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prismaticpichu · 11 months

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Because I know you've at least had ideas about this:

Zack convinces Sephiroth to play Mario Galaxy. He did not think about the library that could potentially spark an early Nibelhiem incident.

SPACE MOM OH YEAHHHHH!!!!! (The prompt is phenomenal shhshshde thank you!)

The two get into a groove almost immediately after the disc is inserted, with Sephiroth absolutely enthralled by the game’s celestial coating and Zack absolutely overjoyed that his buddy seems to like it. Seph is a quick learner too, grasping the controls and objectives as easy as pie, meaning they’re able to slide right into a comfortable system wherein control is alternated after each galaxy–Zack’s turns being nothing short of pacifist runs while Sephiroth finds catharsis in obliterating bloodless enemies. Time becomes nebulous as they play for hours on end, steamrolling through the levels and reaping the planets dry of star bits. They get into such a smooth rhythm, in fact, having such a blast zipping through galaxies, that they shoo away the pesky little pop-up that appears every time they collect a Power Star.

This eventually culminates in the credits rolling, Sephiroth not wanting it to end, and Zack remembering that they’ve yet to explore the library.

It also means they read the story all in one sitting. Hooooooo boy.

Chapter 1

“How many chapters are there?” Sephiroth quirks an eyebrow, reading the chalky text fading onto the screen. “And what is this music? A toddler’s lullaby?”

“Oh hush, bud.” Zack presses the button to continue.

Our story begins a very, very long time ago with a young girl. One day, this girl spotted a rusted spaceship holding a small star child.

“She seems very nonchalant about it,” Sephiroth grunts, must having to point out the obvious. Now that is just ridiculous. He could accept the space bunnies, and the turtle’s quest for intergalactic domination, and even the whole bee persona (that one was still weird)—but to make him suspend his disbelief to the point where a little girl wouldn’t run away screaming in terror? What kind of little girl was this?

“Some people love the unknown, y’know?” Zack shrugs with a grin, flimsily answering his questions. “I’d totally check out a spaceship if it crashed in my backyard.” He doesn’t wait for party pooper Seph to counter that statement before flipping the page.

And there, pressing that single A button, may have just been one of the top ten worst mistakes he’s ever made.

"What's your name? Are you lost?" the girl asked the star child.

“I'm Luma, and I'm waiting for Mama. She's coming for me on a comet!" said the star child, who had been waiting day and night.

Uh oh.

Sephiroth’s chest twists at the words—the word—appears on the screen before him. It’s not a complete knot yet, not something tethered to the point of constriction. But it’s there. And he feels it.

“You okay, bud?” Zack blinks towards his friend, seeing the discomfort. “Do you wanna—“

“Keep going,” Sephiroth orders tautly. “It’s fine.”

Unconvinced, but not wanting to disobey his buddy, Zack flips the page.

“Don't worry. I'll wait with you," the little girl promised Luma.

At nightfall, the little girl borrowed her father's telescope and peered into the sky. She looked and looked, but she saw nothing. Hours turned into days and then years, but still the sky revealed nothing.

Finally, the little girl sighed and said to Luma, "If we stay here looking much longer, I'll be an old lady soon."

But then she had an idea.

"Why don't we go out there and find your mother ourselves?"

The girl and Luma fixed up the rusty spaceship, and then the two set sail into the starry sky.

And this is how the search for the celestial mother began.

The word is almost ghostly on Sephiroth’s lips, almost like he isn’t even registering that it left them. It just cracked from his voice. Splintering from his heart.

“…Mother?”

By now Zack really notices the glazed look in Sephiroth’s eyes. He sets down the controller and scoots closer. Ifrit darn it… he knows the topic of family is an unhealed, sore, and raw subject for Seph. Why on Gaia would he ever make Seph play this part of the game? What kind of friend is he? A trashy one, that’s for sure.

“Hey, hey.” Zack wraps an arm around his buddy’s shoulders. “We don’t have to play anymore.”

“No,” Sephiroth protests. “I’m… intrigued by this story.” And he is. There’s a rift in him that has opened, a curiosity unveiled deep inside. A seed being planted by unseen hands.

Zack blinks, just as hesitant as before. But then he lets a smirk eclipse his face. “Even with the stupid opening?”

Sephiroth’s gaze floats towards him, staring longly. Numbly. Though a few blinks and the glass melts away, his friend’s words sink in, and a ghost of a smirk plays on his own lips. “I can forgive it.”

“Well okay then.” Zack scoops up the controller, ready to resume the game, but not before handing his pal the metaphorical wheel. “Just stop it whenever you want.”

Maybe it’s because of the arm wrapped around his shoulder, or the soothing music, but the next chapter turns out to be a much smoother ride. Seph even gets his devoid sense of humor back!

Chapter 2

Before they left, she had packed all the essentials: telescope, butterfly net, stuffed bunny, bread, milk, jam, and apricot-flavored tea, but…

“I believe she needs some source of oxygen,” Sephiroth points out.

"I forgot to bring water!"

Or that.

At this, Luma burst into gales of laughter, and the girl began to pout.

"As long as I have Star Bits, I'll be fine," said Luma. "Want some?" The little girl couldn't stay mad after hearing this.

Luma continued to laugh, and the girl couldn't help but join in.

"All right, maybe just a nibble."

Leaning far out of the ship, the pair began to collect Star Bits with the girl's net. They almost fell out a few times, but they kept on collecting.

The Star Bits tasted like honey.

By the time the chapter is over, Sephiroth’s faint smirk has melted into a smile. He flips the page.

The smile doesn’t last for very long.

Chapter 3

A beam of light pierced through the ship's window. Thinking it was the morning sun, the girl peered through the window, only to find a turquoise blue comet shimmering at her.

The little girl shook the sleeping Luma awake and shouted excitedly, "We HAVE to get to that comet!"

The pair descended on the comet and found that it was made of ice. They looked high and low, but Luma's mother was nowhere to be found.

“Awww…” Zack frowns, saddened by the outcome. The outcome that takes Sephiroth’s chest and tangles it into a tight, serrated knot.

They have been searching for so, so long… Perhaps Luma’s mother isn’t there at all. Perhaps she never was. Perhaps she left for a reason—perhaps she doesn’t care. She clearly doesn’t, if she abandoned her son like that, if she left him to the mercy of the world alone.

The seed twitches.

Or, perhaps… she is there… somewhere… waiting.

He continues on.

Exhausted, the little girl sat down with a flop, utterly unable to take another step.

"Look!"

Peering down at the icy ground where Luma was pointing, the girl suddenly noticed clusters of Star Bits encased in the ice.

"Pretty good, huh? Finding Star Bits is my specialty!" said Luma, beaming.

"There's ice here, but it's so warm, I'll bet there's water here too."

The two decided to stay on the comet for a while.

Riding the turquoise comet, the pair continued their search for Luma's mother.

Sephiroth remains silent, numbly flipping the page. He hardly hears Zack’s check-in.

Chapter 4

One night, the girl dreamed about her own mother.

"Where are you going?" she asked her mother's retreating back.

Abruptly, Sephiroth pauses the game.

“I… dream about my Mother.”

Zack cants his head, not exactly sure how to respond to such a statement. Seph’s shoulders have also stiffened to an uncomfortable degree—almost wintery, like the blood suddenly went cold. He removes his arm.

“…What kind of dreams?” Zack asks delicately. Did someone turn the A/C on or what?

“…She calls to me…” Sephiroth says, that cold glaze returning to his eyes. “That I should find her. That she’s there. That she’s…” The man’s hands ball into fists, tightening, reptilian eyes narrowing as he spat out the last word. “Trapped.”

Zack shrinks back against the pillows, confused and chilled. “Seph, you’re scaring me. C’mon.”

“She’s there. Somewhere.” His lips curl into a snarl, voice honing, eyes daggerous. “My mother.” He glances up to the ceiling, as if he could burn right through it and be swallowed by the night sky. “You’re there, somewhere. I know you are. I know you are. You’re there—“

“Snap out of it, Seph.”

Without thinking Zack swipes a glass of water off the coffee table and sloshes it in Sephiroth’s face. The icy liquid claps his trap mid-sentence, and he sits there, paralyzed, water dripping from his damp bangs, the emerald eyes going wide and a myriad of emotions flickering through them. First shock, then anger, then confusion, and then…

Sadness.

A noticeable light dims in the Mako-made irises as Sephiroth charges to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Zack sits there for Ifrit knows how long, enveloped in the silence, staring blankly at the closed washroom door.

Seph looked so… crushed in those last few seconds, when whatever smog was there had cleared from his eyes. He looked so lost. So aching. And what is he doing here, holding an empty cup and watching. That’s his best friend in there!

Setting down the glass, Zack gingerly makes his way across the den to the bathroom, pressing his ear against it.

Breathing. Sharp, rattled breathing. That’s what he hears.

“Seph…” Zack knocks against the door, two tender raps. “You okay?”

Upon hearing no answer, Zack waits a couple more beats. And when that also carries silence, he carefully creaks the door open, stepping inside.

To be greeted by the sight of Seph tucked against the wall. His shoulders are quivering, sharp-nailed fingers digging into the ridges on his coat, the uneven breaths he heard through the door all the more audible now. It shattered Zack’s heart.

“Hey…” He slides down the wall beside him, wrapping his arm back around his shoulders, soft and thawed. “It’s okay, bud. It’s okay…”

“My mother….” Sephiroth repeats… except this time, the words are nothing short of hollow. Broken. “I lost mine so long ago. I never even met her. I never will.” He sucks in his breath, a turbulent inhale. “She’ll never be there. No matter where I look.”

Zack rubs smooth, soothing circles along his friend’s back, through the gushing silver strands. There’s nothing he can say to make Seph’s pain go away. No magic words, no magic to assuage him. All he can do is listen, letting Seph know that he’s here, and that he cares. Cares more than anything.

“I know, Seph…” Zack says quietly… pained, “I know it hurts.”

Sephiroth trembles. There’s no dam for his thoughts anymore, no hesitations. Not with his current presence. “Sometimes… I think that she abandoned me, like she did to Luma. Perhaps she didn’t want me, or perhaps I wasn’t strong enough, or…” He buries his head deeper, squeezing his eyes shut.

Zack squeezes him even tighter in reassurance. “You are the strongest person I’ve ever met, Seph. She wanted you, Seph. I know she did. And if she saw you now… oh man…” A soft, wan smile blooms on his lips. “You have no idea how proud she would be.”

Sephiroth lifts his chin, silent, blinking hazily towards his best friend, the catlike eyes wide and vulnerable as they drift in the emerald ponds. They let the silence blanket them for another swathe of time, the hum of the gaming system just barely there through the door.

“…You wanna finish the story?” Zack tenderly asks, like asking a rattled child if they can turn off the lights.

Sephiroth collects his breath, sighing deeply, unfolding himself from the wall. He brushes the spillage of locks out from his face. “…I’m an adult,” he tries to huff.

The comment’s enough to make Zack smirk. “Yeah, but you’re still my bestest buddy. I gotta look after you.”

They end up back on the couch minutes later, Zack practically smushed against his pal this time as he takes control of the remote again. Slowly, sparing a check-in glance to Seph, Zack resumes the story.

“Where are you going?" she asked her mother's retreating back.

Without turning, her mother replied, "Don't fret, dearest. I'm not going anywhere. I'm always watching over you, like the sun in the day and the moon in the night."

A wave of sadness washed over the girl.

"What about when it rains, and I can't see the sun or the moon?"

Her mother thought for a moment before responding.

"I will turn into a star in the clouds and wait for your tears to dry."

When she awoke, the girl's face was damp with tears.

"You have Star Bits in your eyes!" said Luma to the girl.

Wiping her face, the girl replied, "These are tears, not Star Bits. I'm crying because I'll never see my mother ever again!"

At this, Luma began to cry too. "Mama, oh, Mama... Waaaah!"

The faint, stifled sound of water plunking on plush catches Zack’s attention. Blue eyes lift, and that’s when he sees a single, glistening pearl rivering down his friend’s cheek. Zack’s heart bleeds with sympathy.

“Bud…” He reaches forward, dabbing the raindrop off with his hand. As Seph glances at him, the fragile piano music hitting its highest notes, a wobbly but true kind of smile forms on Zack’s face. “You’re crying star bits, Seph.”

There’s something about the way he says it, or the derpiness of his smile… but it’s contagious; Sephiroth’s would-be stoic features get infected with a stupid smile of his own. A silent nod tells Zack to continue.

The pair traveled through the starry skies, and though they encountered many other comets, not one of them held Luma's mother.

Luma was despondent.

"Now, now, Luma. The rain clouds won't go away if you keep crying," the girl said, giving Luma a squeeze. "I'll give you a present if you stop."

The girl closed her eyes and said gently, "I'll take care of you."

With these words, she felt a small spark in her heart.

And so does Sephiroth, as he and Zack share another soft smile, realizing the rift is being sewn together by the second. Realizing the cement filling the craters. The warmth filling the ice.

For the first time in a long while, if ever, it’s neither of them that initiates the hug. Zack pulls his best buddy close and Sephiroth holds him tight, resting his head against the boy’s shoulder as he lets himself be cocooned in the solace, the warmth, the love… love that is right here, right on the ground, alive and real and wanting to be beside him.

“Thank you…” Sephiroth mumbles. For everything…

Zack swells with warmth as he burrows into Seph’s collar in turn, his heart practically throbbing, the rhythm aligned like stars in the cosmos against his friend’s. “Gotta take care of my buddy.”

The rest of the story is smooth sailing.

Suddenly, more Lumas began to pop out from the apricot planet. They were different colors, but they all shouted the same thing.

"My mama!" "My mama!"

The sight of all the shouting Lumas only made the girl laugh harder. "What am I going to do with all these children?!"

The two laughed in harmony, Sephiroth finally amused by the absurdity of it all.

Peeking into the telescope, a tiny blue dot floated into sight. It was smaller than a Star Bit.

"How strange... It's so far away, but it feels so close."

She twisted the knob of the telescope, and the blue dot grew until she could make out a grassy hill dotted with flowers. It seemed very familiar to her.

Zooming even closer, a terrace on the hill came into view.

"I used to go stargazing there when I lived on my home planet."

Even through the more tumultuous parts, Zack just clutched his friend’s arm tightly, letting them brace the tale together.

"I want to go home! I want to go home right now!"

The girl burst into tears, and the Lumas didn't know what to do.

"I want to go home! I want to go back to my house by the hill! I want to see my mother!"

The girl was shouting now, her face wet with tears.

"But I know she's not there! I knew all along that she wasn't out there in the sky! Because...because..."

"She's sleeping under the tree on the hill!"

Sephiroth’s chest tightens; Zack unties the knots.

Though usually quite cheery, one day the girl became sad again. Luma drew close and tried to comfort her.

"Mama, you still have me!"

"And don't be sad about your mama, because she's a part of you! That means she's always close by!"

"It's like me. I love Star Bits because they remind me of my mama."

Zack gives his friend one last squeeze, seeing Sephiroth’s face fall. “She’ll always be with you, Seph. Always. And hey.. I’m not so bad to be with, right?” Zack sticks out his tongue, blinking in the most innocent, derpy manner that always reaps a chuckle from Seph.

Including now. “No,” Seph smiles, and spontaneously ruffles his friend’s hair. “You’re not.”

Moral of the story: ZACK IS SPACE MOM.

#sephiroth #ffvii #crisis core #zack fair #asks #ty!!#mario galaxy #WHY IS THIS SO LONG OMG FORGIVE ME #fangirl #randomness #weenie hut jrs #the perfect game for Seph!#until it's not #whoopsie doodle #this ain't a proper fic or anything the chapters correspond with rosalina's story lmao #THE MUSIC #jenova #mumsy

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beetlegoose01 · 1 year

Text

Home

A Foot Too Big Ending Rewrite

Read on AO3

~•~

Donatello stood tall, resting his palms against the mahogany banister barely keeping the porch, let alone the entire cabin together. He found himself listening to the sounds of the woods. The wind wisps about, the birds chirping their midday song, and the rustling of leaves flowing in the breeze.

He closed his eyes. He had never experienced anything like this. Being in nature was a foreign concept, having lived in the sewers of New York City for most of his life. And the moments he did leave the sewers, he and his brothers were left to deal with robots, ninjas, and mutants.

And now, apparently Bigfoot too.

If someone had approached him saying Bigfoot was real, that all the conspiracy theories from those podcasts he listened to were actually legit, he would have believed it without a second thought. He was a mutant turtle after all. Nothing surprised him anymore.

Yet despite this, he was still utterly surprised at seeing how Bigfoot truly was. It- no, she was an enigma in her own right.

She was no mythological creature made up by bored humans to scare others and spread conspiracy theories. She was real. She was real and alive and...obsessed with him. To a creepy degree. She was affectionate, sensitive, trailing him around like a hungry puppy looking for a snack. It was tiresome. It was embarrassing.

"Now you know how April feels." Raph's voice echoed in his mind.

He knew what that meant. It took a while, but he finally did. He was Bigfoot to April. A disgusting, sad individual who followed her around and embarrassed her. It was why she cringed after he made her the music box gift. It was also why she smiled at him, and hugged him with some devotion, but no true love behind her eyes.

He had fucked up. Badly.

"Hey stranger!" April chirped from behind him.

"Gah!" He yelped in surprise.

She grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, I...thought you heard me walk outside. Guess these slippers are too quiet." She gestured to her rainbow narwhal slippers.

Even with how beautiful she was, he felt sick to his stomach.

"Everything alright? You look as concerned as Mikey did when I told him we ran out of frozen pizza last night."

That made him chuckle a bit. "Yeah I'm fine. It's been...a weird day.

April snorted. "You can say that again.

With mischief dancing in his eyes, he said it again. "It's been a weird day."

"Smartass."

He smirked. "It's what I do best. So...listen, about earlier---" His expression turned to that of pleading and anxious. "I'm sorry about the music box. I thought you would like it, and I dunno, I wanted to show my appreciation for you and it backfired and made me look desperate and-"

April's expression softened. "Donnie, please."

He couldn't help but hide his face in shame. "You must hate me now."

"No, Donnie, I could never...I would never hate you. Ever. You're one of my best friends in the whole world. I- I know I haven't exactly been the greatest friend ever, but I want you to know that I appreciate you guys so much. Even when I've acted off, you've always stuck by my side. I know it hasn't been easy to deal with me.

We've been through so much. So much loss."

Donnie realized that she was not only talking about her father, but Splinter, and the city too.

April exhaled. "Before Leo woke up, I was terrified we would lose him too. And that...we could all lose each other at any point. And that scares me so much." Her voice trembled slightly.

Donnie's heart wanted to hug her. To comfort her, to let her know that he would never leave her. But something in the back of his mind held him back, to listen.

"Donnie, I'm scared I'm going to lose you," She whispered.

"You won't." He assured her without missing a single beat.

"I already have."

Donnie blinked incredulously. "What? No, no, no you haven't. I'm right here, I promise, I will never leave you. You can count on me."

April traced the banister with one fingertip, not looking back at him. "I've been having visions late at night when I can't sleep. They were like nightmares, but instead of forgetting them in the morning, they stuck around. And they're so clear and vivid too, I can't possibly forget them." She turned towards the stars, squinting as though she was recalling everything in her head.

"I feel tension. Hatred. Discomfort. And then...nothing. Like it all disappears. You're all gone."

"Gone?" He echoed.

"Yes, gone. Like I said, it's only visions. But sometimes, I worry that it's already happening. You know---" She pointed towards herself, then back at him. "Your whole vendetta with Casey."

Donnie winced. "Oh...with me and Casey." He swallowed and folded his hands. "It's, well, I thought you knew but ah... The truth is April, I like you a lot. As in, more than friends." His cheeks heated up. "I realized Casey had feelings for you too, and I guess I felt jealous. I went to extreme measures just to get you to notice me."

April's eyes widened, stunned. "Oh Donnie...I'm so sorry I---"

"I know, I understand now after I dealt with Bigfoot. I'm this sad thing that follows you around. I'm just a mutant."

"What? Donnie, I'm a mutant too! Have you already forgotten that?"

"That's different, you're---"

"Human passing, I know, and I will never truly understand the struggles you and your brothers have gone through. Our experiences will always be different, but my point still stands."

She reached out her hand, but the purple turtle pulled his away. "What about Casey?" Donnie asked.

She frowned. "What about him?"

"Ever since he joined our group, he's been...closer with you. I always felt so frustrated and angry, and maybe a little jealous. It's like he was intentionally getting under my skin by flirting with you."

"Right..." April couldn't hide the slight discomfort in her expression.

"And I guess I assumed you liked it. Him. You like him."

She groaned. "I feel like no matter what answer I say will be the wrong one."

Donnie stared at her, startled. "What?

"Like I'm a mouse running through a maze, but all the corners are closed in."

"That's not true--- it's your feelings."

"Is it?" April chuckled half-hardheartedly to herself. "You just said how Casey made you feel uncomfortable every time he was friendly with me. Because we're friends." Donnie was surprised to see her scoff, almost cynical with her response. "It was never about my own feelings, it was all about you and Casey's. Because if I pick one of you, the other will be upset. And if I pick neither? Then I've ruined everything."

"But why do I have to make the big decisions? Why do we have to make everything so complicated? I just want to get along with everyone. I wanted friends, I wanted ...a family I---" Her voice cracked, and Donnie swore he could see her eyes glisten with tears that she roughly rubbed away. "I'm ..."

"April...I'm so sorry."

"Don't. Please. I don't want to hear it. I just want it to stop. I want my dad back. I want our home and...our lives to be normal again. I want to stop the Kraang and remain friends forever."

Donnie nodded firmly. "I want to fix this."

"I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn't have acted the way I did. Especially after everything we've been through. I guess...I was just so focused on impressing you, and making you like me that I lost sight of what's really important." He smiled. "The bond we have as friends."

April lifted her head slowly.

"I know....words can't repair what I've done. I know I've hurt you. But if you'd rather be friends, then that's cool with me."

"Really?"

"I respect your feelings too much to let you get worked up over something like this. I actually like us being friends more, now that I think about it."

"Oh..." She wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace. "I'm so relieved to hear that, D. I'll tell Casey too!"

The truth was, nothing had changed between them. Their friendship and love for each other was as strong as ever.

Perhaps even stronger.

#this is my way of calling out the 2012 April haters #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles 2012 #donatello #tmnt donatello #donatello hamato #april o neil #not apriltello #tmnt april #tmnt april o neil

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lottiebagley · 3 years

Text

Pumpkin- Fred Weasley

We're heavy liftin' but we're feelin' fine We think it's funny when we look at the time I know co-dependency has dragged me out But I really don't think that's what this is about

The group of sixth year Gryffindor students sit around under a tree by the black lake waiting for the arrival of their friend. Y/N Malfoy was quite similar to her family in most ways, ambitious, cunning, loyal and scheming, admittedly also a little bitchy with a flare for the dramatic. The difference being important though, she used all of these skills for good. Surrounding herself in a group of Gryffindor's despite being Slytherin simply because they made her laugh, she had never cared over blood or house supremacy and it drove her father mad, her mother to worry constantly and her younger brother to quietly admire her, although he'd be caught dead before saying it.

"Here she is," Lee grins widely watching the girl approach

"You're late," Fred comments, a smirk on his face and teasing lilt to his voice

"Can it Pumpkin,"

"Okay that joke has never and will never be funny," He groans as she drops to the ground next to her friends, fanning her face from the summer heat as she lays in the warmth, her shorts and top showing more skin than her family would approve of.

"Whatever you say Pumpkin," She grins, reaching her hand up to pat Fred's cheek as he leans his back against the tree.

"Why are you late?" Angelina questions, her head in her boyfriends lap. She laughs loudly when the girl says nothing simply smirks.

