#as am i (<- exaggerating) (stuck in a funk)

[randomwriteronline]

He hears him before he sees him.

That is not something that will ever change - in a sense it is quite comforting, that even in a constantly mutating world one thing can remain the same: the fact that he is still heavy enough to make his arrival sound like an approaching thunderstorm, that he has not lost the peculiar gracelessness of his brand of speed, that he likes to run his mouth just as much as his legs.

"You're a lot thinner than the last time I saw you," Pohatu tells him.

Krika regards him with half-lid eyes: "And my brother's leash is just as tight around your neck still, it would seem."

"Stop that," the Toa shuts him down instantly, his genuine amiable tone gone in an instant to be replaced by a cold vitriol. If the Makuta had a tongue, he might have considered biting it. "That joke has never been funny in the first place."

"It is no joke, Toa."

"Then find something else to greet me with, Makuta."

To say Krika had felt something deeper, once, for such a sad being - to say any of them had at some point been moved towards him by something other than an awkward pity, a half-hearted annoyance, a slight cautious curiosity - would be maybe not a full lie, but certainly an exaggeration. None of them was attached to him enough to pry Teridax's hold off of him until it was too late to even try to get through to him, after all; so perhaps this sudden rush of melancholic compassion is akin to a crocodile's tears after it has senselessly devoured its own young.

It remains that, for a reason unknown, the towering insect-like being tilts his head to better observe the warrior before him.

"You're much more orange than I remembered," he indulges him: "And somehow even shorter."

A booming laugh: "It's the armor," Pohatu replies so wonderfully earnest and open and bright as though he had never once been angry in his frighteningly bitter life: "Too compact."

He drops from the air onto the sturdiest branch he could have found with his entire weight, bouncing on it as it perilously bends towards the swamp waters before struggling to pull itself back up. He dangles his feet in a carefree manner, like a Matoran who snuck away from work. A tentative fondness that was there many millennia ago rekindles for a moment only within the Makuta, to ache with nostalgia: for a moment he can almost picture his old laboratory, and the suspended catwalk that led to the shelves of viruses and carefully preserved failed attempts upon which the Toa would sit just like that so he could watch him at work without interfering.

"So," Pohatu beams: "It's been a while."

"It has."

"I met Mutran on the way here. Most of the others too - the ones up in the sky. They've gone blind, by the by."

"I was aware."

"Of the Matoran, too?"

"Yes."

The Toa hums. Evidently he does not appreciate the shadow leeches too much.

"I passed through him with my Kakama Nuva," he continues.

"Mutran?"

"Yes."

"Riveting."

"It was disgusting, mostly. Oh, and I saw Gorast. I had to knock out Photok before she'd jump on him - ah, you don't know him, right? No, he's from the stalagmites. Resisting against you. So yes, I had to knock him out and fly him to safety and then get back down. A bit of a hassle."

"How is my sister faring, in your opinion?"

"As positively furious as ever. Maybe even worse."

"She has indeed been degrading."

"Hm. Maybe it's the bog air. Or the humidity. Either way I can't really blame her."

Of course you can't, the Makuta only thinks, keeping quiet.

You are becoming ever more like her.

"Ah - watch for Takua- Takanuva. He's arrived too."

"The fabled Toa of Light?"

A nod. "He isn't supposed to be here. They sent him, I think."

"Who would be 'they'?"

"Probably the Order of Mata Nui - the Turaga don't have the means to set a single foot here, let alone send someone. You'll recognize him immediately, he's gotten huge."

"Duly noted."

"Anyhow, how have things been down here?"

Krika shrugs: "Gorast almost killed your sister," he relays. "Bitil had your Earth brother subjugated briefly, and your Fire brother - Tahu, isn't he? - nearly burnt down the entire swamp."

"Hm," the Toa only hums, monotone. "Shame."

The way he says the word causes the other being to stiffen his spine: "Do not speak like that."

"Like that how?"

"Do not be coy."

"I don't understand what you mean."

"You should not wish death upon your siblings."

"Because you don't?"

"The Toa Mata are following the path destiny has decided for them," the Makuta snaps at last. "Teridax has tried to twist and bend fate to his own ambitions, and in doing so he has doomed himself, the entire Brotherhood and you with him. To wish him dead is to wish for the Universe to keep on living - it is far from a childish desire born of an ancient grudge that has no reason to exist."

"Watch it."

The words coil quiet, dangerous, around Krika's neck much like a noose of rock.

The fallen stalactites groan like suffering Rahi as they shift.

One must wonder, between him and the last of the Makuta's sisters, if this kind of taste for cruelty is something innate or if his traitorous brother simply has a talent for driving people to it.

The silent threat is not quite empty. Yes, Pohatu will not kill him: he is a Toa (he takes pride in that for it's all that remains outside of Teridax he can still hold onto to tell himself he is worth anything) so he observes the code like his life depends on it, and it is not at all in his nature to consider inflicting pain fun, or satisfying; but he can trap him with little to no air or agonizingly crush his limbs flat between walls of stone, and his slowly marinating anger will find it endlessly gratifying despite any aversion to torture.

But Pohatu is, fundamentally, a weak being.

Oh, he has all the power he needs. His mastery over his element is egregious and his speed unmatched. But at the end of the day he is nothing but a soft toy, a spineless marionette to pull the strings of; one day - because it will happen, one day - someone will snip at a wire, purposefully or not, and that will be all it takes to send him tumbling to the floor.

His sharp limbs carve holes into the wood.

Slowly, Krika elevates himself from the bog and comes to stand upon the branch, light and graceful like a terrifyingly posed skeleton, towering over the little Toa.

His head bends down to look into blue eyes.

Pohatu simply cranes his neck and stares back, tranquil, unafraid, like a child.

"We will not leave Karda Nui," the Makuta sentences. His tone is low, funerary. "Our brother has planned our demise the moment he decided to betray Miserix. We are nothing to him, as are his Kraata, as are you. He has no need for a court beside him to rule the universe. We will outgrow our purpose soon. He will leave us to die like vermins. This shall be our grave."

A stretch of silence.

The gaze replying to his own is calm.

"Sorry," Pohatu says without even the vaguest trace of emotion.

Krika leans down, down, down, closer, until his mask grazes the other being's and his already rotting breath seeps into the seams of Artakha's armor.

"You are not exempt from this fate, little Toa." he breathes. "You are no different in his eyes from me. We are pawns. Tools to be discarded for the sake of a megalomaniac's ego. Teridax will suppress you as soon as your bones begin to creak. He holds no love for you."

"Do you?"

No answer.

"Do you love me?" Pohatu repeats. His tone holds the certainty of those who are lied to so profoundly that the truth becomes laughable to their eyes. "Do you?"

The Makuta remains silent.

"No," the Toa answers for him, "No, you don't."

There would have been a time where Krika would have scared him with a simple glare. It was the time where Pohatu was only a pitiful being who'd known nothing but fighting and fighting and more fighting, who was too curious to leave beakers untouched and kept almost dropping them.

"None of you do."

"We were fond of you," comes out of the white mask suddenly, a raucous strained sound, like something he didn't know himself.

"Yes," Pohatu replies: "Like my siblings are fond of me now. So nice, and kind, and gentle, because they don't remember they used to be the scum of the world. They've been getting memories, you know?" he pipes up - he smiles, tilts his head, leans it so close that Krika pulls back, looking almost excited. "They've been remembering things."

"Pohatu," the Makuta struggles to speak.

"They don't remember me, of course," he continues, trampling over the words the other tries to wheeze out. His fingers begin to sink into the wood on which he sits. "They have no reason to, of course. I wasn't them. I wasn't worthy of being with them. I wasn't wise or strong or stubborn enough. I wasn't memorable. Despite being there. Despite being there from the beginning just like all of them. Did you know, while we were on Voya Nui - you do know about Voya Nui, right? Ah, doesn't matter - we had to blow up a rock. A rock! A rock. And do you know? Do you know what my brothers did?"

"Your memories are poisoned."

"Tahu, and Kopaka - because they are the leaders, aren't they? They are the ones who take all the decisions and who everybody follows because they are louder than everybody else, aren't they?"

"Your own bitterness has corroded them."

"They started burning and freezing the rock. Burning. And freezing. The rock. Burning and freezing! Because that's what they do!"

"You can't rely on them."

"Because that's what they always do, that's all they can do! And I was standing there, you know, I was right there. Right there, right there next to them! A step away! Maybe two! I had to walk up to them! And blow up the rock for them! And I had to tell them, you know? Remember me? I am Pohatu! I do rock! For them to realize, oh! Yes! There is a Toa of Stone with us! How did we forget! Must have been because he wasn't in our immediate field of vision!"

"You are spiraling into your-"

"SHUT UP!"

The branch produces a ghastly crack as his fingers pierce it.

Pohato heaves, tries to keep talking, then hushes when his throat catches on a knot and the story he was telling stops sounding funny. He exhales out loud, hard, suddenly out of breath. His head feels like it's spinning and the swamp's odor does not help.

Krika observes him silently.

Hasn't this happened before? Something like this?

He'd sobbed too loud and choked on his own sadness, and the room had gone quiet and dozens of eyes had stared at him in a mixture of fear and concern.

When was it?

A hundred millennia ago?

He did not remember being comforted.

"Everybody is fond of me," he manages to wheeze: "Everybody is fond of me, and nobody remembers me."

His arms are shaking.

"My brothers sleep easy because they don't remember abandoning me and the Av-Matoran. They're fond of me because they don't remember hating me. But I know who they are. I know."

"You do not."

Blue eyes pierce through the Makuta: "And you do?" he asks, mockingly.

Krika stands his ground: "I have given your sister the chance to leave this dreadful place behind before her death was sealed."

"How nice."

"She has refused, for the sake of her brothers."

"Give her a minute."

"You have deluded yourself across these thousands of years."

"I am perfectly lucid."

"As lucid as Teridax wants you to be."

"Teridax cares about me," Pohatu says.

It is not a snarl. There is no anger in his voice. He is calm, reassured. Unshakeably certain.

He stares at the Makuta darkly.

"He's cared about me since the beginning. He has never left me to rot in my thoughts like the rest of you. He has never abandoned me." he murmurs.

His booming voice is so quiet, barely above a whisper, and as horribly bitter as Lerahk poison.

"I don't need your forgetful fondness," he speaks softly. Almost tiredly. Maybe he's done it - he's burnt himself thin at last. "Nor my siblings' two-faced kindness."

"Then you will be alone, little Toa. More than you already are."

"Don't push your own grievances onto me."

The branch sways violently.

Caught by surprise, Krika clutches the bark tight between his claws. It takes him a moment to realize he is now the only being still on it as it lashes out wildly: a flash of orange catches his attention at the edge of his vision and he whips his head around.

Pohatu treats him to an empty look, curled up in mid-air, ready to disappear.

Cold bitterness burns in his eyes.

"He is ripping you from your destiny, little Toa!" the Makuta shouts: "He is leading you to slaughter!"

"My destiny is to serve the Great Spirit; his destiny is to become it," Pohatu replies sharply above the sound of his armor's propellers, letting him know his warning has fallen on deaf ears. "If you can stomach to mention my name, tell your siblings I said hello."

His mask glows for a single instant - then he's gone.

Krika only stares at the point in space that the Toa occupied barely a fraction of a second ago, catching for a moment, impossibly slowed in time, his afterimage; for what is merely an instant it looks small and brown and tan, orange eyes gleaming with a guilt he can't let go off and a too focused vitriol that makes his heartlight stutter sickly, hiding behind a shelf in a clumsy attempt at pretending he wasn't poking curiously at the vats brimming with viruses to watch them swirl towards his finger.

[lauryn-order]

✤✤✤

[wildcrisis]

Headcanons for Todou for how he takes care of his s/o in a relationship (would also be down to hear how long it took him to realize his feelings for you if inspiration allows).

(AN: You have no idea how excited I am that my first ask was for Todou! I love this idiot. I ended up writing a whole lot, so the silly, bad, and ugly are under the cut! As well as how long it took him to realize his feelings for you xoxo) [Want to make a request? Click -> [YO!]

