he'd do for anyone.

And although Leo would never admit it, it makes everything he's been through just a little more smaller, and a little less scary, because if something this good can happen out of somthing so miserable? then maybe the future won't be so awful after all, and maybe it never was, his brothers will always be there for him, and he can't believe he ever doubted them in the first place.

_________________________________________

Please remember the idea for this fic was written by turtleblogatlast

And here's the the original little script they wrote!!! Read original script

Goooooood hahaha so uhm I hope you like it!! (Also sorry this became a little more Mikey centric than it was supposed to be I am a Mikey kinnie and tend to make everything about him😭)

I absolutely love your writing and the things you do so just think of this as a thankyou gift for being so cool!

I wanted to sprinkle more of your headcannon in haha but I didn't know where to start or when I could mention them sorry:(

Also apologies for all my head cannons I could help myself

"I will make this fic purely for someone else and won't add my own headcannons!......... F*ck."

[reflections-of-mobius]

WARNING. THIS THREAD FEATURES HEAVY THEMES.

[@familylightfox | From here!]

"...well...that hurt..." Bless groaned, rubbing at his head as he sat up. The destruction from his fall wasn't anywhere near as severe- he'd had the presence of mind to dig his hands into the metallic ground, resulting in a loud, angry screech as metal was abruptly ripped up yard-by-yard. It had awoken several mobians in the currently-sleeping city, and yet not one dared leave their shiny hotels and ironclad homes.

Moonlight and floating streetlamps served as illumination, alongside blaring holographic signs detailing the upcoming World Grand Prix. Bless glanced around, emerald hues searching the carnage for any sign of his supposed attacker... Only to pause as he realized there was a strange glow coming from below. He glanced down, eyebrows furrowing as he noticed a circle of green light- pulsing in time to his heartbeat. It wouldn't be quite so strange if it didn't seem to originate from under his fur.

"Crap..." He breathed in. The male stood, emerald hues flicking about. Most of the street was undamaged- the only sign of destruction were the holes he'd torn into the ground, alongside the massive dent where he'd finally come to a stop... By hitting a building. He didn't recall doing that- he barely recalled the hit of the object itself, before he'd been sent tumbling!

Bless' eyes finally landed on several items scattered nearby- his emergency ring, his phone, and a small bit of birch wood he was going to carve in his free time... Now broken solidly in two. He snatched his phone- just barely dodging a bullet as it fired off.

"Wh-?" He may have been slower in his werehog form, but the mobian was no less swift as emerald hues dilated, snapping upwards. Slick, silver-and-white frames hovered overhead, gunmetal gray barrels leveled in his direction. A strange light in his chest, and now robots that had guns trained on him..

He had an idea what was going on. He had to find Node- he had to warn Volt and Harmony. His world wasn't safe right now.

"Return the Ark of The Cosmos."

"The Ark of the what?" Ark of The Cosmos?... "What's that?" The machines... Merely floated, their engines thrumming.

"Return the Ark of The Cosmos. You have ten seconds to comply."

[]

At least he'd be safe. That was the one thought that kept Node from screaming, even as they'd fallen to the ground, clutching their own arms tight as panic wracked their mind.

"Stop, stop stopstopstop...!" Node's bitten claws dug into their fur. Unlike Bless, they'd had no emergency ring on their person- and they'd taken damage as a result. Their clothes were cut up on their back from crashing through so many trees, bruises littering their arms- but that wasn't what made them afraid.

No, their mind was running entirely on autopilot. Their plea rang through the forest, echoing up the road of destruction their body had cut earlier in the night. They were too deep to think, just trying blearily to focus on their own arms around their body. They had to get up-- they had to find out- what was going on--

Stopstopstopstopstop-

That maelstrom in their head screamed otherwise. Their hands were pressing into their arms, trying to find reality. They were searching for a grounding wire- anything to keep them rooted. They were here. They were alive. Bless had to be alive- he had to be- Volt and Harmony would get him out-

He'sgoingtodiethey'regoingtodie-

[its-xornoth-bitch]

RP Prompt #2

CWs: panic attack, memory loss, mentioned past abuse

Xornoth is sitting on the ground, with its head buried in its knees. He's muttering to himself, "What did I do to him?" over and over again, with the occasional "What happened?"