"Seriously? Again?" Alicia questions, laughter in her voice

"Wait! What don't we know?" Fred pouts dramatically, pushing himself up from the tree. His feelings for the girl glaring brightly. He may as well have a bright flashing sign pointing to him that says he's head over heels for his best friend who doesn't believe in love.

"There's no we. Just you I'm afraid," Lee smirks, Fred's heart sinks a little when he notices his twin brother sympathetic smile.

"Our little golden child-" Angelina starts

"She has never been a golden child," Lee interrupts

"Shut up. Our little golden child has been sleeping with Adrian Pucey," Angelina grins.

Fred feels his heart drop to his feet. Splintering into 1000 pieces.

"Merlin, your parents would approve," he comments, feeling the eyes on him waiting for a response

"They won't need to. It's just casual sex," she shrugs. She isn't sure why she feels such an urgency to make sure Fred knows it's not serious. Sure, he flirts with her but she always kind of assumed it was a joke, so of course it wasn't the guilt making her want to scream at him that she was still single. It wasn't feelings either. There's no point in feelings.

"I wish I could do that," Alicia sighs wistfully, Fred glad the attention is off him "Just have casual sex, flings that mean nothing. I get so attached so quickly," she rambles before turning her head to face her friend, who is eyeing Fred with suspicion, trying to work out if he's just tired or if he's upset. "How d'you do it?"

"It's simple Li, there's no point in catching feelings. Love is treated like some inevitable thing that happens to everyone but it's not. I won't ever fall in love. Most people don't. Boys are going to hurt you time and time again so there's no point investing your happiness in them. The new relationship glow dies and you end up alone. Embrace the fact you've only got you to count on and life becomes easier," She explains

"How can you know someone isn't going to just come in and sweep you off your feet?" George questions, eyes flickering between the girl talking and his brother who is staring into space almost like he's trying to block out whatever the girl is saying.

"Life just doesn't work like that,"

I wanna give it all, I know I will 'Cause blueberry eyes seem to make time still We can boogie in the sunshine with some Burt's Bees And I know you like to pull the leaves off trees

"Thought love was stupid and pointless and made up," Fred quips, his voice in her ear making her jump in the otherwise empty corridor, taken by surprise at his presence.

"Shit!" she shrieks, hand swatting him away from her "You know most people say hello Pumpkin," she adds

"Hi darling," He grins

"Hi," she responds with a smile, not sure why she's blushing a little

"Back to my point about love,"

"You never actually made it," She retorts, eyes shining in the moonlit corridor

"Are you not on your way back from a secret meeting with one Adrian Pucey?" He questions, beginning to walk in the direction of the Slytherin common room, making sure to slow his steps down a little on regards of her much shorter legs.

"And if I am?"

"You've been spending an awful lot of time with him recently is all," Fred comments. Eyes focused on her as she quiets for a moment thinking.

"He's not the worst person to be around," She shrugs, he hums in response. He isn't sure what to say. He expected her to shoot down his accusation but instead she had admitted to liking Adrian.

"Why are you up so late and lurking near the Slytherin commons?" she questions, expecting an elaborate prank to be explained.

"Someone had to make sure you made it to bed safely," He shrugs, she hopes in the dark he won't see her blush, although he can and it makes his heart skip a beat.

"Pumpkin, anyone would think you care," She teases gently

"I do. In fact I care more about you than anyone else I know," He admits, his sincerity and vulnerability a change to their usual playful tone.

"I feel the same for you," She admits as they come to a stop outside the Slytherin common room.

"You sure do know how to make a guy feel special," He smirks, leaning against the wall next to the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

"I think love is stupid and fake and I don't believe in the whole one true love, soulmate bullshit," She announces, a look in her eyes that Fred has never seen before as she stares up at him.

"I know that," He smiles gently, enjoying the way she's standing a little too close for just friends.

"I'm difficult and tricky and emotionally unavailable and I'm a stupid person to have feelings for,"

"I know that," He smirks widely

"I'm sensitive and if this is all some joke-"

"What's this?" He questions, a cocky grin on his face and an eyebrow raises. She sighs

"This!" She exclaims, gesturing between them "You treating me special and flirting and walking me to all my classes and back to my common room every night and carrying my bag and-" She begins to ramble

"No joke," He assures, hands held up in surrender

"I don't believe in love and I think feelings are stupid,"

"You've mentioned,"

"But, you should know that if anyone were going to change that it would not be Adrian Pucey,"

"Are you saying it would be me, sweetheart?"

"Don't get too cocky pumpkin," She smirks, before turning away from him and slipping into her common room, leaving Fred stood in the corridor with a lovestruck grin on his face.

I used to think that Romeo was full of shit And the Notebook was just my favourite chick flick But now I get why Sarah was so hard to forget It's this feeling that I'm feeling like Nemo in a net

She sits next to Alicia in the Room of Requirement, patiently awaiting the boys as they mingle with the other party goers. Sipping on their drinks and talking over the loud music.

"Are you staring at Fred?" Alicia questions, eyes following where she's staring off into the distance. Fred is standing with a cup in each hand. One that he regularly raises to his mouth as he laughs with a few Hufflepuff boys. The other that he holds from the top, hand easily large enough to cover the whole top, although he continuously glances down to check there's no opening. He looks good, his height meaning he's a head taller than the other boys, his white shirt slightly too tight meaning his muscles bulge in it.

"Hmm?" She questions, forcing her eyes away from the boy, glad he hadn't caught onto her staring

"Oh my god! You were!" Alicia cheers

"I was?"

"Staring at Fred all gooey eyed and lovestruck. Can't say I'm surprised there's been way too much sexual tension between you two for like ever,"

"I wasn't. I was simply looking at him cause he said he'd bring me another drink and I'm nearly out," She retaliates, Alicia looks at her questioningly for a second, but after glancing at her nearly empty cup seems to believe it. She'd probably have questioned it more if Angelina hadn't arrived, taking the empty seat next to the girl.

"How's Adrian?" Angelina smirks widely from behind her cup

"Uh, I wouldn't know," She admits, adjusting her short black dress a little

"What? You had one of the best looking boys in school for casual, steamy sex and you ended it?" Alicia gasps, looking at the girl in front of her like she's insane

"There was nothing to end," The girls shrugs, taking a chug of her drink, emptying the glass and placing it down.

"Why the fuck would you stop sleeping with him? He's fit," Angelina pesters, she's saved from having to come up with a lie when Fred arrives in front of the girls, offering the drink he's been protecting with his hand to her.

"Chug that and come dance with me," He demands, she raises her eyebrow at him

"Friends can dance together y'know?" He smirks widely, the line between friends and more seeming to fade and darken back and forth constantly between them.

"To friends then Pumpkin," She smirks, accepting the cup and chugging the alcohol despite the slight burn in her throat.

"M'Lady," He grins, offering a hand that she takes whilst rolling her eyes, allowing him to pull her away from the girls.

"That is why you stop sleeping with a boy as fit as Adrian Pucey," Alicia smirks to Angelina who laughs at the comment.

"Spoilt for choice," Angelina chimes

Pumpkin, pumpkin You're gonna kill me Pumpkin, pumpkin La, la la la la, la Pumpkin, pumpkin I need you to feel me Pumpkin, pumpkin La, la la la la, la

"You know darling, people might think you like me," He whispers into her ear, hot breath sending a small shiver down her spine that makes smirk grow wider.

"People should keep their noses out," She responds, spinning to face him.

Her chest flush to his, her hands finding place on his shoulders as she moves her hips against him. Practically grinding to the music playing through the party.

"I like this dress," He compliments, eyes raking her up and down with dark eyes, hands trailing up and down her body

"Take your hand of my arse Pumpkin," She smirks, although she says nothing else when he doesn't, the warning more a habit than her actually caring

"You brother is watching us," Fred comments, focusing on not letting his eyes drop to the curve of her breasts that are pushed up, practically spilling from the little black dress

"Father will be happy to hear all about this," She smirks, earning a chuckle from Fred

"You not worried about it?" He questions, ignoring the weird need in his chest to place kisses to her neck, wanting more than a little to mark her up.

"I've been disappointing him long enough," She shrugs, one hand dropping from around his shoulder to trail down his chest, unable to stop herself from wanting to feel the toned muscles under the shirt

"Ever the bad girl," He smirks, a feeling of pride in his chest when he notices her eyes darken a little.

"That's low," She comments with a smirk "Besides father knows we are friends and this is a friendly dance," She adds, turning back around to press her back to his chest, rolling her hips to push her arse into him.

"I certainly hope you don't dance with all your friends like this," He smirks, leaning down a little, a tight grip on her hips, dictating the speed of her teasing movements.

"Only my favourites," She grins.

Fred is glad she's not facing him or he's pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from kissing her.

We're cruisin' slowly but we're movin' fast We both decided to thank our past We've got a hundred lists of things we wanna do But I'm also cool just doin' nothin' with you

When Fred had bid her goodbye for the summer his heart and stung a little. He hated not being able to see her over the holidays. He hated that Adrian Pucey would be around all the time due to their families friendship. He hated that although she acted like it didn't her father's constant criticism hurt her.

It was because of the very last reason that when they were in third year George had scribbled their address onto a piece of parchment and given it to her with a smile and a whisper of 'if you need us we would love to see you'. She'd never used the paper before. Writing to the twins and their friends, and holding out through the summer. She'd kept the paper though, tucked in between an old fairytale book in her bedroom.

Standing at 7:30 in the morning on the doorstep to the burrow, school trunk in tow and eyes sore from crying she wondered if the offer had long since expired.

Molly Weasley knew of her. She knew that the Malfoy's had a daughter and assumed she'd be as stuck up and rude as the best. Then her boys came home after their first term talking with bright smile and enthusiasm of their new friend and she was shocked when over and over again the name Y/N Malfoy was in the stories. By the end of their first year, with their letters and excited chatter she'd grown to know the girl was nothing like her family, instead she was a friend of her twins and by default Molly loved the girl, happy to see her boys happy. By Christmas of third years she realised that George loved the girl like a sister and Fred loved her as a lot more.

Despite all of this she'd never spoken to the girl. The Malfoy's whisking her away from her friends at the train station before she could even say 'goodbye' with cold eyes and snarls. Therefore she was more than surprised to pull the door open and see her with blotchy tear stained skin and silk pj shorts, a sweater she knit herself with a large 'F' on the front almost drowning her.

"Hi deary," Molly smiles gently

"I'm so sorry to intrude-I-it- I couldn't be there any longer. The boys said years ago I could come here if I ever needed and-I- I'm sorry that was years ago and the offer is way past expired- Sorry to bother you, this was stupid. I'll just be going," She rambles, cutting herself off and hiccuping the words out.

"You'll do no such thing. Come in," Molly instructs, pulling the door wider to allow her to come in. She smiles gratefully, grabbing her trunk and tugging it behind her into the house.

She looks around and can't help the small smile. The house is more of a home then any she'd ever been in before. Lived in and warm and bright and she could feel the love radiating through it. It made perfect sense that the twins grew up here.

"Leave your bag by the door. One of the twins can carry it up later. Take a seat while I make breakfast and let's, you and I, have a chat. I'm afraid the twins won't be up for hours," Molly offers. The girl nods, shooting her a smile and sitting down.

"Tea?" Molly questions

"Please," She responds almost timidly, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her jumper trying to dry the dampness. Molly nods, sending the girl a gentle smile and flicking her wand, the pots jumping into action making the tea.

"Now, dear, do you want to talk about it?" Molly asks gently

"No. Sorry. I just need to process," She admits

"It's no worry, you just make sure not to keep it all bottled up. Whenever you are ready we are all here for you, you can stay as long as you like, alright?"

"Thank you Mrs Weasley,"

"Please dear, call me Molly,"

"Molly," The girl nods, taking the tea she is offered with a thanks.

"Now, do your parents know you're here?"

"No, I left late last night. Father and I argued and I went up stairs and packed and just kinda," she trails off

"Left in the middle of the night with no explanation," it's Ginny's voice that speaks from behind her.

"Hey Ginny," The girl grins, jumping up to hug the younger girl who happily returns it. The Weasley kid's all liked her having had her company forced on them by the twins at school.

"Hey, Fred's going to be so happy to see you," Ginny smirks, laughing when the girl blushes, eyes staring down to not look at Molly who is smiling widely.

"You need to let your parents know you are safe," Molly instructs as the two girls sit down.

"They won't care," She shrugs, Molly's motherly glare quickly shot at her "but I'll let them know," She assures

"How'd you even get here?" Ginny questions

"The knight bus,"

By the time the girls have had breakfast and caught up it's 9AM and the both Harry and Ron arrive in the kitchen, greeting the newest addition to the home with a hug and teases of Fred's excitement. By 10AM George has arrived downstairs, elated to see one of his best friends, pulling her into a tight bear hug before ruffling her hair.

George and her are sprawled out in the garden, backs in the grass, both clad in pjs, easy conversation flowing and her feeling 1000 times happier than she did that morning by 11AM

"Merlin, Georgie, we are supposed to be working on puking pastilles and you're lounging about in the garden," Fred's voice shouts, leaning out of his window, to see his twin, not yet seeing the girl who is leaning against the wall, out of his eye line.

"I'm entertaining our guest!" George quips

"Guest? Is this you weird way of saying we have to de-gnome the garden again?"

"No. But we do need to," George responds

"Hey Pumpkin," The girl calls out, shuffling to be next to George and in Fred's eye sight.

Fred's face is overtaken by a wide grin, almost instantly he's out of the window, sprinting down the stairs and hurtling into the garden.

She jogs to meet him, laughing when he lifts her into the air spins her around, her legs wrapping around his waist as she grins down at him.

"Merlin, I missed you,"

"I missed you too. A lot," She admits, hating the way her heart is hammering in her chest.

"What're you doing here?" He asks, concern over taking his features, his hands still gripping her tightly as he holds her up

"I really don't want to talk about it yet," She admits

"But you're okay?"

"I am now," She assures, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek and smirking when he blushes.

"Merlin, it was two weeks not two years," George comments, breaking the moment up now he feels he's given them enough time.

Fred sighs, wishing he'd had the nerve to just kiss her like he so badly wanted to but nervous how she'd react, the though of ruining their friendship striking fear in his heart.

He places her down delicately and insists on giving her a tour of the house, Molly watches with a fond smile at the way her son can't stop grinning all day.

I ran in circles on a Monday night You had to go so you could make your flight I looked at my mom and said, "What do I do?" She said, "This look is somethin' and it's new and true"

"You seem to really like her," Molly pesters, a week and a half into her stay. She's washing the breakfast dishes as Fred dries them. She knows immediately he wants to talk about it, her son only ever helps with house work when he wants his mother's advice and is too shy to ask.

"I do," Fred confirms, watching through the window.

The group were heading to a nearby lake and she's standing in the garden with Ginny, clad in a bikini she'd borrowed from the younger girl and a pair of shorts and carrying a towel. Sunglasses pushing her hair back and laughing at something the younger girl said, the two seemingly closer by the day.

The sight of her in just a bikini had made Fred's heart stop. She had barged into the twin's bedroom in the search for suncream Ginny had leant them and Fred had struggled to put words together as George smirked watching the interaction.

"She likes you too, I can tell," Molly prompts, wondering what the problem was.

"I know, well I kinda figured. She's just complicated. None of us know why but she's an utter cynic. She doesn't believe in love, she doesn't have any interest in dating or marriage or any of that. She has is in her head every guy she lets herself like will end up hurting her," Fred explains

"That kind of thing is normally past hurt,"

"She's never been in a relationship," Fred counters

"Okay, well in that case it's highly likely it's a childhood thing,"

"You mean?"

"Her family is very traditional. She might not have grown up seeing healthy, loving relationships," Molly explains gently

"So, what do I do?"

"You prove you're different. You prove you are worth the risk," Molly explains. Fred nods, setting his tea towel down despite being no where near done with the dishes.

"Thanks mum," He grins, Molly smiles, watching her son head towards the door

"Take a shirt so your shoulders don't burn!" She calls but Fred is out the door before she can finish the sentence.

"Took your time!" Ron calls, standing up from where he, George and Harry had all been sat waiting

"Just cause some of actually help mum," Fred quips, ignoring his brothers as they all begin the 10 minute walk to the lake. George challenging Ron to a race. Ginny talking awkwardly to Harry, her crush evident.

Fred is no better than his younger sister, falling into step next to her.

"Surprised you aren't racing," She comments

"Bored of beating them," he smirks cockily "Besides, talking with a beautiful girl such as yourself is much more fun," He adds, proud when she giggles.

"You're in good shape," She comments, eyes flickering over his body, clad in only swim shorts, his toned chest and muscular arms on full show. She laughs a little when he blushes bright red. "Not so slick now are we Pumpkin?" She smirks

"Pumpkin still isn't funny," He attempts, the bright red flush still on his cheeks doing little to help his case.

He tries desperately to recover on the walk but every time he starts talking she makes a show of looking at him, eyes lingering, something she enjoys greatly, making him blush even more.

The day by the lake passes beautifully. Games of chicken, sunbathing, forcing Ron to go back and pick up sandwiches at lunch time.

It's mid afternoon, Ron and Ginny playing a game of exploding snap on the jetty over the lake, Harry reading 'Quidditch through the ages', George writing a letter to Angelina.

The pair are in the lake, Fred pushing her in when she was sunbathing earlier and jumping in after her. They'd had a race which landed them a distance away from the others.

"You won because I let you," Fred announces

"I won because I took swimming lessons until I was 11 and was on a summer swim team until I was 14," She shrugs

"What else don't I know about you?" He teases

"I speak Latin, I can play the piano and flute, this is the first school break I haven't spent nearly ever waking minute at my ballet studio and I know greek mythology like the back of my hand,"

"Why?"

"Private tutors," She shrugs, he laughs loudly, shocked he knew so little about aspects of her life. She shivers a little

"You wanna get out?" He questions

"Quite like the water," She shrugs, he nods, opening his arms

"I'm not cuddling you in the water Fred,"

"It's that or hypothermia," He shrugs, she sighs, secretly happy, and allows him to pull her into his hold, resting her head on his shoulder as he subconsciously strokes a hand up and down her back.

"You really are full of surprises," He comments

"As are you, I've been learning an awful lot about you from your parents,"

"If it made me sound uncool it was a lie,"

"You were already uncool to me," She smirks,

"Harsh," He grins, eyes focused on the way she bites her bottom lip as she stares up at him "You look really beautiful," he comments

"So do you pumpkin," She returns.

Neither of them know what's overtaking their system as they lean in slowly, her lips just grazing his when suddenly his shoulder's are pulled down and he's held under water. Ron laughing happily when his brother pushes his way up to the surface a scowl on his face.

"What the fuck, Ron!" Fred shouts

"We need to leave or we'll be late back," The younger boy announces, swimming away before his brother can splash him.

Fred shoots her a sorry smile before they both swim back, climbing the ladder onto the pier. Fred makes sure to wait until Ron's holding his towel and wearing his t-shirt before he shoves him off the pier and back into the lake for ruining the moment.

I used to think that Romeo was full of shit And The Notebook was just my favourite chick flick But now I get why Sarah was so hard to forget It's this feeling that I'm feeling, like Nemo in a net

It's been two weeks since she arrived by the time she is ready to open up about the fight with her parents. It's only her and Fred. They sit cross legged on a sofa, the warm night breeze pushing through the open windows.

The kids had all occupied the living room, watching movies and eating snack but as the night got later one by one they'd all gone up to bed, leaving the pair who had been cuddled up way too close for just friends all night.

"I told you Ginny had foul choice in films," Fred comments

"I quite enjoyed it," the girl shrugs in response

"You. You who has previously said 'Love is a commercial lie' enjoyed Titanic," He smirks

"I guess maybe I'm starting to accept I could have been a little wrong," She admits, refusing to look at Fred.

It was true, being with Fred all summer had made her realise that the love she felt for him wasn't just some stupid passing thing. She loved Fred Weasley. Loved him to her very core. She thinks a part of why she was finally letting herself feel the admittedly scary emotions was seeing how happy Molly and Arthur were.

"Why do you hate love?" He questions, it was a thought that had been on his mind a lot as of late.

"I guess I just never saw it before," She shrugs

"Aren't your parents married?"

"Yeah but they don't love each other. They were an arranged marriage, father had the prettiest girl and mother married into a fortune. They barely speak unless they are in public. They sleep on opposite sides of the house," She speaks and her voice is void of emotion, Fred isn't sure what to say.

"So you just assumed no one was happily married?" He questions gently, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"No. I knew love was real, it was just that it was easier to not fall in love and it the best way to stop it was to convince myself no one had it," She admits

"Why wouldn't you want to fall in love though?" He prompts, eyes fixed on her as she fiddles with the hem of the large t-shirt she's wearing.

"It would end in heart break. I have to marry whoever my parents pick. If I fall in love when I get married I live my whole life knowing what I could have had. But now, I'm halfway in love and my whole world feels, I don't know how to describe it, brighter I guess, and all that self preservation was meaningless,"

Fred feels his heart break a little. He wasn't sure if it was because she had been dealing with all this for so long or if because deep down he knew he would marry her tomorrow and he didn't doubt for a second that he wanted her forever.

"I'm so sorry," He hums out

"Not your fault. It's what we argued about, they had a suitor coming to stay for the summer. That's why I ran," She admits

"Oh, sweetheart," He sighs, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close to him.

"Would be great if you could do something repulsive so I like you less," She jokes, he laughs loudly

"Sorry, darling, but I really don't plan on letting you slip through my fingers and no matter what I'll make sure you don't have to marry some pretentious pure blood," He promises and she feels more at ease than she has in years, she knows Fred has got her, Fred'll stop at nothing to make sure she is happy.

Pumpkin, pumpkin You're gonna kill me Pumpkin, pumpkin La-la-la-la-la-la Pumpkin, pumpkin Need you to feel me Pumpkin, pumpkin La-la-la-la-la-la

"Where are we going?" She questions, eyes squeezed shut as Fred tugs her hand pulling her along behind him.

"My favourite place," he responds, although she had no clue what that meant.

"Well, are we nearly there?"

"Shut up and be patient, jeez woman,"

It's a further three minutes when Fred stops, laughing when she walks right into him, eyes still closed.

"Okay, open," She can hear his smile

She opens her eyes, they're standing in front of a meadow full of wildflowers, the pink sun set making everything glow, a picnic blanket full of goodies that were clearly prepared by Molly in the centre.

"You're right. It's beautiful," She smiles brightly, turning from the view to look up at Fred who is beaming down at her.

"Not as beautiful as you," He grins cheekily

"That was awful," She smirks, his loud laughter ringing out through the meadow. She grabs his hand in hers again, pulling him along to the picnic blanket.

"So, how did you enjoy your summer?" He questions

"We have three days left," She argues

"That excited to go back to school?" He teases

"It's our last year, guess I'm just not ready for it to be over," She explains, he smiles gently

"I get that," He agrees, shooting her a smile "Don't want to fall out of touch with people," He adds. She nods. Extending her hand pointing her pinky finger at him

"I don't make pinky promises if I don't know what they are,"

"That no matter how far apart we end up, you and I are always going to have each other, always going to be friends,"

"Who knew the Slytherin was so sappy," He teases, his finger immediately wrapping around hers and squeezing.

"Tell anyone and I'll kill you," She smirks, Fred chuckles, passing her a chocolate covered strawberry.

"I can catch that in my mouth,"He speaks confidently.

20 minutes and a 30% success rate between the two of them, Fred leaps to his feet pulling her with him.

"Where are we going?"

"We are dancing,"

"There's no music,"

"I can sing if you want," He offers

"I'd rather not go deaf," She smirks, he laughs loudly

"I'm a great singer," He defends, she raises her eyebrows at him,

"Whatever you say pumpkin." she laughs when he rolls his eyes.

