#Yes I do write fanfics

[hiso03]

Sometimes when I write fanfics I really want to do serious situations and serious dialogues, but to achieve my goal, I usually have two big problems.

I lack inspiration and time to come up with the right moment.

And number two and probably the most important: Hal Jordan.

I hope that idiot doesn't really take control of the fanfic and take it in the direction, although the way things are going… I think he will win.

(I pretend to hate Hal because to be honest… I love writing that idiot, it makes me laugh so hard and stress out about his damn internal crises.)

'No, really, it is,' he insists. "He spends much of his free time helping to reform criminals and regularly attends children's hospitals or orphanages… He goes and read them stories, Bar!" "I'm sure Superman does too." "Superman doesn't have a big butt and fat thighs." Barry sighs in defeat. He is not going to be a participant in a debate like this. "So... Do you think I could be the Flash type?" Barry blinks in confusion at the question and looks at him trying to decipher if Hal is joking, surprisingly he isn´t."

(I'm posting a little sneak peek of a fanfic I'm working on for Halbarry week, because I'm very happy to have finished another fic for the event. Now all that remains is to correct them. Probably the worst part.)

[nanenna]

A bit of detective work

A continuation of this post, now separated so you don't have to scroll forever to get to the newest installment. Also: masterpost

---

After escorting the Fentons back to their home, Batman, Wonder Woman, and Constantine mutually agreed it was best to stick around Amity Park for a little while. Constantine wandered off to look around on the civilian side, while Batman of course kept his promise to excuse Danny from school. Wonder Woman, also of course, kept with him. Sadly even as a very prominent member of the Justice League, well known to be one of the founders, somehow in situations like this it always took twice as long to get anywhere with civilians if he didn’t have at least one other League member with him.

“Hello, how can I help you?” the secretary asked with a forced grin as the two heroes entered the school’s front office.

“Good morning,” Diana said cheerfully, thankfully taking point. “I’m not sure who we should speak to, we’re here to excuse a student.”

“Oh, you are?” The secretary looked unsure, glancing back and forth between the two heroes.

“Yes, he’s currently marked with an unexcused absence, we’re here to change it to an excused absence.”

“Right…” the secretary squinted up at them suspiciously. Or rather, up at Diana suspiciously. “Well, if you would just hold on one moment please.” The secretary picked up an old style land line and pressed a button. “Principal Ishiyama, there’s a Mr. Batman and a… Ms. Wonder Woman here, they wish to speak about a student’s absence.” The secretary made a few “I’m listening” sounds before hanging up. They turned their attention back to the League members. “Principal Ishiyama’s office is just down that hall.”

“Thank you!” Diana beamed at the secretary before walking confidently down the hallway, Batman at his side.

The inside of Principal Ishiyama’s office is rather cramped,clearly intended pubescent children and not adults who keep such active lifestyles. Diana graciously sits in one of the austere, hard chairs. Batman chooses to remain standing.

“Now, what’s this all about?” Ishiyama asked, eyeing Wonder Woman warily.

How odd, it was usually Batman that everyone eyed suspiciously.

“We’re here about Daniel Fenton’s absence,” Diana started. She paused long enough for the principal to pull up the young man’s information. “The investigation is ongoing so we can’t give out any details, but last night we rescued Danny from kidnappers. He has been returned to his parents, but for obvious reasons he will not be back in school today.”

“Ah, I see,” the principal said. She did not seem to see. “And you want his absence excused?”

“If the police had come to you saying he’d been kidnapped,” Batman stated clinically.

“Yes, right, of course.” The principal set about clicking a few things on her computer before returning her full attention to the heroes. “Was there anything else?”

It was almost refreshing how easy that had been. Normally Batman would have to lay out what he meant in excruciating detail and have whoever was with him repeat it before a civilian in half a position of power listened to him, outside of Gotham anyway. “Dr. Madeline Fenton was upset not to have been informed of Danny’s absence,” Batman stated.

Ishiyama flinched, “Oh dear. Thank you for warning me, I shall look into that before they arrive later.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“Dr. Madeline Fenton also stated that everyone in Amity Park knows about the Ghost King.”

“Ghost King?” The principal looked up in surprise, “What does he…? No wait, ongoing investigation.” She side eyed Diana warily, then sighed as she looked back towards Batman. “Last year the Ghost King got out of his sarcophagus, we still don’t know how, and pulled all of Amity Park into the Ghost Zone. Fortunately Phantom, along with the help of most of the town, managed to put him back in the sarcophagus.”

“Why didn’t you contact the Justice League for help?” Diana asked with a frown on her face.

“How were we supposed to do that from inside the Ghost Zone?” The principal asked with a raised brow. “By the time we were back in the real world everything was over and dealt with, aside from cleaning up all the damage his army of skeletons did.”

“And Phantom is?” Batman prompted.

“Out local hero, I suppose. At first he was a menace, but recently the good he does far outweighs the inevitable collateral damage.”

Batman leaned forward, looming over Ishiyama’s desk. “Are you aware the Justice League has programs specifically meant to give support to minors doing hero work?”

“I was not, but considering Phantom is a ghost we’re not sure exactly how old he is. Either way, you’re here now.”

“Yes, and we should speak with the mayor about the supervillain attack recovery programs the Justice League also has.”

Ishiyama smiled and nodded along, “That sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Once out of the school and walking towards city hall, Diana turned to Bruce. “Phantom is a minor?”

“He is described as appearing to be in his mid-teens, strangely no photos of him despite there being photos of other ghosts all over the residents’ social medias and newspaper articles.”

“That is odd,” Diana mused.

“This whole town is odd,” Constantine said as he sidled up to them. “Apparently getting sucked into, and I quote, the lime jello dimension by the ghost king is just another Tuesday here.”

“The principal called it the Ghost Zone,” Diana supplied.

“A silly thing to call the Infinite Realms, but not the silliest name it’s been given over the eons. What I don’t get is how Pariah Dark got bloody out for a day and not one single person noticed, that should’ve been a huge event everyone even remotely sensitive to æther should’ve felt.”

“You believe someone intentionally hid this event?” Batman asked.

“It’s the only thing that makes a lick of sense, but that would take either someone scarily powerful or a group of very powerful people. And that’s not even getting into the why.”

“Perhaps this cult wasn’t the first to attempt to summon him,” Batman mused darkly. “Someone chose to release him, and since Amity Park is already a ghost hotspot I can see why this is where they’d choose to attempt such a thing.”

Constantine nodded along, “I was thinking the same thing. But it gets worse, no one in the JLD has heard or sensed a single thing about this town before today. I’m thinking it’s less someone chose to cloak Pariah Dark specifically and more someone is cloaking the whole town and everything going on inside it.”

“Then how did whoever freed Pariah Dark know to come here for their attempt?” Diana asked, “How did this cult know enough to use one of the residents as a sacrifice?”

“Ain’t that just the million pound question?” Constantine asked airily. “Along with: how did they even get into the Infinite Realms to let the bloody tyrant out?” The group fell into silence, no one having an answer to that question. “So, what next?”

“We’re heading to the mayor’s office to make sure they’re aware of Justice League resources that are available to anyone who’s suffered from villain attacks,” Diana answered.

“Despite numerous attacks and complaints of collateral damage, not one request from Amity Park for villain attack relief,” Batman added.

