#but ever more distressed vy the words it winds

[amachja-moved]

IS SHE THAT OBVIOUS IN HER YEARNING? The wandering of bright blue eyes always and forever seeking the horizon. Seeking anything but what was right in front of her. Like a beast trapped in a cage forever prowling its parameter. Her cage is gilded now and it's so beautiful it hurts to look at. It was filled with every comfort she had ever been denied. A too-soft bed big enough to swim in, decadent meals so rich they could make her ill. People vying for her attention, watching her, wanting her. BUT IT WAS HOLLOW. Horrible and empty as the stories Freida had left her. It was not real –– SHE was not real. Even as she swapped them for her home in the country, she could not slip through the bars no matter how hard she tugged at them.

The girls sit huddled atop her overstuffed mattress, Historia gazing out of her window at the starry sky beyond with silver-rimmed eyes. She doesn't mean to cry, doesn't mean to upset her friend with incessant weeping. She hadn't meant to say the words she promised she never would, either. 'I want to leave. I want to run away. I don't want to do this anymore.' A show of weakness; like exposing her throat and expecting invisible wolves to appear and tear it out. Like the walls could hear to admissions and would report her doubts. She shifts, her belly too big to allow her much comfort anymore, the baby inside pressing into bones and organs at odd angles. A slim hand scrubs at her teary eye, damage control taking affect.

Before she can apologize, Sasha grasps her hands in her own. 'Know that I will go with you' & she would. Historia knew this in the depths of her soul. Sasha would leave everything behind and follow her straight into the wilderness. It was a startling revelation, one she could not quite wrap her mind around. She didn't deserve such devotion, such friendship. She had not earned it.

Tears ignore her warnings and trail fast and hot down her cheeks as Historia grips Sasha's hands tight in her own. A weary smile tugs at her lips ❝  No... I can't ask you to do that. Connie, Jean, the others... They need you. ❞ so do I... They needed each other in a way they didn't need her. That much had always been clear, even before she had been separated from them. Historia is the outlier. She always had been. A strange little creature in the shape of a girl, unsure how to navigate friendships and people with any real success. Cliques had formed and Historia felt far too odd to integrate herself into one. Ymir was like the wind and could slip wherever she pleased, dragging her along. With Ymir gone she is like marble, cold and unmoving. A lovely garden statue for those to gather around on a bright summers day before leaving without a second glance.

                     ❝ Besides... There's nowhere they won't find us. ❞

part II @worstheir​​

---------------- The dead of night has a way of stripping people down to bare bones. Moonlight gnaws at the skin, the flesh, the soul, cleanses it of all superficiality; and the process is infinitely more painful than anyone really cares to admit. The moon attacks Historia now, all regalia and composure cast aside like a discarded mask to reveal a faceful of bleeding wounds and tears. The shreds of it now lie in Sasha’s hands, standing watch over her friend’s demise like an owl watching over a cemetery at night. It is quiet, this breakdown. Too quiet. Sasha watches Historia with big bronze eyes brimming with powerlessness. Historia’s hand in hers feels so small and frail, and feverish; like it is on the brink of growing claws and attacking, and Sasha cannot help but wonder why she doesn’t. 

This is horrible. Sasha watches, and listens, with a taste of ash in her mouth, her throat dry and no words coming out. Historia’s tears don’t upset her. Only she wonders why they aren’t more. She can feel it, in her friend’s muted voice, in the sinking whirlwind in her bright blue eyes, the distress, the ache; and she wonders how Historia is not screaming, in this golden cage of hers. This golden cage they all conspired to put her in. Can’t, need, won’t; the queen’s words cut into her and leave her flesh exposed; but that smile that weary smile, is the worst of all. It’s okay, she seems to say; but Sasha can feel her turning to dust in the cusp of her palm. Still. It’s okay, she says.

But it’s not okay. 

“But don’t you need someone too?” Sasha comes out of her forest and steps into this cold, dead palace like a hurricane. Everything here works according to a certain order, and she has no qualms squashing it under her heavy, clumsy paws. Wide-eyed, she looks at Historia, at her friend, at her round belly and the child hiding within. And she wants to dig her claws into the tapestries and rip them apart, and catch Historia by the scruff of her neck and carry her and the baby out of here. Never mind Connie. Nevermind Jean. Nevermind the others -- well, no, not nevermind, but they will be okay without her, won’t they. She is nothing special - she is not a titan, not a genius, not a very good fighter, not a good tactician. What does she have to offer that they would miss so terribly? Nothing. And that’s okay. She has long made her peace with that. Useless as she is, there is one girl everyone has forgotten about, whose drowning she cannot stand to bear witness to and do nothing.