How Todou takes care of his S/O in a relationship:

The So Amazingly Good:

🌸 Todou is a bright ray of sunshine starting early in the morning -- once he’s nice and awake anyway. He’ll insist you get up with him so you two can start the day off right together ... even if it is really early. Todou likes his routines, and the more you get up with him and participate in that routine, the more you find yourself liking it too. It definitely helps getting to shower together and get yourselves looking nice for the day!

🌸 Speaking of, Todou really respects someone who takes care of their appearance. Not due to vanity, but because he takes his own very seriously as well. If you’re having a bad day and don’t feel like getting out of bed, don’t even worry about it. Todou will make a nice, hot bath for you and pluck you out of bed himself, insisting that cleaning up will make you feel much better.

🌸 I really hope you’re here for encouragement all of the time, because Todou is all about it. He’s always trying to help you reach your goals, big or small. Whether you’re trying to make something new for dinner or trying to hit a difficult pose in yoga -- or even trying to get a new position at your current job, Todou is right there, being your personal cheerleader and doing whatever he can to help you stay motivated.

🌸 He loves physical contact, by the way. Hand holding is all fine and dandy, but this man likes to have his hand at the small of your back or around your waist when you’re out together. It makes him feel so happy, having you so close to him. He’ll respect it if you tell him to back off a little, but it’ll make him pouty for sure.

🌸 Kisses are a big part of Todou’s love language. A kiss on the top of your head for a hello. A kiss to your temple when you’re curled up together. A kiss on your forehead when you wake up. It’s a part of his communication with you, and a way for him to express himself as well.

🌸 Also, talk about romance and romantic outings. This man has an insane imagination and comes up with romantic scenarios that you could only dream of. He puts so much thought and effort into every little touch, every little piece. Todou is a smart man, and he remembers every single one of your favorite little things. Favorite flowers, favorite foods, favorite treats. You have to be a little careful though, when saying that something “sounds nice” or that you’d like to experience it someday. Like, you better be serious, because Todou is about to make that passing thought a reality.

🌸 After a long day, Todou manages to tone down his always-at-100% personality at home. He’ll cook, or help you cook, a delicious meal to sit down with and turn on one of your favorite shows. He’s ready to cuddle up on the couch and just enjoy being with you. But, if you’re wanting to do anything extra, he’s ready to tap into that never-ending energy and do whatever you want to do!

🌸 He’s a near expert in the human body, so if you’ve got an ache or a pain, he’s there to massage it away. Just be careful when telling him how much it really hurts, because he’s real strong. More under the cut~

The Silly:

🌸 Todou can never remember how long you’ve been dating, because he mixes it up with his dumb fantasies. He also really over-exaggerates how you guys met.

🌸 Boredom is Todou’s number one fear, and that means he brings a lot of weird ideas to you to keep the two of you entertained.

🌸 He loves to carry you around everywhere, despite the fact that you can obviously walk there yourself, because he’s a bit of a show-off and he loves hearing you giggle -- or hearing you telling him off.

🌸 Todou loves telling everyone in every way you conquered the love he had for Takada. He still respects Takada, but his obsessive love is now pinned to you, and everyone is gonna hear about it.

The Bad:

🌸 Todou’s job is very dangerous, and that’s why every moment that he has with you, he considers special. Unfortunately, that may come off as him suffocating you with attention.

🌸 He’s gone for long periods of time, sometimes. You can’t always rely on him when you’re having a bad day, so you have to have your own inner strength to persevere through life while he’s gone.

The Ugly:

🌸 Todou is very headstrong and opinionated, and there will be times when he doesn’t understand what you’re feeling or why you’re feeling it. It’ll cause conflict if you’re not willing to be patient with him and help him understand what you’re going through. He may seem extremely pushy to help you get out of your funk, and that may cause a world of hurt between the two of you. He solves problems by going head first through them, and having to take a different approach is hard for him.

🌸 You can’t be a jealous person and persist with this man. He’s still going to ask every man who fights him what his type of woman is, and Todou has his examples of his favorites! You’ll have to understand that this interaction he has with peers and enemies, and his love for you, are two completely separate things.

How Long It Took Todou to Realize His Feelings

🌸 Oh lordy does this man like to play it cool. Of course he recognized his feelings for you instantly, and you can’t convince him otherwise!

🌸 In reality, it took him some time to realize his true feelings for you. He always thought the feeling he had for Takada was true love and adoration. Then you came along, and the longer you stuck around, the more he couldn’t get you out of his head.

🌸 Todou, bless him, thought about you endlessly and thought you must be his new best friend.

🌸 It took some time, and one very elaborate fantasy that spun out of his control, to realize that he had deep, romantic feelings for you. He didn’t expect to ask you out in his fantasy!! But you were there, instead of Takada!! And you ... You didn’t turn him down!

🌸 He was hilariously shy when trying to ask you out outside of his fantasy. The fear of rejection is strong when he’s finally putting it into play. But you simply giggled and asked him if he finally realized how long you’d liked him.

[alovevigilante]

Since life is a process I find myself constantly editing. I go through my day, I make observations, I feel things, I create thoughts around the observations, my perceptions from those thoughts about what I observe support my beliefs around the observations… For example: I see that the pot that I used to make marinara in last night is sitting in the sink, and needs to be soaked. I’ve learned from experience that to me it’s better to use dishwasher liquid to soak it to degrease the residue of olive oil so when I use it again, it doesn’t have an oil slick for my next meal I’m cooking. I’ll also probably remember i like to do that the next time I cook and wash dishes. I have found through trial and error that soaking it with soap is the easier, less resistant, more helpful way to do things. I like the outcome much better. Cleaner pot, less elbow grease, definitely a more efficient way to roll.

We do this all the time as humans. Our observations feed our perceptions, and if we’re in a neutral place in our emotions and environments to start the thought process, it all seems pretty calm, and easy to navigate.

Let’s add some stress to that recipe. It’s a quarter to 8 in the morning, and your kid still is in his/her pajamas, and hasn’t charged his/her tablet for school, and hasn’t eaten, and is upset because it’s spirit day, and all they have are short sleeved spirit shirts, and it’s 53 degrees outside so it’s too cold to wear short sleeves, and he/she can’t wear long sleeves under the short sleeved shirt because it’s too hot, and he/she can’t wear a hoodie over the short sleeves because no, and you’ve given them 57 other extremely decent options for a smoother morning and no one is taking you up on it.

Now, let’s look at the pot you need to wash in the sink. You not only notice that dirty pot that needs soaking and is crusty cause you didn’t presoak it cause you didn’t feel like it the night before taking up precious real estate in your sink area, cause it’s a huge pot, and your sink is too small to accommodate nothing but it, but you also notice all of the dirty dishes piling up that you have to wash and put away, but they don’t magically do it themselves and they are seemingly overflowing on your countertop, overwhelming your kitchen, and you, and there’s no room to make your coffee, which you so desperately need to get some faux energy going to face your day. Also, both of your dogs like to dig in the mud in the backyard, and your child let them in without wiping their muddy paws, so to quote Bill Cosby back in the day, all of the “filth flarn” is now all over your house because they’re wild and mostly feral, and they love you so much that they decide put their paws all over your fach and give you a free mud facial. Also, it is now 8:08 am and you have to be at the school for the first bell in 5 minutes. Then what?

Now, it should be noted, that I’m exaggerating for the sake of this example, kind of. But I have chosen to blow off the thought of the dishes, and also allowed the dogs to be filth flarn back in the great outdoors, and my son is now at school, and I am drinking coffee, so it seems ok. But, if I was pissed off prior to that, let’s say because a year ago I dropped off the face of the planet from basically everyone I’ve ever known to go on another bout of my “Willy wonka lockdown” to quote the creepy sounding guy that sharpened knives in the original version of the movie, “nobody ever goes in, and nobody ever comes out”, and you feel isolated and alone, and a bit sorry for yourself but eh cause eh, then those thoughts will compound to create a really bad observance in your present moments. Everything feeds on your choice on what thoughts to entertain in your mind. And when you already feel like crap, you will find every crap thing to support your theory.

Here’s where my editing comes in. I do this a ton. I even do this when I post publicly online. What you initially read may not be the finished product. But that’s life. Life is a process of editing to become more of that which you decide to be with your focus. You learn more as you go. You remember things and add them to your consciousness and even maybe into your 3D somewhere. I’m constantly coming back to myself and other people and adding onto what I offered before. If I’m mad, I’ll yell or not, and come back 5 years later to add what I forgot to tell you when we stopped talking. I may just choose to do this in my head as well, which a lot of us choose to do, and it’s hard when the record in your head is stuck in that groove. So, it takes a conscious effort to lift the needle off the record to move on, and not become DJ Jazzy Kari, and keep scratching the crap out of it when I’m playing my day out.

And so, we edit, we adjust, we add and subtract, we multiply and divide our thoughts according to our current circumstances. And the daily grind will put you in a funk of 40,000 years (yes, Michael Jackson’s thriller made a huge impact on me when I was in 4th grade) if you allow it to. The only way to start to change, is to choose at least one thing different than before. That’s it. That one simple action with a loving intention to change the way you see the world can change your world in an instant. You will feel the relief that is offered by not focusing on what hurt you in the past, and dragging it though to support your present activities.

I’m going to go now, and appreciate my dogs. They are hilarious, and extremely loving, and like Madge the manicurist would so diligently do to her clients when they came in for a manicure in the 70s, I’m going to most likely Palmolive the crap out of their paws happily, so I won’t be upset later on that my house is a disgusting muddy mess later on more so than it usually is. They will find themselves surprisingly “soaking in it”. And then they’ll have a choice to either go with it, or try to escape from my grasp, like Hazel May tried to pull yesterday. And both of the dogs ran in the house past the baby gate I put up with their muddy paws and their insanity. And then I had a choice, and I chose to yell and laugh, cause it was a ridiculous situation.

Choice is good. Edits can be made at every minute of every day. Don’t like what you established before? Edit it. Change it. Your life isn’t etched in stone. Do your part to change the way you think, and you will find that you will be happier in the doing. Edits are not always bad. I may choose to edit this and eliminate mentioning Moses and the 10 commandments. Yes, I will. 💕😎🙌

[dirt-cup-draco]

Fred x Reader - Break

Omg can I request baking with Fred Weasley? Sneaking into the kitchens at hogwarts on a night time with him and just baking. Fred being annoying (but cute) and eating the food before it’s ready. Having mini food fights. The whole shebang. Ps I love you and your stuff, it’s kept me going through my dark moments and I would like to say thank you. You helped me without even knowing or meaning to and you’re my angel x

A/N: I just want to say you are so amazing and strong and you pushed through your dark times with your own strength and I am proud of you but I am so happy that I have been able to make those moments easier on you or that I was able to help in some way, keep going strong sweet pea! xoxo Message me if you ever need anything! 

With the news of Sirius Black breaking out of Azkaban, everyone was on edge. Yet it didn’t seem as severe as the heavy feeling that the dementors brought as they patrolled the school grounds, their tattered cloaks hiding their gruesome appearance but not helping to remove the depressing air they spread with them. 

You had been especially withdrawn lately. Your surroundings affected your mood more than you wanted to admit but Fred was tuned into your emotions, even the slightest change and he knew. You hadn’t ever been in a relationship before where your significant other could notice such small differences in your demeanor. It was a challenge at first, you’d been unwilling to lean on Fred, worrying that he would grow tired of you.

Fred was stubborn though and had stuck by you, getting you to trust him to a point where you could confide in him without worrying that he would be bothered. Once you had reached that point you realized it took a weight off of your shoulders, sharing your burdens and stresses with Fred. He did the same and you both held each other up with no complaint. 

Today was a particularly hard day and Fred could tell by the way you sighed every so often, scribbling in your notebook just to break up the monotony of the day and the waves of your ever changing emotions. 

“Hello my sweet girl,” Fred said gently, kissing your cheek as you lifted your legs from their spot on the couch as he automatically slid underneath, hands hooking beneath your thighs as he tugged you closer. Tossing your notes to the side you wrapped your arms around his neck as you made yourself comfortable against him, face nuzzled against the junction of his shoulder and neck. 

“Hello my silly boy,” You said back, a small smile appearing if only for a moment. 