"Fine, we don't need music,"

He pulls her into him, arms around her waist as hers wrap around his neck, her head on his shoulder and Fred Weasley could die happy. He has no idea that she could too.

I used to think that Romeo was full of shit But when I look at you, I think this must be it, oh

It's the last night before school starts when she knocks at Fred's bedroom door. Hands shaking a little in nervousness and pacing the hallway.

It's pulled open by the boy who's brows furrow in concern at the sight of her.

"Can I come in? we need to talk,"

"George is asleep, we can talk out here," He smiles softly at her, stepping into the hallway and tugging the door closed behind him.

"You ruined me," She states

"What?" He questions, eyes wide and a sense of nervousness about him

"I had everything together. Everything was perfect, it was glass and could break any second but it as mine and it made me good, it protected me,"

"I'm confused,"

"I didn't let boys matter. It didn't matter if they laughed at my joke, if they were looking at me when I looked at them, if they thought I looked good, if they found me too bitchy or too loud or too anything. It didn't feel like if I wasn't near them I couldn't breathe,"

"If it makes you feel better I always think you look good,"

"Fred, I'm being serious,"

"So am I, darling,"

"I'm scared,"

"I won't hurt you,"

"I think that's the problem," she admits.

"I'm gonna kiss you now cause I've waited forever and you make it fucking impossible sometimes and by sometimes I mean every fucking day cause you-"

"Just kiss me pumpkin,"

"That's still not-"

His protest ends when her lips crash to his, he grins into the kiss, arms snaking around her to pull her in as her's tangle in his hair. A grunt leaving his lips and falling into hers making her smirk against him.

Everything falls into place.

"About time," They jump apart at the sound of George's voice, leaning in the hallway

"What the fuck George?" Fred complains, although his arms stay wrapped around her, effectively holding her flush to his chest, unable to leave his grip.

"Maybe don't have private discussions in the middle of the hall if you don't want us all listening," at the sound of Ginny's voice the couple look upwards.

Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione who arrived two days before are leaning over the banister on the floor above them to watch.

Fred sighs, before deciding fuck it and crashing his lips back to hers, a little less innocent, smirking when he hears fake gags and his siblings all running back to their rooms.

Pumpkin, pumpkin You're gonna kill me Pumpkin, pumpkin La-la-la-la-la-la Pumpkin, pumpkin I need you to feel me Pumpkin, pumpkin La-la-la-la-la-la, oh Oh-oh, pumpkin, pumpkin Oh, la-la-la-la-la-la La-la, ooh, ooh-ooh

Masterlist

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #weasley twins #weasley #harry potter fanfiction #fred weasley x malfoy!reader

193 notes · View notes

imagine-turtles · 3 years

Text

I just really like headcanons, don’t judge me for sending like two huge forms in a row, please and thank you–

April is absolutely loaded, I don’t take any criticism. Her card was once declined and when she was told, her response was, “no it isn’t, try it again” with the confidence of someone who knew they were right and look at that, they tried it again, the money went through and she flashed them a wink.

Casey used to play hockey when he was in elementary all throughout high school, his grandfather was the one that encouraged him to try out for the team. He has broken hundreds of hockey sticks since then and keeps every single one in a box in his room, he’s too emotionally attached to throw them away.

Splinter has a sixth sense for anything stupid that his boys may be doing so it is literally impossible for any prank to ever be played on him because he already knows it’s going to happen. Saying that however, he’s been known to aid every single one of his sons in pranks on one another without the other knowing because he finds their prank wars hilarious.

Michelangelo is absolutely horrifyingly bad at cooking and baking but he makes the presentations of his dishes so pretty that both April and Casey have fallen for trying a new recipe and deeply paid the price.

Leonardo is so PICKY ABOUT LITERALLY EVERYTHING. NO ONE EXPECTS HIM TO BE BUT HE IS. His tea? He will literally make seven batches until he gets it just right. God forbid someone order a pizza that is even slightly different from his usual, HE WILL NOT TOUCH IT. His room? If a candle is even slightly to the left and not to the right, he will spend HOURS trying to get it right again. If it’s not perfect and what he likes, iT’S NOT HAPPENING.

Raphael has a playlist for everything. Everything man, he has one for every single of his moods, he has a playlist for working out and one for kicking ass which are APPARENTLY COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THINGS, IF YOU MAKE THE MISTAKE OF CALLING THEM THE SAME, YOU WILL REGRET IT.

Please help Donatello, he runs completely on sugar, caffeine and anxiety 24/7. He is so soft for any kind of pet name, please give some to him? He’s the kind of person that will like squeak the moment praise is bestowed upon him and it’s adorable.

Michelangelo always gives the best gifts and has such a gift for wrapping them, like I am impressed, sir, please teach me your godly skills. He’s also the one that tells the dad jokes, but Donatello is the one that brings out the puns and together, they exact revenge on their older brothers whenever they fight again over something stupid.

Raphael can breakdance. That’s the headcanon, he can breakdance and he can waltz and he can tango and he binge-watches cooking shows and other reality television like Dancing with the Stars and other corny shit like that.

Leonardo is really creeped out by birds. He thinks their eyes are beady and it’s weird that they don’t have teeth and how they caw and they usually mean death and all in all, they just scare him.

Donatello is a musical theatre kid. I am heavily projecting on this man but he gives me such “i will listen to soundtracks and mime them and learn all the dances and it started with Hamilton cause it’s historical and i was interested and it slowly infected me so now everytime i yell at Mikey, all i can hear is the soundtrack of Be More Chill” vibes.

April and Casey have dates at the museum because April is a big science dork due to her father being a scientist and her personal favorite is biology and even though Casey doesn’t know why gawking at bones and stuff in glass cases is fun, he does it because she always gets really excited over everything.

~~~

PLEASE DON’T APOLOGIZE LMAO someone’s gotta pick up the slack around here while I’m slowly remodeling the bathroom. Love that we’ve all agreed that Donatello is into musical theater!

Thank you again @writtenspacedust for the lovely content we really are feasting luxuriously 2nite.. 😍🐢

#tmnt #tmnt-submission #tmnt-imagines #submission #tmnt bayverse #leonardo #raphael #donatello #michelangelo #splinter #april o'neal #casey jones

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Bay/rise 37!! @errorfreak88 @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @brightlotusmoon @yarchurr @dakotafinely @sententiously-sarcastic @sprinklestheditty

Content warnings!! Mentions of death

The ringing in Leo’s ears was deafening. After his humiliating defeat, the best thing he could think to do was find someplace quiet to think. The single place in the lair that offered such solitude was Splinter’s room— the only single-person bedroom in the entirety of their home. It was small and Leo could barely fit through the doorway, and laying on the bed made him feel colossal, but he didn't care. He buried his face in the pillow and it smelled like his father and that was all that he cared about.

He didn't care about losing the spar. Sure, it was a bad sting to his self esteem, but at least his dad hadn’t been there to see it. But maybe if Splinter was there he could have talked some sense into Leo before he made a fool of himself in front of his brothers. He didn't know what he was doing and he admitted that to none but himself. He had been leader for almost four years— and even before then he had always taken well to bossing his brothers around. That’s why he had been made leader in the first place! Because Splinter saw something in him and chose to highlight that above all his flaws and faults. Leo still didn't know why!

As a kid, though he had always taken charge, his personality wasn’t just that. Not like what he was reduced to now. He remembered running the sewers with his brothers and mapping out the tunnels with their minds alone and how he was always the one who could find the way home even when Donnie’s techniques failed. He remembered Splinter taking them up to the storm drains so they could watch the parades go by in the streets. The colors, the people dancing, the music sounding off and filling Leo with such a bubbly, warm joy that he just wanted to dance along to any song that carried down the tunnels.

That was what ninjitsu was to him at first. Dancing. Memorizing the moves and following through as fluid and free as the dancers he saw on the streets and in movies. Trying to emulate what he saw— feeling the melody in the very blood that coursed through his veins. Then a fun hobby turned into an obligation. It wasn’t a game anymore— it wasn’t something to enjoy or a fun thing to practice in his free time. It was his duty, his responsibility. His honor. And he couldn’t let his father down!

He wasn’t human and he could never be human. He shouldn’t want to be human! He was a turtle— he was a mutant— he was Splinter’s son! He had to live up to all the stories he was told about how great he would be and he had to live up to his father’s expectations and he had to live up to what the people in the city needed him to be! He didn't need to dance, he didn't need to like his work—he shouldn’t like his work! Work is work and work isn’t meant to be enjoyed. He was a savior— a messiah in the form of a grotesque monstrosity and it was him and only him that could protect his brothers and the city and the earth and he just wished the ringing in his ears would stop—

Then he opened his eyes again. The ringing wasn‘t just in his ears. It was all around him. An alarm— Donnie’s alarm— sounding a warning of some enemy approaching. Leo looked up and dried his tears just as Donnie came rushing into the room.

“Leo! An alarm went off in the south tunnel! We should check it out! Are you gonna…?”

Leo stood up quickly, shoving his way past Donnie and reclaiming his swords on the way to the entry tunnel. He didn't dare look up at any of his brothers or their counterparts as he passed them by. He was a leader and he had to be strong and silent and he wasn’t allowed to cry. He wasn’t allowed to be weak. He had to be the best— he was the best! Even if Leonardo had beaten him.

They traversed the tunnels in silence. Leo’s brothers were all gathered around him, Mikey with his head hung low like a puppy and remarkably silent. Donnie gave Leo space instead of being right at his side as usual, and Raph put some distance between himself and his Leo for completely different reasons. He needed a chance to cool off before he strangled Leo for how the stubborn leader had been acting the past few dates. He could strangle him later, Raph told himself. Just wait until the sensei’s are safe.

Leonardo was in the lead of his family, Michelangelo clinging to his arm for security against the rushing water that tried to force him off his feet. Leonardo, slippery as he was, always had a better grip under the water than the land-dwelling box turtle could hope to achieve. Donatello was tapping away on his watch, though Michelangelo was half convinced that it was actually just a game. In the place of Raphael, who’s exhaustion couldn’t be moved even by the loud scream of the alarm, was April taking up the rear. She had yet to get her special baseball back, though whoever this Casey Jones was had promised to get it out of police holding for her. In its place she had a new, regular bat covered in nails. Not as effective as her mystic bat, but she was sure it could pack a punch nonetheless.

They came to the place where the alarm had gone off. All eight of them slowly came to a halt when they saw the intruder just standing there, calm as day, as if he had been waiting for them quite some time. Leo and his brothers all took an audible gasp as they stepped back, Leo putting his arms out to protect those behind him. Leonardo and his family, however, gasped for a whole different reason.

“HUESO!”

Despite Leo’s wide motion for them all to stay behind him, Leonardo lead his family to all ignore the leader and dash forward under Leo’s arms to greet the skeleton man. Hueso looked filthy, his normally flawless suit stained with the sewage he had to wade through and dripping even after he had found an almost-dry spot to stand on.

“Oh Hueso! Es bueno verte! I can’t believe you’re here! I’d hug you if you weren’t so gross!” Leonardo laughed and held his arms out for a social-distanced hug.

“Yes, I’d do the same if not for similar reasons.” Hueso grumbled under his breath.

“How’d you get here Hues?” April asked, walking closer to the calaca than Leonardo dared.

“It is a very long story.”

***

“You go on ahead Cassandra. I got some loose ends to tie up.”

When Cassandra left through the rift and the portal closed behind her, only then did Draxum put Hueso back on the ground and release his vice-grip. Hueso gasped softly as he clutched at his throat, his eyes full of hate and locked on Draxum like he were the scum of the earth.

“What do you want from me?” Hueso asked finally, his eyes never once leaving the sheep yokai.

“We have a common means, calaca.” Draxum said, calm and steady. “I hear you are fond of the one called Leonardo.”

“Fond?” Hueso laughed, “I wouldn’t much call it fond as I would call it a... hostage situation.”

“But you know of him. You care for him?” Draxum made a fist and raised it to the air. “You are a very clever Yokai, I can tell. And I could trust no other with a message as important, and to accept what I am about to ask of you would ensure riches and safety for you and your family.”

A glint came to Hueso’s eyes. “What is your request?”

“My creations think me cruel. They know not of my plans, and I need a carrier to bring the news to them so we may unite our forces to take down a common enemy.”

“The Shadow Fiend…” Hueso whispered softly, looking to the place where the rift had once been. “He is not whole. He cannot be defeated in the state he is currently in.”

“Yes.” Drauxm growled softly.

“He must be made whole again, and the only way to do that is…”

“A sacrifice. A sacrifice of Hamato blood will bring the Shredder back whole. He’ll be defeatable.”

“But the cost...”

***

“...would be great.” Hueso finished. “You would be able to destroy The Shadow Fiend once and for all! He sent me here to be your guide.” Hueso looked to Leonardo.

“So he’s not bad!” Michelangelo said quite loudly, his voice echoing all around them as he ran fast to hug Hueso, almost tackling the older skeleton. “DRAXUM’S NOT BAD! I knew he wasn’t!”

“You… you’re just…” Leo pointed at Hueso.

“Just a bone man, yes.”

“Hm.” Leo smacked his lips together as he nodded ever so slightly. “Okay.”

“Can I touch your bones, dude?” Mikey asked, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

“That is extremely disrespectful.” Hueso spat, “You should show more respect to your elders.”

Everyone just stared at him.

“Well? Data prisa! We haven’t got all day!” Hueso started to usher the teens back down the sewer tunnel, his confidence and booming voice enough to compensate for the shorter and weaker form he had compared to the brothers. “Malditos chicos! Tan lento!”

The mutants scattered along at his urging just as they would if their Splinters had done the same. Hueso grabbed Leonardo before the blue ninja could get far.

“Talk with me.” He said in Spanish before they started to walk again.

“Why the Spanish?” Leonardo spoke with the same tongue and in a hushed voice. He hoped none of the counterpart-brothers could understand what was being said.

“We must talk of your father in private.”

“Splinter? Why? Do you know something?”

“I told you the ceremony requires blood magic! It requires the host to be bled and possessed by the Dark Armor. The host would be your father with his hamato blood.”

Leonardo’s eyes went wide. He stopped walking for a moment, but Hueso grabbed him by the arm and forced him to keep going.

“B-but if we destroy the shredder then he’d be free right?”

“To destroy The Shredder, we will have to destroy the host.” Hueso looked up at Leonardo with mournful eyes. “If we go through with this, then you will have to kill your own father.”

#OHHHHHHHHHHHH #what’s gonna happen?!#find out on the next installment #OF TMT #(Turtles Meet Turtles)

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

Text

Helping Hand

Fandom: The Originals / The Vampire Diaries

Characters: Reader, Elijah,

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 4,171

Request: Hi! Can I get an imagine where the reader is a teenager (about 16) who has powers and she learns that Elijah Mikaelson has a necklace that belonged to her ancestor that will allow her to keep her powers under control and asking him for help?

hey ,can u write something with elijah???? love your blog

Summary: The reader moves to New Orleans with her family after her grandmother dies, leaving them with a large property and inheritance. But the reader also starts to develop powers, powers she cannot control, not without the help of Elijah Mikaelson.

Note: I’ve had this first request buried in my drafts for a very long time, I don’t even still have the actual request anymore so idk who sent it but here it is

Your magic was... volatile, to say the least. They’d started to show themselves last year, around the time your family had moved to New Orleans, but despite your best efforts, you were still unable to keep them under much control. It felt like there was a well of power deep inside of you, but no matter how far you reached, you’d yet to find the end.

You longed to reach the end of your power, to finally know your limits. By understanding what you were capable of, maybe you could begin to learn to control barely contained power within. It was a miracle your family hadn’t found out yet, especially given the whole you’d accidentally made in the back wall of the house, but as much as you wanted to tell them, you didn’t know how they would react.

The timing of your powers couldn’t have been a coincidence, at first you’d thought it was related to your age maybe, did 15 mean something magical? You obviously had no idea, but the longer you were in New Orleans, you started to realise that that wasn’t the case. Your estranged grandmother had died last year, you’d only met her once as a baby and your mother never talked about her, but she’d left behind a massive estate and inheritance in New Orleans, and following the divorce from your father, your mother had decided maybe it was a good chance for a fresh start. So she’d packed you and your younger twin brothers up, ripping you away from your lives, friends, everything you’d ever known, and taken you to the Crescent City.

It had been an adjustment, especially with the added problems of your powers. Needless-to-say, discovering you had magic was a shock, a big one. At first you thought you were dreaming, or seeing things, but eventually you’d accepted that this was real... and you should really plant a few trees to make up for the damage you’d accidentally done to the ones on the edge of your property line.

That’s where you were now, headphones on, beads of sweat on your brow as you tried to concentrate your magic at a single tree stump about ten metres away from you. Taking slow breaths you listened to the beat of the music pumping in your ears, letting all else slip away as you felt that familiar opening inside of you, leading to the well of magic you could feel stirring in anticipation. It always gave you a bit of a rush when you started, but you had to be careful you didn’t dive in too quickly.

Too much too fast was your problem, and you’d spent many, many... many, frustrating days trying to master it. You were sure there was a better way, maybe an instruction manual? But who could you ask, New Orleans may have been full of stores and stalls promising knowledge of the occult and the supernatural, but nothing had seemed to do you any good. Parlour tricks mostly, so you were alone.

Feeling that familiar build up of power, you yet again tried to steady it, tried to send a concentrated blast only. You felt your hands tingle, then warm, focusing intently as you felt sweat drip down the side of your face. Almost there...

A bird landed on the tree stump, catching you off guard as it cawed, stretching its wings but refusing to move. At the last second you threw your hands to the side, a blast of power flying into a nearby tree as you tried to reign it back in.

“Damn it!” You swore, clenching your hands into fists and pulling them to your sides as you stared wide eyes at the giant smouldering hole in the tall tree, the creaking and groaning sound it was making as it began to splinter at the break.

You took a slight step back, casting a dirty look at the black bird still perched on the stump as it watched you, regarding you with a more curious look than you were comfortable with. A loud snapping sound caused you to look back to the tree, now unable to support the weight on top as it began to topple.

“Crap...” you mumbled, pulling your headphones down to your neck as you watched it start to fall slowly. Not again, you thought as it fell, crashing into another tree before falling back and slamming into the ground.

You stared at it in stunned silence for a minute, glad you were too far out for anyone to have heard. The bird let out a small noise, still watching you, seemingly unaffected by the sound of the toppling tree. “What are you looking at?” You demanded, the bird cocking its head like it was listening, “this is your fault,” you told it, pointing to the mess behind it.

The black bird actually turned its head, looking to the tree before turning back to you, cawing and flying off over your head. You ducked as it flew past you, wind blowing your hair. Well... that was weird, but honestly, talking to a bird was probably the least strange thing that had happened to you recently.

So with a shrug you turned on your heels, grabbing your school bag and heading back down the overgrown path you always followed back to your house, checking your watch to make sure you wouldn’t miss the bus. Your 16th birthday had been a few days ago, and the balloons your mother had insisted on putting up on the railings of your front porch were still flying as you appeared out of the clearing in the woods.

Your brother’s were waiting by the road as you picked up your pace, noticing the school bus turning down the end of your road and heading to where the boys were stood. “Cutting it close,” one of your brothers, JJ, commented as you rolled your eyes, ignoring him and Nick as you rifled in your bag for your pass, finding it just as the bus pulled up and the doors opened.

You sat away from your brothers once you got on, headphones back on as you thought about how you were ever going to get a hang of your powers.

The rest of your school day when like it usually did, you went to class, did your work, ate lunch alone, and researched magic whenever you had some free time. You’d had losts of friends back home, but being the new girl struggling to control dangerous powers didn’t leave you with much opportunity to be anything other than the loner who talked to the librarian more than any of the other kids.

Your brothers fit in just fine, and the party your mother had been expecting to throw you over the weekend had been embarrassingly empty, so now she was worried about you. Great, another thing you had to worry about.

Thankfully, your magic hadn’t really ever acted up at school, expect in gym once or twice, but nothing too noticeable. Heightened emotions seemed to make it worse, and the boredom you felt at school seemed to subdue it the most.

After school you debated getting the bus home with JJ and Nick, but your mom was working until late so you decided to walk into the city instead, trying your luck again at one of the supposedly magic stores or stalls, you never knew, maybe someone might actually be able to help you.

It was a warm day, even into the afternoon as you strolled along the crowded streets. Okay, you actually liked New Orleans, the people, the buildings, the atmosphere, you felt like you could disappear here. If you hadn’t come into uncontrollable powers when you’d moved here... well, things would be very different.

You ended up walking through the French Quarter, definitely lost but not caring too much, you’d just use your phone to find the best way home when it got a little later. You were so lost in your music and surroundings that it took you a while to realise you were being followed.

It felt like a cold breeze on the back of your neck, like your magic warning you of danger. But there was so many people arround that you wouldn’t have been able to tell who was following you even if you saw them, so you picked up your pace.