“Now that is interesting,” Constantine said.

[feralforbeanix]

Manfred Von Karma did not burn Phoenix's letters to Miles.

Like, I'm not even saying this to defend Manfred's character (though the fanbase does get a little crazy with what he actually did and didn't do) I'm saying this because that's not canon. I'm not sure it was even possible in canon.

Phoenix didn't write letters to Germany. He didn't know Miles was in Germany, let alone Von Karma's address. He didn't even know who Von Karma was until Edgeworth told him about Manfred in Turnabout Goodbyes.

In the game canon, Miles just stopped showing up to school one day. All Phoenix seemed to know was that he transferred schools suddenly. He didn't know why or where to. Remember, Phoenix didn't even hear about DL-6 until Turnabout Sisters when Maya mentioned her family's involvement.

Even in the anime canon (I haven't watched the anime in a while so I might be off about this) where Phoenix and Miles get a chance to properly say goodbye, Phoenix still doesn't have a direct means of contacting him. His best way of doing so was dedicating a song through the radio using Signal Samurai codenames and hoping Miles would hear it.

Phoenix mentions trying to contact him several times when explaining their relationship to Maya, but this was after finding out Miles was this "Demon Attorney". Miles would have to be at least 20 at this point in time, living back in California with at least a few trials under his belt. With how young he reached success, it's not impossible Miles was living on his own at the time. Even if he wasn't, I doubt Manfred was going through this grown adult's mail.

No, what the game seems to be implying is that Miles ignored Phoenix. (Maya even says, "I guess he didn't want to hear from his old friends.") And I don't think this was out of hatred or anything, I think Miles just wanted to forget his past entirely because even the good memories of his childhood would be bittersweet at best.

And to be honest that makes it even more tragic to me. Why do we need Manfred to intercept their connection when Miles' trauma and guilt complex is already doing that?

I like to think Miles knew Phoenix would be asking questions if he ever responded to those initial attempts at contact. Questions he of course doesn't want to answer because they'd at best open old wounds or at worst risk his childhood friend finding out he might have committed patricide.

I also like to think he knew Phoenix of all people would stubbornly try to find the answers Miles wouldn't willingly give because he literally mentions Phoenix always being "single minded in his work" and "always seeing things through to the end". If anyone was going to press and bring those uncomfortable and painful memories out in the open for the sake of "helping him", it would be Phoenix Wright.

Why do we need Manfred to take away all that complexity and tragedy? That is such a waste!

[cryptid-cave]

Currently thinking about a reader who, while having a full-time job and playing the part of a “real adult” pretty well for the most part, is still kind of lost and pathetic. It feels less like they’re living and more like they’re surviving, getting by on their own with just a cat for company.

Enter John Price, who’s currently on medical leave and just itching for a project. Maybe reader works at a store near his home that he shops at almost every other day, or works at the library where he goes when he needs to get out of the house. Either way, he spots this pretty little thing who clearly needs some love and guidance, preferably from a strong, gentle hand - and who better to do that than him?

Anyways, save me bossy and demanding Price with a savior complex, save me

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

As if I wasn't already exhausted enough this morning...

It's been brought to my attention that people are taking my fanfics, editing them, and sharing them around. I don't have the words to describe how not okay this is. If you don't like something about my fanfic, then I'm sorry to hear that, but there are a lot of other fics out there you can read instead.

I put time and effort and care into my writing, as does every writer. To take my work without permission and change it feels like someone just punched me in the gut. Frankly it makes me not want to share my work at all and to take down all the writing I do have up, because why should I share anything with people if all they're going to do is decide it's not good enough and they're going to do what they want with it and make it "better"?

And before anyone comes at me, this is not what a transformative work does. This is not the same as fanfiction. I'm fucking exhausted from working two eleven hour shifts over the weekend so my brain is not working so someone smarter and more articulate than I am can explain why. I'm tired.

This genuinely makes me want to take down all my works and not share anything new. It's very simple, kiddos: Don't like it? Don't read it. You will miss out on some fanfics that way, just like you'll miss out on some films, or books, or TV shows. I've missed out on really good fic, novels, films, etc, for the same reason. We all do. It's a part of life. Stuff will sometimes have things in it that you don't like. Skim those parts, fast-forward those scenes, grin and bear it, or just go and read/watch something else.

Normally I would make this post unrebloggable but I worry other writers in this fandom might experience the same thing and not realize it. So people are welcome to reblog this. Anyone who's an ass on it will be blocked, no second chances.

Just. Don't do this guys. Holy shit don't do this. What the actual fuck.

[justhereforsomethingnice]

Is there a fic where Danny is an absolute sweetheart for like 50 000 words or something, and after that, something happens that makes him go feral eldritch cosmic horror on some poor sap.

And with sweetheart I mean of course harmless chaos goblin pulling pranks on which ever dc character the stories with. Painting halls light switches yellow so he can’t use his ring for that. Putting kryptonite on the bathroom door so Superman can only glare at him and wait for Lois to take away the glowy rock. Renaming all Questions files with silly related fandom references so he has to learn fandom memes if he ever wants to get to his files again. Have a silent agreement with the house of mysteries to annoy John Constantine as much as possible and switch rooms for him and him only so it takes an hour to find the kitchen. Icing a small part of the kitchen floor so the flash slips over it when trying to get a quick snack in. Painting the underside of Batman’s cape a deep glittery purple so he will only find out when he’s jumping dramatically at thugs.

Just 50 000 words of this and then something bad happens and this small kid (bonus points if he’s even younger and thus less threatening looking) goes mental. Suddenly you have this incomprehensible monster before you that slashes up reality with every swipe of its claws, the thousands of eyes that suddenly replaced the heavens glaring down at you together with the eyes on this creature. Screaming with a sound penetrating something deeper than your very soul. Slashing the threat to shreds, before…

He returns to this kid you’ve known for months. The innocent kid that fanboyed over Martian manhunter, geeked with the atom, trained playfully with Wonder Woman. Just the wait and then the bomb. The realization your in the presence of a god or a god like being.

[starry-bi-sky]

Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well: 

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.  

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents. 

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill. 

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.) 

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one. 

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself. 

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.) 

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.) 

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.  

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe. 

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.  

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal. 

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking. 

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter. 

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind. 

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous. 

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own. 

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t. 

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward. 

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”) 

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)  

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell. 

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his. 

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it. 

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.   

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now. 

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own. 

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)  

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother. 

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten. 

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands. 

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely. 

It is a fast dream. 

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods. 

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him. 

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal. 

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train. 

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.) 

—---  

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again. 

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person. 

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.) 

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)   

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird. 

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is. 

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off. 

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom. 

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.) 

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

-----------------

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

[bruhnze]

Quiero un beso,

But there's an ocean of distance between us.

ONA BATLLE x LUCY BRONZE

For the Brasil anon! i love these songs, great idea. This is soft, but maybe not exactly what you meant.. hope u still like it.

Below are my favourite lines from both of the songs :)

"Beso" by Rosalia: Estar lejos de ti e' el Infierno (Being away from you is hell) Tar cerca de ti e' mi paz (Being close to you is my peace)

"Ocean" by Karol G: Y aunque lo intentara no podría sin ti (And even if I tried I couldn't without you) Toda mi felicidad es gracias a ti (All my happiness is thanks to you)

Warnings: bit of angst, bit of fluff, idk i was in my feels, teeny tiny bit suggetive things so still 18+ only pls. Hurt/comfort.