“You doing alright?” He asked, hand skating up and down your back in an easy rhythm that had your eyes feeling heavy as you let the pressure and stress of the day melt. 

“‘Course, Freddie,” You mumbled, your breath warm on his neck as you spoke. “I’ve just been so drained. I don’t have a reason to be upset really I”m just not feeling my best. Everything is so tense nowadays, I can’t go to class without students whispering about Black’s escape and how he is going to gut some kid or go after Harry. It’s hard to focus when there seems to be so much chaos everywhere. And quite honestly, I hate those dementors, they’re creepy,” 

Fred gave an exaggerated shiver. “I have to agree with you there love, they aren’t going to be winning any pageants or awards for hospitality and warmth any time soon.” You let out a giggle and Fred was proud of himself. “But hey, you’re safe here, we all are. You know Dumbledore won’t let anything happen to us.”

You fell into a comfortable silence, nodding your agreement. You trusted Dumbledore and the staff, your teachers were able and your headmaster was legendary. You couldn’t help but feel like darker times were ahead however and it had put you in a funk you couldn’t kick even if Fred’s words gave you comfort. 

Some time later, after falling in and out of a nap, Fred shook you, standing as he lifted you with him. Suddenly being in the air startled you and you squealed, clinging to your boyfriend. “Come on, I have an idea,” 

You groaned, “I don’t want detention again,” You whined as Fred carried you out of the common room. “But it doesn’t seem i have a choice,” You figured as Fred kept an arm steady underneath your knees, the other around your midsection as you kept your arms around his neck. 

“Have you no faith in me?” Fred teased, pinching your thigh lightheartedly. 

You laughed and rolled your eyes as he continued to walk. To say you were surprised when he let you go after arriving in the kitchens was accurate. You didn’t think there had been a single occasion in all your time together where he had whisked you away to the kitchens. You were surprised because it was empty at this time of night. Fred didn’t like empty, it meant there was no audience.

You gave him a quizzical look and he grinned, giving you a chaste kiss as he began to rummage through the cabinets and drawers. “We,” He declared as he lifted a canister of flour hi into the air, “Are going to make cupcakes,” 

You couldn’t help but feel appreciation for Fred right then. Cupcakes were your favorite, and baking was a nice release for you. You hadn’t expected him to know you needed something like this. 

However, you weren’t sure what you expected of your jokester of a significant other. “If you keep up with that we won’t have enough batter to bake more than one cupcake!” You scolded as he tossed a scoop of the chocolate batter in to the air, trying to see if he could catch the sweet mass before it made a mess. Needless to say, he had only succeeded in making himself a mess. 

You paused from where you were filling a tin with cupcake wrappers to grab your boyfriend by his tie, holding him in place. “Scourgify,” You muttered, tapping your wand playfully against his nose as the batter disappeared from his sticky fingers and mouth. 

“You’re the sweetest thing in this room,” He smiled as he grabbed your hips before you could return to baking. You rolled your eyes but accepted his kiss eagerly. 

“That would be you,” You decided after tasting him. If it was anything to go by, these cupcakes were going to be scrumptious. Fred winked but settled down a bit. You wished it would have lasted.

You had successfully baked the cupcakes and set them out to cool without any more shenanigans but the waiting bored your boyfriend. You were content to sit and wait but he was full of an energy that had never seemed to leave him, no matter the situation. Knowing he could hold his faith even in difficult times helped you as well. 

Fred asked to do the frosting so he could do something with his hands and you had thought that it wouldn’t end up disastrously. You had been wrong. Fred had made the frosting and it had been perfect, because of this he couldn’t stop sneaking spoonfuls. Sweets were his weakness. You lightly scolded him again and in retaliation he had told you to lighten up, swiping a glob of frosting across your cheek and down your jaw. 

You gaped at him and he laughed, eyes wide with excitement as you jumped up from your seat, hand dipping into the frosting as you chased him around as he laughed. You couldn’t keep up. Fred paused and you ran straight for him but at the last moment he dodged, arms wrapping around you and pulling your back against his chest, making sure your hands were pressed hard against your side so you couldn’t get him back. “Weren’t you just trying to clean me up?” He teased.

“There is no hope of that Weasley,” You giggled. You wondered how Molly had kept up with him as a child. She was an amazing mother but it was a miracle she hadn’t tired out so easily. Fred was definitely the kind of boy to track mud into the house at least once a day or cause some catastrophic mess. 

“How rude of you Y/L/N,” He pouted back pulled you even closer against him, a flash of hair appearing in your peripheral and then you squealed as he licked the frosting from your cheek. 

“You are so disgusting!” You squirmed as he cackled, chest shaking with each wave of amusement that kept him laughing. 

“You were being mean!” He defended but forgot to keep his guard as you turned in his arm, schooling your expression as you brought your hand up, smearing the frosting on Fred’s face as it colored his forehead down to his chin. He went cross eyed, frowning at the frosting that was now apparent between his eyes. 

You weren’t sure how long you two danced around the kitchen, trying to get your revenge against one another as you laughed, pulling each other close to tease before running from one another to gather more frosting. You didnt stop until you stuck your hand in the bowl and it came back nearly clean. You had used up all of your frosting. 

Fred watched as you burst into laughter, your hair stuck in wild directions as some of the frosting had dried. He was sure he looked just as crazy. “We used it all up!” You laughed, tears springing to the corners of your eyes. It wasn’t so funny but you needed this, you needed to forget about everything for a while and now the stress was melting, being let out by your hysteric giggles. 

Fred joined in on the laughter as he wet a hand towel at the sink, dragging it through your crunchy strands of hair as you settled your hands on his narrow hips to steady yourself. “I don’t think my hair is the issue here Fred,” You mentioned as you let out another final laugh, gesturing to the frosting smeared all over your face. 

“I was just saving that for later,” He said, lips as pink as his cheeks brushing against yours, tongue darting out to collect the remnants of your confection there. You smiled fingers tangling in his hair as he trailed his lips over yours before making a path to your cheek. Fred made an exaggerated smacking noise as he placed his lips against your cheek but your laughter died in your throat when he continued his path down to your neck, nibbling and sucking at the skin there.

“I’m starting to think this was your plan all along,” You tried not to sound breathless but it seemed you were doing a very bad job as your boyfriend smirked against your pulse that had spiked. 

“Caught me red handed, detective,” He mumbled. 

After Fred was satisfied he grabbed your hips and set you up on the counter in one easy motion. “It was nice, seeing you smile so much,” He admitted as he washed your fingers and face with a hand towel. The both of you could easily clean up but you didnt want your carefree time to end quite yet and you had a suspicion Fred felt the same. 

“I can’t help myself when I’m with you,” You said, kissing his nose as he beamed back at you. “Thank you for this, I needed it, a break from everything I mean. You are the most amazing boyfriend a girl could ever hope to have,” 

“I know,” Fred teased but his gaze was tender as he took your words to heart. “I’m my best when I’m with you,” 

You hopped down from the counter and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “We’re the best together,” You mumbled, a shyness to your words Fred found too cute for his own good. You might just be the death of him. 

“I love you,” Fred declared as he gave you a quick squeeze. “But I don’t love cupcakes without frosting, lets try once more? I promise I wont ruin it this time,” He grinned, sticking out his pinkie finger in an oath to not touch the frosting until it was on a cupcake, on it’s way to his mouth. 

“You’re lucky that frosting is what makes a cupcake good otherwise I’d just go to bed right now,” You said but there was no real threat. You’d stay up all night long if it meant you got to relax with Fred. You’d needed this and you needed Fred. You had meant what you said, you were the best with him. Only he could bring you away from the edge of a mental breakdown. 

That night you were completely content as you and Fred switched into pajamas, meeting back in your common room to snack on the cupcakes you had worked far too hard on. 

“Thanks Freddie,” You said once more kissing him as he pulled you against him. You were too tired to get up and go to your dorm but you knew Fred would take care of you. 

“Any time my sweet girl,” Fred smiled as you drifted off in his arms, relaxed for the first time in too long. 

[ghost-chance]

A New Lease on Life - 4: The Truth

A quick note: the book Dark of the Moon is an obscure poetry volume but it's very much worth the read. The poem Amber reads aloud in this chapter is from that very book; 'The Eye' by Donald Wandrei is found on pages 381 and 382 with several other of his sonnets. Secondly: Occasional short, graphic present tense passages in italics denote intrusive memories; intrusive memories can be very overwhelming when they occur, and in my own experience, the memories they show are often exaggerated and warped, and sometimes even worse than what actually happened. This chapter dedicated to everyone reading, following, and fav'ing this story—especially ImpartingAbyss, for reviewing and just being hilarious!Trigger Warnings: Grossness, Intrusive memories, disturbing, graphic imagery, panic attacks, religious references, violent death.

Suggested Listening: Coldplay, "Fix You," Breaking Benjamin, "Fade Away"

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4: The Truth 

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‘Great, Amber,' she thought to herself as she hung face-first over the stream of running wastewater, hacking up a meal she didn't remember eating. 'Ya didn't cowk- all over Don's shell, but ya barely missed'is feet. Yer just too hot fer ya own good, ain'tcha?'- She spat once more, swiping a used tissue across her lips; hopefully, the other two hadn't seen her yank it out of her shirt. It's awkward enough getting caught using a bra for a pocket, but when you're clearly braless, people start wondering where you stashed whatever you just pulled out…and handy as boob-pockets were, it wasn't something she was ready to admit.

"S-Sorry," she said hoarsely. "I don't do so well with heights…just gimme a sec." Heat flooded her cheeks at the small metal canteen held at her eye level. "Thanks." She gratefully rinsed her mouth out and snapped the topper back on. "I'll wash that later—there anythin' you DON'T have in that bag'a yers?"

"The sink," he answered simply. Once her stomach settled, the blindfold went back on and she was lifted up over his shoulder again, thanking her lucky stars she couldn't see how high up she was. Not long after, her ears were assaulted by the screech of a rusty hinge; she felt her carrier tense.

"Better oil that," Leo said simply.

"As soon as this is resolved," Donnie replied lowly. "'Til then, it can wait." The shoulder Amber rested on slouched; she knew without a doubt what was going through his mind and it was unpleasantly familiar. Without Donatello, the lair would fall apart—the family would fall apart. As much as they depended on him, though, the others tended to take him for granted without even realizing it. It always broke her heart to see it before, knowing all-too-well just how it felt, and now it was even more distressing. She couldn't say anything, though. After all, she already proved that she knew more than she should, and would only be more suspicious. A gentle squeeze of his other shoulder conveyed what words could not, but sent a worrisome shiver through him.

"What is going on here?" a slightly raspy voice burst out. "Boys, why have you brought a stranger into our midst?!" Leonardo hurried to greet their father and master.

"We had no other choice, Master," He explained hurriedly. "The alarms were set off by this woman—she almost froze to death down here! We took her to April's, but…" He winced, trailing off.

"Casey disagreed," Donnie finished dryly. "From the tantrum he's throwing, you'd think she insulted his mother." Amber shrunk into the warm shoulder, certain she was in some serious trouble...even though she hadn't insulted any mothers lately. How could she have followed them home? How could she have believed they could bring her back to the Lair with them without trouble from Splinter? The Canon versions of him always struck her as crotchety but wise rather than prone to pointless anger but the idea of angering the aged Rat gave her chills. And Raphael…Casey had insisted that he and Raph had 'busted' Kimber repeatedly; she'd have no ally in Raph, she was sure of it, and that knowledge made her feel bitter.

"We did blindfold her, see?" The nervous reminder - Leo's attempt at placating Splinter's worries - drove Amber to blush.

She cringed behind the purple fabric blocking her vision. They blindfolded her alright—with a slightly ratty purple kerchief from Donnie's trouser pockets. Her lungs were too flooded with his familiar - and mouth-watering - scent (coffee, clean grease, a faint hint of spice, and clean sweat) to notice the sewer funk, but she'd been forced to take drastic measures to stifle her body's reaction to the combination. By the time they reached the lair, she'd mentally replayed the most bizarre songs she could think of - Time Warp, Feed My Frankenstein, Ballroom Blitz, nothing was overlooked.* As hard as she focused on distracting herself by methodically dissecting every possible meaning of every lyric, she never noticed the ninjas' breaths growing more and more shallow by the moment.