That feeling didn’t leave, cold going down your spine as you weaved your way through the crowds of people milling about the square. You probably would have thought you were paranoid, but you’d learned enough to not doubt your magic right now.

Spotting a side street you slipped down it, only realising once you were half way down that it was a dead end. You quickly tried to double back, heart pounding as you turned to see a man at the end of the way, blocking your exit.

He was a sharp dressed man, black suit crisp as he leaned against the cool shaded bricks on the wall, hands in his pockets, regarding you with a cool but intrigued gaze. There was something... off about him, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on as your magic buzzed in you with warning.

“Hello there,” he said casually, pushing himself up off the wall and strolling towards you, hands still in his pockets. He didn’t look threatening, but there was something in his eyes that made you want to run, but where?

“H-Hello,” you got out, not doing well to pretend you weren’t scared as the man smirked at you. There was a lot of times over the past year where you wished you didn’t have magic, this however, wasn’t one of them. You’d never used your power on another person before, but the more scared you got, the more you could feel it burning in your core, ready to burst out to defend you if needed.

“I’m Elijah,” he introduced himself, British accent clear as he slowly spoke the words. Was he expecting you to introduce yourself? Stranger Danger 101, you were not giving this man your name. He seemed to realise that when you didn’t respond, but he didn’t seem offended. “Very well, I apologise for startling you, but you looked like somebody I knew once.”

“We’ve never met,” you replied, you were sure you would have remembered this well dressed individual.

“No...” Elijah mused outloud, “no I suppose we haven’t, a relative maybe?” The only relative you knew in the city was your late grandmother, you supposed your mother had lived here, but not for the better part of 20 years.

“I don’t think so,” you answered, itching to get away. He seemed to register this, but he still seemed curious about you. What was this guys deal? You scrunched your fists at your side, palms warm with power, your fight or flight response sounding alarm bells in your head as your power threatened to spill out.

He took another step towards you, glancing down at your hands like he knew what was going on inside of you. Was that possible? You knew that you couldn’t be the only one in the world with power like this, but still...

“I have to go now,” you told him quickly, trying to simply quickly walk past him back to the crowded street, determined to get home as you regretted not just getting the bus with your siblings.

“On second,” he said, just as you passed him, hand reaching out to grab your arm. As you as he touched you, you exploded.

It happened so fast, one second you were trying to twist out of his grasp, the next a blast of energy had sent him down the street. Breathing heavily, your heart pounding in chest, you didn’t look back to see what you had just done, instead all but running out on the street and making your way back home.

What had you just done?

You made it home before your mom, ignoring your brothers questions about where you had been as you ran up the stairs two at a time and into your bedroom, slamming your door shut and locking it. Only when you heard your lock click into place did you let out a shaky breath and try to relax, leaning against the back of the door and sinking to the floor. Your mind was racing as you tried to process what had just happened.

Had you killed him? You didn’t think so, you hoped not, but he had provoked you, scared you, it had been out of your control the second he’d put his hand on your arm. What were you going to do now?

You groaned and wiped your hands over your face, exhausted and drained. You just needed to think. Reluctantly pulling yourself up you went into your bathroom to take a shower. Every bedroom in this house seemed to have it’s own bathroom, what your grandmother did alone in this place was beyond you.

The water was scolding as you slipped in, but you didn’t care, standing there for a long time as it poured down your face and body, eyes glued to your hands as you thought about the power they contained, the power you possessed.

Your eyes drifted to the pale blue wall tiles, you grandmother had had most of the house redecorated before she died, she’d been sick for a while apparently, but your mom had never told you any of that. This was the room she’d decorated for you, the one she’d instructed you to take in the will, and you had to admit, she’d done a damn good job of decorating it to your taste. Eerily good, considering you weren’t exactly doing much talking the one time you’d met her.

She’d left you a note too, on the bed when you’d entered. Old people rambling about how you had more potential than you realised, you were special and important and she wished she was there with you... You hadn’t thought much about it at first, but a part of you kept going back to those words in your mind, had she meant this? Had she known?

It seemed crazy, but there had been something not right about that man, Elijah, something cold and... not human? If he had known your grandmother, maybe he would have had more answers about what was going on with you?

With a sigh you finally turned off the water, drying yourself off as you thought about your grandmother alone in this big old house. As you did you walked over the creaky floorboard outside the bathroom door and paused, leaning back on your heel and making it squeek again. You shook your head, thinking you must be reading too much into everything that had happened to you. But as you stepped off of it and listened to it creak again you let out a defeated breath, what the hell, why not? You thought, kneeling down and prying at the sides of the board.

To your slight surprise it budged, were you really looking for hidden compartments in your room? But your grandmother had left it to you, if your suspicions about her were correct, maybe she’d left you more than you realised. She did, you realised as you got the board free, a dusty box beneath it. This was crazy.

Taking it out you set it on your dresser and got dressed, eyes barely leaving to box until you tentatively tried the latch, it didn’t have a lock on it so you carefully lifted up the old lid, revealing a leather bound book within. It looked like an old-timey journal as you slowly pulled it out, your magic buzzing at the touch. What was this?

You went to sit on your bed, book on your lap as you opened the first page, careful not to tear the pages as you did, it felt fragile but it was definitely well worn, the spine was basically coming apart. The language inside looked like it was mostly... Latin? Maybe, you hadn’t exactly studied it in school, but there were annotations in the margins in English, fresher than the original text, the handwriting appearing to match the writing in your grandmother’s letter.

The more you flipped through the pages, skimming passages and trying to understand illustrations, the more you thought this was a spellbook of some kind. You assumed that was a thing anyway, especially with your grandmother’s notes.

“Y/N!” A knock on your door had you slamming the book shut probably a little too hard and rushing to put it away, your mother calling you from the otherside.

“Yeah?” You called back, frantically trying to replace the floor board, barely managing to as she entered, uniform on as she look at you, on your knees n the floor. “Dropped by earring,” you lied with ease and she believed you, it’s not like she’d have believed the truth anyway.

“I’ll have dinner ready in 20, okay?” She smiled and you nodded, standing back up, “how was school?”

“Eh same old,” you told her, deliberately not mentioning your strange encounter with Elijah, she’d freak out if she knew, and you didn’t want her involved in any of this.

“Okay, could you set the table when you come down?” She asked and you nodded again, more than eager for her to leave your room.

She did after that and you breathed a sigh of relief, you couldn’t be doing any of this in the house, you’d go out into the woods again with the book tomorrow, maybe it was time for a new approach to your magical problem. You just hoped the answers you were looking for had been right under your nose, or feet, the entire time.

It was a quiet morning as you made your way down the familiar walkway into the woods, switching into autopilot as you stepped over the roots and stones you had been avoiding nearly everyday for the better part of a year.

You’d tried to sleep last night, but your mind was wide awake, thoughts of that book swirling around in your mind until you finally caved and switched on your lamp, reading through the pages until you’d eventually fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, book in hand.

It had been eye opening. Vampires, werewolves, witches... well, you were a witch then, but the fact that the others existed too was nearly too much, your brain becoming so overloaded with new information you barely thought was possible. You’d fallen asleep at a chapter on New Orleans, the different factions there and information on the ‘Original Family’ that had once ruled, the name Elijah Mikaelson had caught your eye, was it the same Elijah you’d met yesterday? It would explain a few things, but it didn’t exactly make you feel any better.

You made it to the area you had been the previous morning, the fallen tree a reminder that you really needed to get your powers under control. You sat on the stump you’d been trying to blast yesterday and pulled the book out of your bag, a torn piece of homework bookmarking a page with a spell you’d decided to test out. It seemed simple enough, and this far into the woods you only had to worry about the damage to the trees, which was nothing new when it came to your magic.

Leaving the book open on the correct page you stood back up, focusing your breathing as you held out your hands, facing the fallen tree as you reached down into that familiar well of power. But instead of firing blindly like you usually did, you now had a spell that you hoped would at least concentrate the energy.

“Motus,” you said when you were ready, feeling your power blast out of your hands, absolutely shattering the tree you had previously felled... along with a handfull of others in the vacinity.

“No, no, no,” you muttered. It hadn’t worked, you’d just wanted to hit the one tree, now what were you supposed to do?

You were so lost in your thoughts you hadn’t noticed that you weren’t alone, jumping and whirling around when you heard a twig snap behind you. Suddenly you found yourself face to face with Elijah.

“Impressive, uncontrolled and reckless, but impressive nonetheless,” he commented, standing there in a suit as crisp as he had worn yesterday, seemingly unaffected by the blast you’d sent into his chest at your previous encounter.

“How...?” You stammered, looking around to see where he had come from all of a sudden, what your grandmother’s book had said about Elijah the Original ringing in your mind as you faced him.

“I’m a vampire,” he told you, waiting for your reaction, “so you know what I am then?” He asked when you didn’t flinch.

“I did some reading last night,” you said honestly and he glanced down at where you’d left the book open on the tree stump, recognition flashing in his eyes.

“I can see that,” he noted, wandering over to the book. You wanted to stop him as he reached it, but your feet were firmly planted. What did he want now? “My apologies for yesterday by the way, you just looked so much like your grandmother that I let my curiosity get the better of me, I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“How did you know her?” You asked and he smiled, like he was thinking of fond memories.

“She was one of the oldest witches in New Orleans, most went to her for guidance, she had a gift of sight you see, I went to her from time to time as well, her passing was tragic,” he explained, “how long have you known?”

“Well I found the book yesterday so since then really,” you admitted.

He looked at you in confusion, “but you powers...?”

“Yeah I’ve had those since I moved here, but I never really knew what they were, or how to use them,” you elaborated.

“I can see that,” he said with a nod to the destruction behind you. You looked down sheepishly, embarrassed by your lack of control after so long.

“You know, your grandmother had the same problem,” he began, your head shooting back up to face him, finding that very hard to believe after what he’d just told you about her. “It’s true,” he insisted, noting your hesitation to believe him, “the witches in your family are born with an immense amount of power, more than most could handle, which is why she wore this, to channel that energy and take control,” as he finished he held out his hand, an amulet dropping from it.

“What is that?” You asked him, drawn closer by the power radiating from the small half moon hanging from his index finger. It looked old, but it also felt oddly familiar in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“It belonged to your ancestors, passed down from generation to generation since before my family even reached these shores in the early 18th century, your grandmother gave it to me for safe keeping, so it could be given to you,” he told you and you shelved the comment about the 18th century away for another time, your eyes unable to leave the amulet as Elijah held out his hand, offering it to you.

“Can I?” You reached out for it slowly and he nodded, letting you take it. It felt cold in your palm, so different from the heat you always felt when you were using your power. Elijah offered to fasten it for you and he did, a sense of calm and clarity washing over you as soon as he fastened the clasp and stepped back.

“Try it now,” he suggested and it took you a second to realise he meant the spell. You swallowed, here went nothing.

Turning until you found a target you held out your hand, your well of magic seemingly contained by the amulet, a smaller opening available to you now as you whispered, “motus,” and sent a beam of energy into a nearby tree branch.

Usually, the whole tree would have been blown apart at least, but you your surprise and delight, only the branch was sent flying off. You’d done it.

Smiling you turned back to Elijah, “thank you,” you breathed, hand going to the amulet around your throat.

“Of course, I gave your grandmother my word that I’d help you when the time came, but I’ll admit, family matters kept me from even checking to see if you’d arrived in the city,” he admitted, “for that I’m sorry, but if you’d let me, I’d like to help you now, it’s the least I could do for your grandmother.”

Although you barely knew this strange man, this vampire, he seemed genuine and it’s not like you really had many other options. So you straighten up and nodded. “Where do we begin?”

#elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaires #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson imagine #the originals imagine #elijah mikaelson imagines #the originals imagines #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries imagines #elijah mikaelson one shot #the originals one shot #the vampire diaries one shot #one shot

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bookjonsa · 4 years

Note

"Of Sansa brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing Jon Snow" seems straight out of a cheesy romance novel lol. Lets be honest here.

Yeah, that's our Jon, a romantic at heart:

Calling his half sister Sansa “radiant”:

Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Dreaming about his mother:

Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

Playing the hero:

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight,*" Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne.**"

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

*Ser Aemon the Dragonknight, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he crowned Queen Naerys his Queen of Love and Beauty.

**Ser Ryan Redwyne, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he crowned Queen Alysanne his Queen of Love and Beauty.

Giving courtesies:

"I don't even know your name."

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower."

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Playing the honorable knight:

After that he had taken to using Ghost to keep her away. Old Nan used to tell stories about knights and their ladies who would sleep in a single bed with a blade between them for honor's sake, but he thought this must be the first time where a direwolf took the place of the sword.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Straight out the book of courtly love...

Wooing a girl:

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Wishing for a domestic life:

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Calling his mare “sweet lady”:

The mare whickered softly as Jon Snow tightened the cinch. “Easy, sweet lady,” he said in a soft voice, quieting her with a touch. Wind whispered through the stable, a cold dead breath on his face, but Jon paid it no mind. He strapped his roll to the saddle, his scarred fingers stiff and clumsy. “Ghost,” he called softly, “to me.” And the wolf was there, eyes like embers.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Being friends with soft boys:

Whatever pride his lord father might have felt at Samwell’s birth vanished as the boy grew up plump, soft, and awkward. Sam loved to listen to music and make his own songs, to wear soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the rich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueberry tarts. His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IV

Sam remembered the last time he’d sung the song with his mother, to lull baby Dickon to sleep. His father had heard their voices and come barging in, angry. “I will have no more of that,” Lord Randyll told his wife harshly. “You ruined one boy with those soft septon’s songs, do you mean to do the same to this babe?” Then he looked at Sam and said, “Go sing to your sisters, if you must sing. I don’t want you near my son.”

—A Storm of Swords - Samwell III

The boy claimed to be eighteen, older than Jon, but he was green as summer grass for all that. Satin, they called him, even in the wool and mail and boiled leather of the Night’s Watch; the name he’d gotten in the brothel where he’d been born and raised. He was pretty as a girl with his dark eyes, soft skin, and raven’s ringlets.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VII

“Night gathers, and now my watch begins,” they said, as thousands had said before them. Satin’s voice was sweet as song, Horse’s hoarse and halting, Arron’s a nervous squeak. “It shall not end until my death.”

(…)

He could smell Horse’s unwashed breeches, the sweet scent Satin combed into his beard, the rank sharp smell of fear, the giant’s overpowering musk. He could hear the beating of his own heart. ”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon VII

Satin was all grace, dancing with three serving girls in turn but never presuming to approach a highborn lady. Jon judged that wise. He did not like the way some of the queen’s knights were looking at the steward, particularly Ser Patrek of King’s Mountain. That one wants to shed a bit of blood, he thought. He is looking for some provocation.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon X

Imagining his half sister Sansa calling the lands beyond the wall “an enchantment”:

The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice.

So there is magic beyond the Wall after all. He found himself thinking of his sisters, perhaps because he’d dreamed of them last night. Sansa would call this an enchantment, and tears would fill her eyes at the wonder of it, but Arya would run out laughing and shouting, wanting to touch it all.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Giving up his deepest desire and by that, refusing to despoil his half sister Sansa of her rights:

“How can I lose men I do not have? I had hoped to bestow Winterfell on a northman, you may recall. A son of Eddard Stark. He threw my offer in my face.” Stannis Baratheon with a grievance was like a mastiff with a bone; he gnawed it down to splinters.

“By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa.”

“Lady Lannister, you mean? Are you so eager to see the Imp perched on your father’s seat? I promise you, that will not happen whilst I live, Lord Snow.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

“I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim.” The king set the cup aside. “You could bring the north to me. Your father’s bannermen would rally to the son of Eddard Stark. Even Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need. It is not too late to amend your folly, Snow. Take a knee and swear that bastard sword to me, and rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

How many times will he make me say it? “My sword is sworn to the Night’s Watch.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

And of course, as if he sensed he was going to die, informing us that his fondest memory of his half sister Sansa is the following:

He thought of Robb, with snowflakes melting in his hair. Kill the boy and let the man be born. He thought of Bran, clambering up a tower wall, agile as a monkey. Of Rickon’s breathless laughter. Of Sansa, brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird’s nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back …

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

He's so fluffy! I'm gonna die!

Thanks for your message.

Good night.

#jonsa #anon asks #jon's romantic nature

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kurlyfrasier · 3 years

Text

Terrified: Part 1

Raph x Reader

Synopsis: Raph saves you from ruffians one night in an alley after watching out for you for weeks without you knowing. Which leads you to getting to know the guys and becoming part of the family. But Raph keeps a distance and you don’t understand why.

Word Count: 1928

Warnings: Violence. Also, this is not my best writing. Definitely still readable though lol and I have no idea where this came from. It was supposed to be a one shot, but morphed into this. ENJOY

He had been following you for weeks. For your protection, he told himself. Especially since you always walked alone, your headphones covered your ears with music blaring so loud he could hear it on the top of a five-story building. Deep down though, he knew he was being a creep. And it disgusted him. But there was no way he was going to just make his way down off the rooftops and casually introduce himself.

No, he could only imagine your disgust. Your fear. He’d much rather continue fantasizing that you two would be the best of friends, at the very least. Rarely did he let his fantasies get beyond that of friendship, but when they did he made sure to let it out in an extra workout or two. Or stay out to catch a few more thugs than usual; the kind with trigger fingers. The kind Master Splinter hated for him and his brothers to go after. They weren’t completely bulletproof, after all. But what his father didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him.

Or so he continued to tell himself.

A bell dinged, signifying the last customer was leaving the used book store you worked at, a bag filled with books hanging at their side. Raph could swear it was the only book store in the city that stayed open until midnight. He thought it was crazy book nerds would want to buy books late in the night. He thought they were the hermit, early riser types who preferred to go to bed early. That is, until he started “protecting” you.

You’ve proved him wrong on countless occasions. Not that you knew this. Nor would you ever know if he had any say about it. You’ve even convinced him to start reading without a single conversation. In secret, that is. He had a reputation to protect and didn’t want to hear any crap from his brothers, especially Leo. If Mikey found out, he could always beat it out of his memory. As for Donnie...he’d probably get excited and shove all his sciencey books at him. He shivered in disgust. Science wasn’t his forte, but he had discovered he enjoyed history. The thought brought a small smile to his face that grew when he noticed you were about to walk out the glass door.

“Night, Lori! I’ll see you in a couple of days,” you waved your co-worker goodbye before earnestly looking for your headphones in the red backpack you seemed to always have with you, attaching them to your phone, and setting them on your head. The red headphones were stark against your hair and seemed too big on your small head. Then again, everything about you was small compared to him.

He moved closer, following you on the ground through the alleys instead of hopping rooftop to rooftop. Your head bobbed to the music as you stepped to the beat. He found that to be cute and doubted you did that consciously. He chuckled at the scene, wishing desperately he could walk you home in front everyone, maybe hold your hand.

Raph growled, fisting his hands, frustrated he let his thoughts wander- again. It didn’t help that his least favorite part of the night was looming before him.