Wordcount: 3k

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since Ona last kissed her girlfriend. She realized this as she scrolled through her calendar app on her iPhone. Another stretch of days where they hadn't touched, laughed face-to-face, or shared the simplest of intimacies.

Tonight, like every night, they’d see each other on FaceTime again, an anchor in the storm of their long-distance relationship. They had already spoken twice today. First thing in the morning and again this afternoon. Ona chuckled to herself, recalling how this morning’s call had begun. They’d fallen asleep on the phone. Her alarm had woken Lucy, eventhough Lucy had another hour before she had to get up.

Lucy hadn’t minded, but Ona had kept apologizing until Lucy, with a cheeky grin, had suggested she’d ‘make it up’ with a front-row view of her shower.

Ona had laughed. Lately, Lucy had become more and more...needy. Not that Ona minded, in fact, she found it cute that Lucy missed every part of her. Lucy had even asked for a risqué picture the other day, a first since moving back to England two months ago. It was endearing how Lucy missed her in that way, but for Ona, it wasn’t just about that. It was the physical closeness she missed, the warmth.

She missed waking up beside Lucy. Every morning she woke up cuddling the pillow that was still holding the faintest trace of Lucy’s scent. During the day she’d randomly pull Coco onto her lap just for some form of comfort. But her dog wasn’t quite the same as her girlfriend. Sometimes in the shower, Ona would close her eyes, letting the warmth of the water surround her, but it could never replace the feeling of Lucy’s touch.

Suddenly, the familiar tone of an incoming FaceTime call broke her thoughts.

"Hi babyyyyy!" Lucy’s voice chimed through, full of energy and excitement the moment Ona’s face appeared on screen.

Ona chuckled softly, amused by Lucy’s bubbly tone. "Hey, babe."

"I love you," Lucy said with a beaming smile, her eyes crinkling at the edges. "One more week and two days, and we’ll have a few days together again." She was counting down, as she did on every call.

Ona nodded, her throat tightening as the familiar wave of longing washed over her. "I miss you," she whispered, her voice more fragile than she intended.

Lucy’s bright expression shifted. Concern filled her eyes as she leaned closer to the screen, sensing the sadness in Ona’s voice. Normally, they tried to keep things light, both agreeing that these two years apart would pass quicker if they kept their focus forward, holding their chins up.

"Are you okay?" Lucy asked softly, trying to filter the worry out of her tone but failing.

"No," Ona admitted, her pout deepening. "I haven’t kissed you in so long, I don’t even remember what you taste like."

She fell back onto the couch, the iPad slipping slightly as she disappeared out of the frame.

"Ona?" Lucy’s voice was gentle.

Ona whimpered softly. "Your pillow doesn’t smell like you anymore," she said, almost accusingly, as if it was somehow Lucy’s fault that her scent had faded.

"Baby," Lucy whispered, biting her lip, her eyes filled with sorrow. She wanted nothing more than to pull Ona into her arms and hold her tight. "Can you show me your face again?"

Ona wiped at her teary eyes and sat up, facing the screen once more.

Lucy gave her a sad, knowing smile, taking in the sight of Ona’s messy hair and red, puffy eyes. "What did you have for dinner?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood, knowing full well that no amount of casual conversation could replace what they both needed.

"I’m not playing tomorrow," Ona blurted out, ignoring Lucy’s question. "I’m going to book a flight."

Lucy’s heart twisted. She knew that feeling all to well herself, the urge to throw everything aside and run to the one she loved. But Ona couldn’t abandon her commitments, not like this. It would affect her career, Lucy couldn’t let that happen, no matter how much she wanted to be with her.

"I’ll come,"

A flicker of hope flashed in Ona’s eyes, but it faded just as quickly. "You can’t, Luce," Ona replied, her gaze drifting to Coco, who was busy tearing apart a tennis ball. "You’ve got a game too."

"I’ll come," Lucy repeated, her voice more determined now. She’d play her morning match and then fly straight to Ona, no matter what. Her knee could hurt, her body could ache - it didn’t matter. For Ona, she’d do it.

"You’ve got a game," Ona insisted, "and I have a game in the evening. We won’t even have time to call."

"I’ll play," Lucy said, more firmly this time. "Then I’ll come home and wait for you."

Ona let out a small laugh, though tears were still brimming in her eyes. "And recovery?"

"I’ll wear those stupid tights under my jeans," Lucy replied, rolling her eyes with a smile.

That got a genuine chuckle out of Ona. "You know that’s not the same as a proper recovery, right?"

"I know," Lucy said softly. "But I want to see you. I think you need a hug."

"I need a kiss," Ona corrected, her voice trembling as tears began to well up again. "And bring me one of your pillows. You can take mine."

Lucy chuckled. "Okay, I’ll do that baby. Anything else?"

"Tell me about your day," Ona murmured, laying back down on the couch and pulling the iPad onto her chest.

Lucy laughed, shaking her head. "I already told you everything this afternoon, and nothing’s happened since. I was just at home, walking Narla, cooking food, you know, laid in bed for a bit."

"In bed? Why? Are you getting sick?" Ona asked, suddenly concerned. Lucy rarely stayed in bed, especially without Ona there beside her.

"No," Lucy chuckled. "I was... I was missing you. I just looked at some photos of you."

Ona’s brow lifted in amusement, finally catching on to what Lucy meant. "Ohhh, I see.’’ She shook her head, ‘’We really are so different," she teased, laughing lightly. "You do that every day, don’t you?"

Lucy blushed. "Yeah... I just miss you so much."

"Sí, but for me, it’s different," Ona admitted. "I haven’t... well, you know."

"Really?" Lucy asked, genuinely surprised. "Nothing?"

Ona chuckled, shaking her head again. "No, not really. I’m just not in the mood. I miss you too much."

Lucy’s voice softened, a bit seductive. "What if I’m there tomorrow?"

Ona’s smiled. "Then I want kisses and cuddles. Muchos besos."

Lucy smirked. "Mhm, you’ll get all the kisses and cuddles you want."

"And maybe more," Ona teased, her voice dropping just a little.

Lucy chuckled, trying to sound casual. "We’ll see."

Ona playfully rolled her eyes. "Now you’re acting like you’re not dying for it."

"I want to do whatever you want to do," Lucy replied.

Ona let out a dramatic sigh. "Sometimes you’re so sweet that it actually annoys me."

Lucy’s brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"It’s like a form of cuteness aggression," Ona explained like she was giving a lecture. "But like, sweetness agitation."

Lucy burst into laughter, shaking her head in disbelief. "You are something else."

"Is that why you love me?" Ona asked smiling mischievously, she loved asking Lucy this question because she always got an answer.

Lucy chuckled, her voice full of affection. "Mhm, I love you because of how your brain works, I love everything about you."

..

Ona hurried off the field, skipping the post-match rituals entirely. She tossed everything into her bag in a rush, taking just enough time to swap her boots for her regular shoes. Jogging to her car and driving off.

Her parking job was more crooked than usual, but she couldn’t have cared less. It was all worth it as she spotted Lucy’s shoes when she opened the front door.