Soft grumbling from the woman still slouched over Donnie's shoulder made the brothers meet eyes in an awkward wince. To the average human, the woman's scent wouldn't have registered, but they were more than human - to them, the sudden flood of pheromones was stifling, and it seemed to only strengthen.

"Bring her here," Splinter conceded wearily, settling himself at the low table in his room. Donatello followed, easing Amber to the floor as Leo went about boiling water for tea. With a gentle tug of fabric, the barrier was gone from Amber's eyes, taking with it the delightful aroma that had driven her mad. She remained silent, head bowed and eyes closed as Donnie excused himself to the lab, leaving the door parted behind him. "We're no savages, Child, you needn't hide your eyes."

"S-Sorry," she mumbled shyly, glancing furtively up at the being on the other side of the table. "I'm not afraid of you…just—well, nervous an' sorry for getting your sons in trouble." His whiskers twitched in a suppressed smile as he recognized her odd speech from his stories; she spoke with what he interpreted as a Midwestern twang that bordered on Southern drawl, but it seemed off somehow - warped in some places and some pronunciations were forced, as though the strange woman was mimicking something foreign. He saw no threat in her posture or behavior, though, and decided to overlook the odd woman's speech quirk.

"Well, this changes things," he answered seriously. "I had no idea you forced my boys to bring you here against their own good judgment. How could an unarmed woman not much taller than myself accomplish such a feat?"

"What?" she objected frantically, finally looking up to fully meet his eyes. She was visibly horrified - good, maybe she wasn't a threat. "No, I di'n't- do any of that—I never asked'em- to bring me here! They…well, I've got nowhere else to go, an'—"

"Then you are not directly responsible for them bringing you here?" She chewed her lip a moment, staring through the lacquered wood. "Taking responsibility for others' actions is an injustice to you and a disservice to them. I am wary of their bringing a stranger home, you must understand, but we mean you no harm." Amber hesitantly met his dark eyes over the gunmetal rims of her glasses.

"Yes, Sir." At that moment, Leonardo arrived bearing a wooden tray laden with cups and a small steaming teapot; tears pricked Amber's eyes at the familiar scent wafting up the spout. "Oolong," she choked out without considering how random the comment would seem.

"Miss O'Brien?" Leo asked warily. "Is something wrong?" She shook her head, smiling weakly.

"No...uh...Leonardo. It's just—I'm just weird, I guess. All the things I could miss from my old life, an' I miss tea. Sunrise coffee, lightnin' bugs at dusk, wadin' in the crick in summer, warm dirt underfoot an' the mornin' fog—nope, I miss tea."

"Sometimes things that seem trivial can mean the most to us," Splinter admitted solemnly as Leo excused himself from the room. "I am called Splinter, Child; you have already met my eldest, Leonardo, and my second eldest, Donatello; I'm sure you'll meet my other second eldest Raphael, and their younger brother Michelangelo, before the night is out. Your name is O'Brien, yes?" She stared a hole through the bottom of the teacup, soaking in the sweet perfume rising from it.

"Yeah," she answered softly. "My name's Amber O'Brien, that much I know's- true, but I don't have many answers…at least not that I can get out. Casey seems convinced I'm someone by the name of Kimber Bryant, but I'm not—I'm just stuck in her body, as crazy as that sounds." She winced; it did sound crazy...it also sounded sexual, proof that even in this life, she was cursed to be gutter-brained. "I'll gladly answer any questions you have—if I can get the words out, at least. I can't—"

A low grating sound above drew her attention - a raspy rumble halfway between overfilled coffee grinder and rapidly approaching coal train. She fought the panic rising in her chest but scanned deliriously for the demon she knew would arrive any moment to take her away…again. Familiar, horrifying images fought their way to the forefront of her mind, manifesting with alarming ease. "I…"

Crushed foundations stained with blood. Toppled buildings groan in the night. A battered doll hangs in a stripped tree like a grotesque scarecrow.

"I can't—"

Circling buzzards stalk the ruins of a farmhouse. Flies gather on a dark stain in the mangled turf. Faded white curtains dangle from an empty window like a flag of surrender. Wind howls through trees stripped bare—

"Puh-Please!" she cried, curling into a ball. "M—Make it stop! I can't—can't make it—"

"DONATELLO!" The sudden shout from Splinter's rooms wrenched the genius from his daze; had he really missed dinner while staring through the recovered security footage? "HURRY!" The panic in his father's voice sent him barreling toward the source, only to freeze in the doorway of Splinter's room in disbelief.

Amber lay curled on the floor in a ball, her hands clasped over her neck, shaking violently. Even without his goggles in place, he recognized what was happening. Blood pressure elevated, pulse rate rising, breathing rapid and irregular, drop in blood oxygen levels imminent… Between her raspy breaths and choked sobs troubling words leaked through, hinting at what she clearly couldn't tell them. Blood. Wind. Glass. Hurt. Storm. Dead. Aaron. School. Book…Donnie shook himself out of his stupor, rushing to his father's side and skidding onto his knees.

"She's having a panic attack!" he explained frantically as he pulled her away from the broken china cup on the floor - the teacup she was given clearly suffered in the panic. "How'd I not see it before?! We've gotta—" At the sudden weight on his legs, all thought fled his mind. His eyes dropped to the shaking body huddled against him, the head buried in his armored chest, and the two low pigtails brushing against his side. He turned in dismay to his father; Splinter nodded gravely, hastily lighting some incense at the table. Donnie forced back his nervousness to focus on monitoring Amber's vital signs and ignoring the unnaturally red hair whispering across his skin.

The first thing to manifest in Amber's mind was warmth; the second was a strangely familiar aroma of coffee and clean grease, and the pungent, smoky perfume of burning incense. A strong hand rubbed slow, calming patterns on her back while another held her close to something warm and smooth, fingertips poised carefully on her neck.

Out of the darkness, a low humming broke through—soft, slow murmurs from another lifetime promised patience and understanding—promised to fix her broken soul.** Last of all, a dusky brown came into view as the memories faded from her mind's eye. That was a familiar brown, she realized fearfully. A glance upward revealed the truth, and two concerned hazel eyes fixed on hers; the humming stopped.

HOW did she wind up in Donatello's LAP?! "Eheh…Hi?" she attempted. Though the worry never left his eyes, he cracked a weak smile.

"Hi." She glanced awkwardly from the turtle still rubbing her back to Splinter.

"How'd I get here? Please tell me I didn't jus' crawl into his lap." Neither answered, triggering a deep blush. Yup...she just crawled into his lap - didn't even buy'im a drink first. Splinter scrutinized her silently a moment, then momentarily locked eyes with his son.

"Your soul has some very deep scars, Miss O'Brien," Splinter murmured softly as he gathered the shattered china - regretful of the loss, but not condemning the cause. "Scars that are too tender for inspection, much less display. If you are willing, though, I may know of a way to see your past without forcing you to speak it. Would you care to try?"

Amber thought long and hard, still flustered at being seated across Donnie's very warm, very comfortable lap—a lap she had no memory of invading. Search though she did, though, she still came up with the same answer. "If it'd clear my name an' prove that you have nothin' to fear from me? I'd do just about anything."

"What's going on, Bruh?" Mikey whispered. Leo shushed him as Raphael lumbered over. The three of them peered warily into Splinter's room where he and Amber sat back to back, silent and still, clearly in deep meditation.

"Sensei's trying to see her past," Donatello answered gravely as he joined them. "Talking about it sends her into a panic attack; he's hoping that deep meditation will reveal what she can't, in the Astral Plane."

"Wow, she knows how to meditate?" Mikey eyed her warily. "Maybe she's a ninja—or a Jedi! OW!" he exclaimed at Raph's brain-duster.

"She's knocked out, Mikey," Donnie answered dryly. "I had to sedate her…again. From what I understand, the last train that passed over triggered a panic attack...just like we saw in the Station."

"What made her afraid of the subway?" Mikey asked dubiously as they watched their sensei at work.

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

Another time, another life, another world

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

The two people in the front seat seemed to have not a care in the world, Splinter mused. He didn't quite care for the music they were blaring, but they were obviously very happy. What he couldn't quite understand was why he was in their backseat, and where Amber was in this memory.

"Shaddup,- O'Brien!" the blond man grinned as he skipped another track. "Ozzy could kick Sinatra's ass any day of the week!" The woman in the driver's seat grinned widely, swatting his hand away from the stereo.

"Willis," she shot back. "There's more to life than who kin- kick whose arse—an' Sinatra's not that bad! His music's got a great—"

"Rammstein!" Aaron interrupted loudly, yanking a massive CD binder from under his seat and digging through it like a man possessed. "O'Brien, please tell me you've got some Rammstein in here. All this culture's gonna make me puke."

"Yer gonna make me puke." Splinter studied the driver intently; he couldn't believe it! He'd heard that voice, that awkward accent before—it was the voice and accent of Amber O'Brien, whose memories he was currently experiencing. This woman looked nothing like the Amber he'd met, though…this woman had to be at least two hundred pounds and several years older, and both warm brown braids were liberally streaked with grey. "You do realize 90% of Rammstein's music is just foul language and banging, right? Ya won't find any'a that crap in my car."

"Picky. So, word is they're gonna make a new TMNT movie soon!" Aaron piped up; the car swerved sharply and she grinned over at him excitedly.

"Yes! Omigosh, yes! When?!" Aaron burst out laughing.

"Psych!" he cackled. "Oh, the look on your face—was Donatello wearin' pants again?" Her entire face red as a beet, she whacked him in the shoulder.

"Screw you, Willis. Why did I ever tell you about that dream? I mean, seriously?" 'That Dream...' As though she hadn't dreamt of that Donnie for years, his refractive hazel eyes, his shy, gap-toothed smile, his permanent slouch...Damn. Hello, Gutter. "Ugh," she groaned reaching down to rub her right knee. "I can't wait to git out'a- this car—my knees're- killin' me."

"I'd say that'd teach ya to jump in front of a bus, but it prob'ly wouldn't."

"Dumbarse, Fer the las' time, I didn't jump in front of a bus. Some damn idjit- ran a red light an' hit me in the crosswalk. Startin' to think I preferred ya hungover—at least ya were quiet."

They had to be driving through a war zone, Splinter thought sorrowfully. What else could have turned the small town into such a disaster area? Trees were ripped up, buildings crushed, even the very pavement the car drove on was gouged and crumbled in places. Amber, hadn't spoken since they crossed the city limits and stared fearfully around her searching for landmarks that no longer existed. By the time they reached the remains of her home, it became abundantly clear to the unseen passenger: somehow, despite the drastically different appearances, he had indeed found Amber O'Brien.

From atop a pile of provisions, Splinter watched Amber and Aaron. The Town Hall's basement, though touted as a Fallout Shelter, was never meant for so many people and conditions were ridiculously crowded. Aaron bustled from one place to another making himself useful; Splinter never expected such selflessness from him after his behavior in the car, but he supposed even his boys were prone to misbehavior among friends.

As of yet, Amber simply sat in a vacant corner staring through the wall as though she were completely dead to the world. She'd not spoken since she and Aaron broke down on her battered front lawn, nor had she eaten any of the meals the blonde tried to coax her with. It was as though she'd simply ceased to exist. Splinter's heart ached, realizing the truth; she was in shock—so deeply in shock that she'd ceased to think or feel anything. As troubled by this revelation as he was, he missed the moment she finally moved from her corner. Quickly catching sight of her he followed behind as she climbed the creaking stairs and wandered aimlessly away from the shelter as though following a distant call.

Splinter could only guess why she came to the school. Feeling certain that something terrible was about to happen, he trailed behind her as she made her way to the library. With an almost wistful expression, she traced familiar shelves, digging through the scattered volumes for a particular tome. Its plain black cover was worn and faded from age, but the sight brought tears to her otherwise empty eyes. Among the ruins of the once proud building, she leafed through the book for a particular page and in a soft, haunting tone, read aloud.