“So what if they find us? Let’em sweat, for once in their damn lives! They want a queen on the throne? Well, too bad, the queen’s takin’ a vacation!” Sasha squeezes her hand in hers, and grabs her by the shoulders, too brusque, too vivacious, her voice, her body, her everything too lively for this place entombing a poor girl’s soul and reshaping it into cold hard marble. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t the friend you deserve. I should have - I should’ve punched captain Levi and commander Erwin in the face right there and then and told ya to make a run for it.” She was so young back then, so young and stupid and overwhelmed; and now she knows it is no excuse. Historia was young and overwhelmed too, when they left her to the wolves. Out of the two of them, only one is paying the price of their foolishness. 

“Tell ya what. It doesn’t have to be today. Or tomorrow. Or next month, or next year - heck, ten minutes or ten years from now, ya want outta here? Y’say the word. An’ I’m gettin’ ya outta this hellhole.” Claws out, teeth bared, setting the whole damn place on fire, if need be. A wry smile blooms upon her lips, heart beating steadfast in her chest, invigorated by a promise she finally dares to believe herself able to keep. As insane as it is. About as insane as cutting down gigantic monsters, right? “An’ we can see how long it takes those dimwits to catch up with Paradis’ three most wanted.”

#worstheir #ic;; i'm going on an adventure (rp) #v;; beneath the mountain music woke (timeskip) #thank u for allowing me to unhinge that was lovely

[pedros-mustache-main]

Hello !!! I have a blurb request May I request reader x brain may? Reader has a major anxiety attack over something and Brian tries to calm them down. They end up passing out in his arms (partly from being exhausted, partly from hyperventalating). Their skin is clammy and pale. Their pulse is fast. Brian checks their breathing/pulse. peridiocally and puts them to bed. When they wake up, he comforts them. Fluffy ending please. Thankyousomuch !!! 🥺🥺🥺

how did you know i think about this at least once a week?! also, i put it under the cut cause this got ~very lengthy~ it’s literally the length of a small fic. i never claimed to be good at succinctness.

it was the crowd. at least, that’s what you blame it on when you wake up.

the show’s over, largely successful expect for the moment roger tossed his drumstick too high and couldn’t find his replacement. (he ended up drumming with his hand until crystal brought him another.) you’re tired, brian’s tired; it’s been a long weekend, and all you want to go is go home, curl up with a cup of tea, and fall asleep to the sound of your husband reading from one of his scientific journals that makes your eyes cross with confusion.

it starts—the familiar tightness in your chest, wrenching stomach, sweaty palms—as you follow him to the side-door of the venue. there’s normally a small collection of people waiting outside, pushed back by security, and you’ve gotten used to hiding your face from the cameras and waiting in the shadows for him to sign autographs and talk to fans. tonight, though, the crowd is different. you can hear them chanting before the door even opens, and when the door does open, the crowd is larger, rowdier, somehow more frenzied than you thought possible. it makes you nervous, but not nervous enough to say anything. it’s only for a moment; you can handle that much.

brian stiffens slightly when you step out of the venue and the night turns bright with the flash of cameras, the air filling with sounds of people calling his name, scrabbling for a sliver of attention. he looks over his shoulder, whispers, “i’ll just be a minute” before crossing to the steel gates holding the crowd back. you hesitate on the sidelines, mumbling in conversation with dominique while she, too, waits for her husband. 

when he’s finished signing and smiling and sweet-talking, brian turns away from the crowd and winds his arm around your waist. he draws you toward the back parking lot, his thumb working a soothing pattern over the bottom of your ribs.

but then one of the gates breaks loose. 

the crowd surges forward, hot on the heels of the band and, by mere proximity, the band’s entourage. 

“oh fuck!” it’s dominique who scrambles to the side first, out of the way of the onslaught of bodies. perhaps on instinct, she grabs your wrist and pulls you roughly against her side as the crowd engulfs you from all angles. 

the cameras are hot, the voices loud, and the crush of people breaks you out in a cold sweat. you squeeze dom’s fingers hard, turning your face away from the camera which sticks over your shoulder, trying desperately to find a good angle of the boys. you can barely see brian—just the outline of his head over the crowd—and he seems to be drifting further and further away as the mob undulates and grows.