~~~~~~~~~~

You walked down the stairs into the subway station, smiling wide, excited about the new book you bought at the end of your shift. You planned on starting it in the morning and not stopping until it was finished. You had two days off, and you were going to enjoy it to the fullest. It helped that your roommate was gone for the week to visit family. Not that you didn’t absolutely adore her, but it would be nice to be completely alone for a couple of days. Her energy was literally off the wall and it could get exhausting, to say the least. Just thinking about your childhood best friend had you smiling even wider- something you didn’t realize was possible. You two had always been the complete opposite. She was always talking to strangers, dragging you to parties when you hadn’t gone anywhere but work for weeks, and inviting friends over for game nights. Whereas you preferred the quiet of your own bedroom, listening to music, and reading a good book. Without her, you would’ve never moved from your small-town home to New York. Somehow, your introverted self had fallen in love with the big city and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Your music blasted in your ears, just the way you liked it when walking home at night. It kept thoughts of muggers, The Foot Clan, and perverts out of your mind as you found a seat on the almost empty train. You sighed, feeling safe in the moving vehicle. You could swear you were being followed the past few weeks, but nothing ever happened so you always shrugged it off when you got home, thinking you were being more paranoid than usual.

Not ten minutes later, you got off the train and trudged up the stairs on heavy legs, feeling exhausted. The day had been busier than usual at work and you were ready for pajamas and bed, but it would be another three blocks before you got to your apartment building. Taking in a deep, calming breath, you clung tightly to the shoulder straps of the backpack you wore and stepped onto the sidewalk. Once again, you felt as if someone was watching you. Once again, you ignored it, focusing on the music as you turned into a wider than usual alley that allowed the moonlight to shine through. Which is why it was the only one you were brave enough to walk through.

~~~~~~~~~~

Raph let out the breath he had been holding when you stepped out of the subway station in one piece. He never dared to follow you into the station for fear of you seeing him, but he hated having you out of his sight. Those ten minutes were the worst of his life as he jumped from rooftop to rooftop, his imagination going wild with the possibility of you getting hurt, or worse.

The alley you turned into, on the other hand, was his favorite part of the night because he almost always allowed himself to walk on the pavement in the shadows close behind you. Tonight was different, though. He could see shadows of several people ahead of you, so he stayed above, trying to figure out what band you were listening to.

“Hey!” Raph heard a gruff shout as you walked by a group of guys, snapping his focus on them, searching for any danger they could pose, but he saw nothing of note from where he was and you didn’t seem to have heard him. “You!” The same guy said, marching toward you.

Raph started climbing down with a quiet growl, adrenaline pulsed through his veins, prepared for something to happen.

You squealed, causing Raph’s heart to skip a beat as he saw the guy roughly yank you backward by the handle of your backpack.

“S-sorry,” you mumbled, taking your headphones off. “I- uh- I d-didn’t hear you.”

“What do’ya think you’re doin’ all alone out here?” The man spoke, his friends started standing behind him.

“J-just walking h-home, that’s all. I-”

“Hmm,” he nodded, still not letting go of your backpack. “Wanna drink, lil lady?”

This close Raph could hear your quick, anxious breaths. It made his blood boil.

“N-no, thanks,” you tried stepping away when he finally let go, but his friends had you surrounded at this point.

“Aw, come on sweetheart,” a tall, thin guy sneered, resting a hand on your shoulder. “We aren’t gonna hurt ya. Just wanna have a drink with ya, is all.”

“Uh-”

Raph had seen enough at this point. You were scared, and the idiots surrounding you obviously had no plans of letting you through without causing trouble. Instead of climbing stealthily the rest of the way down, he jumped, landing with a loud thud in the shadows. All heads snapped in his direction at the sound.

“Let her go,” Raph demanded, attempting to stay calm, but it was hard when some jerk had his hand on you.

“Who says?” The guy with the gruff voice asked, seemingly the only one with enough liquid courage to speak.

“Nobody special,” Raph replied with a shrug, unsheathing a sai with a pleasant hiss. He knew they could see his outline, so he wanted to look as nonchalant as possible. He knew he was an intimidating size and it was times like these that he appreciated it. Deep down, a part of him was relieved you were finally going to see him, but a much larger part of him knew that he was probably about to scare you more than the ten or so guys surrounding you ever could.

“If that’s so, then why dontcha move along and mind yer own bis’ness.”

“I thought I’d give ya guys a chance ta run before it got bloody is all,” Raph grinned, his teeth glinting in the tiny streak of moonlight that touched his face. He refused to look at you. He didn’t want to watch your reaction to his words, just like he didn’t want to see your reaction when you set eyes on him for the first time.

All the men chuckled, each lifting their shirts to show him what was tucked in the waist of their pants. A few pulled their pistols out.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Raph stepped forward out of the shadows. “But if a fight is what yer lookin’ for, then I won’t stop ya.”

The rest of the men rushed to get their guns out, eyes wide as they stepped back and pointed them at his shell covered torso. A few swayed with the action, but you were still in the middle of their little circle and that infuriated Raph even more.

“So?” Raph said low, voice gravelly. “What’s it gonna be, guys? Ya gonna let the-”

A shot rang out, hitting him squarely in the center of his shell-hardened chest. He barely felt it, but it got him moving forward, punching the first guy he could reach in the nose, knocking him out cold. The rest followed suit, shooting without a care as Raph shoved the men out of the way between you and him with a growl.

When he finally met your wide-eyed, frantic stare Raph shoved you none-too-gently down to the pavement as he hovered above you, allowing his shell to cover you both until they ran out of ammo. He hissed out sharply when he felt a couple of bullets graze his limbs, but those would heal. He couldn’t let you get hurt. He couldn’t live if you got hurt.

“Stay down,” he shouted into your ear before he stood up once silence reigned, both sais in hand and kicked the closest two guys hard in the chest, knocking them against the brick building. The others started for him, but he quickly spun before slicing deep cuts into their arms and legs, causing most to collapse to the ground. Only the guys who talked to you remained, standing frozen in place as they watched Raph, teeth bared, march to them over their groaning comrades. By the time they realized what happened, it was too late. Raph simultaneously straight punched them both in the nose, knocking their heads back so far the rest of their bodies followed with it, landing hard on the ground- out cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2

#tmnt fanfic #tmnt #raphael #raph #raph x reader #angst #mikey #leio #donnie #splinter #pizza #violence #save your life #raph is a hero

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meterokinesis · 4 years

Text

Black and Blue

Read it on AO3

Prompt: “bruises”

TW for domestic violence, physical abuse, harm to children. Please read responsibly.

Summary: Bruce Wayne never expected his children to come to him whole. But he never expected Tim Drake to be so bruised.

(Or, Batman saves the boy who saved him)

Bruce never expected his children to come to him whole.

Dick had calluses and impacted musculoskeletal growth, along with an anger Bruce wasn’t sure would ever be sated. Jason was malnourished and coping with PTSD, and had scars with more history than most developed nations. But of them all, he expected Tim to be the least shattered; he’d grown up in the lap of luxury after all.

He never expected Tim to be so bruised.

_________________

Tim was a smart kid, no doubt about that. Years ago, Bruce had taken a look at his records: straight A’s since kindergarten, fluency in three languages and working on a fourth, an IQ of 142. He wasn’t Lex Luthor, but it was impressive for a kid of just 13. Especially a kid who never seemed to stay in one place for long.

Tim’s school records revealed more than just his intelligence. He was taught by an au pair until kindergarten, then went to a private elementary school just outside Gotham for three years. From third to fifth grade he was enrolled at Gotham Academy as a boarder. Middle school was spent at another boarding school in Gotham, but he was allowed home on weekends. He’d start freshman year at a public school, Louis E. Grieves Memorial, the upcoming September.

Bruce didn’t pretend to know everything about child psychology, but he was sure that repeated upheavals were bad for any child, let alone one who was smarter than most of his classmates to begin with. He didn’t even want to think about Tim going to a public school in a few weeks.

It was the reports from Tim’s teachers that made Bruce hesitate the most:

Timothy struggles with connecting to other classmates.

Timothy stayed indoors during recess, claiming a stomach ache. When asked if he wanted to play with the others, he shook his head and went back to reading.

Timothy is a pleasure to have in class, but the school mandates that parents must sign off on permission slips, rather than nannies.

Timothy’s roommate frequently complains about Timothy’s nightmares. The Drake family doctor has prescribed sleeping aids to help the problem.

Timothy came back from his weekend at home with a black eye and multiple new surface injuries. He insists he fell while skateboarding.

It didn’t take a detective to know that Tim was being bullied. He was a skinny kid with gelled-up hair and an affinity for math. As Tim himself once put it, he was “every coming-of-age movie’s nerd who gets shoved into a locker.” That didn’t make it any better.

Bruce hadn’t realized that he was at the Drakes’ house until his knuckles stalled an inch from the door. The limo that hauled the Drakes around wasn’t in the driveway. This wasn’t a wellness check, it was a nice walk that ended in seeing his newest sidekick. That was an excuse he could live with.

He rapped twice: two loud, short knocks that seemed to echo. Not a minute later, he could hear locks clicking on the other side of the door, and there was Tim--all 5’2” of him.

It wasn’t Tim’s short stature or gelled hair that made Bruce’s heart sink, though. It was the bruises that caressed his jaw and temple that almost ended in a black eye. His nose was bruised, but Bruce didn’t think it was broken. Probably. The bruises were fresh, less than 24 hours old. Tim had been beaten up recently.

“Who did this to you?” He tried to ask gently, but it came out too harsh and too breathy all at once. Bruce reached out for Tim’s shoulder, but the young teenager avoided him with ease, like it was a practiced movement.

“‘S not important,” Tim mumbled, his tone achingly adolescent.

“I know you’re getting bullied, Tim. I know it’s been going on for a long time. I need you to tell me who it is so they can see consequences.” Bruce had never done this before. He’d saved kids from hostage situations and from the creepy guy on the playground. But he’d never had to save kids from other kids.

Instead of breaking down in tears like Bruce expected, Tim barked a short laugh.

“I’m not getting bullied, B. I’m Robin, do you seriously think Tyrone Wright bothers me anymore? Not to mention, I never have to see him again. He’s going to Gotham Academy next year.”

“Then who-” Bruce’s sentence fell apart as his mouth caught up with his mind. Fresh bruises. Not another kid. The Drakes left this morning.

Oh.

“Tim,” he began slowly, “did your father do this to you?”

Tim’s demeanor dropped immediately, and he wouldn’t look Bruce in the eye. Seconds passed without a response, and for a second Bruce could painfully feel how, in this moment, they were Batman and a scared child.

“He didn’t mean to,” Tim finally let out, his voice as quiet as a dying breath.

Worry churned in Bruce’s stomach. Those words were never a good sign.

“I need you to explain everything that happened last night, okay?” Bruce said, as gently as he could while his heart was breaking. “Do you want to talk here, or at the Manor?”

Instead of answering, Tim slipped back into the house, leaving the door open for Bruce to follow. Bruce crossed the threshold, and took in the Drake mansion. It was full of that post-modern, minimalist decor that Bruce despised. It looked sterile, like a museum or a morgue. It certainly didn’t look like a place that housed a 13 year old boy.

Tim led him past the foyer and the formal sitting room and into the kitchen, where he selected a stool at the island. The counters were marble and impeccably clean. The cabinets were glass and white-painted wood. It looked like something out of a magazine. Pictures lined the walls, but they were all landscapes of foreign lands. Bruce couldn’t spot a single family photo.

“Where are your parents? I thought they were supposed to be in Gotham for at least another week,” Bruce began, but he truly didn’t care that the Drakes were gone. Good riddance.

“They left this morning for Haiti. Some big dig started early and they couldn’t miss it,” Tim whispered, his tone much wetter than it had been a few minutes before. “We were supposed to have a big going-away dinner, but I was playing my music too loud and didn’t hear my dad when he called. He came in and saw me just sitting on my bed and told me to stand up. S-so I did and he slapped m-” Tim’s sentences were barely-suppressed sobs now.

“He hit you so hard you bruised?” Bruce prompted, frowning. “Has he done this before?”

“N-no. To both. I wasn’t ready and I fell and hit my head on my desk. It’s not like that’s what he wanted to happen.” Tim had managed to choke down the tears, and was now staring solemnly at Bruce. It was as if he’d learned to quiet his sorrow as quickly as possible.

“Tim…” Bruce murmured, but he could barely get the words out over the pain of his heart splintering. “You didn’t deserve that. It’s not your fault. Your dad shouldn’t have hit you. No adult should hit a child, ever.”

Tim stared at the countertop, but remained silent. Bruce reached out to pat him on the back, but when his hand brushed Tim’s shoulder, Tim flinched. Bruce didn’t try to touch him again after that.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” he finally said, putting on the voice he used as Batman. “We’re going to go to the manor, take a look at your injuries, and watch some movies. Alfred will buy us those ice cream cookie sandwiches if we ask nicely. That sound good?”

Tim nodded mutely and pushed himself off the stool.

“Okay, what do you need to pack to stay at the Manor? Clothes, obviously--maybe a speaker?”

“He broke mine. Before he hit me.” Tim mumbled.

Bruce froze, just for a second. “Well, we’ll have to fix that. How about we get you a new WayneTech phone? You can download music onto it, and I’ll get you some earbuds too.” Bruce followed Tim as the boy wove his way through the house, all the way up to his room. It was starkly bare, with a few posters and knick knacks but not much else. Tim shoved clothes into a duffel bag, did a quick survey, then looked at Bruce.

“Ready.”

That’s it? It was shocking how easily Tim could pick himself out of this life, like he was a piece of lint on a fancy suit.

Still, Bruce smiled. “Then let’s go. I’m thinking Star Wars for the movies, how about you?”

Tim quipped something about how Star Trek was superior in every way, but all Bruce could think about were his other sons. It hadn’t even been six months since he’d lost Jason, but he was already letting another child in. He wasn’t going to let another little boy slip through the cracks.

And when the Drakes came home from Haiti, he would show them no mercy.

#whumptober 2020 #my writing #abuse tw #domestic violence tw #physical abuse tw #bruise tw #jack drake is a rat bastard abuser and i hate him #batfam #tim drake #bruce wayne #batman #robin

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rogerblackwolf · 3 years

Text

The Hudson Incident

8 Miles North of Hudson, New York

-1938-

The skies were clear as the full moon shined down on the dense woodlands flanking the road. The sound of two sedans being the only disturbance as they drove towards their destination. Aside from the music on the radio, the four occupants were silent, none saying a word since they left Brooklyn. One, a priest, was reading a passage from his Bible and holding his rosary which was wrapped around his left hand. The man next to him, a skinny built fellow with neatly kept hair and peach fuzz named Michael, was staring out the window as if in thought, he'd sometimes look at an envelope that contained a file and read it likely out of boredom. The man in the front seat, who was of average build with short dark hair named Vin, fiddled with the dial of the radio but settled with what they were listening to before. Finally the driver, a heavier set man with a slight Italian accent named Luca, spoke.

"Alright, it's been a few hours and no one's said a word."

"Maybe there's nothing to say." Vin responded.

"Really Vin? You've had a wisecrack or smartass thing to say about anything and everything and Now is the time you got nothing?" Luca replied

"Like I said." Vin repeated

"Calm down Luca, The Organization got us all on edge." Michael said.

"If you call going into a cultist compound full of trigger happy saps, all to destroy some artifact, on edge. I mean we don't even know what this artifact is anyway." Luca adds

"We don't need to know, just that these people plan to use it for something not good." Vin says

"Oh come on for God's sakes-" Luca starts only to be cut off by the priest.

"Do not take His name in vain." He scolds

"Alright, Alright...sorry Father Bruni, just nervous is all." Vin replied apologizing.

"You are forgiven. But be sure to go to confession as soon as you can." Father Bruni said.

The ride was silent for another few minutes before Luca turned off the main road followed by the second car. Michael looked at the file for the fifth or sixth time during the ride. The cult they were going after was set up in the old Bryant Sanitorium, closed during the peak of the Depression for lack of funds and unethical practices. The cult was called Pathway to Heaven, led by a man who was known only as The Speaker, a self-proclaimed prophet who claimed to know a way to Heaven. The Sanitorium had been under surveillance for a week, during which it was determined that there were thirty members, that they were armed, and strange lights emitted from the building's basement windows. Luca pulled off to the side of the road, the other car following suit. The gate was no more than fifty yards ahead, the main building just beyond it across a sizable front drive and of course the gate is chained, complete with a padlock.

"Ok...let's get the guns. And the bolt cutters." Luca said as everyone gathered at their car trunks. Michael pulled a strap in the floor to reveal multiple M1921 Thompson submachine guns, a pair of Browning Automatic Rifles; or BARs, a separate box had several Colt 1911s, and plenty of ammo for each firearm. The second car had a similar setup only instead of BARs they had a pair of Winchester Model 12 shotguns as well as a crate of dynamite and grenades. As everyone grabbed their weapons and some grenades, Michael took a 1911 and offered it to Father Bruni.

"Father I know you aren't allowed to carry guns but I doubt these cultists will be kind to you." He said

To his surprise, he took it and loaded a single magazine.

"There is no verse in scripture that says I am not allowed to defend myself. I am a man of peace, but I also understand that when peace is not an option then force is required." He explains.

As the rest of the group gathered, Father Bruni asked everyone to bow their heads. He then prayed for their success, their safety, for guidance in their mission, and protection from evil as he felt the sinister forces at work even from this distance. Upon him saying "Amen" Father Bruni asked Michael to take the lead with Luca and Vin while the others, led by a man named Thomas, watched their backs.

Vin cut the padlock and gently opened the creaky gate, the old sign on it read "Jeremy Bryant Sanitorium for the Mentally Ill", the group of eight men briskly made their way across the drive to the front double doors, only to find them locked.

"Now what?" Luca asks

"There's a reason I brought dynamite." Thomas suggests

"They will get a rude awakening." Vin commented as everyone gave Thomas some space. He rigged a three stick bundle on the door handles, set the timer and ran to hunker down with everyone behind a low wall off to the side. The following explosion practically splintered the tall double wooden doors, windows on the first and second floors were shattered sending glass everywhere. With the dust beginning to settle the men rushed in, firing their Thompsons and BARs at the cultists who came to investigate. Between dodging bullets and taking cover Bruni could see these cultists were not human, something was terribly wrong. Aside from the gunfire, Bruni could also hear faint chanting in no language he knew.

As the group of men proceeded through the halls, they saw many strange symbols written in blood. The further they went into the bowels of the Sanitorium, the more the men felt presences all around them, shadows danced and formed inhuman images. The cultists also seemed off, Bruni noticed strange and gruesome ailments had befallen the individual cultists.

Many were covered with injuries that looked self inflicted, bloodshot eyes, and blackened veins around the face.

"These men...they are under some kind of spell. Their actions are not their own." Bruni warned

"I don't think they'd listen to us anyway, Father." Luca said as he checked a corner.

Down the hall, just beyond a closed set of double doors, the group heard the chanting clearly as well as seeing a red glow on the other side. The group slowly walked towards the doors, feeling a powerful pulse of energy pass over them every few seconds. When they get close to the doors, the pulse is so strong it forces them all back a step. Bruni steps to the door and goes to grab the handle only for all of them to hear the sounds of multiple people screaming.

"Thomas, blow the door." Bruni ordered.

The group took cover in an alcove taking the time to reload their weapons, once Thomas joined them they braced for the explosion. Once the initial shockwave had passed the group eased their way towards the room, the doors were obliterated by the explosion, blackened burns on the stone floor marking the direction of the fireball into the room.

Inside the room the group saw a more gruesome scene. Gathered in a circle of candles and cryptic symbols were the bodies of five cultists, their throats slit, the blood flowed through channels along the floor to a dais covered in the same runes the group had seen throughout the building. Just past the dais stood a male figure dressed in a white robe, his brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and his face was clean shaven. He looked human but the air around him felt anything but, especially as an unsettling smile curled across his face.

"You are too late. It is done. The Path is open." He said in a distorted voice.

He then revealed an amulet from around his neck, both it and the symbols began glowing bright crimson he then resumed the chant. The room darkened as inhuman voices joined in, the candles flickered as the blood in the dais started gathering in a floating orb of pulsating liquid. The amulet siphoned the blood from the orb seemingly empowering the Speaker.

"Put him down!" Michael shouted followed by the hail of gunfire, when one of the men ran out of ammo in his BAR he dropped it and pulled two 1911s to continue the fire. The Speaker was hit so many times his robe changed from white to red, the orb splattered onto the dais as the runes ceased glowing along with the amulet. Everyone sighed with relief before investigating the room, Bruni walked towards The Speaker stepping over the blood as best he could. When he closed the distance the presence of evil was easily felt on the medallion, which he now realized was made of carved bones, dark forces were at work darker than any man could conjure. Bruni retrieved his bible and a flask of holy water, beginning to read whilst splashing the holy water on the dais and body. Bruni, as well as the others, were caught off guard when the body began to twitch; a little at first but more violently once touched by the holy water. The twitching was replaced with bones breaking and violent convulsing, The Speaker got to his feet revealing his full transformation. A pair of horns sprouted from his head, a tail whipped out from under his robe, and claws adorned his hands.

"You cannot stop me!" He roared.

Bruni did not stop his incantation while splashing the last of the holy water into the Speaker's face. Unholy screams of agony and pain were heard as the holy water burned the creature like acid. The creature lunged at Bruni only for its fangs to scratch the metal of Bruni's 1911 as the barrel was shoved into the creature's mouth. The first shot sent it to the ground, the next three to the head ensured it wouldn't get back up. The men came to check on the father only for him to finish his incantation.

"In nomine patri, et filii, Spiritus Sancti, Amen." He said while making the symbol of the cross with his free hand.

Bruni reached down to the amulet, upon touching it he was bombarded with multiple visions. Visions of a dark world filled with mountains of skulls, oceans of fire and blood, cries of agony while dark figures chanted and cackled at their nefarious deeds of slaughter. He watched vast armies rising and clashing, beasts made of iron and steel trampling the land, and cities turned to ash in an instant. He then saw a creature that looked akin to a dragon cloaked in shadow and flame, speaking a tongue he didn't know but it filled him with primal fear especially when it lunged to devour him. Bruni was then thrust back to reality with Luca and Vin restraining him while Michael calmed him down. Bruni calmed after a moment before Michael asked him;

"What should we do now Father?"

"This place is filled with evil. That amulet is an instrument of chaos itself, I fear the influence it would have if it ever left this place. Thomas, use what dynamite you have left to destroy this room and that infernal thing. We need to return to the Organization, tell them that this place must be buried along with its secrets." Father Bruni explained as beads of sweat drizzled from his brow.

Thomas went to work as everyone else began leaving the building Thomas caught up just as they exited the front door. By the time they reached the gate the fireball engulfed the entire right side of the building, the floors fell through into the basement. The group watched the fire for a time before finally getting into their cars, leaving the Sanatorium and it's dark secrets. Even still Father Bruni felt that what he saw, were they simple visions made to strike fear into him? Or were they premonitions of a future that has yet to come? Either way, they had succeeded in putting a fear in him he could not easily shake...nor escape.

#BSRC #Story 5

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ottelis · 4 years

Photo

"I gave you my life, Eliott," Lucas's voice shatters, splinters.

Eliott replies softly, broken, hollow, "And I gave you mine."

"No," Lucas says, low and dark. "No, you didn't."

aka: eliott and lucas grow up together, but are separated when eliott is institutionalized in paris after a severe depressive episode. they reunite two years later when eliott is released, but everything has already changed before their eyes.

epigraph. i. ii. iii. iv.

04—charcoal

tw: uses of the q slur and mentions of death, suicide, and electroshock therapy

july 18th, 1968

12:58

caen, france

The days start blurring together again, but the colors are a little clearer, rarely mixing and mudding together. Eliott thinks Friday was mostly gray; Saturday was a pale, sky blue; Sunday was a rich, muted green; Monday was a peachy pink; Tuesday, was a pale, pale yellow; Wednesday was a faded white; and today, Thursday, is a pastel orange. But all Eliott could think about all week was Lucas.

I don't know what to do, Eliott.

I'm sure you understand that your loyalty isn't as precious to me now as it was when we were younger.

We can't be together anymore. I was wrong back then. I'm not a queer. I know now.

I don't think so, Eliott.

In that moment, I wanted to hurt you. And I knew that what I said would hurt you.

In your letter, you said that you just wanted to know if I would nurture your loyalty a little longer. I will. If you'll let me.

All these same words, swirling around in his mind until he's dizzy, until they burn behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. And he hears Lucas's voice through it all, every inflection of disappointment, fatigue, frustration, despondency, and hope, and Eliott feels the sting of it all over again.