"A deep force pulls me toward the window-blind, some impulse urges me to raise the shade; why is it that I tremble, half afraid, with formless terrors running through my mind? What are the dim dread images that bind my hand? Why is my arm so strongly stayed? What sense of overhanging doom has made me fearful? What the sight I shall find? Some warning voice calls out: Go back—go back! I could not turn though fronted by the rack. And so I slowly raise the shade to greet whatever on the other side should lie, and stare and stare in horror as I meet the leering of a huge and sightless eye." ***

Her empty eyes turned to the window, drawn by a sudden movement and crack of thunder; chills raced down Splinter's spine. He was only here in spirit and could not be harmed for that reason, but he knew something dreadful was about to happen.

Amber wandered over to the only intact window, peering about with vacant disinterest. As though summoned by the words she'd spoken, a deafening, grinding roar filled the air. A wall cloud loomed overhead as a funnel cloud touched down somewhere southwest of the battered building. Right before Splinter's eyes, she tucked the book securely in her arms and fell to her knees in the rubble and glass, bowing her head in prayer.

"Please," she mumbled softly. "Protect my family…protect my friends…protect this town and those who live here. Forgive us our trespasses and guide us in our time of need. Help Aaron understand, and keep him under your care...he's too stubborn to ask for help." Splinter's ears felt ready to burst from the horrible pressure; surely Amber was hurting too, but she gave no sign of anything—pain, fear, sorrow, nothing! "Please, Lord…please wrap your arms around those who have been brought down by these storms, help them rise from the ashes anew, and help them rebuild their lives…thank you for everything." Finally, the mask broke - regret twisted her eyes and shook her parted lips. "If you gave second chances, I'd ask only for—"

Before she could finish, the window burst inward raining shattered glass over her prostrate body. Splinter flinched, choking up at the sight. Almost immediately a glass brick from a nearby building came careening through the window frame and struck her in the head. As the light left her eyes, and she died on her knees, the aged rat mourned the woman who' gave up on life.

The sudden change in location was dizzying. Splinter gazed around him in confusion, trying to come to grips with what had happened. One moment he was in a small town high school library, standing at the side of a woman who'd died needlessly, next he stood in a familiar chamber. Intricate green and ivory tile, tarnished brass fittings, elegant bronze plaques, bright blue glass skylights and bare-bulb light fixtures…he gazed around him, struggling to make sense of the situation.

The abandoned City Hall subway station…He'd been pulled from a ruined schoolhouse to the abandoned City Hall station! Almost frantically he searched the large cavern; how could he have woken from his trance so far from his family?!

Movement in the corner startled him. He faded into the shadows with the ease of a ninja master, watching as a pile of rubbish shifted with a groan. "Aw, ma heid,"- a familiar voice groaned. Right before his eyes, Amber—the Amber his boys had brought to him—groggily struggled upright, rubbing her forehead right where the glass brick had struck her counterpart in his vision. The truth was all too clear now, though he still couldn't fathom how it was possible.

Amber O'Brien died at the school, died in the library from a blow to the head. Against all logic, she woke up in that very cavern in the body of another: a woman formerly known as Kimber Bryant. It made no sense, but still, he knew it was true. Right then, the roar of a passing tram echoed through the chamber. Amber screamed, falling to her knees with her hands over her neck, firmly in the grips of a panic attack. The world faded around Splinter as she fought the demons of her previous life, cowering in the rubbish of another.