“we gotta get out of here,” dom says, her voice as breathy as you feel.

you nod and swallow past your dry throat. “maybe... maybe if we just push our way through?”

“worth a shot. hold tight to me.” she lowers her head, her hand around your wrist like a vice, and starts shouldering her way through the lines of people. 

the majority of fans ignore you in their fervor to get closer, but a handful don’t appreciate the way you push them back in an attempt to break through to the other side of the mob. a few hurl choice words—bitch, slag, cow—in your direction; some merely growl and shoot dark looks. one woman, closer to the age of your mother than any of the lads, elbows you in the back as you retreat, and it knocks the wind out of you. you stumble forward, falling before you can stop yourself.

asphalt digs against the palms of your hands. it bites your flesh, sharp pinpricks of pain. darkness—darkness from the night, from the bodies squeezing in around your head—edges closer, threatening to swallow you whole. you suck in a deep breath, but it doesn’t reach your lungs. tears blur your vision.

oh my god, i’m gonna die.

the thought crosses your mind, and you hold tight because, truly, if the crowd pushes back, if they push forward, if they push to the side, if they move at all, you will be crushed, flattened like a bug to the pavement. 

clutching a hand to your sternum, you gulp for air. you want to cry, to scream, to make some sort of noise and let people know that you are here, on the ground, powerless to stand up. but your throat is too tight. the air passing through your mouth is thin, worthless. you’re going to pass out. you know this feeling, have felt it before. 

an overwhelming surge of embarrassment flows over you. to be trampled by a crowd of queen fans—what a way to go. your mother will surely be proud of the way your life turned out. 

you choke on a sob, still caught against the ground, now flattened, your shoulder digging into the pavement. faintly, you hear dom screaming your name, and you feel utterly ridiculous.

you wonder, briefly, before the world fades to black, your eyes rolling back in your head, if you remembered to turn the kettle off before leaving home. brian will be cross if not; he doesn’t like to waste the energy.

with the thought in mind, you succumb to the encroaching darkness and slump against the ground.

brian knows there’s something wrong before he hears dominique over the din of the crowd.

of course, it’s clear there’s something wrong. he’s surrounded on all sides by rabid fans, their arms frantically vying for his attention and approval, camera flashes like staccato notes before his eyes. 

fred stands to his left, still the picture of professionalism despite the fine line of frustration etched in his forehead. there’s too many cameras, too many people. no matter how close brian knows fred is to hitting the roof, he would never; not so publicly, at least. roger and john are elsewhere, a few paces off, also swarmed, also fighting the mounting anger. it’s written on their faces. brian’s sure he looks none-too-pleased as well.

where in the bloody hell is security?

more importantly, brian wonders. where the hell is my wife?

he’d lost you early in the fray, ripped apart by dominique’s quick thinking and even quicker feet. but he’d thought by now he’d at least have been able to grab a glimpse of you. if not by the safety of one of the trailers, then among the horde. he can’t find you, though, despite using his height as an advantage in the search.

but he finds dom, and the sheer panic on her face, her doe eyes wide and fearful, is enough to tell him that something isn’t right. he pauses, the pen in his hand stilling on the pad of paper. dom’s speaking to no one in particular, to anyone who will listen, but he can’t make out her words over the sounds clattering around him. he concentrates, focusing on her mouth, until he can make out the words fell down and it’s all he needs to know.

he drops the pen and paper and wades into the thick of the crowd, using his forearms and height to part the sea of bodies. and maybe it’s his forceful movements, maybe it’s the anger casting shadows on his face, or maybe it’s nerves, but people move out of the way easily, without comment. he doesn’t need to say anything; they just move. 

a hush falls over the crowd in a wave, passed along like a game of telephone. something is wrong, and brian isn’t happy is the message, and even those furthest away from the eye of the storm seem to get it.

dominique wrestles her way to brian’s side, face red and blotchy in panic. she breathes hard, gasping for air as she speaks. “i lost her,” she wheezes. “we got separated, but i saw her fall.”

“where?” his question comes as more of a command, but he can’t help it. he’s rarely angry, but tonight he’s royally pissed off. his hands clench to fists at his sides, his jaw set firm.

“i don’t know. i don’t know!” at this, dominique begins to cry. she presses her hand to her mouth, shaking her head back and forth in distress.

brian reaches out to steady her shoulder, opens his mouth to comfort, but before he can, a different, unfamiliar mouth fills the space.