Kicking her own shoes off hastily, Ona dropped her bag in the hallway and darted inside. The moment she saw Lucy lounging casually on the couch, the flood of emotion overwhelmed her. Sobbing, she threw herself into Lucy’s arms.

"Heyy," Lucy murmured softly, immediately wrapping her arms around Ona’s trembling frame. "It’s okay, bub. I’m right here."

Ona’s small body shook as she buried her tear-streaked face into the crook of Lucy’s neck. Her tears soaked Lucy’s skin, but Lucy didn’t mind. She gently rubbed Ona’s back, whispering comfort.

"Shh... it’s okay, honey. We’re together now."

Ona took a few deep breaths, inhaling the familiar scent she had missed so deeply. Her lips pressed a soft, tearful kiss to Lucy’s neck, lingering there for a moment. Lucy’s hold tightened around her, cradling her closer as she carefully sat them both up.

"You’re home early," Lucy chuckled lightly, pulling a few damp strands of hair from Ona’s flushed face. "Didn’t even shower at the club?"

Ona shook her head, not lifting her face from Lucy’s neck. She shifted, wrapping her legs around Lucy and clinging even tighter, as if afraid to let go. Lucy’s brow furrowed slightly in concern, this was different. She hadn’t seen Ona like this before. Ona had always been the positive one, encouraging Lucy, insisting she take the opportunity with Chelsea while she still could.

Lucy’s voice softened as she slipped her hands beneath Ona’s game-worn, sweat-soaked shirt. "I love you," she whispered, her touch gentle and reassuring. "How about we go for a shower, huh?"

Ona shook her head again, pressing herself further into Lucy’s embrace.

"I can join you," Lucy offered with a small, playful smile, hoping to lift Ona’s mood.

But Ona shook her head once more, her silent refusal a testament to how overwhelmed she was. Lucy’s heart clenched at the vulnerability in her usually strong, cheerful girlfriend.

"Can you even still talk?" Lucy teased softly, poking at Ona’s sides in an attempt to draw out even the smallest response.

"No," came a small, muffled voice, barely audible against Lucy’s skin.

Lucy turned her head slightly, pressing gentle kisses to the side of Ona’s head. One kiss, then another, until finally Ona lifted her tearful face to look at Lucy.

Lucy smiled tenderly, brushing her thumb across Ona’s cheek, her eyes filled with understanding. "I know, baby," Lucy whispered.

Ona sighed deeply, her hands finding their way to Lucy’s face. She traced her thumb along Lucy’s lips, as if memorizing the touch she had missed so much. Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips softly capturing Lucy’s in a kiss. It was gentle, unhurried, filled with the longing of weeks apart, savoring the taste of the person she had craved for so long.

Lucy responded to the kiss with the same gentle, measured pace as Ona, their lips moving softly, carefully, like they were discovering each other all over again. It was almost like a first kiss. Though their actual first kiss had been anything but slow and delicate.

But this moment wasn’t about passion. It was about something deeper, something more intimate. Right now, Ona needed this. Maybe they both did. It was a chance to reconnect, to ground themselves in each other’s presence, to imprint the familiar taste and feel of one another into their minds, knowing it had to last until the next time they could be together again.

Lucy’s hand moved to cradle the back of Ona’s head, her thumb lightly tracing the curve of her neck. She kissed her as though this moment could mend all the days and nights they’d spent apart, hoping that somehow, it could.

As their lips parted, Ona rested her forehead against Lucy’s. Her breath a little uneven. The tension slowly ebbing away. Lucy kept her arms around her, brushing a stray tear from Ona’s cheek.

"You feel a little better now?" Lucy asked softly.

Ona nodded. "A little," she whispered.

Lucy kissed her forehead gently, then shifted slightly beneath her. "I think we both need a shower, though," she said with a small chuckle, the warmth of her touch still lingering on Ona’s skin.

Ona groaned, her head dropping onto Lucy’s shoulder as if just the thought of moving was already too much. "Nooo," she mumbled, her voice muffled against Lucy’s neck. "Don’t wanna move."

"Come on, baby," Lucy chuckled, her tone light and teasing. "You skipped your shower after the game and I’ve been traveling. We’re both a bit… stinky." She said, secretly more so revering to Ona.

Ona pouted, finally lifting her head to meet Lucy’s gaze. "But I just got you back."

Lucy smiled lovingly and brushed her fingers through Ona’s hair. "I’m not going anywhere, promise. We can shower together, okay?"

Ona hesitated, then reluctantly loosened her grip around Lucy. "Okay," she muttered, her lips forming into a reluctant smile.

Lucy kissed her again, brief but tender, before gently pulling her thighter against her so she could go stand. "Let’s go wash you off then, you dirty girl" she teased, holding Ona as she walked her towards the bathroom.

As they entered the bathroom, Lucy stood her girldfriend back on the ground. She reached into the shower and turned on the water, letting it heat up. Ona clung to Lucy’s side, still not ready to let go. Lucy smiled at her girlfriend’s neediness.

"Come here," Lucy said softly, pulling Ona into her arms. She kissed the top of her head, holding her close. "Let’s get you cleaned up, baby."

Ona let out a soft hum, her fingers lazily tracing circles on Lucy’s back. She felt safe here, in Lucy’s arms.

Slowly, Lucy reached for the hem of Ona’s shirt, gently tugging it upwards. She didn’t rush, didn’t push. Just a quiet, unspoken understanding between them as Ona let her pull the sweat-soaked fabric over her head before tossing it aside.

Ona sighed, her body relaxing as Lucy’s hands moved over her bare skin, the cool air of the bathroom a contrast to the warmth that lingered between them.

"Better?" Lucy asked, her voice low and soothing, as she kissed Ona’s shoulder, her fingers brushing the waistband of her shorts.

Ona nodded, leaning into the touch. Her hands found Lucy’s shirt, and with the same quiet reverence, she helped Lucy lift it over her head, revealing the toned muscles that had become so familiar to her. Lucy shivered slightly as Ona’s fingers brushed her skin, her lips curving into a smile.

"Your turn," Ona whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes flicking up to meet Lucy’s.

Lucy grinned, helping Ona take off the sportsbra. She knew Ona always dreaded to take the tight fabric off of her, especially when it was drained with sweat and annoyingly stuck to her skin.

As each layer of clothing fell away, Ona got more and more peacefull. An unspoken barrier breaking down with every touch, every glance they shared.

When they were both down to nothing but skin, Lucy took Ona’s hand and gently guided her into the shower, the hot water cascading over them. The warmth surounded them both, and Lucy smiled as Ona stepped back into her arms.

"You good?" Lucy asked, her voice soft as she kissed the top of Ona’s head.

"Mhm," Ona hummed, her body finally relaxing into Lucy’s. ''Better''.

They stood there for a while, letting the water wash away the sweat, the tears and the time spent apart. There was no rush.

Lucy moved slowly, tenderly, as she had taken some soap on her hands, her fingers tracing over Ona’s skin with even more care then she usually already had.

"Missed this," Ona murmured, her eyes closing as Lucy’s hands moved across her back.

"Me too," Lucy whispered back, her voice thick with emotion.