When did his life become so complicated?

~~~~~~~ The Lair ~~~~~~~

Splinter came back to himself with a start, glancing feverishly around for his sons. In mere moments the four gathered around him, Raphael shooting distrustful glares at the still unconscious woman still seated against his back. Unbidden, the aged mutant recalled her death - the way she died slumped over on her knees, head bowed in prayer but back abnormally straight in defiance...he shuddered. Finally, sure he had everyone's attention, the aged rat answered the question hanging silently in the air.

"She speaks the truth...Kimber is gone; Amber lives again."

Amber regained consciousness to the sound of distant arguing. Never realizing she was being watched, she sat up cross-legged, rubbing her aching forehead. "Owww...Di' I skelp my heid er somethin'?"- she asked weakly, thickly.

"Blunt force trauma to the skull," Donatello muttered from the shadows. She jumped but gripped her skull again.

"When?" she asked quickly chasing the thick, gruff tone away from her words. "I don't recall ani'thin'- after that injection."

Donatello took a moment to compose himself, padding toward her and dropping to one knee at her side. "It's..." His fingers dug into the worn rug beneath them, anchoring himself in the moment. "You died. Do you remember?"

"Of course, I know I died," she answered slowly, "what I don't remember is the dyin' bit...an' why's my head killin' me?" Donatello stared through the still smoking incense, his shoulders fairly trembling. "Donnie?"

"A cube of blown architectural glass," he muttered, then hesitantly met her eyes. Her lungs forgot their purpose when he gently, almost timidly brushed her punch red bangs away from her forehead. The contact sent a sharp throb through her skull; against her will, she hissed at the pain. His face fell. "The point of impact...It was quick, but I can't guarantee it was painless." It took a moment but she finally realized the connection.

"Wait..." She cringed. "Yer tellin' me I was beaned in the brain-pan- with a glass brick?! The only place in town with glass bricks was Mum's church!" She scoffed bitterly. "Oh, the irony...everythin' that congregation put me through wasn't enough, the building had to kill me, too. I take it Master Splinter was able to see everything, then…an' he told y'all what happened."

"Not everything, no, but he gave us the basics…Raphael doesn't believe him." A sudden crash rang out in the living room, followed by Splinter shouting in Japanese. "We're safer in here, trust me."

"Safe?" she scoffed. "What's that? I was killed by a church - Nothin's safe anymore." She glanced over at her silent company, her cheeks pinking. "So did Splinter figure out how I got here, in this world?" Donnie shook his head, clearly disturbed by something.

"No, but he has an idea. He thinks you and Kimber might be inter-dimensional counterparts—the same soul existing in two different worlds—and that you were somehow drawn into her body when you both died. Sensei says you had regrets which may or may not be a factor." He dug his knuckles into the worn rug, clearly fighting some unknown emotion. "She died before you got there, probably the night before we found you." Not yet seeing the subtext, she sighed in obvious relief.

"You have NO idea what a relief that is," she muttered. "I've been so worried I somehow forced'er out of'er own body—that I'm responsible for her death! I just couldn't—Dee, what's wrong? Ya look like someone kicked your puppy!" He didn't answer; instead, he hoisted himself to his feet and padded dejectedly out of the room. It wasn't until later that night when he showed her to the spare cot in the Lab that she figured out what he wasn't saying.

He had arrived in time to prevent her death, but not Kimber's…and Purple Dragon or not, the knowledge weighed heavily on him. Amber spent the whole night staring at the concrete ceiling, ruminating. It seemed even in her new life, she was too careless with her words and actions.

Somewhere between rumbling trains, memory assaults, and musings about stunning hazel eyes, the sewer faded into the world of dreams.

Still with me, y'all? Sure hope so

 Words (Midwestern Twang unless otherwise noted)

- Ain't'cha? - 'Aren't you?' - Ani'thin' - Anything, a local pronunciation similar in cadence to "Anikin" if the name started with an 'Enn.' This may be a largely localized pronunciation as I've not heard it often and have never heard it outside my own area. - Cowk - Vomit, Scottish slang/Scots. - Di'n't / Din't - Didn't - Ma heid - Scottish slang my head. - Idjit - slang pronunciation of idiot. - Kin - This one has two different possible meanings depending on how it's used. If it's used as a noun, it means family, and not only blood relations but the family you choose. It's not a commonly used term anymore because people tend to associate it with family feuds and redneck living. If the word is used as a verb - as in "You kin kiss my arse," it's just a twisted pronunciation of "can," differentiated because the -a- is instead prounced -i- like bin. - Knees're - knees are - Out'a - Out of - Prob'ly  - Probably - Shaddup / Shuddup - 'shut up,' generally more common in the South than the Midwest, but in Southern Missouri, it's not unusual to hear either. The second pronunciation is the more common. - Di' I skelp my heid 'er somethin'? - Amber's first major speech relapse, this is mostly an ungodly meshing of twang and Scots. Basically, 'Did I hit my head or something?' - That much I know's true. - That much I know is true. - Beaned in the brain-pan - slang 'hit in the head'

- Adding 'e, 'is, or 'im to the end of a word - means he, his or him respectively. - Adding 'er to the end of a word - means her. - Adding 'ey, 'em, or 'eir to the end of a word - means they, them, or their respectively.

NOTES

* Credits for songs: "Time Warp" is by Patricia Quinn, Richard O'Brien, and Little Nell, from "The Rocky Horror Picture Show." "Feed My Frankenstein" is by Alice Cooper, (AKA, the king of bizarre music) from album "Hey, Stoopid." Lastly, "Ballroom Blitz" is by the band Sweet, best known for this song, "Fox on the Run" and "Love Is Like Oxygen."

** The tune is Coldplay's "Fix You;' two guesses as to who's humming it, and you really should only need ONE. It's pretty obvious.

*** The book Amber reads here really exists. "Dark of the Moon" is a poetry anthology compiled by August Derleth, and includes "poems of fantasy and the macabre." It's highly uncommon—there were only a couple rather limited printings and most copies are found in libraries—but it's very much worth the read. "The Eye" was written by Donald Wandrei and is found on pages 381 and 382 with several other of his sonnets. It appears exactly as it's typed in my copy of the book and it makes my inner grammar nazi twitch; the correct phrase would be "Why is my arm so strongly STAID," not "STAYED." RRRG! Pretty sure its copyright is expired, as the volume was published in 1947.

UP NEXT: You Can't Set a Broken Soul.

[lokgifsandmusings]

Definitive Ranking of Book 1 Episodes, #12/12

12. 1x12 Endgame

Amon stands and lets Korra expose him for drama, Asami and Hiroshi are just like Kevin Bacon, let’s hide in an empty room from the bloodbender, people weren’t all that into justice anyway, and Aang brings the funk.

What? It hasn’t been over 4 months since I last did one of these...get out of here!

For those who don’t know, I’ve been going back and rewatching each LoK episode, then definitively ranking the entire season with a series of metas, starting from “worst” to “best.” Wait, no quotes because it’s DEFINITIVE.

I began with the beautiful, heart stopping, breathtaking, life-changing shitshow that was Book 2, because its flaws in some ways became the show’s greatest strength, so it felt very worth the dive. Then I went to Book 4 probably because that’s the time period that interests me a ton, and it was a solid season, but one that sort of felt like it needed some polish. Book 3 is damn near perfect in my opinion, and the one I want to end on for that reason.

So yup, we’re in Book 1! And here’s the thing: rewatching this show, the first season is the one that gives you the least back. It’s not particularly deep or nuanced. And that’s fine! It did a good job expanding the world building, the aesthetics were beyond on-point, and I’ll stand by the characterizations as pretty dang compelling, even if Mako never landed for me until Book 3.

At the same time, had this been the one season mini-series it almost was...I just don’t see still talking about it. And yes, I say that knowing the end game (you see what I did there?) would have been a bit different. But it doesn’t really change that the greatest success of Book 1 was its set up and potential. So, I guess it’s not a shock that the episode at the bottom of this list is its finale. Which is best depicted here:

Yeah, it sounds harsh for something that was ~fine~, but each time I rewatch it, it gets even less fine. However, there’s also been a lot on this already. If you haven’t already, read @got-your-back-always-will’s piece on why it was so damn disappointing. Or you could read my words where I call it a narrative beer fart (I think I use this term a lot, to be fair), point out the leaps in logic and reasonable action necessary for it everything to occur, and then talk about kind of shitty, sexist, ableist implications. Hell, even my photo recap touches on this.

Yes, it was all unintentional, but just imagine a character as intersectional as Korra being sent off with her depression having been magically healed by a male character (yes I know Aang is her, but imagery matters and she was passively sitting while he did his thing) and then hooking up with the guy who treated another woman as something stuck to his shoe.

And I mean, add to that the way the main plotline just FIZZLED. Oh man, people aren’t oppressed anymore because the guy who wanted to help them was actually a bender? WHAT. Everything Amon and the Equalists were set-up to be, and it just ends with a crowd shrugging and looking sad.

Like...this ending isn’t the worst thing that’s been on TV. It’s just formulaic and feels not well-planned, which is kind of weird because wasn’t this the only season that *had* been fully scripted? I really don’t want to pile on as if it’s the most toxic thing ever (not by a long shot), but would this have actually been satisfying to anyone?

I feel like I’m going to just end repeating myself, and I really don’t want to pile on. So instead, I think it’s important to zoom out and look at what the season was supposed to be accomplishing as a whole.

Korra is the opposite of Aang. Not in a moral sense, but in the sense that Bryke’s process in creating her was literally, “instead of a spiritual, not-super-physical, reluctant male hero who was not happy about his role, what if we had a girl who was super into it, non-spiritual, and kind of a hockey-kid type?”. They talk about this on podcasts and stuff. Aang’s narrative was about how he needed to embrace his role since the world needed him. We’ve seen this before (though Aang and ATLA was very unique, don’t get me wrong) with stories like Harry Potter, or LOTR, or the Star Wars OT, and so on.

That kind of arc is sort of best summed up by this quote from our pal Dumbledore:

“It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well.”

But when you have a character that WANTS to be the hero, what do you do? You write a world that doesn’t want *them*. You write a struggle in their quest to find a place for themselves when the role they’re so ready to take on doesn’t really make sense anymore.

This is the point of the Equalists. Benders are the privileged minority, extorting the oppressed masses in the nonbenders. The Avatar in some ways represents the ultimate bender (with her inherent abilities), and is now in a world skeptical, scared, and teaming for revolution.

Specifically against her and her power structure. There’s the spiritual aspect to her role, but she was out-of-touch with it in the first season, while also facing a very here-and-now kind of problem.

The conclusion that Korra needed to reach as a character, and where she gets at the end of Book 2 actually (and then spends Books 3 and 4 fine-tuning that role while also going through a very powerful healing arc) is one where she stakes her OWN claim in the world. She defines her role in a way that’s significant to her and the meaning in her heroism comes from her assertion of that agency, and the way she basically screams for her right to exist into being. The world will find it *does* need her, and here’s why, damnit.

Book 1 didn’t get there at all. Fuck, it didn’t even address things like how Korra’s actions out of bravado were because of her horrible fear of appearing weak. That fear...it’s only something she got over after her healing arc, when she learned that being afraid isn’t a weakness, and she can recontextualize that fear and find a kind of strength in it. Now, it’s possible that whenever it was decided that Book 1 would be 1 of 4 seasons, they made sure to keep room for Korra’s character growth. Except...in 2x01 she’s rather backdialed, so it’s a difficult case to make.

Then, remember how her solution had been (more or less) to punch things? Which is why @projectvoicebend has been referred to as “biting satire” thanks to their exaggerated depiction of that? But in Endgame, she literally saves the day with brute force. Not that Amon *shouldn’t* have been knocked out of a window, but this is rather bizarre messaging.

She unlocked airbending in a time of desperation, and used it aggressively to get rid of the threat. Like...okay. But, we didn’t need to see an entire season to buy this kind of thing happening. Hell, if she had been de-bended in 1x04 and someone else was threatened, I could still see this happening.

Was the implication that it’s the power of love? Had it been Bolin or Tenzin there, just sucks for them? I kind of find that hard to swallow, too. Really, they just needed Amon to be unmasked, and this is the way they contrived Korra to do it. It wasn’t exactly a huge character moment as much as it was leveling up in a video game.

Now, I do think overall it’s good that Korra didn’t find a place for herself in the world at the end of the first season. That was hard-earned, and even creating the new spiritual age wasn’t the endpoint of that theme since people were resistant to change—of losing control. However, could there have at least been an indication that REFORM WAS GOING TO HAPPEN? Yeah, the revolutionaries aren’t exactly blameless here seeing as they bombed an entire city, but Endgame literally reset the tensions in Republic City. Well, until Shiro recapped the creation of an entire democracy for us in 2 sentences.

It was like...the set box that Bryke had created at the beginning of the season needed to stay perfectly intact. And it wasn’t organic at all for Korra to be the person upholding that, because she is inherently such a transgressive character. This is why I’ve called it a round peg in a square hole, and this is why had *that* been the ending to the series, my own reaction would have been as dejected as the people who realized Amon painted a scar on his face.

Hell, what does this even mean on a thematic level? Desperation breeds education? Never idolize anyone who promises simple solutions to your problems? Reincarnation has its uses if you’re in enough pain?

Really, this show is supposed to be about Korra’s growth and trajectory, and...I just am struggling to see much of anything here.

Frankly, it gets worse the longer I think about it too. Equalists are like, bad and junk. Bombing cities and brutalizing your enemies (while evoking genocidal language with that whole ‘impurity’ thing) is not good, mmkay? But from another entirely valid angle, isn’t part of what Amon stood for really about disarmament? Should they have been so cartoonishly evhul that they suddenly needed to de-bend the pacifistic airbender children?

The only thing that kind of worked in this plotline was Asami and Hiroshi. And yeah, I know I’m the ultimate Asami fangirl so it’s going to read biased, but I’m serious: she was the only nonbender we really heard from about this. She was the one who had the same pain that her father had (her mother’s death at the hands of bending gangs), and experienced the same type of oppression he did, and still resoundly rejected violence. I’m not sure what she saw as a pathway to reform, but she could tell that Hiroshi’s actions weren’t coming from a place of empathy any longer, even if it might have begun like that.

Rewatching everything today when nazi punching discourse is disturbingly not theoretical, there is something a little frustrating about how simplified even this conflict was made. I’m not saying the Equalists are fascists at all, but can we at least try and position ourselves in the nonbender perspective, when there’s a lot of valid grievances, and Amon is just doing exactly what Aang did to Yakone (initially, back when he was targeting just triad members)? That’s worth a conversation! Sure, we got Asami standing up to Tarrlok in 1x08, sure, but her drive to take down her father was so clearly personal thanks to the years of deception, that the nonbender oppression sort of got swallowed in it all.

I still think it worked better than anything else, especially how Asami was not able to bring herself to harm her father the way he was willing to do. It’s tragic, and I don’t even begrudge Bolin swooping in for the save for that reason, even though the whole passive-woman/active-man thing is what I’m bitching about for Korra. But it’s different. Right?

I also found Tarrlok and Amon’s ending perfectly fine (and VERY jarring for a Y7 show) given that it was another exploration into abuse, the cycle of violence, and a kind of poetic self-fulfilling prophecy. But that’s more for 1x11.

God, you know what it is? Bryke never figured out what they wanted to say with Book 1. They had great worldbuilding ideas, and the tensions set up were quite compelling. It just lacked a *point* beyond “this might be cool to explore.” It was, and then the time came to tie it up, so it splatted.

In the end, they’re just damn lucky that Korra had something to say of her own.

Book 2 ranking/essays found here

Book 4 ranking/essays found here

[choiceschoices]

Tag game!

Rules: Answer the questions in a new post and tag 20 blogs you would like to know better.

Tagged by: @chyxima thank you so much! My very first tag like this! I saw this and was skipping around for quite a while after. Feels incredible to get noticed ^.^