But Eliott doesn't feel devastated. He still feels that lingering sense of acceptance, and it veils him in a thin cloud of depression. Thin enough to see through, but thick enough to darken his surroundings, to start draining the color from everything ever so slightly. It's like a pain, an ache that doesn't hurt too terribly, but it still lingers, constantly trying to keep making its presence known. He can't deny that it's there, and he can't push the pain away as easily. It's bothersome, and it's dark.

He just can't figure Lucas out. And he can't figure out why he let himself accept Lucas's apologies so easily. He should've fought back. He should've asked him more questions, challenged more of his recent actions. He should've let himself take control for once instead of following Lucas's lead, only reacting instead of acting. He should've done so many more things in that moment instead of being so passive, but he can't picture himself taking the initiative again and marching up to Lucas's door and demanding he answer. Perhaps, a small part somewhere in the maze of his mind surrendered that day where the grass ends, and it took over the other night. And maybe that little spec is strong enough to convince the rest of his mind, his body to simply give up. Let Lucas move on. Let him marry Chloé, let him go to Paris for medical school, let him live a new life. Maybe there really is a parallel universe where they won't be together forever, and Eliott just happens to have the crushing misfortune of living in it.

He wanted to tell his mother what happened that night. But then he would have to admit that he's hurt Lucas more than he already has, and that he's upset because he finally knows that Lucas didn't love him as much as he loves Lucas. He finally knows that Lucas probably never loved him like that at all. And he's not only upset, he's afraid. Afraid that he'll come to the same realization that Lucas has. Maybe they really were just two stupid boys who needed more love than they had, so they turned to each other. They fell into each other's arms and crashed into each other's lips because they had nowhere else to go, nowhere else they felt safe taking refuge in. Maybe it all really was some passing fancy, something convenient that they took advantage of the few moments they had it.

Maybe the love that has driven Eliott his whole life, the love that has shaped him and raised him up into the man he is now, was never truly real.

A part of him is happy this didn't destroy him as much as it could have, but a larger part hates that he's not as upset as he should be. He's practically lost Lucas, his best friend and, dare he say, the love of his life. He should be wailing and gnashing his teeth and pounding his fists into the earth and crying out in anger at God, at fate, at whatever thing has taken almost everything he loves away from him. He should be surging through every day with a hungry, raging flame of anger. Or he should be in such mourning that he fears his eyes will never be dry again. His whole body should heave with his sobs, his mouth should always taste of the bitter salt from his tears, he should feel the strain on his heart, wait in perfect patience for the moment it breaks and he'll finally be free from his pain. He'll forever be known as the boy who died of a broken heart, who died because he loved someone far, far too much. He has a right to feel angry, to be completely shattered. But he doesn't. He's just tired. And he doesn't know how to wait for Lucas to reach out to him and tell him that he's ready to talk. He doesn't know how much longer he can be in this depressed, almost apathetic state before it morphs into something worse, something he can't control. He just doesn't know.

Him and his mother are eating lunch as his mind is still running rampant, trying to hold back all the feelings of guilt and depression so she won't notice. It's trying to find a solution, too, though it isn't sure which problem it wants to fix. Eliott isn't sure, either. He isn't sure where to begin, or if any solution will actually work. His confusion, his desperation is growing, and he doesn't want it getting out of control. He doesn't want himself to get out of control. Not again. Every time he loses control, he—

"Eliott," his mother begins, her voice soft, a little sad. "I'm thinking about visiting Papa today. Do you want to come with me?"

Eliott looks up, blinking away his reverie. He takes a deep breath as he tries to think about her question. The last time he was there, his father's memory helped him more than he thought it could. And maybe he could tell his father everything that happened. He could tell him the truth about everything, all the truth he never got to tell him when he was still alive. Yes, he won't be able to answer, or give him a hug or tousle his hair, but maybe if Eliott just says the words out loud, he could start feeling better. Maybe.

He nods, giving her a small smile. "I'll come."

She smiles back at him. There's something shining in her eyes, and he can't tell if she's happy or if she's about to cry. "Good," she says, her voice wavering slightly. She clears her throat. "Is it okay if we go once we finish our lunch?"

He nods again. "That's okay."

"I know you've been feeling down again, honey," she continues, still quiet. "And I think this will help you."

Eliott bites his lip, but nods. "I think so, too."

"I love you," she says, reaching across the table and placing her hand on top of his. "You know that, right?"

"I know," he smiles. "I love you, too, Maman."

Eliott doesn't eat much of his lunch, but his mother smiles at him understandingly and offers to wrap it up and save it for later. He smiles back at her and accepts.

"I can make us some tea when we come home," she says as they walk out the front door. "Does that sound good?"

"Sounds good," Eliott agrees. "Thank you, Maman."

"You're welcome, honey," she smiles, kissing him on the cheek. "Ready?"

He nods, and the hum of the engine and the music on the radio is almost soothing as they make their way to the cemetery.

It's a beautiful day, but not quite as beautiful as the day his father died. The air is just a little too humid and stuffy, the wind is a little too harsh, the sun a little too dim. But his father always liked summer. He was rarely sick when it was warm, and he usually felt strong enough to go down to the beach with Eliott and splash around in the water with him. They would go down to the library and read books together, or just wander around the town. His father was so close to seeing another summer, but he was too sick, too weak to live another day. He wonders again if his father's half-open eyes saw one of the most beautiful days France had ever seen before he died. He hopes he did.

He blinks as he hears the engine and the music suddenly cut off. They're here. The cemetery doesn't look nearly as dreary in the broad daylight. Most of the markers are a light, weathered gray, and the grass is a much brighter, healthy green. The eerie silence of the place is interrupted by the soft rustling of leaves, branches in the wind. It's almost beautiful.

He hears his mother unbuckle her seat belt, so he does the same. He takes as many deep breaths as he can. He doesn't think he'll ever get used to the idea of only seeing his father in a cemetery, and only seeing his name, and only seeing the two little dates and knowing, in between them, how little time he spent with his father. It's a strange feeling. He always feels a ghost of a shiver running along his spine here, but yet he's filled with a catharsis, a kind of comfort.

He follows his mother to his father's grave, and he sees tears in her eyes. He puts his arm around her, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

They reach his grave, both releasing a heavy sigh. She doesn't weep like she used to. He can hear her sniffle, but he can't feel her trembling. Still, he holds her close, holds her up. He knows she still needs it.

They stand there for a moment, silently mourning. Not very many thoughts have run through Eliott's mind, and he hasn't yet cried a single tear. He only feels that lingering sadness he's felt the past few days, and the pain of it is dull, yet plunging. He hates how he barely feels anything right now.

"Maman," Eliott begins, speaking past the familiar lump in his throat. "Can I talk to Papa? Alone?"

She looks up at him, worry written all over her face. But she smiles. "Okay. I'll be in the car."

"Thank you," he smiles back, enveloping her in a tight hug.

She pulls away, kissing him on the cheek before walking away.

The cemetery is eerily, eerily quiet before Eliott finds the courage to speak.

"Papa," he begins shakily, taking what feels like his millionth deep breath. "I need to tell you something. I never got the chance to tell you this while you were alive, but," he pauses, trying to taste the words before they come out of his mouth. They taste strange, unfamiliar, but they're right. "I'm queer, Papa. I... I don't know if there's a better word to describe it, but I don't think my heart falls in love with just boys, or just girls, or just boys and girls. It just falls in love. It runs rampant and it drags me along and I can't help but listen to it and follow it. And, somewhere along the way, it fell in love with Lucas. I don't know when or why or how it happened, but it did. And, not long before you died, he told me he loved me, too. And then we kissed. And, suddenly, we were calling each other mon amour and finding little places where we could kiss again and fall even deeper in love," Eliott chuckles as a single tear rolls down his cheek. "I wonder if people saw me back then and wondered why I was so happy. And not the happy I am when I'm manic. Truly happy. I've never been so happy in my life, Papa, I swear it. I didn't even need to be around him to be so beyond happy. I just had to say his name, or picture him in my mind, and my heart would soar. I was in love, Papa, I am in love," His smiles, his laughs disappear. "But he's angry with me. Or, he was. I'm not sure. When I first came home he was. He was angry because of what I did before I had to go to the institution. And he didn't talk to me for weeks, and he started talking to me again the other day at his birthday party. But he doesn't want to talk about anything that happened before. I think he's hoping I'll just forgive him and then we'll never have to talk about any of that again. He... He feels so much but he refuses to let it show on his face. He refuses to let other people see it. He refuses to tell anyone about it. He's stubborn and he bottles everything up and then he lashes out and then he realizes how much he can hurt people and he hates being reminded of that, of how powerful his words are, how sharp his tongue is. And... I don't know how to help him. He's worse than he was when we were younger. And I know in the back of my mind that I'm probably the reason why he's gotten worse, but I don't know how to help him. He won't tell me how. I know every inch of him except for his mind. His skull might as well be empty for me. I can't figure him out anymore. And I think he's given up on figuring me out, too. And... he's engaged now, and he says he never loved me the way I loved him. And when he said that, I think it confirmed everything I was already thinking, and I was okay with it. I accepted it. Well, parts of it. I don't think I could ever forget how happy he made me. That's the part I can't seem to accept. If he didn't love me the way I loved him, why did that make me so happy? Why did I take his little crumbs of affection and let my smile spread and let my heart fall in love with him? I just... I'm afraid that this is really where we grow apart. I'm afraid that universe is branching off into other universes and we're on completely different paths. And, if we are, if that's what's happening, wouldn't it be my fault? I chose to try to take myself away from him, and now he's made his choice, too, I think. I don't know what to do, Papa."

He knows his father couldn't answer, but when the silence comes back, unsettling and snaking underneath his skin, it makes the lump in his throat break open in a strangled sob. He breathes, slowly, rubbing at his eyes. He breathes, breathes. He walks away, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. He breathes again, as slowly as he can. He calms himself down, leaving himself with that lingering, prickly sadness that's been haunting him for days.

He hopes he doesn't look like he's been crying as much as he has been when he reaches the car and climbs into his seat.

"Are you okay, honey?" his mother asks almost immediately. "You look like you've been crying."

He nods, taking another deep breath. "I just miss Papa."

It's not a lie, but his father isn't the only person he misses so much he feels like he could burst.

"We'll get you home and I'll make you that tea I promised," she replies, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Would that make you feel better?"

Eliott nods again, smiling a little. "It would."

His mother doesn't try and talk to him as they drive home, which he appreciates, but it's still a little too quiet for his taste. He turns up the radio a bit, even though he isn't particularly fond of the song that's playing. The day is still beautiful, his sadness still haunts him, Lucas is still quiet and distant, his mother is still far kinder than he deserves, and his father is still dead. Everything has changed, but in this moment, nothing has.

They arrive home, and Eliott sits at the table as his mother makes tea. He looks out the window, towards the water, watching the waves lap and froth and imagining the music they must be making. He still hasn't gone swimming since he came home, but whenever he entertains the idea, something holds him back. Lucas can't come with him, and neither can his father. The last time he went swimming alone was when he tried to let the waves crash over him and sweep him away. He's not afraid of the water, not like Lucas is now, but he supposes he's at least wary of it now. Maybe, if Lucas really does want them to be friends again and tries to fix things between them, they can go swimming like they used to. They could wade out, little by little, so Lucas doesn't get too scared, and the chilly sting of the water will wash all of Eliott's bad memories away. Couldn't they?

The kettle boils, and the waves seem to calm.

He turns his gaze back towards his mother, who began to pour the water into their mugs. He smiles at her gratefully as she hands him his, chuckling when she reminds him that the tea will be hot.

"So," she begins, setting Eliott ever so slightly on edge. "What did you tell Papa about?"

Eliott sighs, bobbing his teabag above and below the water. He decides to tell the truth, at least a piece of it. "Lucas."

"Have you heard from him again at all?" she asks carefully, adding sugar to her tea.

Eliott shakes his head. "Not at all."

"You're sure you don't want me to talk to him or Madeleine?" she asks again.

Eliott nods. "He'll talk to me when he's ready."

"It's been almost a month since you came back, honey," she replies. "What's holding him back?"

"He has his own life now, Maman," he shrugs. "One that I probably need to stop intruding on. I don't think he wants me in it."

"Why wouldn't he want you there with him?" she asks, almost frustrated. "You two have spent almost your whole lives together. You go away for two years, and suddenly he doesn't want you around anymore? It doesn't make sense."

"I told you what he said," he sighs, putting his tea off to the side. He's still not angry. He's just still tired. "It wasn't the two years that I was gone. It's the reason why I was gone for two years. It's because I tried to kill myself."

The words fall from his mouth so quickly it makes him feel sick to his stomach. It makes the color drain from his mother's face. It makes a tense silence fall between them.

"I'm..." Eliott chokes out. "I'm sorry, Maman. It's just that I can't undo what I tried to do that night. I can't unwrite those letters I wrote, or unthink the thoughts that made me want to try in the first place. I can't unmake Lucas's anger. And I don't think I can unbreak our friendship. He'll patch a hole in it then move on and never look back like he always does if he decides to talk to me again."

"Honey," his mother starts, but the word dies in her throat and she doesn't say anything else.

He shakes his head, running his hands through his hair. "I wish he would just talk to me and tell me he just doesn't want to be friends anymore so I can stop hoping and wishing that things will go back to the way they were. No matter how much things keep changing right in front of me, a part of me still keeps imagining a world I remember, a world that's kind to me. I wish he would tell me if he's going to kill it or nurture it. It's tearing me apart. He's tearing me apart."

She doesn't know what to say. He can tell from the way she purses her lips and the way she can't quite look him in the eye.

"It's okay," he tells her. "I wouldn't know what to say to me, either."

She sighs, lightly tapping her fingers on the table. "Maybe you could write everything you're feeling? Or maybe draw?"

Eliott shrugs, but the idea flows easily into his mind and lifting his spirits, if only slightly.

"You haven't drawn in a while, haven't you?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "I gave Lucas a drawing for his birthday, but I don't think I've drawn anything like I used to since Papa died."

"Do you want to try it? We can go and buy some supplies," she proposes, hope in her eyes.

He nods. "I'll try it."

july 20th, 1968

01:11

caen, france

As much as Eliott believes drawing will help him, he's had to work up the courage to simply pick up the new charcoal pencils his mother bought him yesterday, let alone put them to paper. His mind is full, as always. Full of emotions, memories, ideas of what to draw, ideas of what he would say to Lucas whenever he's ready to talk. if he didn't know better, he would've thought he was in another mania based on his scattered mind alone. If he was in a mania, the thoughts would've pushed him, urged him forward as he followed every wit that crossed his mind. But his thoughts are suffocating him, backing him into a dark corner. His mind seems to be teetering on a fine line between mania and depression, and it reminds him of the day he tried to take his own life. And that terrifies him.

He remembers someone saying that when anniversaries of traumatic events arrive, people's emotions are heightened to a frightening degree. Anxiety, depression, fear, despair. Today marks two years since Lucas's drowning, and two days from now will be two years since Eliott's suicide attempt. He hates how close together two of the worst days of his life are, but things were so different back then. Eliott was frightened, desperate, traumatized. Lucas was dead for the longest, most frightening ten minutes Eliott could imagine. How could he ever forget that? How could he ever recover from knowing that beloved body was ever lifeless? How could he chase away the frightening possibility that Lucas's heart stopped before Eliott could cling to him and swim desperately to shore? How could he live knowing that Lucas's drowning was all his fault?

Last year, Eliott's mental state while he was at the institution was deteriorating rapidly, and the anniversary coincided with another failed medication trial. He spent the anniversary of Lucas's drowning with the bit in his mouth and the shocks ripping through his brain, and he spent the anniversary of his suicide attempt still reeling from the shocks, too weak and disoriented to spend too much time dwelling on remembering. He doesn't want to spend the anniversaries this year in that same situation, but his terror only grows at the thought of having to deal with it with a somewhat clear mind.

And how Lucas must have felt, must feel. All because of Eliott.

He shakes his head, shakes away the memories, the possibilities, the blame. He looks back down at his new sketchbook, feels the chalky charcoal rub smoothly against his fingertips. He takes a deep breath, letting his eyes slowly close.

Breathe. Create. Forget. Just for a minute or two.

He opens his eyes, and he touches the charcoal to the page, letting his mind control his hand. Whatever's on his mind, it'll speak in tones of dark black or faded gray. The picture will be black and white, but Eliott's heart will provide all the color.

may 27th, 1966

19:47

caen, france

The sun is setting, kissing the water and making it blush a fierce gold as Lucas kisses Eliott softly, gingerly on a rippling sea of wrinkled bedsheets. Their legs are tangled together, and their foreheads touch and their noses tickle against each other. Lucas weaves his hand through Eliott's hair, wrapping the occasional strand around his finger if he finds a small curl. Eliott can feel Lucas's eyes on him, but he's staring at the little mole on his neck, the dip of his collarbone, how his skin turns into something like honey in the light of the setting sun.

"He'll be okay, Ellie," Lucas finally says, still the softest, kindest thing that ever sang in Eliott's ear. "He'll get better."

"It's different this time," Eliott mumbles, fidgeting with the collar of Lucas's shirt. "He's never been this sick before. Never. I'm just waiting for Maman to call and tell me that he's dying, or that he's already dead. It could be any minute now."

"She won't," Lucas replies, kissing the tip of Eliott's nose. "He has some of the best doctors in the country looking after him. They'll make him good as new."

"My papa's been sick my whole life, Lu," Eliott shakes his head, tears filling his eyes. "Every time he gets really sick or he goes to the hospital, all I ever hear is that he'll get better. Someday they're bound to be wrong. Someday he'll be too sick and the doctors won't be able to save him."

"He's not too sick," Lucas reassures, but his voice is thin, almost breaking. "He's not too far gone."

"You keep saying that," Eliott says, finally looking up at Lucas. He sees something in Lucas's eyes he rarely sees; pity.

"How could I tell you that your papa might die?" Lucas sighs, closing his eyes. He shakes his head, opening his eyes again and gazing at Eliott with that same pity. "I know what it's like to lose a father, but not like this."

"You don't have to tell me," Eliott replies. "And you don't have to try and tell me things you don't believe."

Lucas is quiet, biting his lip and avoiding Eliott's gaze. Ever so quietly, he says, "I know."

"Lucas," Eliott begins, taking a deep breath. "Hold me. Please. Hold me until this is all over."

The corner of Lucas's mouth turns up into a sad, half-smile. "Okay."

Eliott manages to smile back as he cuddles closer to Lucas, resting his head on his chest. He feels Lucas's arms enfold him, holding him tightly yet softly. He feels Lucas kiss and whisper into his hair, feels his thumb gently caress his arm. He listens to Lucas's heartbeat, feels the soft cotton of his shirt brush against his cheek, smells his salt and his sleep, and he prays that somehow, Lucas is right.

Lucas's breaths start evening out, and his heartbeat slows. Eliott looks up and sees that his eyes are closed, and that his lips are parted ever so slightly. Lucas could always fall asleep so easily, and Eliott always envied him for it. But he smiles, kissing the tip of Lucas's nose, his forehead. He doesn't stir, and he snores quietly.

Eliott watches him for a moment, studies the way his long eyelashes fan against his cheek and are lengthened by their own shadows. He watches the small strands of hair falling over his forehead drift on the breeze from the open window, from Lucas's breathing. Lucas smiles, ever so slightly, in his sleep, and he sighs contentedly.

He's so beautiful, Eliott thinks. How did I ever deserve him?

Eliott carefully pulls himself away from Lucas's hold, finding his bag and pulling out his sketchbook and pencils. He climbs back onto the bed, still careful about waking Lucas. He starts drawing Lucas's head, etching out every sleepy line in his face, every messy strand of his hair. He draws the sloping line of his neck, the hills and valleys of his shoulders, the slightest curve at his waist. He draws his open hand resting by his face, his fingers slightly curled and his palms almost completely shadowed. He tries to draw all the little fibers he can see in Lucas's shirt, chasing the hems and trying to reign in every loose thread.

He stops drawing for a moment, wishing he had a colored pencil that matched the shade of Lucas's skin in this light, and what such a color could be called; pale honey, ambrosia, euphoria, tenderness. He tries to commit the color to memory, the perfect blend of oranges and yellows and dusty pinks. His grin widens at the thought that maybe, if the world is kind to them, Eliott will see this color over and over again. That he'll see the love of his life look so heavenly every day, and be reminded again and again that Lucas is his, and that he is Lucas's. That he'll fall deeper and deeper in love until he forgets what it's like to live in a world where his soul wanders aimless, alone. He offers up another prayer that, like they say, thoughts will become words, and words will become actions, and that actions will become habits. For Lucas is the most addicting and yet satisfying habit Eliott could ever have.

His heart sinks, just a little, as he studies his drawing. It's beautiful, but not as beautiful as Lucas truly is. His heart sinks, just a little further, as he imagines people thinking Lucas is one of the most beautiful people they've ever seen, without ever seeing him like Eliott does.

He leaves his sketchbook on Lucas's nightstand, carefully crawling back into his arms. But Lucas stirs, and his eyes slowly blink open. He smiles when he sees Eliott, tilting his head down to kiss him again. Eliott kisses him back, hoping Lucas can taste the love that fills his chest and presses against his seams, the love that only appears as long as Lucas lives, breathes, sings.

"Why'd you get out of bed?" Lucas asks, his voice deep and crackling.

"I drew you," Eliott replies. "While the sunlight was still shining on you."

"You did?" Lucas grins, tracing Eliott's cheekbone with his thumb gingerly.

Eliott nods, grinning back at him. "I did."

"You'll have to show me when I'm less sleepy," Lucas says, kissing Eliott again. It's soft, slow, smiling lips against smiling lips. "I love you so much."

Eliott feels his heart glowing, bursting. He kisses him a little deeper, a little harder, making the smallest moan rumble from Lucas's throat. Eliott slows then, breaking away for a moment before kissing him again, gently, patiently. Lucas melts into him. They stop for breath, almost chuckling at each other out of pure joy.

" I love you, too," Eliott says against Lucas's lips. "More than anything."

They become like the waves against the shore, their lungs harmonizing in slow, sweet sighs. They hold each other, their bodies fitting together and clinging as tightly as they can. They slowly fall back asleep, braving the darkness they're entering together. The wind flows through the window, gathering their secrets and vowing that they'll keep them, falling silent and dying in the sky's throat. The moon is still bright, her freckled face smiling sadly as she watches them, knowing all the threads of the universe and knowing how they all tie together. She whispers, sings, "All is well. There is a calm after the storm, a peace after the war, a warmth and a comfort when burning heat fades away. Brave through, my darlings. To be brave is to be alive, to be well. All I ask is that you remember, still, to be gentle all the while."

The Lallemants' phone rings.

july 20th, 1968

10:17

caen, france

Eliott wakes with a jolt from a dreamless sleep. The sun is well on its way through the sky, its rays almost completely lighting up his room. He sits up, fighting against his head and heart weighing him down to his bed. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and tries to ignore the throbbing pain in his skull. He looks down at the floor, where his small binder of drawings lies open. On the left hand side is the drawing he made of Lucas while he was sleeping, the last serious drawing he ever did before his father died. The pencil markings are weathered slightly, the page stained a pale, pale yellow. On the right hand side is the drawing he did a few hours ago, another of Lucas, but the way he looked the moment he opened the door and saw Eliott there. Eliott reaches down and picks it up, studying it more closely.

Lucas's mouth gapes open slightly, highlighting his cheekbones and his jawline, exposing his teeth. His eyebrows are raised, curtained behind stray locks of his hair falling over his forehead. His eyes are wide, sparkling with something like shock, despair, confusion, realization, recognition. Eliott still hasn't figured out what that something is, or what he can call it, but he thinks he'll never be able to forget it. It should've struck him to his core. It should've warned him that something was wrong, that something was different. But he didn't see it, then. He was too blinded by Lucas, by the future he thought they could have together, loving each other like they used to.

Eliott briefly entertains the idea of what could've happened if he had listened to that ghost in Lucas's eyes, if he had just walked away right then and there. He wonders which is worse: knowing Lucas is angry and knowing the distance that's growing between them is all his fault, or not knowing why Lucas is upset and letting their friendship fall apart, wither away naturally. Which is worse? Animosity, or ignorance?

He sighs deeply, putting the drawing back in his binder. He wants to reach out to Lucas today, somehow. He probably won't try and talk to him, not yet. Maybe a letter?

Eliott tears a blank sheet from his sketchbook and moves over to his desk. His hand hovers over the page as a thousand words flit across his mind, as he tries to catch the ones that feel right. He starts writing.