For a while, they said nothing, the only sounds filling the room were the steady stream of water and their quiet breaths. Lucy gently washed Ona’s body, her hands moving slowly, deliberately, like she wanted to memorize every inch of her all over again.

When it was Ona’s turn, she took just as much care, her fingers trailing softly over Lucy’s arms, her shoulders, her chest. There was something sacred about this moment. Like they were rebuilding something that distance had tried to take away.

After what felt like an eternity standing together beneath the stream of warm water, their bodies still entwined, Lucy leaned down, her lips brushing against Ona’s forehead in a soft, tender kiss.

Her movements were unhurried as she let her lips linger before trailing down to place a small peck on the tip of Ona’s nose. Ona smiled at the gentle touch, her eyes fluttering closed, surrendering to the intimacy. Lucy continued her slow, affectionate journey, planting soft kisses around Ona’s face.

Finally, Lucy’s lips hovered millimeters away from Ona’s, the space between them so small it felt electric. She paused, her breath mixing with Ona’s as she whispered, "I love you."

Then, softly, she closed the gap, capturing Ona’s lips in a kiss.

"You feel better now?" Lucy asked breaking away from their kiss after a few moments, brushing a strand of wet hair out of Ona’s face.

"Yeah," Ona whispered, her voice barely audible, but smiling genuinly. "Much better."

---

Thanks to @pinkygirl28 :) she helped me with the ending

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: risk taking behavior / circumstantial self harm kinda / ignoring of injuries / self-depreciation / slight ooc-ness but for a reason! / ]

Post invasion, Leo is fine.

More than fine! He’s better than before, even. That is, if you don’t count the slightly cracked shell and still healing bones, but those are only a problem when the weather wants them to be!

Leo really is better in the ways that matter.

He’s not as cocky, not as self-centered, and overall just more heroic in general if he does say so himself.

Raph even said he was proud of Leo!

So obviously things are going well.

But.

It’s not enough.

Leo’s better, sure, but he’s still got work to do.

So - and here’s something that will probably make his brothers faint on the spot - he needs to train.

_____

His brothers do not faint, but it’s a near thing for Raph. Mikey has to fan the snapper’s face and Donnie almost brings out the smelling salts before Raph shoots back to his feet with an excited grin.

Leo’s big brother gets teary eyed soon after and envelops him in a bear hug, saying once again how proud he is that Leo is growing up.

Leo lets himself be hugged, even hugs back as fiercely as he can, because unbeknownst to Raph, this marks the end of Leo’s childhood.

He lets himself be hugged like a kid one last time, looking through the hole in Raph’s shell all the while.

_____

Leo only trains the regular way with his brothers and occasionally April and the Caseys, but most especially Raph.

But of course that’s not enough, it was never going to be.

So he goes through the motions of the stretches, the spars, the meditation, and then he leaves.

He makes sure to have his excuses ready, usually defaulting to Hueso as his go to since his brothers are easily bought off with the promise of pizza. Leo hasn’t yet found the tracker Donnie installed in him, but when he does that’ll be dealt with too! But for now, this should be good.

See, the invasion made him realize something.

It’s not about him, but it was his shortcomings that led to everything going to hell.

So he just…needs to get rid of those shortcomings.

He’s working on it, gaining fighting skill in training, but there’s more he needs to do, more skills he needs to train.

Leo watches intently as Repo Mantis swindles someone, he memorizes the sleight of hand that Hypno performs, he sneaks back into the Mystic Library and is so quiet the hush bats forget he’s there, he talks Big Mama into honing his manipulation, and he even sneaks into human hospitals and reptile veterinary clinics to get a clue on more serious injuries.

And after any of these, he heads to Run of the Mill to compete in the Maze of Death.

_____

This is his twelfth time going through the (newly remodeled and even more deadly) Maze of Death, and would be his fifth time winning. The first three times had him waking up in Hueso’s office, and each time he wakes his old persona shines through.

He always waves off Hueso’s annoyance and questions and insists on trying again next time before he steals some pizza and bails.

The skeleton actively tries to stop him from entering the Maze after the first time, but hey- mystics are allowed before you enter.

It’s easy enough to teleport on by.

Harder to meet Hueso’s - and later his brothers’ - eyes when he fails again.

When he first actually won, Hueso congratulates him in that typical deadpan tone of his.

“Ah, felicidades, Pepino. Now you can move on, sí?”

“Hm? Nah, boneman! That run was sloppy!”

And then Leo runs off before Hueso can stop him.

He doesn’t even look at his picture on the champion wall when he next comes around. It’s not much to look at anyway.

_____

His second win is much like the first, and only his third win is actually acceptable.

But he knows the field too much now. He needs a challenge.

When he attempts to go through it blindfolded, he’s quickly shown how much he doesn’t know the Maze. So, obviously, he loses again.

He got a bit more banged up that time around.

“Pepino, basta ya, you’ve already won. Where are your brothers?”

“I can’t stop yet, señor! This is for my brothers - no les digas, please.”

Even if Hueso wanted to tell Leo’s brothers, they haven’t been in enough for him to get to, and it’s not like Hueso has their number since Leo’s the one Hueso usually contacts. For now, Leo’s safe to continue as is.

Though his injuries are getting harder to hide, and there’s only so much his shell in particular can take.

So to speed things up, he incorporates the blindfold into his regular training.

His brothers question it, of course, but hey, he initially got the idea from seeing Lou Jitsu do it in the third best Lou Jitsu movie, so it comes as a great excuse now.

He’s only a little put off by how fast Mikey adapts to it when the others try.

“I dunno-“ Mikey shrugs when asked, “You guys shine so brightly anyway, a mask doesn’t do much.”

Seeing their mystic energies is pretty cool, Leo can admit.

He just wishes he could grasp that himself - and that it was useful for a death maze.

_____

Leo’s training pulls off eventually, and soon, after a few more losses, he wins a forth time. But it’s a near loss, and a near loss is the difference between someone living and dying.

He’s gotta go again.

Hueso’s more insistent than ever, though.

“You must stop, Pepino.”

“But I can do better-“

“You don’t have to! Your shell is bleeding - ¡por tu propio bien, poner fin a esto!”

“I told you, this is for their own good! For everyone’s own good!”

He forgets the pizzas when he leaves. He claims sickness when he hides under his covers.

He ignores how childish the act makes him feel.

_____

Leo’s getting better, and his reflexes and tact in training shows this. His other training of his subterfuge and medical skills also prove to be useful.

He’s pretty good at hiding injuries, now! Though not so good at hiding a pained shell. Even Donnie looks at him with blatant concern (and understanding) when Leo can’t help but take a sharp breath whenever he lands on his back.

It’s hard not to go right back into waving everything off with jokes like he used to. Deflections are easier when they’re annoying!

But- this is just another reason that he needs to get better, right? So his brothers won’t worry. He doesn’t need the spotlight anymore - he’s over that, thanks.

He squashes down the part of him that perks up when Splinter says he’s growing up. He actively kills the part of himself that cries at the same phrase.

_____

So. Yeah. This’ll be his twelfth time running the Maze. And, hopefully, his fifth win. Maybe he really will move on after this.

The Hidden City is pretty big! There’s probably a bigger challenge somewhere.

Maybe Big Mama has a more secret Nexus hidden away, out of the public eye.