“hey! can we have help over here? there’s a woman passed out!”

brian drops his hand like its touched hot metal and sidesteps those in his path, quick to maneuver his way to the huddle of people around a prone form on the ground. it’s your form, her realizes, the form he knows better than his own, has memorized with his fingertips and traced a thousand times over. his gut clenches, and he mutters “that’s my wife. out of the way” as he bends to pick you up. your head lolls against his shoulder, eyelashes fanned against your cheekbones.

carrying you as he does toward the stage door, he’s reminded of your wedding night: the way he carried you over the threshold in much the same fashion, snug against his chest, though you’d been conscious and giggling and pink with blush. tonight, you feel frail in his arms. your skin is clammy to the touch, breathing shallow.

someone holds the backstage door open, and he ducks into the cool hallway of the concert venue. shuffling through the hall, he makes his way to one of the dressing rooms and ever so gently lays you on the couch. the room is dim, partially stripped of the queen paraphernalia from moments ago. footsteps, hurried and hard, thump in the hallway. roger sticks his head in the doorway a moment later, dominique close behind.

“is she okay?” roger asks.

brian doesn’t tear his eyes away from your face, from the fluttering behind your eyelids and the uneasy rise and fall of your chest. “get me a damp wash cloth, please?”

roger nods. “be right back.”

you wake to the sound of a foot tapping against the linoleum floor. you don’t remember much about the evening. just the concert and then leaving and then the crowd—oh, you’d fallen, hadn’t you? maybe that’s why your head throbs and your shoulder aches.

you blink slowly, groaning as light from the ceiling aggravates your headache. you press the heel of your hand against your forehead. there’s something damp against your skin. a cloth perhaps? 

the couch dips as someone places their weight beside your legs. “[y/n]?” the voice is soft, melodic, a song you know well. “can you hear me?”

“brian?” when your eyes open completely and you see the strained face of your husband hovering over you, you try to push to your hands, to sit straight on the couch, but he gently holds you firm by the shoulders.

“no, no. just lay there for a minute. don’t move too fast.”

“what happened?” you twist, glancing about the room. your gaze runs over freddie and john and roger and dominique and crystal and ratty and gerry all smooshed together, shoulders touching, knees knocking, as they stare on at you in anticipation of your next move.

“some fucktard let the—” roger starts. dominique shushes him with a hand on his thigh.

“you fell,” brian says. he lifts a hand, brushes the hair away from your face. “got pinned down.”

“oh.” you frown as you try to remember, but the memory is too hazy. all you remember is the descent and nothing more. the rest is blank. “that doesn’t sound like fun.”

brian cracks a grin. “no, it doesn’t.”

you twist your hand around his fingers and smile, though the movement needles at your headache. “did you come save me?”

he shrugs. “not really.”

“that’s a lie!” freddie pipes up. “he carried you in here like fucking prince charming. i almost swooned.”

you chuckle then wince at a sharp pain in your ribs. “my knight in shining armor.”

he colors, dipping his head against the rise of blush in his cheeks. “hardly.”

your fingers run across his knuckles then pull him down by the wrist, crushing your arms around his back. you hold tight and whisper, “thank you, prince charming.”

you can feel his smile against the curve of your neck and his mouth against your skin as he says, “anything for you, princess.”

#brian may #brian may x reader #brian may fic #j blurbs

[nurturingflame]

Week in Review - 61

So we come to the end of ‘Aww, Rats!’ and we hope that you have enjoyed the adventure. Our next installment is ‘To Prune & Grow’ and will focus on the decisions the adults confront as their families grow closer together. 

Aww, Rats! 34-37

She became aware of what was happening in increments. First was the taste, strong and gamey yet at the same time sweet and metallic. At first the liquid had flowed down her throat like a river and she struggled not to drown in it. Then the rat's struggles became weaker and she took the opportunity to roll so that she had the advantage.

The larger mutant thrashed and struggled beneath, with time it's movements became weaker and further apart. Still, she refused to unclamp her jaws, she know that as long as she held firm the creature was occupied. As long as she didn't let go, Gwyn was safe.

Then the stillness came. The world around her was still. Her mind was still. The mutant beneath her was still. The only interuption was the beating of her own heart, rapid and pounding at first then slowing. When she realized that only her own heartbeat remained she finnally opened her jaws and the rat’s head fell to the conrete with a soft thud. She looked up from her kill, unconcousioulsy licking the blood that was dripping from her muzzle. It tasted like victory and she liked it.