Lucas,

I've been thinking about you, and us, and everything that went wrong. And you were right. I was selfish. I was foolish. I was a boy. I was sick. I'm still sick. My sickness will never go away, no matter how many shocks they gave me, and no matter how many times I scream and pray for it to leave me alone. It hurts people and sometimes I can't stop it. It's hurt you so many times. I've hurt you so many times.

I was sick that day. A dizzy, euphoric sick. I was in love with you. And your name, your face mingled with my mania and it took me higher than I've ever been before. I couldn't imagine being away from you for even a second. So, I woke up at dawn and bounced around my room and thought about all the things we could do together as I got dressed. Then I went over to your window and woke you up, and we raced each other down the street until we couldn't breathe and our sides were aching. Do you remember us finding almost every alley and kissing until our lips started turning blue? Do you remember me dragging you to almost every shop and promising to buy you anything you wanted? Do you remember that whole morning, the beginning of that afternoon? To be honest, all of that is a little hazy for me. All I remember is you. Your smiles, your laughs, your breathing, the taste of your lips, the feeling of your skin. All I really remember is you.

But what I really remember is when we got to the beach. I'll remember that hour as long as I live. I'll remember those ten minutes as long as I live. But everything I felt then is nothing compared to what you went through. I'll never try to understand it, because I don't think I ever could. But what I do understand is that you never would've gone through what you did if it weren't for me. If I hadn't been sick, or if I had been able to control it, or if I wasn't so attached to you, or if I didn't love you as much as I did, you would've never known what death tastes like, or seen his dark, inky face, or felt his cool, welcoming embrace.

You told me the day I came home that you don't go near the water anymore because it reminds you of me. It doesn't remind you of dying. You're not afraid of drowning again. It reminds you of me. I took that away from you. I took all the memories of splashing in the water, and watching the waves breathe against the shore, and I tainted them, darkened them before your very eyes. I almost let the water take you. I almost let it take me, too. The water consumes, erodes, strangles. Just like I do.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't blame you for not being ready to talk. Take all the time you need, Lucas. Live your life a little more. See what it's like without me. See if you're happier. Because you deserve all the happiness in the world, Lucas. You deserve to breathe every particle of it, swim in every drop of it. And you deserve even more than that. You deserve love. Dizzying, breathless, heart-racing love. I don't know if I can give that to you. I think I've given you all the love I have. I want you to decide if it's enough, even though you deserve so, so much more. I've told you before that I'll be waiting for you, and I still will, but if you decide you need to walk away, I will, too. I'll stop waiting, and I'll let you find the happiness and love you deserve. I won't blame you. How could I? Maybe Chloé really is the love of your life, and maybe she can be the one to give you everything you deserve. I won't blame you for that either. How could I?

I feel that I'm full of hope, Lucas. A part of me hopes that I can learn how to control this sickness, figure out its warning signs, its weaknesses. Another part hopes that my touch and my heart will soften, and that my mind and tongue will calm. But there's a third, larger part that hopes for nothing short of the best for you. It hopes that no more of your tears will be shed unnecessarily, that your mind will never worry for another unnecessary second, and that your heart will glow as brightly as it can until it must dim and flicker out. And may your heart live as long as it can. May it bleed scarlet and passion and loyalty. May it sing with all its voice. May it guide you down any dark, winding path and carry you every step of the way. May it love so fiercely that it may burst, but it's not afraid to. And may you hold it, nurture it. May you live.

Yours,

Eliott

He sighs deeply as he sets his pen down, reading over his words again. He's exhausted, and his heart aches, but it feels right. He folds it and places it in an envelope carefully. His hands starts shaking again as he writes Lucas's name, and he hopes he'll recognize his handwriting. He seals the envelope, the lingering sadness he's felt for days dulling, numbing. He takes another deep, deep breath and leaves his room, walking down the stairs to deliver the letter to the Lallemants' mailbox.

"Where are you going, honey?" his mother asks from the kitchen, looking up from her bowl of cereal.

"I'm taking this to the Lallemants'," he replies, not waiting for her response. He tells her that he'll be right back as he closes the front door behind him.

The sun is still shining brightly, but he can see dark, looming clouds peeking over the horizon. The waves are loud today, crashing against the shore with a shout, a cry. It's hot, stuffy. He picks up his pace, almost jogging to the Lallemants' mailbox.

He opens the slightly rusted mailbox, its creaking grating against his ears. He winces, then shoves the letter inside. But the sadness starts to come back, slowly, just beneath his skin as he does. He shuts the mailbox and hurries back home, the sun shining brighter and the waves crashing louder and the heat becoming unbearable.

He stumbles as he walks up the porch steps, and he lets himself fall, exhausted. Tears are suddenly spilling out of his eyes, and there's a strong, familiar weight crushing his chest. He hugs himself, rocking back and forth as the tears become loud, choking sobs. His mother must've heard him, because he suddenly feels her arms wrap around him.

"What's wrong?" she asks through her tears. "My baby boy..."

He wails into her shoulder, feeling his heart shattering slowly, slowly into pieces as the acceptance becomes full, filling his chest and nearly stopping his breath.

#skam france #elu #eliott demaury #lucas lallemant #skamfr fic #elu fic #ttmc #hush bailey #my writing #im surprised i got this done so quickly lol but here's the new chapter!!#i hope all of you like it!

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randomheadcanons · 4 years

Text

Character Profile-TMNT

Tally Johnson

Basic Information

Name: Tally Marie Johnson

Nicknames: Tal, Johnson

Age: Mid-to-late teens

Date of birth: May 12th

Race: White

Gender: Cis Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Current residence: Sewers, the Lair, later on in the Bronx

Relationship status: Is forever complicated, but single

Social status: crime fighting high school, later on as a P.I.

Religious values: Raised non-denominational, currently agnostic.

Traits of Voice

Accent (if any): N/A. Neutral accent for most of speaking, occasional New York accent on certain words (coffee, walk, etc.)

Language spoken: English

Other languages known: n/a Style of speaking: Loose and casual, uses a lot of idioms and verbal noises such as “nuh-uh” for “no” and blowing a raspberry for “I don’t know”.

Volume of voice: Average to above average. Has a bit of vocal fry towards the end of sentences.

Physical Appearance

Height: 5’3

Weight/body: 130/ Slight / Petite. Tally has tight, lean muscle, particularly in her legs, as that is what she relies on when fighting. She has a notable bullet scar on her abdomen, slightly above and to the left of her navel.

Eye colour: Green, leaning towards hazel.

Skin colour: Pale, many, many freckles spattered about her entire body. They congregate around her nose, elbows, and knees.

Hair colour: red

Hair style: As a teen, Tally’s hair went well past her elbows, and she gave herself her own haircuts. In her twenties, she chops it off to above the shoulders. Often wears a pony tail. Tally’s hair isn’t super thick, but she does have a lot of it.

Posture: Pretty good, standard.

Tattoos: n/a

Piercings: Both ears have two lobe piercings. Her left cartridge is pierced, and her right tragus

Typical clothing: Tally frequents thrift stores, and if she had to put an aesthetic on it, she would say skater style. Ripped skinny jeans and a baseball tee is often a stable. Is forever in sneakers. She likes graphic tees and work out clothes.

Personality

General personality/attitude: Generally a “bruh” girl. Tally is optimistic, doesn’t really think things through, and tends to go with her gut. She is however, a problem-solver. She isn’t afraid of physical fears, such as jumping out of a plane or getting punched. She can pick up patterns and solve mysteries fairly well. She is more of a “skeletal outline now-fill it out as we go later” type of planner, which can often lead to sticky situations. Tally doesn’t actively seek out physical fights in her every day life, but she will fight anyone if the situation is escalated. She enjoys a good fight. Tally is very forthcoming, and doesn’t tip-toe around what she’s feeling or what she feels should be said. (like a, ‘no-filter’ type of personality,). Tally is very self-sufficient and self-relying, which can make her selfish, and can often hold a grudge until it is worked out in its entirety with the other party, and even then, there can be residual feelings.

Skills/Talents: Fighting; Tally is scrappy and can think on her feet; and along with that and classical martial arts training, she is pretty good at fighting because of her size and speed. She is also really good at math and puzzles, and enjoys them both. She’s good at being a thought-partner, and often points out flaws in logic in order for the person she is talking to get a better perspective on their issue.

Favourites/Likes: Skateboarding, board games, and movies. She enjoys parkour and being physically active. Can’t seem to sit still.

Most Hated/Dislikes: Disloyalty and dishonesty. People who spend money willy-nilly. Holier than Thou-type people.

Strengths: Adaptable. Doesn’t need a lot to be comfortable, or happy. Money conscious, can work well under pressure

Weaknesses: Always thinks she’s right, has trouble with big change. Selfish (cares for her and her own). Doesn’t forgive easily. Doesn’t have tact in sensitive situations. Is bad with both expressing and receiving emotions and is avoidant towards these situations.

Intelligence: Grades are average, except for math. Tally is often bored with school and doesn’t put in the effort.

Socially: Has several friends at school, but they are only friends because they see each other 5 days a week. She doesn’t hang out with them outside school. She has her circle.

Goals/Ambitions: Subvert organized crime and make it hard for them to operate. Be socially and financially independent.

Fears: Small scale; fire, horses. Large scale; being abandoned, not being good enough.

Particular mannerisms: cracks her knuckles, always moving something; leg, tapping a pen, etc. She tugs on her hair when she’s thinking.

Sexual preference/experience/values: Tally never really dated before Justin. Before then, she was experienced, but with people she no longer has ties with.

Education: Public education. Dropped out after 8th grade, is a semester behind in high school. Takes summer classes to make it up and graduate on time. Associate’s in Math from a local community college.

Health

Illnesses (if any): n/a

Allergies (if any): n/a

Sleeping habits: can sleep literally anywhere, in any position. She is not picky, and falls asleep very quickly, but is a light sleeper. If she is not in her bed or some where she trusts, she will sleep with shoes on.

Energy level: average to high.

Eating habits: eats what she can when she can, usually only 2 meals. Usually skips breakfast.

Memory: average

Any unhealthy habits: smokes socially. Really likes Doritos.

History

Birth country: U.S

Hometown: Staten Island, New York

Childhood: Tally spends her childhood growing up in Staten Island. She is an only child. When she is ten, her parents eat it in an arson case led by Hun and the Purple Dragons to thwart a bust that her father, a P.I, was close to solving. After this, Tally is a ward of the state and bounces around foster care through middle school. After completing her 8th grade year at 13, Tally decides to get revenge herself and runs away, on a hunt for Hun and the PDs.

Teen years: Things don’t go as planned, and Tally almost dies in her attempt to thwart the PD’s herself during an arms deal. Luckily, the Turtles happened to be there and kept her from bleeding out. After a series of encounters and shenanigans after this, Tally is invited to take up permanent residency in the Lair, which she accepts. Splinter encourages her to return to school, and Tally starts high school in the Spring, a semester behind. She takes summer classes in order to graduate with her friends.

Adult years: Receives her associate’s degree in Math, and becomes a freelance Private Investigator.

Relationships

Parents: Has an idealized version of her parents in her memory, as she was 10 when they passed. Her father was a Private Investigator as well, and focused on underworld dealing, which ultimately led to their deaths. She doesn’t remember her folks as much as she would like to, but she has made peace with their deaths.

Siblings: n/a

Any enemies: Foot, Purple Dragons. Various enemies to the Turtles.

Friends: Cat Cortez, Justin Williams, Guy Cortez (nee Williams)

Best friend(s): Cat Cortez

Love interest: Justin Williams until they are 16/17. No end game.

Other

Current home: The Lair

Favourite types of food: Junk food, Southern Comfort food. McDonald’s

Favourite types of drink: Soda, particularly Strawberry Fanta

Favourite colours: Pastel colors, particularly pastel blue.

Favourite type of music: Alt Rock, Blues / Jazz / Folk

Favorite Movie: Atomic Blonde, Charlie’s Angels (old and new)

Favorite Singer(s): Changes, but MIKA, Hosier, Green Day

Favorite Song: We Are Young-MIKA

#tally johnson #my art

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gannonwyatt · 4 years

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⌜ •° ✦ °• — HEY!! is that SEBASTIAN STAN? no, that’s GANNON WYATT, hanging out in BROOKLYN. they’re THIRTY-FOUR years old and use HE/HIM/HIS pronouns. what do they do here? they’re A RECORD STORE CLERK (RETIRED NAVY SEAL - HONORABLE DISCHARGE FOR INJURY) and they’ve lived here TWO YEARS. their favourite thing about the city is THE MUSIC SCENE, but they hate FICKLE PEOPLE. they pride themselves on being ABLE TO SLEEP WITH HIS EYES OPEN. - ── ( vera. 31. she/her. cst. )

( A E S T H E T I C )

dust motes & lamp-light & empty cans of ipa. windows yawn open, stirring lonesome strains of pipe smoke into seemingly meaningful patterns. it was the same dried leaf his grandfather smoked, and the scent eases the pain that splinters his bones. into his 2nd floor studio comes the constant whirring drone of the living, brooklyn streets below. cool night air twists drab curtains and shuffles stacks of unopened mail. a vintage pioneer record player and a scuffed kenwood amp work with pristine edifier speakers to combat the world outside with song. zeppelin, ulver, jackson browne, hank jr., massive attack, shostakovich, jefferson airplane. inside, he contemplates alphabetizing by surname, era, genre, instrumentation, chord progression. the wave-like sound of sorting sleeves is where peace lives.

( P A R T I C U L A R S )

✗. birthday: aug. 23 (virgo)

✗. middle name: havor.

✗. myers-briggs: intp (introverted, intuitive, thinking, perceiving) - the logician

✗. favorite book: suttree, by cormac mccarthy.

✗. favorite album: (currently) lurker of chalice, self-titled

✗. height: 6′.

✗. marital status: single.

✗. sexuality: demi.

✗. positive traits: patient, organized, strategic, calm, logical, observant, honest, strong-willed, brave.

✗. negative traits: harsh, perfectionist, critical, cold, withdrawn, aloof, damaged.

( H E A D C A N O N S )

i. gannon grew up in a single parent home. cora wyatt was a widowed irish immigrant who worked as the head waitress of a little diner in bayonne, new jersey. she was a loving, hardworking woman who encouraged gannon’s independence at an early age out of necessity. he prepared his own meals and got himself to and from school without any issue.

ii. without a father-figure of his own, gannon found himself seeking out the presence of guiding figures. by the time he was fourteen, he had quite a collection of archetypes — from the bookish science teacher to the rugged mechanic on his block, he was in no short supply of those from which he could learn something useful. fred auerbach, however, was his favorite. he’d met him on the ferry by chance, having sat right next to him. from a pair of walkman headphones, gannon heard his first muffled strains of pink floyd’s dark side of the moon. his inquiry into what he’d heard, tinny and garbled through small, sony speakers was the catalyst for a life-long love affair with music. fred, a middle-aged composer and cellist for the new york city philharmonic, was receptive of a wide-eyed protege, so he lavished his knowledge of music upon gannon and, eventually, his love of collecting music. it was refreshing to find a young mind open to exploring music at such depth. their friendship was an odd one, but one they both treasured greatly. on gannon’s eleventh birthday, fred gave him a walkman. on his thirteenth birthday, a pioneer record player. on his fifteenth birthday, season tickets to the philharmonic. for graduation, a gibson les paul classic.

iii. gannon worked in the garage on his block until graduation, enough money to buy a new record a week and help his mother with the bills. it wasn’t glamorous work, but it came naturally to him — picking things apart and understanding how they worked — plus, he could listen to music as loud as he wanted while he worked.

iv. while gannon was gifted at math and science, his long hours at the garage kept him from performing as well as he might have otherwise. without any scholarships being offered him, he was prompted by jack, the garage owner, to take the asvab. he scored a 99.

v. barely a year into his first tour, he was selected for navy seals, special forces. gannon excelled in a military environment, exceeding the expectations of his superiors. he proved a level-headed if reluctant leader, quick on his feet in dire situations, and able to make difficult decisions under the gun. by the time he was 25, he’d earned respectable rank among his peers.

vi. the next year, his mother succumbed to cancer. he was granted a month of leave to wrap up her affairs. upon returning home, he ran into his high school friend, rachel. she helped him through the loss, and he allowed her to get closer to him than anyone before. by the time he was called back for duty, they were engaged.

vii. the next five years were a blur. gannon found himself entrenched in military life. he returned home to his fiance when he could, but the demands of his post were overwhelming. most of his comrades were without attachment, and it was easy for gannon to forget the home whence he came and those that were awaiting his return.

viii. at 31, gannon’s career ended when he lost his right leg and right eye to an IED. he was honorably discharged and sent home.

ix. rachel attempted to help him through the loss, but the severity of his ptsd proved too much for her nerves. after a few years of struggling to navigate his grief with him, she gave up, leaving him alone.

x. once again, it was fred auerbach that turned gannon’s life around when he looked his young friend up on a whim. having bought a fine storefront in brooklyn for a record shop, it occurred to the old man there was only one person he could trust to run his investment with any integrity. gannon was reluctant at first, too blinded by his own grief to see any potential in anything but his own suffering, but once he saw the bowing wood floors and the art deco chandelier hanging in the store’s window, something bloomed within him that he’d thought long-dead: passion.

xi. fred’s vinyl resting place would become a cornerstone of the music culture in brooklyn, nyc. not only did it boast an enormous collection of vinyl, cds, and tapes, but a burgeoning basement venue for exclusive, intimate shows by artists, new and established. locals enjoy a PBR at beer:thirty when browsing the endless aisles of rare and popular presses, or while listening to a local act’s new release. though fred’s growing older in years and not able to man the shop anymore, he’s left it in capable of hands. gannon manages the bookings, inventory, and two employees with ease.

xii. gannon spends a lot of time alone, though he keeps busy. his nights are interrupted by nightmares, so he gets very little sleep — choosing instead to pace around stacks of records in his flat, attend shows, or fool around with his guitar.

xiii. he has an artificial right leg, and it begins just below the knee. while he can get around without issue most of the time, sometimes his joints ache — when it’s cold or raining. in those instances, he must use a cane, and he hates it.

xiv. few know him well. those that don’t think he’s an asshole because of his quiet, detached nature, but he’s very kind and would give a stranger the shirt off his back.

xv. he has begun restoring a honda nighthawk 750 in his spare time at the garage in bayonne where he worked as a kid. he hopes to have it running by the fall.

#tw disfigurement #tw death #tw cancer #tw blindness #newyorkcityabout #gannon: intro

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magic-marvel · 5 years

Text

I Love to Hate You

Chapter 8

Pairing: Peter Parker/Spider-man x Reader

Summary: You don’t know what it is, but seeing him breathe makes you want to punch him in the throat.

Word Count: 1280 (sorry its short ive had such bad writers block)

A/N: im a hot mess yall but i got a surprise coming along with this chapter

WARNING: talks of parental death

“So you gonna give me your evil backstory or what?”

You were strapped back onto the bedpost of the expensive looking bed. Even more so strange, you were bleeding and sweating all over a very expensive looking duvet. The people periodically taking care of you didn’t seem to mind you dirtying the sheets, let alone really caring how frantically you pushed and shoved the wooden post. Scratches and splinters littered the finely polished finish, making a once beautiful peace of woodwork look like something out of a high school woodshop class.

The man in the white suit, which you dubbed “The Voice” since he has yet to give you his real name, was in your room. He sat in an armchair at the corner of the room with his legs crossed and his hand on his chin. He had turned the chair towards you, keeping a scrutinizing glaze on you through his metal framed glasses.

“Oh no, no no.” He kept nodding his head, driving his point further. “This isn’t up to me.”

The Voice waved his hands in the air, signifying the entire situation is not his doing. It was odd, seeing as that he seemingly ordered the men around here. He even walked around the place as if he owned it, so who exactly is really behind this?

“But, my dear, I’ll tell you this,” He pauses, getting up and walking uncomfortably close to your side. He smiles down at you with a much too wide grin, the yellow of his teeth peeking through artificial whitening. “I do enjoy seeing your father suffer.”

He suddenly grabs onto your face, squeezing your cheeks so hard it forces your jaw open. You squirm, kicking as far up as you can reach but fall short of actually hitting him.

“You know, you are a spitting image of your mother.” He turns your face, eyeing different angels as you shout and spasm. None of this deterring him in the slightest.

You began to kick more, forcing your back and legs into uncomfortable positions to even graze him with the toe end of your shoe. You hated how loosely he talked about your mother, as if he knew her.

“You know, despite everything that’s happening, I’m not a complete asshole.” He released your face, backing away before you can flail at him once more. He no longer smiled as he spoke, merely focusing his gaze out the tall window next to the bed. “Your mother was a wonderful woman, shame what happened to her.”

You said nothing.

It hurt, hearing this man tore into your father’s character over and over again, only to have a sudden soft spot for your mother. What she went through was horrendous, a public debacle that ruined your childhood and all memories you had left of her. The person you are now is different than who you would have grown up to be had your mother still been alive. And here this man is, talking so casually about a woman as if he is going you a favor.

He is a complete asshole.

“Well, time is almost up. Let’s hope your father doesn’t make the same mistake twice. It’d really be something if he lost both of you due to his own incompetence.”

He left the room, simply whispering a quick “two hours” to one of his henchmen before closing the door. The sound of the lock clicking was enough to send all the tears falling, choked sobs finally forced themselves out as you attempted to create a now hazy picture of your mother in your head. You couldn’t remember how her nose contoured, how thick or thin her eyebrows were. You barely remembered the curve of her lips, remembering vividly the red of her lipstick.

You were alone, losing the very memory of your mother’s image. It hurt more than any punch or kick you received while under The Voice’s care. Almost hurt as much as losing her that day.

Almost.

“I can’t risk it, Rogers. That’s my kid in there.”

Peter stood by Tony, listening to all the Avengers plan out how they are going to deal with the hostage situation. Everyone was suited up and ready to go in a moments notice, not a single zipper unzipped or lace untied.

Except, for Tony.

“We don’t know what they want with you, what if they kill you!” Steve argued, hoping to change Tony’s mind.

“And what if they kill her.”

The room was silent. No one wanted to consider that outcome, especially with the severity of your physical state in the video. It was a very real possibility and no one in the room wanted to voice it.

Peter had said nothing so far, only listening to everyone argue about what to do. It was very unlike of them to be so divided in their plan of action, especially since they worked so well together that planning never really took more than an hour or so, merely to go over formalities.

But as of right now, everyone has been up and running for 10 hours straight trying to come up with anything that everyone can agree on. The frustration was really beginning to show, especially on Steve’s face. For being team captain, no one really cared for his ranking for who’s plan is best.

The only thing everyone could agree on, however, was that Tony should wear his armor.

He did not agree with that sentiment.

“Listen, I get you want her out the safest way possible, but how are we expected to trust some guy to promise to keep her safe. He hit her on camera without a second thought and yet ‘promised’ her safety? It doesn’t add up.” Natasha chimed in, trying to convince Tony that he shouldn’t keep up his end if they aren’t keeping up theirs.

Peter tapped at his thigh; the metal gauntlet of his Iron Spider suit made a quiet tick tick tick noise against his leg. He didn’t even notice the noise, but then again, no one in the room noticed much when there was a much more pressing matter on their hands.

“I’ll get her out, I’ll even bring out some heads for you to bowl with later.” Bucky spoke up, full war getup. The tick of his upper lip and deep furrow of his brow was a tell that he was holding him back immensely, but Bucky Barnes was willing to let The Winter Soldier out if it meant that you would get home safely.

“That’s a hard no from me, Barnes. We got no info on the inside or security measures. If you go in alone, you might not come back out.” Sam reasoned, reminding the group that there was safety in numbers.

“I need to be the one to go alone, get my girl out and we can go from there.” Tony tried once more to convince the group, but various groans of disapproval shut him down quickly.

Peter was tired. He heard enough from everyone trying to solve this with little to show for it. He felt as if the only way to actually get anything done was to have one person go in quietly and get you out. No one finds out you even left, and no one gets sacrificed.

So, Peter got up from his seat and left the room without turning a single head. F.R.I.D.A.Y. inquired as to why he was leaving the building, but he had Karen hold her off as he set off into the first rooftop. He memorized the address and had a GPS route mapped onto his HUD.

He’ll get you back before they even finish arguing.

Chapter 9

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specialmindz · 5 years

Photo

”NYEH!!”

“nope! try again bro,” said Sans, smiling with his arms outstretched.

“WHAT DA’ FRIGGIN’ HELL SNAS?! WHY I CAN’T DO DIS?”

“keeeep practicing pappy, you’ll get it! hee hee hee!” He laughed as Papyrus gave him an angry look, probably thinking he was being made fun of, though that really wasn’t the case. Sans had actually been trying to help Papyrus; help him stay Determined so he’d have a better chance of learning his unique Karma attack, which even his own father gave up on quite some time ago, but unfortunately, it seemed like his taunting wouldn’t be enough, as the baby bone’s frustration was beginning to become more and more apparent with each passing failure.