1. Nickname: Nicknames have never really stuck to me. One of my friends wanted to shorten my name to the first syllable but it sounded just like “poop” in her native language. Happily, she didn’t think that was a good fit.

2. Star Sign: Capricorn (I’ll never forgive Cornelia Funke’s “Inkheart” for ruining that name for me. Capricorn was a terrible villain)

3. Height: 5’3” 

4. Time right now: 10:57 am  

5. Favorite Music Artist: Highly variable…I like a lot of Caro Emerald & Johnny Cash.   

6. Song stuck in your head: Wow, none currently, that’s rare. The Daily Show’s “Dog on Fire” is a frequent visitor lately. “Bad Romance” was once stuck in my head for a solid two months. I’m not even exaggerating: my family literally got me custom M&M’s printed with “Rah rah ah-ah-ah!” for Christmas that year!

7. Last movie watched: Passengers                                              

8. Last anime TV show watched: Yuri on Ice 

9. What are you wearing right now: Blue pajama bottoms, gray t-shirt, and my millennium falcon necklace  

10. When did you create your blog: Over a year ago. I had no idea it’d been that long till tumblr emailed me.

11. What kind of stuff do you post: Fairy Tail, Natsu, Funny/Random, Natsu, Walking Dead, Natsu…I really did intend to have more variety but Natsu

12. Do you have any other blogs: An old tumblr I never posted to and one I had to make to document progress in a class.

13. Do you get asks regularly: No, but I welcome them! I was over the moon when someone asked to use my art as a header. 

14. Why did you choose your url: Decision fatigue. I got to the url part and was like “ug choices, choices…” and decided to just go with that. I figured I’d change it but I ended up really liking it. I’ve lots of big choices in my life these days and it’s exhausting.

15. Gender: Female

16. Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw 

17. Pokemon Team: Never played! My phone wasn’t compatible with the app. I just read some descriptions and while I definitely prefer the aesthetics of valor and I like knowledge, I reckon I’m probably Instinct. (There are those darn decisions again.)

18. Favorite Color: Purple with a bit of red

19. Average hours of sleep: 6 (I’d prefer like 10 but I’m a real night owl) 

20. Lucky Number: 7 

21. Favorite Characters: Natsu (Fairy Tail), Bartimaeus (Bartimaeus book trilogy), Castiel (Supernatural), Carol (Walking Dead), Zuko (Avatar), Envy (Fullmetal), Professor Farnsworth (Futurama)

22. How many blankets do you sleep with: As many as I can stand without boiling over. Currently five.  

23. Dream Job: Knowing that might help my current job hunt! Something creative & technical. I mostly want to do something with positive social impact, but someday I might like to make tv/movie merchandise.  

24. Followers: 77 and I think I’ve blocked all the porn blogs.

Tagging: @the-archangel-of-zeref, @princessofthedreamland, @fairyheart, @lookoutforpenguins

[redvsbluemicrofic]

Long story short, I've been so down and frustrated lately, and things escalated to the point where I was ready to nuke all my blogs, stick my notebooks back on a shelf where they can gather up dust again and just put myself back on mothballs, writing - wise. It's been a month now that I have been stuck, haven't managed to write anything original. It's weighing on me kinda heavily and that shitty voice that gets in your head and whispers that you're a fraud and a hack can get awfully loud when everything else is so quiet. But when it got to the point where I was ready to just pull the plug and bail out, you wonderful bunch of basket cases started appearing out of the ether, liking and reblogging things from all over this past year. I don't understand why now, if it's random or if one of you organized this somehow, but every time I was low enough to want to call quits, there would be another couple likes or reblogs and I'd think, "huh, seems a shame to do it right now." And sometimes it would be for something I really enjoyed writing, and I would read it and remember why I love doing this so much. In the end I finally got through my funk without hitting the big red button, and realized now how much other negative shit was building up in my life that was really the problem - frustration with writing was a manifestation, but not the cause. So I still can't put a damn thing on paper, and I reserve the right to go full-on Agent Washington melodramatic over it, but I have a better sense of perspective. Thank you to all of you that came from God only knows where and liked, reblogged or started following my shit over the last few days. With no exaggeration, you saved this blog. So hugs around to friends, strangers and whomever - thanks guys. Not sure how you got here or why you chose to do it now, but I am very grateful. Love to all.

[get-a-new-lease-on-life]

A New Lease on Life - 4: The Truth

A quick note: the book Dark of the Moon is an obscure poetry volume but it’s very much worth the read. The poem Amber reads aloud in this chapter is from that very book; ‘The Eye’ by Donald Wandrei is found on pages 381 and 382 with several other of his sonnets. Secondly: Occasional short, graphic present tense passages in italics denote intrusive memories; intrusive memories can be very overwhelming when they occur, and in my own experience, the memories they show are often exaggerated and warped, and sometimes even worse than what actually happened. This chapter dedicated to everyone reading, following, and fav'ing this story—especially ImpartingAbyss, for reviewing and just being hilarious!Trigger Warnings: Grossness, Intrusive memories, disturbing, graphic imagery, panic attacks, religious references, violent death.

Suggested Listening: Coldplay, “Fix You,” Breaking Benjamin, “Fade Away”

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

4: The Truth  

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

‘Great, Amber,’ she thought to herself as she hung face-first over the stream of running wastewater, hacking up a meal she didn’t remember eating. 'Ya didn’t cowk- all over Don’s shell, but ya barely missed'is feet. Yer just too hot fer ya own good, ain'tcha?’- She spat once more, swiping a used tissue across her lips; hopefully, the other two hadn’t seen her yank it out of her shirt. It’s awkward enough getting caught using a bra for a pocket, but when you’re clearly braless, people start wondering where you stashed whatever you just pulled out…and handy as boob-pockets were, it wasn’t something she was ready to admit.

“S-Sorry,” she said hoarsely. “I don’t do so well with heights…just gimme a sec.” Heat flooded her cheeks at the small metal canteen held at her eye level. “Thanks.” She gratefully rinsed her mouth out and snapped the topper back on. “I’ll wash that later—there anythin’ you DON’T have in that bag'a yers?”

“The sink,” he answered simply. Once her stomach settled, the blindfold went back on and she was lifted up over his shoulder again, thanking her lucky stars she couldn’t see how high up she was. Not long after, her ears were assaulted by the screech of a rusty hinge; she felt her carrier tense.

“Better oil that,” Leo said simply.

“As soon as this is resolved,” Donnie replied lowly. “'Til then, it can wait.” The shoulder Amber rested on slouched; she knew without a doubt what was going through his mind and it was unpleasantly familiar. Without Donatello, the lair would fall apart—the family would fall apart. As much as they depended on him, though, the others tended to take him for granted without even realizing it. It always broke her heart to see it before, knowing all-too-well just how it felt, and now it was even more distressing. She couldn’t say anything, though. After all, she already proved that she knew more than she should, and would only be more suspicious. A gentle squeeze of his other shoulder conveyed what words could not, but sent a worrisome shiver through him.

“What is going on here?” a slightly raspy voice burst out. “Boys, why have you brought a stranger into our midst?!” Leonardo hurried to greet their father and master.

“We had no other choice, Master,” He explained hurriedly. “The alarms were set off by this woman—she almost froze to death down here! We took her to April’s, but…” He winced, trailing off.

“Casey disagreed,” Donnie finished dryly. “From the tantrum he’s throwing, you’d think she insulted his mother.” Amber shrunk into the warm shoulder, certain she was in some serious trouble…even though she hadn’t insulted any mothers lately. How could she have followed them home? How could she have believed they could bring her back to the Lair with them without trouble from Splinter? The Canon versions of him always struck her as crotchety but wise rather than prone to pointless anger but the idea of angering the aged Rat gave her chills. And Raphael…Casey had insisted that he and Raph had 'busted’ Kimber repeatedly; she’d have no ally in Raph, she was sure of it, and that knowledge made her feel bitter.

“We did blindfold her, see?” The nervous reminder - Leo’s attempt at placating Splinter’s worries - drove Amber to blush.

She cringed behind the purple fabric blocking her vision. They blindfolded her alright—with a slightly ratty purple kerchief from Donnie’s trouser pockets. Her lungs were too flooded with his familiar - and mouth-watering - scent (coffee, clean grease, a faint hint of spice, and clean sweat) to notice the sewer funk, but she’d been forced to take drastic measures to stifle her body’s reaction to the combination. By the time they reached the lair, she’d mentally replayed the most bizarre songs she could think of - Time Warp, Feed My Frankenstein, Ballroom Blitz, nothing was overlooked.* As hard as she focused on distracting herself by methodically dissecting every possible meaning of every lyric, she never noticed the ninjas’ breaths growing more and more shallow by the moment.

Soft grumbling from the woman still slouched over Donnie’s shoulder made the brothers meet eyes in an awkward wince. To the average human, the woman’s scent wouldn’t have registered, but they were more than human - to them, the sudden flood of pheromones was stifling, and it seemed to only strengthen.

“Bring her here,” Splinter conceded wearily, settling himself at the low table in his room. Donatello followed, easing Amber to the floor as Leo went about boiling water for tea. With a gentle tug of fabric, the barrier was gone from Amber’s eyes, taking with it the delightful aroma that had driven her mad. She remained silent, head bowed and eyes closed as Donnie excused himself to the lab, leaving the door parted behind him. “We’re no savages, Child, you needn’t hide your eyes.”

“S-Sorry,” she mumbled shyly, glancing furtively up at the being on the other side of the table. “I’m not afraid of you…just—well, nervous an’ sorry for getting your sons in trouble.” His whiskers twitched in a suppressed smile as he recognized her odd speech from his stories; she spoke with what he interpreted as a Midwestern twang that bordered on Southern drawl, but it seemed off somehow - warped in some places and some pronunciations were forced, as though the strange woman was mimicking something foreign. He saw no threat in her posture or behavior, though, and decided to overlook the odd woman’s speech quirk.

“Well, this changes things,” he answered seriously. “I had no idea you forced my boys to bring you here against their own good judgment. How could an unarmed woman not much taller than myself accomplish such a feat?”

“What?” she objected frantically, finally looking up to fully meet his eyes. She was visibly horrified - good, maybe she wasn’t a threat. “No, I di'n’t- do any of that—I never asked'em- to bring me here! They…well, I’ve got nowhere else to go, an'—”

“Then you are not directly responsible for them bringing you here?” She chewed her lip a moment, staring through the lacquered wood. “Taking responsibility for others’ actions is an injustice to you and a disservice to them. I am wary of their bringing a stranger home, you must understand, but we mean you no harm.” Amber hesitantly met his dark eyes over the gunmetal rims of her glasses.

“Yes, Sir.” At that moment, Leonardo arrived bearing a wooden tray laden with cups and a small steaming teapot; tears pricked Amber’s eyes at the familiar scent wafting up the spout. “Oolong,” she choked out without considering how random the comment would seem.

“Miss O'Brien?” Leo asked warily. “Is something wrong?” She shook her head, smiling weakly.

“No…uh…Leonardo. It’s just—I’m just weird, I guess. All the things I could miss from my old life, an’ I miss tea. Sunrise coffee, lightnin’ bugs at dusk, wadin’ in the crick in summer, warm dirt underfoot an’ the mornin’ fog—nope, I miss tea.”

“Sometimes things that seem trivial can mean the most to us,” Splinter admitted solemnly as Leo excused himself from the room. “I am called Splinter, Child; you have already met my eldest, Leonardo, and my second eldest, Donatello; I’m sure you’ll meet my other second eldest Raphael, and their younger brother Michelangelo, before the night is out. Your name is O'Brien, yes?” She stared a hole through the bottom of the teacup, soaking in the sweet perfume rising from it.

“Yeah,” she answered softly. “My name’s Amber O'Brien, that much I know’s- true, but I don’t have many answers…at least not that I can get out. Casey seems convinced I’m someone by the name of Kimber Bryant, but I’m not—I’m just stuck in her body, as crazy as that sounds.” She winced; it did sound crazy…it also sounded sexual, proof that even in this life, she was cursed to be gutter-brained. “I’ll gladly answer any questions you have—if I can get the words out, at least. I can't—”

A low grating sound above drew her attention - a raspy rumble halfway between overfilled coffee grinder and rapidly approaching coal train. She fought the panic rising in her chest but scanned deliriously for the demon she knew would arrive any moment to take her away…again. Familiar, horrifying images fought their way to the forefront of her mind, manifesting with alarming ease. “I…”

Crushed foundations stained with blood. Toppled buildings groan in the night. A battered doll hangs in a stripped tree like a grotesque scarecrow.

“I can't—”

Circling buzzards stalk the ruins of a farmhouse. Flies gather on a dark stain in the mangled turf. Faded white curtains dangle from an empty window like a flag of surrender. Wind howls through trees stripped bare—

“Puh-Please!” she cried, curling into a ball. “M—Make it stop! I can’t—can’t make it—”

“DONATELLO!” The sudden shout from Splinter’s rooms wrenched the genius from his daze; had he really missed dinner while staring through the recovered security footage? “HURRY!” The panic in his father’s voice sent him barreling toward the source, only to freeze in the doorway of Splinter’s room in disbelief.

Amber lay curled on the floor in a ball, her hands clasped over her neck, shaking violently. Even without his goggles in place, he recognized what was happening. Blood pressure elevated, pulse rate rising, breathing rapid and irregular, drop in blood oxygen levels imminent… Between her raspy breaths and choked sobs troubling words leaked through, hinting at what she clearly couldn’t tell them. Blood. Wind. Glass. Hurt. Storm. Dead. Aaron. School. Book…Donnie shook himself out of his stupor, rushing to his father’s side and skidding onto his knees.

“She’s having a panic attack!” he explained frantically as he pulled her away from the broken china cup on the floor - the teacup she was given clearly suffered in the panic. “How’d I not see it before?! We’ve gotta—” At the sudden weight on his legs, all thought fled his mind. His eyes dropped to the shaking body huddled against him, the head buried in his armored chest, and the two low pigtails brushing against his side. He turned in dismay to his father; Splinter nodded gravely, hastily lighting some incense at the table. Donnie forced back his nervousness to focus on monitoring Amber’s vital signs and ignoring the unnaturally red hair whispering across his skin.

The first thing to manifest in Amber’s mind was warmth; the second was a strangely familiar aroma of coffee and clean grease, and the pungent, smoky perfume of burning incense. A strong hand rubbed slow, calming patterns on her back while another held her close to something warm and smooth, fingertips poised carefully on her neck.

Out of the darkness, a low humming broke through—soft, slow murmurs from another lifetime promised patience and understanding—promised to fix her broken soul.** Last of all, a dusky brown came into view as the memories faded from her mind’s eye. That was a familiar brown, she realized fearfully. A glance upward revealed the truth, and two concerned hazel eyes fixed on hers; the humming stopped.

HOW did she wind up in Donatello’s LAP?! “Eheh…Hi?” she attempted. Though the worry never left his eyes, he cracked a weak smile.

“Hi.” She glanced awkwardly from the turtle still rubbing her back to Splinter.

“How’d I get here? Please tell me I didn’t jus’ crawl into his lap.” Neither answered, triggering a deep blush. Yup…she just crawled into his lap - didn’t even buy'im a drink first. Splinter scrutinized her silently a moment, then momentarily locked eyes with his son.

“Your soul has some very deep scars, Miss O'Brien,” Splinter murmured softly as he gathered the shattered china - regretful of the loss, but not condemning the cause. “Scars that are too tender for inspection, much less display. If you are willing, though, I may know of a way to see your past without forcing you to speak it. Would you care to try?”

Amber thought long and hard, still flustered at being seated across Donnie’s very warm, very comfortable lap—a lap she had no memory of invading. Search though she did, though, she still came up with the same answer. “If it’d clear my name an’ prove that you have nothin’ to fear from me? I’d do just about anything.”

“What’s going on, Bruh?” Mikey whispered. Leo shushed him as Raphael lumbered over. The three of them peered warily into Splinter’s room where he and Amber sat back to back, silent and still, clearly in deep meditation.

“Sensei’s trying to see her past,” Donatello answered gravely as he joined them. “Talking about it sends her into a panic attack; he’s hoping that deep meditation will reveal what she can’t, in the Astral Plane.”

“Wow, she knows how to meditate?” Mikey eyed her warily. “Maybe she’s a ninja—or a Jedi! OW!” he exclaimed at Raph’s brain-duster.

“She’s knocked out, Mikey,” Donnie answered dryly. “I had to sedate her…again. From what I understand, the last train that passed over triggered a panic attack…just like we saw in the Station.”

“What made her afraid of the subway?” Mikey asked dubiously as they watched their sensei at work.