Whipping her head around the cavernous space she was unable to locate either Gwyn or the boys. Then her ears rotated behind her as she heard them, faint and echoing, but nearby. She knew she needed to join them but for a moment it was hard to leave the still warm body of the mutant rat, it was her prize and she was loathe to abandon it. The sound of Gwyn’s distressed cries snapped her out of it. Even still, as the ferret made her way to the edge of level she was on, searching for a way down, she looked back with regret at having to leave before she could indulge in the feast she was leaving behind.

The conversation became clearer as she made her way to the others.

“You sure Master Splinter went down there.” Raph questioned.

“Yes. And we’re going after him.” Leo responded.

“What about April?”

“I have to get ice cream kitty back to the freezer.”

“Mom could be hurt, we have to help her.”

Donatello, Michelangelo and Gwyn were all talking over each other, vying for the leader’s attention. Even though she couldn't see them yet, Eliza could clearly visualize Leo pinching the bridge of his snout, and felt sympathy for the poor boy.

“Raph and I will go after Master Splinter and The Phoenix. You three find Mrs. V and head back to the lair.

“But…” Donnie's protest was cut short.

“April's with the humans right now. She’s not going to be able to get away from Irma anytime soon. Let her take care of it.” There was a pause but no more arguments were presented. “Text when you have an update.”

Eliza missed anything else that was said because the crumbling stairs she was descending decided to give way. She fell in a heap at the base, her already abused shoulder landing under her, causing her to cry out.

Leo and Raph disappeared down the shaft almost at the same time that the sound of falling rocks reached them. Instantly Gwyn was afraid that one of those big rats was coming back for them. Mikey pressed the closed, and meowing, cooler into her arms.

“Hold this and stay here. I'll be right back. Kay?” The girl nodded and he was gone, chasing after Donnie, nunchucks out and twirling.

They hadn't gone far, just around the next corner, when she heard them exclaim her mom's name. Ignoring the order to stay put she ran to meet them, only to get wrapped up in a hard turtley hug causing her to drop the cooler, which meowed it's displeasure at the mistreatment.

“Wha??”

“Trust me Nev, you do not want to see this.”

There was a grumpy grunt, followed by that particular kind of tone that came when her mom was completely ‘done’ with everything. “Would you stop scaring her Mikey. It's not mine. I’m fine.”

“Oh!” Mikey released her and when they turned the corner Gwyn couldn't blame him for being cautious. Mom looked terrible! She was covered in blood and dust. Her fur was stained, matted and sicking up at odd angles.

“Ma, you are a horror show.” Gwyn said with sarcastic awe.

“Thanks. How's the arm?” Her mom asked as Donnie helped her back to her feet gingerly.

“Hurts. He got me good.”

“Yeah, me too. But I got him last.” Her mutated mom smiled, blood still staining her mouth like a red popsicle. Gwyn couldn't suppress the small shiver that ran through her and her parents’ face fell. “Come on. Let's get back to the Lair.”

There was no protest.

It was an uneventful walk back. Donnie texted Leo that they were okay and in turn found out that their group had discovered the other adults relatively unharmed. Most of the way home Donnie spent lecturing Mikey on the dangers of mutagen. Mikey however was sneaking nose kisses with his new pet before closing the cooler again and pretending to pay attention to his irate brother.

Once back at the lair, her mom sent her off with Donnie to have her arm looked at.

“What about you?” The preteen asked.

“I've got to…” Her answer was interrupted by a loud gasp.

“Eliza!!!” The Phoenix called her voice laced with worry. She then turned on Donnie. “You said she was fine!!”

“I am.” Her mom snapped, though she wasn't looking at the Phoenix when she said it, but past her to where Master Splinter stood, looking more shocked than Gwyn had ever seen before. “I need to get cleaned up.”

With that the ferret marched to the bathroom, leaving only the echo of a slammed door in her wake.

Phoenix glanced at Splinter, whose eyes slowly turned from where Eliza had tromped off to, to the little healer at his side.  She walked past the children, to knock on the bathroom door.  “Eliza?” she called.  “May I come in?”

“No,” Eliza said firmly.

Phoenix glanced behind her, the turtles, Gwyn, and Splinter were all watching with confused looks on their faces.  

Eliza released a loaded sigh as she pressed her forehead against the closed door. She knew she was being rude, but Splinter was on the other side of that door and she didn't know if she could handle being near him right now.

“I just need to take a bath right now. I'm covered in blood...” she bit the inside of her cheek, her next words coming out strained, “rat blood.”