His brother wasn’t a full Wingdings, but he definitely shared their impatience, which was what caused that particular member of the Dingbat family to multitask. If Papyrus didn’t pick up on something as quickly as he liked, he’d soon put it aside for later and move on to something else, and if he couldn’t master the comedian’s Karma technique with his FULL attention, then, well…

“WHY DIS HAPPENING TO ME? DIS AIN’T RIGHT! I’S THE MASTERPIECE, YOU’S THE ROUGHDRAFT! I’S SUPPOSED TO BE BETTER AT ERYTHING!!”

Gaster stood by the Nursery’s doorway observing the two, clipboard in hand, “I believe it may have something to do with his soul’s value…”

“Nyeh?”

“Sans values Integrity above all else, as represented by his soul’s blue coloring. Integrity itself is defined as doing what one believes is the right thing no matter what,” Gaster flipped through the papers attached to his clipboard.

SHIF SHIF!

“Kay’.”

SHIF SHIF SHIF!

“…”

SCRIBBLE SCRIBBLE!

“pfft! dad…”

Gaster stopped writing and looked up from his clipboard to see his son pointing down at Papyrus, who was staring at him with a smile from the floor. “What?”

“Are you’s gonna finish dat thought, or…?

“Hadn’t planned on it. I figured since you’re sooo much smarter and better than everyone else, you could do it yourself-”

“NYEH!” Papyrus tried the Karma attack on Gaster and failed.

“eeeasy lil’ bro…”

“Hatred is not the key Snas.”

CA-THUNK!

Seeing his father leave the Nursery and shut the door behind him, Papyrus’s whined and plopped down on the floor. “Nyeh-haaaa…Daddy went away…”

“that’s probably cause’ you tried to attack him pap.”

“I’s just trying to learn the Caramel…”

“karma, pappy. it’s called the ‘karma’ attack.”

“Kar-ma…?” Papyrus scratched his skull with a tiny hand, feeling as if he’d heard that word before. “Waz karma Snas? Is popcorn?”

“nope. Those are kernals. ‘karma’ is what happens when you either do good or bad things. If you’re a good person, your karma will be good, but if you’re bad…”

“…”

“it *sigh* it’ll be bad pappy. your karma will be bad.”

Could he really not figure that out on his own?

“OOOOHHH! Is soul-glow!”

“soul-glow…?” Now Sans was confused. He hadn’t expected his baby brother to understand what he meant COMPLETELY, but Papyrus had surprised him before with his impressive intellect and “unique” way of thinking. Maybe he had figured out what Gaster meant when he said his integrity played a key role in his attack; Sans certainly hadn’t.

The ability was discovered on accident actually, when he noticed Papyrus about to do something the infant KNEW he wasn’t supposed to be doing…that being climbing on top of their father’s chair and using their computer while it was still online. They were SUPPOSED to wait in the office quietly while their father completed their checkups and put the new information into the computer as the children were no longer allowed in the Medical Ward, possibly due to it being too crowded and idea of allowing his brother into a room full of sick people being the worst one ever. Unfortunately, being impatient to move on to whatever task he had waiting next in line, Gaster had seemingly forgotten to make sure the boys had left the room before him, but no doubt he’d be back once his mistake was realized to yell at his younger sibling.

Lying on the couch and caught between not giving a crap and caring for his little brother, Sans lazily raised a hand and swiped it to the left, pretending to move Papyrus via the psychokinesis he didn’t have.

He did not expect to actually send the baby flying into a cabinet.

“NYEHAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!”

CRAH-THUMP!

The sound of the cabinet doors splintering and his tiny brother’s body thudding against the wooden back from inside, made Sans wince. Any other infant would be either dead or sporting more than a few broken bones, but Papyrus’s baby formula had something in it that made him stronger and more durable than other newborns. Kicking a broken piece of door, he stomped out of the cabinet, scanning the room with his eyes for the oh-so-funny, soon-to-be dead mother FUCKER who thought they could throw him around like Scrappy Doo.

“WHO DID DAT?! WHO DA’ FEEGIN’ HELL DID DAT?!”

“holy cra-bro are you all right?”

“DAT YOU BOO BOO? WHOEVER DID DAT BETTER COME OUT RIGHT NOW OR THEY GONNA DIE!!”

“i doubt it was napstablook pappy.”

Undaunted, Papyrus ignored his older brother and waited patiently for the perpetrator to come out and admit their crime…but nobody came. He looked around the room once more, his confusion turning into concern upon seeing his lie ignored.

The Blook family were music lovers like himself, this he knew. If they weren’t listening to it, they were dancing or creating it, meaning not a single soul in their family tree was deaf. By that logic, the Verbal Font’s audio hypnosis should have worked on them…so why didn’t anyone appear? Where there more ghost monsters in the Underground? Ones Papyrus didn’t know about? Ones that liked to throw babies?

“Nyeh? NAH! NOOOOOO! DADDYYYY!”

BLOOSH!

Papyrus fired his gaster blaster below him as he felt himself began to rise into the air once more. He had HOPED to hit the legs of whoever was attempting to pick him up, but it only resulted in a small crater forming in the office tile.

“NYEHHHHHHAAAAAAHHHH!!!! DADDYYYYY, SAVE DA’ BABY!!”

“heh heh heh heh…”

“IS NOT FUNNY SNAS! GO GET THE SLEEPY WATER AND SAVE THE BABY!”

“you want me to throw a whole bottle of chloroform on you just to-”

“GET DA’ SLEEPY WATERRRRR!!” Screeched the panicked infant, swinging his fists and kicking his tiny legs wildly.

“iiiii dunno bro, that doesn’t sound safe. chloroform is metabolized into trichloro methanol, which metabolizes into phosgene, and that’s toxic-”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT YO’ STINK SCIENCE!!”

“long term effects of inhalation involve cancer, since chloroform is a confirmed carcinogen verified through multiple epidemiological studies, and i know epidemiology is the study of diseases in animals and humans, but our species is hella close baby bro.”

“SNAS!!”

“i don’t really study epidemiology, but you know how dad gets when you get him talking about fonts and science, apparently virus fonts are super dangerous.”

“…”

“i can’t remember what kind of cancer he said you’d get if i gave you too much chloroform, but regardless, i don’t think you should be anywhere near it anyway to be honest. a human baby, possibly even a baby monster would be dead by now if they were in YOUR uh…feet…pajamas. why’re you looking at me like that?”

“…Why your hand up for so long?” asked the baby bones, eyeing his brother suspiciously.

“what? i exercise.”

“Only yo’ mouth. You do dis?”

“nope.”

Sans put his arm down and Papyrus dropped to the floor.

“NYEH!”

“hey! be careful with my little broth-”

“Shut up Snas, I know is you.”

CA-THINK!

“whaaaat? noooo, that was just coincidence baby bro,” said Sans, watching his father walk into the room. The scientist looked once at the broken cabinet and then at the crater Papyrus had made before fixing his glare on the infant.

“I know when you’s lying big Buther.”

“you don’t think it was coincidence? hmm…maybe i’m being framed. what do you think?”

“I think you’s an asshole.”

“i was asking dad.”

Not that he’ll find this impressive, but maybe the mystery will keep him from yelling about the office damage. Though what I REALLY want is to avoid another computer argument. I know he’s gonna accuse Pappy of something, even though HE’S the one who forgot to log off.

…

How DID I do this?

“Sans, what happened?”

“SNAS THROWED THE BABY!”

“SHUT UP PAPYRUS!”

“I highly doubt that.”

“NO, HE DID! HE DID THROW DA’ BABY! SNAS A JEDI!”

“Sans is a what…?”

Speak clearly Papyrus!

“he thinks i threw him into the cabinet even though i didn’t.”

“You really didn’t huh? Well dat’s good big Buther, cause’ if you did, I’d throw you in court! THEN you’d has a reason to raise your hand and lie to eryone…”

“i don’t get it,” said Sans, confused.

“In court they makes you pace yo’ hand on the bib-el and then you raise your other one and-”

“*PFFT!* did you just say ‘bib-el?” He immediately burst out laughing, much to the baby’s annoyance.

“Nyeh? Why you laugh? They not do that no more?”

“It’s pronounced BYE-ble, not ‘bib-el’ Papyrus, and it’s not something you should be reading.”

“Nuh-uh! It’s got the word ‘bib’ in it, so it MUST be for babies! Is the holy book of baes!”

“No.”

“It ’twas written by Jesus and his saints-”

“that part you got right.”

“No, no he didn’t. Moses wrote the Bible Sans. Your brother speaks nonsense as per usual.”

“Nope, it was Jesus all right. Moses made condoms,” said the baby, matter-of-factly.

“Commandments.”

“Condiments.”

“moses invented ketchup?!”

“No child. Papyrus, stop filling your brother’s skull with blather! Our family already has a bad reputation and some people still talk to Sans-”

“Dat’s right big Buther! He turned a whole ocean into ketchup and then made it split apart so he and his peoples could walk across it. Today, is called da’ Red Sea.”

“Shut up Papyrus.”

“cooooool!”

“Yep, he very cool. He from Egypt too, just like da’ baby!”

“Your FONT is from Egypt, YOU are American-”

“Is too bad he not one of Jesus’s saints…least I don’t think he be. I not read the whole bib-el yet and I doesn’t know all the saints. I know there be twelve dough!” The infant tapped his chin thoughtfully as if trying to remember them all.

Not that Sans believed his brother knew a single thing about the Bible or religion in general. Their father said it was a dangerous tool humans used to harm others, including their own species, and that it slowed down scientific progress. Out of curiosity however, Sans paid a visit to the “librarby” to see for himself, having been taught early that taking his family’s word for absolutely anything was usually a poor decision. Pulling it out of the history section, he opened it to find that it was for the most part, unreadable…at least to him, though that word was often used by Sans to describe books he found boring rather than indecipherable.

He could read it all right, but there were too many names and the sentences at times made him feel as if he were having a conversation with Papyrus during one of the baby’s…odd, moments. Those uncomfortable moments where his little brother would cease his baby-talk, sometimes altogether, and suddenly age in personality, speaking to him clearly with an unmistakable air of authority. It made the comedian even more uncomfortable when he spotted the word “Egypt” several times though he was only on page seven of…Genesis 15:2…?

What kind of a name is that for a chapter?

“You don’t know anything about the Bible OR religion!” Gaster’s angry voice pulled Sans from his thoughts. “You live in a place of SCIENCE and I made sure to keep those kinds of books out of here!” exclaimed the scientist.

The Sans Serif, though curious as to what his brother thought of religion, chose not to say anything in this regard. He could understand his father’s concern. He couldn’t read a lot of the book without falling asleep, but what he did read told him that it was a collection of short stories that went either two ways; people obeyed God’s orders and turned out the better for it, or they didn’t and suffered severe consequences. With one of those orders being believe in the book, he could see how people could use the Bible to control others…how people like his brother could use it to control others. All it would take is one dedicated liar to “translate” it for people too lazy to make their own interpretations. His brother could cause a lot of damage and according to Gaster, some people already had.

Were the witch trials real or did Dad make that up?

“The librarby still gots the bib-el! I go there allll the time to get the knowledge, so I be smart when I gets big. I knows more than half the saints now,” replied the baby bones proudly. “There’s St. Nick, also known as Santa…you know him already Snas.”

Sans snickered and turned his attention to Papyrus. “i do? oh yeah! i heard santa clause was called st. nick at one point, i didn’t know he helped write the bible though…”

I don’t think he’s read it.

“bib-el. Yeah, he wrote it with Jesus and even let his widdle buther St. Stephen help too, cause’ he nice like you~”

“santa has a brother?”

“Yep! They twins like us! He born on December twenty-six dough cause’ of com-pli-cations. He liked to hide things in boxes and pay da’ tricks! He take his buther’s toys and when Santa say ‘where my toys be?’ Stephen go, ‘I don’t know big Buther, where DO your toys be?”

RA-CAKCAKCAK!

Sans turned his head to see Gaster pouring a bottle of aspirin onto the office table near the computer. “stephen doesn’t sound very nice bro, ha ha!”

“Nahhh, he just misunderstood. Like da’ baby. You gots to read between the lines Snas! He hide the toys so when Santa forget about them and open a box, he get all surprised and happy! ‘Wowie! I forgot I hads this! Imma pay wit it all day!’ Then sneak Stephen steal the old BORING toys and hide THEM so they seems new in the footure! Is the perfect plan big Buther…”

“is that where santa got the idea of sending gifts to people in boxes pappy?”

“Sure is! All the saints be amazing Snas. St. Patrick the lepperkahn invented the color gween. He wanted the cover of the bib-el to be gween, but Jesus say no cause’ people might drop it in the grass and lose it. Not a lot of roads in the B.C. era ya’ know?”

“b.c?”

“Before Concrete.”

RATTLE!

“you’re not supposed to take that much dad…”

“St. Valentine be the Saint of Sweets. He had fan trouble like Babybop.”

“she’s…she’s not babybop papyrus. i keep telling you, alphys-”

“Unfortunately, they not have pastic surgery in B.C, that came AFTER concrete, A.C.”

“i thought a.c. meant air conditioning?”

“In history it mean After Concrete. They used to use A.D. After Dinosaurs, but lossa stuff came after dinosaurs, so they changed it.”

“ohhh...gotcha.”

Sans smiled at his little brother. Despite how annoying he could be with his constant lying, the comedian did in fact admire his ability to come up with bullshit on the fly. It made him wonder how useful he’d be if Sans ever were to actually get a job as a comedian. Comedians themselves were supposed to tell stories about things that happened to them in life whilst making funny commentary along the way, but HE was stuck under a mountain and had no close friends other than Papyrus and possibly Alphys. What was Sans even supposed to talk about when NOTHING ever happened to him? Being an Insult Comic was out as he only had 1 hp and was stuck seeing the same people probably for the rest of his life, puns were a spur of the moment thing and were meant to amuse the teller rather than the audience, ventriloquism wasn’t fair and wouldn’t work unless he somehow hide his text box…was he really stuck with just talking about his little brother behind his back? It certainly seemed that way.

Unless Papyrus wants to make something up for me. I’m sure he would, he’s so cool. I hope I make enough G to share with him…

“So St. Valentine? He was REAL popular. He create chalk-wit and eryone lost their minds! Too many hunnies for the chalk-wit bunny.”

“he was a rabbit pappy?”

“Nope, he was Aztec. Had a weird name baby can’t say or spell good. Quetzycoat? Quozzy motto? Dunno, but it suck…glad he move away and change it to Valentine. Moved allll the way to Europe where he met St. Peter the soon-to-be Easter Bunny. It was St. Valentine that made it happen big Buther. All the hunnies follow him saying stuff like ‘be mine, Valentine!’ and ��give me yo’ heart!’ Not good to say to an Aztec Snas, even dough it mean something else in Europe.”

“what does it mean in aztec bro?”

“I want to remove your heart.”

Sans sockets went dark, but he chose not to say anything.

I’ll have to work with Papyrus to make sure his stories aren’t too dark before I use them.

“St. Peter got realll jealous when he saw erybody giving Valentine attention. So what if he made chalk-wit? He not cute like Peter Rabbit! St. Peter was fluffy as hell! Where was Valentine’s fluff? NOWHERE! Where was his cotton ball tail? ABSENT! HE DIDN’T EVEN APPRECIATE!”

“ugh, damn pap chill!” cried the comedian, pressing his hand against one of his earholes, “you’re not auditioning for a movie, take it down a notch…”

“I just wanted you to understand the rabbit Snas…”

“i understand the rabbit baby bro, don’t you worry.”

“Kay’. So you know why St. Peter had to steal his secrets to making chalk-wit and build his own factory in England then.”

“no…?”

“Is cause’ he was JEALOUS Snas! Daz why. Being a rabbit wasn’t good enough anymore, he had to be a CHALK-WIT rabbit. St. Valentine took it the wrong way dough, he see the factory and think ‘ohhhh, I gets it! If people can get chalk-wit at the store, then I won’t be popular no mores and people will go way! Dis rabbit is so nice. Dis rabbit is my friend.’ He told Jesus all about St. Peter and how nice he was and cause’ of him, he got to be a saint! Peter Rabbit was grateful too, he wasn’t a bad bunny. All he wanted was some infection…”

“affection.”

“Yeah that. Defection. He thought Valentine was being forgiving and stuff, so they became best friends. They shared recipes and gotted famous erywhere!”

“aww, well that’s nice-”

“…Then St. Peter died of the Black Plague and erything started all over again.”

“y-yeah that’s pretty much how all of your stories end. i don’t know what i was expecting.”

Need to work on his endings too.

“Don’t worry big Buther, there be a happiness dis time. St. Valentine eventually moved again and changed his name to Willy Wonka and people stopped trying to marry him. No one want the last name Wonka Snas.”

“heh, well when you’re right you’re right. papyrus wonka doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue now does it?”

“…”

“what?”

“Don’t ship the baby Snas.”

“*pfft!*”

“Another saint you might know be St. Michael.”

“And what holiday is he ripped from?” asked Gaster, finishing off the water he’d taken with his aspirin. Sans had forgotten he was even in the room.

“Nyeh?” Papyrus looked confused. “Michael not have a holly-day. You cwazy Daddy, nyeh heh heh!”

“No one here is stupid enough to believe you’re going to just SUDDENLY take this conversation seriously Papyrus. St. Michael might be a real saint, but I know-”

“I’s ALWAYS serious!” exclaimed the infant, interrupting the scientist. “Snas the silly bones, not me! Dis a very serious subject and I’s born to TEACH!”

“That is literally the last thing someone with your font should be doing where religion is concerned.”

“St. Michael and St. Peter were really good friends ya’ know…”

“Don’t you ignore me.”

“They pay basketball together once and saved the world even! He still alive too, even today.”

“is…is he talking about michael jorden?”

“I guarantee you, that’s exactly who he’s talking about.”

“He flies like an eagle.”

“Yep.”

“Yeah! Daddy knows! You watched the docky-mentry right? Where the black human went to da’ center of the earth and-”

“Space Jam was NOT a documentary. It was just a video you happened to find at the Dump. You know, the place I’ve asked you countless times not to go? Admittedly, I didn’t actually watch it as I’m none too fond of guilt films, but the soundtrack alone-”

“th-that wasn’t a ‘guilt film’ dad,” said Sans hiding his face in his hands.

Goddamnit…

“It wasn’t? Are you sure?”

“positive.”

“It wasn’t about a black human attempting to join and fit in with a basketball team comprised of monsters?”

“no.”

“Is about St. Michael helping his rabbit friend ah-scape slavery.”

“So it IS a guilt film.”

“no!”

“Let me guess, the black human was their star player and he was the one to save the day?”

“Yeah!”

“Psh.”

“Erybody wanted to be like Mike, so he gave them some magic water dat made them really good at the basketball.”

“He…gave them something to enhance their performance?”

“it wasn’t drugs dad! it wasn’t even really magic. he was trying to teach them that they had the power to be just as good as him, they just needed to believe in themselves. to put it in a way you’d understand, he used the placebo effect to his advantage.”

“Gazebo?”

“Ah, deceit. Very smart…are you sure Mr. Jordan came up with this? I’m not saying all black humans are unintelligent, but he IS in the sports industry, is he not? You two have amassed quite a collection of discarded sports game videos and upon inspection, I see him playing that particular game a lot. Or at least I think I do.”

Too many shaved heads…why do they have to have shaved heads AND matching uniforms? I may as well be watching my own people…

“maybe…? i don’t actually know. pappy and i usually take the video out as soon as we see it’s another taped sports game,” replied Sans, frowning. It really was disappointing to find a video in good condition, only to realize later that it was just another boring tape of a sport they couldn’t play. Even if the boys knew the rules, the Underground didn’t have many if any big open areas where they could play “basketball” or “football.” Whatever ball they used would just go bouncing off the walls of the caverns or sail into the void/water depending on where they were.

It’s too bad, I bet Undyne would love to play one of these.

Usually when he and his brother found one of these tapes, they’d chuck it into the Boring Corner, a place filled with fitness magazines, letters they had opened that ended up containing junk mail advertising things they didn’t understand, and CDs/records/cassettes Papyrus had SOMEHOW restored and found he didn’t particularly enjoy the content of.

“heh heh heh…”

“What’s so funny big Buther?” asked the baby bones smiling.

“cupcakke.”

The infant’s smile disappeared.

“For once, I’m proud of you two. The sports industry is a money-sucking trash heap of wasted potential. So many of these individuals could have been doctors, teachers, law enforcement, scientists like myself, but they chose a career in playing games that should have been left behind in high school. Disgusting.”

“…I wish to learn how to pay the basketball now.”

“Why, because I specifically asked you not to? Why do you want to intentionally cause trouble?”

“Teach me how to dunkin doughnut.”

Sans giggled, “you wanna learn how to dunk pappy?”

He raised his hand.

“Nyeh?! NO! DADDY, DAAADY! HE DOING IT AGAIN! SNAS USING DA’ FORAAAAAHHHH!!!”

THUNK!

CRISH!

Papyrus sailed into the nearby wall and fell into the wastebin overflowing with papers.

“Excellent control Sans.”

“SCU YOU BABY-ABOOZER! YOU NOT FUNNAAHHHH!!” The enraged baby bones thrashed wildly around in the basket, kicking his legs in an attempt to get out. “IMMA SCRIBBLE IN YO’ BOOKS SNAS! SEE HOW GOOD YOU BE AT WITCHCRAFT THEN!!”

“How DID you manage to do that?”

“IT WAS THE DEVIL! THE DEVIL HELP SNAS!”

“i dunno, i just sorta, did it…i saw pap doing something bad and i accidentally flung him while i was pretending to move him…with my mind,” explained Sans, embarrassed. He knew though, that if he wanted an answer himself, he needed to give as many details as possible.

“Hmm, I see.” Gaster attempted to pull Papyrus out of the wastebin using the same method he’d seen Sans use, but failed. He then tried to use it on the comedian himself, but it also had no result. “Huh, that’s VERY interesting. Moving your brother around as you would an ordinary bone attack, in theory, would mean that almost any skeleton could do the same, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

“uhh, we aren’t doing anything wrong dad.”

“You are. Your brother knows he can pull himself out with his wingdings, he’s pretending to be stuck and in turn choosing to be dramatic, attention-seeking, and disruptive. YOU are supposed to be looking after your brother, but instead of helping him out of the wastebin, you’re currently speaking to me. You’re BOTH doing something wrong.” Gaster tried one more time to move both boys. “But it seems even when you’re fully aware of your wrongdoings, this karma-induced attack can’t be done, not by my font at least, or perhaps it has something to do with the soul…PAPYRUS!”

“NYEH!” The baby bones jolted in surprise and tumbled forward, rolling out of the basket in a somersault before coming to a halt at his father’s feet. “Nn…what you want stink Daddy who doesn’t help da’ baby?” asked Papyrus smiling and holding his toes.

“You’re full attention. You are a large part of Sans, so surely you too could perform-”

“IMMA LEARN WITCHCRAFT?!”

“That was NOT your full attention.”

“IMMA LEARN WITCHCRAFT!” The baby bounced up and down excitedly, obviously not hearing his father. “Teach me da’ force big Buther and I will spare yo’ books.”

“*sigh*”

Three hours…that was three hours ago.

“three hours and we didn’t get any answers whatsoever.”

“Hey, dat sounds like me Snas!”

“huh?” Looking down, the young skeleton cringed upon realizing he had spaced out again. “sorry baby bro,” he said, giving his brother an apologetic hug. “i swear i don’t do this on purpose, i really am trying to listen, what’d i miss?”

“You asked about the soul-glow and I say is karma. Karma make your soul really bright and stuff so when you die, God go ‘Ooooh! That’s a pretty soul right there! I wants to add it to my collection’ and then he take you to Heaven and puts you on his shelf.”

“*pfft!* is that right? is that how you get into heaven pappy?”

“Yep! Daz why you gots to be good, so you can be part of the Lord’s house! He gots the coolest house ever big Buther. ERYTHING glow in the dark there! He gots souls floating in lava lamps, he gots souls floating in his waterbed, he even gots souls in his floor Snas! His floor be tiled glass and underneath the glass be a special soul that lights up each widdle square-”

“you’re talking about an LED floor.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“a disco floor.”

“Yep, and If you’re reallll good, like, da’ bestest person ever, you get to be his night light.” The little Horror said this like it was the most amazing thing in the world, then looked around the office in apparent confusion. His daddy slept here all the time, so where was HIS nightlight? Did he use the glow of his computer?

“why are you making him sound like a 70s buff?” asked Sans, interrupting the baby’s train of thought.

“Cause’ he is! I readed it in da’ bib-el.” Crawling towards the bookshelf with the still broken cabinets, Papyrus took out the book, hidden in plain view amongst old tomes Gaster had long since read and forgotten about. The baby would have to remember to hide it again somewhere else later, less his daddy see it while fixing the doors.

“i HIGHLY doubt that’s in there.”

“Nope, it is! Is all true Snas! The Lord all about peace! Hugs not guns, compassion’s in fashion, make love not war, he ALL about the 70s.”

His brother frowned, though he was more worried than annoyed. There were some sensitive people out there and some who were just plain awful when it came to THIS particular topic. He remembered after reading, going to several people to ask for more information and being met with criticism for not reading the whole thing himself, and lectures from monsters about certain passages when all he wanted was a translation. There were even a few who got angry at him for certain questions.

“…a mountain of fire and smoke’ that sounds like a volcano. maybe this really did happen-”

“It did!” said a monster enthusiastically, carrying a bag of groceries from Snowdin. “God stood atop the mountain in the ten commandments story and introduced himself, but it frightened the people down below.”

Suddenly, they jumped upon hearing loud laughter erupt from the child.

“hahahahaha!” The comedian leaned forward, almost spilling the contents of the bag he was helping to carry as the monster gave him an irritated look. “What’s so funny?”

“you probably don’t know what a wrestler is, me and my bro have only seen them on old human videos, but they use pyrotechnics to introduce themselves before a match. it sounds like god was trying to use the volcano to look cool and it backfired, hahaha!”

“GOD WASN’T USING PYROTECHNICS!” shouted the monster, completely offended. “That’s ridiculous! He doesn’t HAVE to try to look cool! HE IS COOL!”

“hey, relax, chill! i’m not saying he isn’t cool, i’m just saying he made a funny mistake. to be honest, it makes him seem more real-”

“GOD DOESN’T MAKE MISTAKES! THAT WASN’T A VOLCANO!”

“then why’d he tell everyone not to come near him? volcanos are deadly, it’d make more sense for him to wanna protect his kids right?”

“Looord, give me the STRENGTH not to smack this skeletal child…!”

Sans had stopped asking questions after that.

It just didn’t seem safe, and it wasn’t safe for Papyrus either.

I can’t let Pappy go around saying the things he’s saying near other people. They aren’t going to CARE that he’s just a baby who doesn’t know any better.

He doesn’t, right?

“you know if some people hear you saying this outside the lab, they’re gonna get upset right, bro?”

“No they won’t!”

“oh no?”

“No. They’s gonna be happy to hear me! People listen and they probly think ‘Wowie! That baby sure is informed about our Lord and savior! If he read the bib-el then he can’t be ALL bad, the bib-el teaches you how to be good! I should be this baby’s friend cause’ they probably a good person.”

“that’s…that’s not what’s going to happen pappy. you’re going to get yelled at.”

“Dat’s why I needs to learn the force big Buther!”

“n-”

“So I can defends myself.”

“…you have enough power papyrus, in fact, you’re OVERpowered, heh heh…”

“…”

“get it? overpowered with pow-”

“I doesn’t get it and I doesn’t WANT to get it. Sides’ Chara say you can never have enough power Snas.”

“isn’t your friend dead though? maybe you shouldn’t be taking life advice from the dead baby bro. just a thought.”

“…”

“…i’m sorry, that was mean-”

Papyrus pushed the Bible towards Sans with his foot. “You need Jesus big Buther.”

The book ended up back at the library.

#Fonttale #Fonttale au #Undertale #Undertale au #Papyrus #baby papyrus #sans #kid sans #gaster #baby bones #undertale fanfiction #religion #funny

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