Well, whatever. That’s a future problem for him to figure out, yeah? For now, he carries on like usual, teleporting to the entrance of the Maze and diving right in.

Even blindfolded, he works his way through, dodging and weaving and feeling as he goes. He even tries to evoke his inner Mikey and calls on his mystic energy. Not enough to cheat, but enough to feel.

Usually, when Leo teleports, he swears he feels every part of himself disperse into particles. Now, with energy thrumming under his scales, he can feel particles everywhere.

It’s not refined enough to tell him everything, and he gets a fun new burn and a nice whack to the back by getting distracted. Still, it gives him more than he had before. It makes him more aware of everything, like he licked a finger and held it in the air to feel the direction of wind, but every direction blew wind, all in different ways.

He makes it to the end with minimal injuries after that, and sure, his shell is screaming at him now, but he thinks he did a shell of a good job.

…Ah, he needs to cut that out, huh? Man. Maybe Donnie’s collar idea was a good call after all.

Leo needs to be a hero. Not a face man. Not a failure.

Not a kid.

_____

Leo doesn’t smile when the Minotaur takes his picture again for the champion wall, and he doesn’t listen when she tells him to “go home and never come back.”

He doesn’t plan to, anyway, yeesh.

He’s tired as he trudges out of the exit, and Hueso catches him when he stumbles.

Hueso doesn’t say anything. Leo doesn’t either.

Or, he doesn’t, until he feels a familiar large hand helping him up as well.

Leo’s face whips up as he flinches back, eyes wide as they meet with a worried (so, so worried) Raph’s.

“You told them?” Leo asks Hueso in betrayal, heart thudding wildly in his chest.

“Pepino…”

“Told us what?” Mikey pipes up from behind Raph, coming closer to get a better look at Leo, “Leo, what’s going on?”

“Your shell has been having pretty big setbacks on its healing, is this why?” Donnie demands, glaring fiercely as he motions toward the Maze.

Leo feels unmoored. “I-“

“Leo.” Raph interrupts, and no Leo doesn’t want to hear it- “Are you okay?”

And Leo wants to say “it’s not about me”. He wants to say anything that proved he learned his lesson, that he’s not a liability or worse, an active danger to his own family.

He wants Raph to continue being proud of him. He wants his brothers to trust him.

Instead, he passes out.

_____

The next time his eyes open, Leo’s on his side, staring at his blue lava lamp.

He knows without looking that his shell is re-bandaged. He knows his other injuries have been dealt with too.

And unless Leo learned how to do some pretty impressive medical sleepwalking, he knows he’s not getting away this time.

All three of his brothers being in his room prove that.

“What’s been going on, Leo?” Mikey asks, and his voice cracks partway through.

He’s looking at Leo like he’s searching for something, but Leo doesn’t have anything to show. Nothing’s hidden, he just did some light spring cleaning is all, throwing out all the parts he didn’t need.

All the parts they didn’t need.

And yet despite everything, he can feel himself falling back into old ways, a grin tugging at his beak and lackadaisical deflection on the tip of his tongue.

Maybe he should let that part of him show, just for once. It wouldn’t seem like too much of a setback would it? And he could really use a fun pun right about now-

No.

No it’s not about him. He needs to remember why he did all this in the first place.

“Okay- sorry, guys.” He smiles, softly, quietly, “I guess I got too caught up in training. I’ll work at it some more, don’t worry.”

“Oh, I see. Training. That’s all it was, huh? Training.” Donnie hisses more than says, nearly vibrating in anger.

“…yeah?” Leo nods slowly, because, uh, that’s literally the most honest thing he said. It was training.

“If it’s just “training” then why the secrecy, hm? Why in Curie’s good name did you prefer to sneak around rather than, oh, I don’t know, tell your family?”

Leo feels his shoulders rise at Donnie’s aggression, defensiveness welling up in him, “It was my training! Nothing went wrong, I’m getting better!”

“Better?” Raph asks incredulously, “Leo, you’re wasting away. A tap to the shell stuns you for minutes, you lost weight, and your dark circles are worse than Raph’s ever seen them! You aren’t getting better-!”

“YES I AM!”

The words rip out of Leo before he can stop them.

The room is silent as his brother look at him, all wearing expressions of hurt that Leo put there again.

“Yes I am.” Leo reiterates, shaking, “Because- if I’m not-“ He squeezes his eyes shut. “If I’m not-“

Then what was all this for?

Arms slowly wrap around him, and he knows now from the feel of the mystic that it’s Mikey.

“You’ve gotten faster, and sneakier.” Mikey says quietly. “When I accidentally cut my hand, you knew exactly how to take care of it.” His voice grows firm, and he backs out of the hug, “But those are your skills. You, though, you’ve been…you’ve been…”

“You’ve been dilapidating before our very eyes, and trying to hide it.” Donnie finishes, jaw tight. “You think we wouldn’t notice? After everything?” To Leo’s horror, Donnie’s voice is hoarse with tears, “You absolute dumb dumb.”

“I- but I need to train. The Maze is-“

“Leo, we don’t care that you ran through the Maze. We care you did it alone.” Raph says quietly. “We could have joined you, any time.”

“But- but I’m doing this for you-“

“Listen to your brothers, Blue.” They jump as a new voice joins the fray, heads turning to see Splinter make his way into the - frankly crowded - room.

“Dad, I-“ Leo begins, but trails off, suddenly more unsure than ever in the face of his father.

“It’s good you’re finally picking up training! Especially for your brothers’ sakes! But there’s such a thing as going overboard, you know.” Splinter pokes a sharp claw into Leo’s plastron, “Just because you’re dragging it out this time, doesn’t make this any less of a sacrifice. My son, you’ve taken after Karai an awful lot, haven’t you?”

Leo just looks at his father. At his brothers. Then, he looks down at his calloused hands, bandaged and scarred from overuse.

He swallows dryly. “Is that a bad thing?”

He feels his family crowd in around him, feels his father’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not wrong to want to be better, Leonardo.” Splinter says, softly and with so much grief and guilt that Leo can never begin to understand, “But you were never bad to begin with.”

Leo’s breath hitches.

“And-” Splinter’s hands rise up to frame Leo’s face. “You are much too young to ever consider sacrifice the best answer.”

“You got me to relax, Leo. So I’ll do the same for you.” Raph grins, eyes wet, “We’re still kids, right?”

And-

Leo smiles, watery but genuine. “Yeah, Raph. We are.”

[a-most-beloved-fool]

My favorite part about writing fanfic is trying to match the way characters speak and think in writing. It's like a little puzzle. Like "he would not fucking say that" except it's shuffling around words and altering sentence structure until he WOULD fucking say that. You can hear him saying that in your head. It's so fun.

[shadebloopnik]

Angelic Alastor AU

"Al!"

The angel turned to the voice and the sound of flapping wings just in time to see the two Archangels land behind him. The smaller of the two- with porcelain skin, rosy cheeks and an otherworldly beauty, bounded towards him full of energy. Golden eyes peered up at him as he spoke.

"Just finished with our spar, and Michael said he loved the hat! I told you it was a good idea!", Lucifer spoke, deep chuckles seeming to brighten the area by its mere presence. He punctuated his words by adjusting the top hat on his head, replacing the usual golden crown, a prideful smile on his face.