There was a heavy pause during which Eliza imagined a hundred different responses except the one she got. “Do you want help?”

The ferret smiled and if she trusted herself to open the door and not attack the delicious smelling rat mutant on the other side, she could have kissed the Phoenix. What did she ever do to deserve a friend like this. “No. No thankyou. I just need some space.”

“Okay.”

“Phoenix!” Eliza called out, afraid that the healer had already left.

“Yes.”

Eliza smiled gently even though her friend couldn’t see it. “I'm really glad you're okay.”

Splinter’s well endowed ears were trained on the door but he could only catch scraps of the Phoenix’s soft responses, all comforting phrases with a promise to return the next day before she pushed away from the bathroom’s entrance. Though the guarantee to come back was not directed at him, he could not deny the stirrings of relief within his tightened chest.

She returned to the group, where all eyes looked to her expectantly. With a tired sigh she put on a weak smile. “She’s fine. Just…” the small healer looked over her shoulder, worrying her lip slightly. “...just give her some space.” The Phoenix turned her attention back to the group, giving him a very meaningful look to indicate that the advice was to be headed by the rat in particular. Though he was uncertain, he nodded in acknowledgement, and her demeanor relaxed.

“Alright then, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m bushed.” Her words were just shy of a veiled order to disperse but the children took the hint anyway and went their separate ways. Donatello and Gywn to the lab, Michelangelo with his new pet to the kitchen while Raphael made his way to the dojo, from the way he held his tarnished sais, most likely to clean and oil his gear. Only Leonardo remained stoically by Splinter’s side, whether to make sure he was included in whatever conversation was going to occur next, or just to stay close to his father, the ninja master could not say for sure.

Phoenix nodded to them both in a silent goodbye and made towards the exit when Leonardo stepped into her path. “You’re not thinking about going out there alone are you?”

The small woman gave him an incredulous look. “If I want to go home. Yes.”

“It’s not safe.” his son stated firmly as he faced off with the woman.

“When is it ever?” She retorted, obviously not impressed with the teen. Splinter was amused by them both, his son’s attempt to ‘leader’ and the small woman’s boredom at his effort. Had it been another time Splinter would have indulged his fascination and allowed it to play out, but his eldest’s pleading glance for support broke him.

He dipped his head to the healer. “Phoenix, would you allow us to accompany you to the surface.”

“I don’t see the point. You took care of him.”

Splinter frowned, looking up to meet her gaze. “It would not be the first time an enemy we thought defeated has proven us wrong.” He could see a small battle wage within her eyes but before long she blinked and dipped her head in agreement.

The walk to the other side of the city was silent. Leonardo had insisted on coming along and Splinter was relieved by his presence. It had been a trying night for the rat mutant and it would take a long time for his own inner storm to settle. The healer’s presence only served to add to the tumult, she represented a change in the wind that Splinter felt himself unprepared to face. He was pleased to be at her side, yet glad that his son was just ahead of them, blazing a steady and efficient trail.  

The journey through the sewers passed quickly and soon they reached an exit well away from the lair and adjacent to the warehouse district. Leonardo acted as scout, making sure all was clear. This left Splinter alone with the healer for a brief moment, moonlight shining through the open manhole cover as she began to ascend the ladder to the surface.

Suddenly Splinter was panicked by her imminent departure, for what reason, he could not fathom. “Phoebe.”

She stopped on the ladder so that she was eye level with him. The shock at being called by her given name apparent on her face. “Yes.”

He was at a loss for words, feeling foolish for having called out to her in the first place. “Be safe.” He looked away, his thoughts jumbled before turning back again to meet her gaze. “You will come again soon?” It was more a request than a question and he was annoyed at himself for needing the reassurance of her return, she had already promised Elizabeth, that should be enough. It wasn’t. He wanted the vow for himself.

“I will.” Her gaze drifted downward before looking at him again. “See you soon.” Without further delay she ascended and Splinter felt a twinge at the lose of her presence.

The sewers became dark again as Leonardo replaced the manhole cover and jumped down to join his master. “Ready Sensei?”

Splinter didn’t answer aloud but started walking back towards the lair his son keeping pace silently at his side. The rat’s thoughts were full of the events of the night. Fate had been put in motion. There was change coming, he could feel it. He was not ready.

#nurturingflame #tmnt #TMNT 2012 #tmnt rp #roleplay #rp #au #oc #master splinter #Week In Review #illusion-na #lydjachan