"Your brothers clearly love you too much.", Alastor snipes before facing the taller angel, and giving a polite bow. "Your Highness."

Michael gives a solemn nod, adorning a small soft smile. "Always good to see you, Altruist. I had ample time before my next meeting, so I figured I'd accompany my brother on his way to your little appointment."

Michael bore nearly identical features to his younger brother, possessing the same blonde locks, white skin, and golden eyes, albeit being considerably taller. What he lacked, falling a bit behind Lucifer's beauty, he made up for with his dignified grace, a regal authority that rivalled no other. He reminded Alastor of a frozen tundra amidst the plans for the creation of life, as precise as every detail on each snowflake.

"Very well that you did, your Grace, as your brother appears to need it quite a lot."

"It was ONE time! And your directions were very unclear!"

"I fail to see how 'meet me at the gates' translates to 'circle the entirety of heaven for 3 hours', my friend."

"There are a lot of gates in heaven! No matter! They just finished constructing the new nebula! We gotta check it out Alastor! Come on!", Lucifer said, practically bouncing on his feet in excitement and circling the other in flight before dashing off in a burst of speed.

Michael let out a rare chuckle as Alastor sighed in seeming annoyance.

"Always so sprightly, makes me wonder how you keep up with it all, Altruist.", the Archangel spoke, stepping to stand beside the red eyed angel.

"Trust me Sire, its tempting not to follow.", Alastor replied, deadpan as he set his gaze to the direction the Morningstar set off on. Left alone with the other Archangel, without Lucifer with him, Alastor couldn't help but feel a bit insecure. Shuffling his mismatch wings, he subtly moved the upper white set to cover the red and black wings below, his hold on his cane, tightening ever so slightly, though not enough for Michael to notice.

Michael smiled, finding no offense whatsoever from Alastor's words and the casualty of his jabs towards Lucifer. Despite his words, Michael could see the fondness Alastor possessed for the shorter angel, clear as day. Alastor was powerful, only ranking below the Archangels themselves in sheer strength, and would be of higher standing if not for his reclusive nature.

He always wore a smile wherever he went, but it was different for Lucifer, softer, fuller. Alastor shied away from any interaction with his angelic kind, but fully welcomes Lucifer's presence, seeking it, even. It was without a doubt that Alastor cared for his younger brother, his loyalty and selflessness when it came to the younger angel was palpable, fitting of his title, and for that, he had Michael's complete and utter respect.

"But you will, you always do.", Michael turned to face the angel, golden eyes meeting peculiar red. "Its why I trust you with his life."

Its a bit ridiculous perhaps, considering Lucifer was far more powerful than Alastor could ever be, but in the end, it mattered little. Alastor held his brother's heart, and Michael could guess it rang true vice versa.

Alastor's smile froze on his face, his sharp tongue silent as he gazed into the Archangel. A bout of silence passed, broken only by the Morningstar barreling back into Alastor at high speed.

"Alastor come on slow-wings! Hah! Get it? Slow? Wings? Come on, its hilarious, lets goooo!!", Lucifer bounced, gripping at the taller angel's arm, making a show of pulling him along. Evidently he didn't use much force, seeing as how Alastor wasn't immediately carried off, but it was enough to drag the angel rather quickly still.

"Later Michael!", the star spoke with a cheerful wave, before speeding off, dragging a squawking Alastor behind him as the other hastily flapped his mismatched wings, as he struggled to keep up.

Michael smiled at the scene, before turning to leave for his meeting.

Protect his heart, Alastor, it's all I ask of you.

_________________________

The wind roughly brushed the trees around them, as 3 pairs wings fluttered to land, every flap bringing forth powerful gusts. Michael surveyed the area as he went down to Earth, a mossy swamp littered with fireflies, blues and greens seeming to glow under the night sky. He wrenched his eyes down. He couldn't bear to look at a star right now, not after....

He shook the thought away, marching to look for the angel he was looking for. He'd been searching for hours, burning through the whole day. Alastor truly was a recluse, he was impossible to locate when he didn't want to be found. This was the last place he didn't look yet. They'd let Alastor design these swamps, letting him have at least a little hand in the creation of Earth despite his numerous refusals.

There at the edge, he could see him, standing at the edge of the water, mismatched wings cocooning him, the white set covering his entirety until his black wings were nearly out of sight.

"Altruist."

Alastor remained silent, his back to the Archangel. It was perhaps the most disrespectful thing Alastor's ever done to him, what with all his usual obsession with propriety.

"Altruist.", he called again, voice growing desperate, frustrated.

Still, there was no answer.

Michael clenched his teeth, the day's proceedings catching up to him, leaving him with far, far too many emotions.

"Alastor-"

"Don't."

Alastor's voice was cold, an icy tone that rivalled his own. It made Michael angry, frustrated and bitter. Can't Alastor see that he's hurting too? That he's also grieving?

"I lost him too, Alastor."

His voice was filled with emotion he wouldn't dare name. He had to be strong and steady for his brothers, for the rest of heaven. Im front of Alastor though? In matters regarding Lucifer? There was no one Michael could relate to more.

So why can't Alastor see? Did he think this was easy for Michael?! He lost his brother too! He's not the only one suffering!

But deep inside, Michael knew. It wasn't the same. He knew how deep the bond between Alastor and Lucifer ran, perhaps deeper than he ever had with his brother.

Michael's heart was already given to Heaven as a whole, but Alastor's only belonged to one.

"Tell me Michael, whose life did you entrust to me, again?", Michael felt ice crawl up his spine, his heart growing heavier with each word. Alastor spun around, unfurling his wings to face the Archangel. His crimson eyes were redder than usual.

"How, pray tell, am I supposed to do what you asked, when you cast down the one I was supposed to protect? Tell me how can I protect him from the fiery pits you all threw him into? How, am I supposed to GO ON WITHOUT-!"

'Without them', he almost said. No, he couldn't be reckless, couldn't let his emotions get the better. They couldn't know about his own relations with Lilith, he promised the two he'd stay safe. No matter how much it ached, he couldn't go against them.

Michael furrowed his brows in understanding, letting the accusations wash over him. If it were anyone else, he'd have already smote them down for the audacity, but this was Alastor. This was the angel who held his brother's heart; angry and emotional and dreadfully loyal to the star even now. If anything, in respect for his brother, he could endure this.

Schooling his expression, he'd gaze back at the fuming angel before him, his face a blank slate.

"Lucifer's actions were reckless and destructive, with severe consequences. His reckless disobedience, his affiliation with the first woman, its shattering the very foundation of order we worked so hard to maintain. Such crimes cannot go unpunished."

His voice was cold, adopting the mask of a ruthless prince. Right now, he wasn't a brother, he was Michael, Sword of Justice, Protector of Heaven. He had to learn to separate each title, it was the only way to ensure he did his role right. He can't be a brother right now. He won't, not for this.

He wishes it made it hurt less.

As emotionally compromised as he was, Alastor couldn't mask the pain in his face as he squeezed his eyes shut at Michael's tone, knowing he was now speaking to a soldier, not a friend. The sight of it almost made Michael want to break down the mask. Almost. Not nearly enough to actually do so. He was able to bear casting down his own brother, this was nothing.

The thought sent another pang to his heart, and he pushed it to the back of his mind.

"I love him too..", his voice was low, resigned, all energy leaving him as he looked away from the angel before him. Michael was so so tired. "It had to be done."

The swaying of the leaves and the buzz of nearby fireflies were the only things breaking the deafening silence. Now that he thought about it, didn't Lucifer help make these? Little bursts of light flying amidst a darkened swamp...

Why must everything hurt Michael today?

He heard the other take a deep breath, and turned to see the other adopt a smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Thank you for your visit, your Highness. You may take your leave now."

Alastor always smiled, even when he didn't mean it, but none of those ever felt as wrong as this one.

"Alas-"

Michael cut off his own words at the other's glare. Alastor's eyes glowed a deep red, his sclera giving its own crimson glow. His glowing wings seemed to curl closer around him. All this while still keeping on that damned smile. It was uncomfortable. It served little to intimidate someone as powerful as Michael, but this wasn't about power.

He's never seen Alastor look so broken.

He may be set apart from the other angels, but he always looked so happy with Lucifer.

......but Lucifer isn't here anymore, is he?

Suppressing a sigh, Michael kept his voice level. ".....Altruist."

Alastor's smile only seemed to widen, contrasting with how his wings curled tighter around himself in a cocoon.

"I wish to be alone. Now.", the deceptively cheerful tone made Michael sick.

Without another word Michael turned around. There was no fixing this. Alastor looked as though a single action would cause him to flee. If Michael didn't take his leave, he'd have left anyway. All Alastor wanted was Lucifer, and Lucifer was condemned in Hell. There's nothing he could do.

As he spread out his wings, he took one last glance at Alastor's smiling face, before taking off, ignoring the muffled sounds of sobbing he left in his wake.

It was the last time he's ever seen Alastor smile.

[hiso03]

Hi, abt. the unfinished WIP folder you made me curious what's behind 2 and 8?

Number 2 

It's also for Halbarry week, although I don't know if I can finish it exactly for the date, maybe if I don't post it later.

It is inspired by the idea of "Hero/Civilian"

In that universe, Hal is a civilian who has a kind of crush on the Flash, and his best friend Barry ends up discovering that one night while Barry was trying to flirt with him.

"Well, I honestly think Superman has more impressive powers and Wonder Woman's bravery is admirable and Batman... "Superpowers?" he asks, turning to him with a raised eyebrow. "What do you think we're talking about?" "Which superhero is the coolest of them?" Hal snorts and dismisses the conversation with one hand as he sips his beer nonchalantly. "Then what are you talking about?" "Whose is it hottest?" he demands. "And you can't deny that The Flash takes the top spot."

Number 8 

It's also for Halbarry week, but it's for day three.

It's pretty much Barry trying to flirt with Hal to ask him out on a date somehow, one way or another, life manages to make sure it doesn't work out.

I know the title doesn't make a lot of sense, but I'm just getting to those parts of the story.

"Barry sighs as he stares up at the ceiling and realizes that maybe it wasn't a good idea to flirt with Hal in front of his ex... Love was definitely starting to affect his ability to think and make good decisions. "Hey, are you okay?" he asks nervously. "You've been very quiet since Sinister hit you." "I was just thinking," he murmurs. "I don't think he likes me." "He doesn't like anyone," he replies, snorting angrily. "But that idiot is going to get on with me for hurting you." "I don't think he did it intentionally." "Of course he did it with intentions," replied the brunette annoyed. "He's jealous of you, he can't stand the fact that you're the only one who has my attention."

[calicos-clones]

I don’t think people realize how freaked out fanfic readers get when their favorite author(s) doesn’t update their ongoing schedule ON TIME.

And it’s not cause we want the chapter…it’s cause we’re so fucking worried about the Author.

Like— OMG ARE YOU OKAY? YOU’VE BEEN GIVING US THE TRAGIC UPDATES OF YOUR LIFE IN THE NOTES THE PAST 10 CHAPTERS?! WHY STOP? ARE YOU DEAD? DID YOU GET STUCK IN THE WALL LIKE YOUR CAT?? HAVE YOU EATEN?? HAS YOUR BRAIN EXPLODED??

Readers no longer care about the story when they don’t get their usual update. We panic and flag S.O.S as we track down our wayward author who has been both blessed by the universe with a creative mind and cursed all the same with the worst luck.

So any authors who are reading this please understand— when we comment “hey are you okay?” in your comments. No, we are not asking about the chapter.

We are legitimately concerned for your wellbeing. Do not force yourself to shit out a chapter just to appease other ppl when you yourself are not in the mental state to enjoy it or even write it to begin with.

TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF DAMMIT

[ass-ass-ins-creed]

when your loved ones are like “hey you’re finally not playing video games all day on your days off” and you’re like “well you see, that is because i am spending all day reading fanfics about characters from said video games all day on my days off”

[jimbodyson]

people seem to love redemption arcs but absolutely despise a character doing something bad to earn the redemption. it’s exactly why i hate things like ‘well actually ____ didn’t deserve a redemption arc!!’ like bruh you do know someone has to do something bad before they redeem themselves right. like that’s the point of it.

[adreamfromnevermore]

Ok ok, but hear me out on a Superbat AU

Clark is 14 when Luthor learns the truth about his origin. He goes missing 3 days after school finishes for the summer. His parents search for him relentlessly, for years they beg for the return of their son. But despite the search parties and the press conferences no one comes forward and Clark is never found. A missing persons case that haunts Smallville for the years to come.

On the eve of Clark's 18th birthday Superman appears. Hovering over Metropolis in a pitch black uniform. Martha recognizes her son instantly, and watches in horror as he sweeps through the streets with a single minded focus. He returns to Lexcorp with a thief clutched in one hand and the same eerily blank face he'd had in every clip that had been captured of him.

Luthor heralded him as a superhero, thanked him publicly for returning the thief to Lexcorp to be prosecuted. No one notices when the thief disappears, and though they ask where the Superman goes when he isn't hanging in the sky above Metropolis there is no one who seems to have an answer.

Lexcorp tells the world that they should trust this being that has come to help. That he has shown only kindness towards them. That if he goes after someone, it is only because they must have done something terrible to deserve it.

In Metropolis Superman haunts the golden city, hangs in the air high above them and listens to Luthors orders in his ears. He has never wanted to hurt someone, but he has no choice. He is Luthor's favorite weapon, this he knows. And if he strays, Luthor will know.

Across the bay a Court stirs, they have always worked from the shadows. Hidden in Gothams walls and with their hands in every one of Gothams pots. Metropolis has a hero hanging high above their head, but the Court has done business with the man who pulls it's strings and they believe this is something they can work together on.

So the Court calls for a meeting and they plot their own path.

3 months after Superman debuts the Voice of the Court meets with Lex Luthor and offers a deal.

A decade before Superman debuts the Waynes die, their son is never found. It is a tragedy that haunts Gotham for a decade. It is a warning. The Wayne family has long stood apart from the Court, but Thomas and Martha got in the way. Thomas and Martha hampered the Court's goals, and so they had to go. Their son was a warning.

And now, their son is the warning.

The Talon stalking from shadowed perch. The greatest the Court has ever produced. And so they send their greatest weapon alongside the Voice of the Court and a deal is struck.

Superman meets a Talon. They see another made a weapon, and they begin to wonder.

Must they always be weapons?