~~~~~Another time, another life, another world~~~~~

The two people in the front seat seemed to have not a care in the world, Splinter mused. He didn’t quite care for the music they were blaring, but they were obviously very happy. What he couldn’t quite understand was why he was in their backseat, and where Amber was in this memory.

“Shaddup,- O'Brien!” the blond man grinned as he skipped another track. “Ozzy could kick Sinatra’s ass any day of the week!” The woman in the driver’s seat grinned widely, swatting his hand away from the stereo.

“Willis,” she shot back. “There’s more to life than who kin- kick whose arse—an’ Sinatra’s not that bad! His music’s got a great—”

“Rammstein!” Aaron interrupted loudly, yanking a massive CD binder from under his seat and digging through it like a man possessed. “O'Brien, please tell me you’ve got some Rammstein in here. All this culture’s gonna make me puke.”

“Yer gonna make me puke.” Splinter studied the driver intently; he couldn’t believe it! He’d heard that voice, that awkward accent before—it was the voice and accent of Amber O'Brien, whose memories he was currently experiencing. This woman looked nothing like the Amber he’d met, though…this woman had to be at least two hundred pounds and several years older, and both warm brown braids were liberally streaked with grey. “You do realize 90% of Rammstein’s music is just foul language and banging, right? Ya won’t find any'a that crap in my car.”

“Picky. So, word is they’re gonna make a new TMNT movie soon!” Aaron piped up; the car swerved sharply and she grinned over at him excitedly.

“Yes! Omigosh, yes! When?!” Aaron burst out laughing.

“Psych!” he cackled. “Oh, the look on your face—was Donatello wearin’ pants again?” Her entire face red as a beet, she whacked him in the shoulder.

“Screw you, Willis. Why did I ever tell you about that dream? I mean, seriously?” 'That Dream…’ As though she hadn’t dreamt of that Donnie for years, his refractive hazel eyes, his shy, gap-toothed smile, his permanent slouch...Damn. Hello, Gutter. “Ugh,” she groaned reaching down to rub her right knee. “I can’t wait to git out'a- this car—my knees’re- killin’ me.”

“I’d say that’d teach ya to jump in front of a bus, but it prob'ly wouldn’t.”

“Dumbarse, Fer the las’ time, I didn’t jump in front of a bus. Some damn idjit- ran a red light an’ hit me in the crosswalk. Startin’ to think I preferred ya hungover—at least ya were quiet.”

They had to be driving through a war zone, Splinter thought sorrowfully. What else could have turned the small town into such a disaster area? Trees were ripped up, buildings crushed, even the very pavement the car drove on was gouged and crumbled in places. Amber, hadn’t spoken since they crossed the city limits and stared fearfully around her searching for landmarks that no longer existed. By the time they reached the remains of her home, it became abundantly clear to the unseen passenger: somehow, despite the drastically different appearances, he had indeed found Amber O'Brien.

From atop a pile of provisions, Splinter watched Amber and Aaron. The Town Hall’s basement, though touted as a Fallout Shelter, was never meant for so many people and conditions were ridiculously crowded. Aaron bustled from one place to another making himself useful; Splinter never expected such selflessness from him after his behavior in the car, but he supposed even his boys were prone to misbehavior among friends.

As of yet, Amber simply sat in a vacant corner staring through the wall as though she were completely dead to the world. She’d not spoken since she and Aaron broke down on her battered front lawn, nor had she eaten any of the meals the blonde tried to coax her with. It was as though she’d simply ceased to exist. Splinter’s heart ached, realizing the truth; she was in shock—so deeply in shock that she’d ceased to think or feel anything. As troubled by this revelation as he was, he missed the moment she finally moved from her corner. Quickly catching sight of her he followed behind as she climbed the creaking stairs and wandered aimlessly away from the shelter as though following a distant call.

Splinter could only guess why she came to the school. Feeling certain that something terrible was about to happen, he trailed behind her as she made her way to the library. With an almost wistful expression, she traced familiar shelves, digging through the scattered volumes for a particular tome. Its plain black cover was worn and faded from age, but the sight brought tears to her otherwise empty eyes. Among the ruins of the once proud building, she leafed through the book for a particular page and in a soft, haunting tone, read aloud.

“A deep force pulls me toward the window-blind, some impulse urges me to raise the shade; why is it that I tremble, half afraid, with formless terrors running through my mind? What are the dim dread images that bind my hand? Why is my arm so strongly stayed? What sense of overhanging doom has made me fearful? What the sight I shall find? Some warning voice calls out: Go back—go back! I could not turn though fronted by the rack. And so I slowly raise the shade to greet whatever on the other side should lie, and stare and stare in horror as I meet the leering of a huge and sightless eye.” ***

Her empty eyes turned to the window, drawn by a sudden movement and crack of thunder; chills raced down Splinter’s spine. He was only here in spirit and could not be harmed for that reason, but he knew something dreadful was about to happen.

Amber wandered over to the only intact window, peering about with vacant disinterest. As though summoned by the words she’d spoken, a deafening, grinding roar filled the air. A wall cloud loomed overhead as a funnel cloud touched down somewhere southwest of the battered building. Right before Splinter’s eyes, she tucked the book securely in her arms and fell to her knees in the rubble and glass, bowing her head in prayer.

“Please,” she mumbled softly. “Protect my family…protect my friends…protect this town and those who live here. Forgive us our trespasses and guide us in our time of need. Help Aaron understand, and keep him under your care…he’s too stubborn to ask for help.” Splinter’s ears felt ready to burst from the horrible pressure; surely Amber was hurting too, but she gave no sign of anything—pain, fear, sorrow, nothing! “Please, Lord…please wrap your arms around those who have been brought down by these storms, help them rise from the ashes anew, and help them rebuild their lives…thank you for everything.” Finally, the mask broke - regret twisted her eyes and shook her parted lips. “If you gave second chances, I’d ask only for—”

Before she could finish, the window burst inward raining shattered glass over her prostrate body. Splinter flinched, choking up at the sight. Almost immediately a glass brick from a nearby building came careening through the window frame and struck her in the head. As the light left her eyes, and she died on her knees, the aged rat mourned the woman who’ gave up on life.

The sudden change in location was dizzying. Splinter gazed around him in confusion, trying to come to grips with what had happened. One moment he was in a small town high school library, standing at the side of a woman who’d died needlessly, next he stood in a familiar chamber. Intricate green and ivory tile, tarnished brass fittings, elegant bronze plaques, bright blue glass skylights and bare-bulb light fixtures…he gazed around him, struggling to make sense of the situation.

The abandoned City Hall subway station…He’d been pulled from a ruined schoolhouse to the abandoned City Hall station! Almost frantically he searched the large cavern; how could he have woken from his trance so far from his family?!

Movement in the corner startled him. He faded into the shadows with the ease of a ninja master, watching as a pile of rubbish shifted with a groan. “Aw, ma heid,”- a familiar voice groaned. Right before his eyes, Amber—the Amber his boys had brought to him—groggily struggled upright, rubbing her forehead right where the glass brick had struck her counterpart in his vision. The truth was all too clear now, though he still couldn’t fathom how it was possible.

Amber O'Brien died at the school, died in the library from a blow to the head. Against all logic, she woke up in that very cavern in the body of another: a woman formerly known as Kimber Bryant. It made no sense, but still, he knew it was true. Right then, the roar of a passing tram echoed through the chamber. Amber screamed, falling to her knees with her hands over her neck, firmly in the grips of a panic attack. The world faded around Splinter as she fought the demons of her previous life, cowering in the rubbish of another.

When did his life become so complicated?

~~~~~~~ The Lair ~~~~~~~

Splinter came back to himself with a start, glancing feverishly around for his sons. In mere moments the four gathered around him, Raphael shooting distrustful glares at the still unconscious woman still seated against his back. Unbidden, the aged mutant recalled her death - the way she died slumped over on her knees, head bowed in prayer but back abnormally straight in defiance…he shuddered. Finally, sure he had everyone’s attention, the aged rat answered the question hanging silently in the air.

“She speaks the truth…Kimber is gone; Amber lives again.”

Amber regained consciousness to the sound of distant arguing. Never realizing she was being watched, she sat up cross-legged, rubbing her aching forehead. “Owww…Di’ I skelp my heid er somethin’?”- she asked weakly, thickly.

“Blunt force trauma to the skull,” Donatello muttered from the shadows. She jumped but gripped her skull again.

“When?” she asked quickly chasing the thick, gruff tone away from her words. “I don’t recall ani'thin’- after that injection.”

Donatello took a moment to compose himself, padding toward her and dropping to one knee at her side. “It’s…” His fingers dug into the worn rug beneath them, anchoring himself in the moment. “You died. Do you remember?”

“Of course, I know I died,” she answered slowly, “what I don’t remember is the dyin’ bit…an’ why’s my head killin’ me?” Donatello stared through the still smoking incense, his shoulders fairly trembling. “Donnie?”

“A cube of blown architectural glass,” he muttered, then hesitantly met her eyes. Her lungs forgot their purpose when he gently, almost timidly brushed her punch red bangs away from her forehead. The contact sent a sharp throb through her skull; against her will, she hissed at the pain. His face fell. “The point of impact…It was quick, but I can’t guarantee it was painless.” It took a moment but she finally realized the connection.

“Wait…” She cringed. “Yer tellin’ me I was beaned in the brain-pan- with a glass brick?! The only place in town with glass bricks was Mum’s church!” She scoffed bitterly. “Oh, the irony…everythin’ that congregation put me through wasn’t enough, the building had to kill me, too. I take it Master Splinter was able to see everything, then…an’ he told y'all what happened.”

“Not everything, no, but he gave us the basics…Raphael doesn’t believe him.” A sudden crash rang out in the living room, followed by Splinter shouting in Japanese. “We’re safer in here, trust me.”

“Safe?” she scoffed. “What’s that? I was killed by a church - Nothin’s safe anymore.” She glanced over at her silent company, her cheeks pinking. “So did Splinter figure out how I got here, in this world?” Donnie shook his head, clearly disturbed by something.

“No, but he has an idea. He thinks you and Kimber might be inter-dimensional counterparts—the same soul existing in two different worlds—and that you were somehow drawn into her body when you both died. Sensei says you had regrets which may or may not be a factor.” He dug his knuckles into the worn rug, clearly fighting some unknown emotion. “She died before you got there, probably the night before we found you.” Not yet seeing the subtext, she sighed in obvious relief.

“You have NO idea what a relief that is,” she muttered. “I’ve been so worried I somehow forced'er out of'er own body—that I’m responsible for her death! I just couldn't—Dee, what’s wrong? Ya look like someone kicked your puppy!” He didn’t answer; instead, he hoisted himself to his feet and padded dejectedly out of the room. It wasn’t until later that night when he showed her to the spare cot in the Lab that she figured out what he wasn’t saying.

He had arrived in time to prevent her death, but not Kimber's…and Purple Dragon or not, the knowledge weighed heavily on him. Amber spent the whole night staring at the concrete ceiling, ruminating. It seemed even in her new life, she was too careless with her words and actions.

Somewhere between rumbling trains, memory assaults, and musings about stunning hazel eyes, the sewer faded into the world of dreams.

Still with me, y'all? Sure hope so

 Words (Midwestern Twang unless otherwise noted)

- Ain’t'cha? - 'Aren’t you?’ - Ani'thin’ - Anything, a local pronunciation similar in cadence to “Anikin” if the name started with an 'Enn.’ This may be a largely localized pronunciation as I’ve not heard it often and have never heard it outside my own area. - Cowk - Vomit, Scottish slang/Scots. - Di'n’t / Din’t - Didn’t - Ma heid - Scottish slang my head. - Idjit - slang pronunciation of idiot. - Kin - This one has two different possible meanings depending on how it’s used. If it’s used as a noun, it means family, and not only blood relations but the family you choose. It’s not a commonly used term anymore because people tend to associate it with family feuds and redneck living. If the word is used as a verb - as in “You kin kiss my arse,” it’s just a twisted pronunciation of “can,” differentiated because the -a- is instead prounced -i- like bin. - Knees’re - knees are - Out'a - Out of - Prob'ly  - Probably - Shaddup / Shuddup - 'shut up,’ generally more common in the South than the Midwest, but in Southern Missouri, it’s not unusual to hear either. The second pronunciation is the more common. - Di’ I skelp my heid 'er somethin’? - Amber’s first major speech relapse, this is mostly an ungodly meshing of twang and Scots. Basically, 'Did I hit my head or something?’ - That much I know’s true. - That much I know is true. - Beaned in the brain-pan - slang 'hit in the head’

- Adding 'e, 'is, or 'im to the end of a word - means he, his or him respectively. - Adding 'er to the end of a word - means her. - Adding 'ey, 'em, or 'eir to the end of a word - means they, them, or their respectively.

NOTES

* Credits for songs: “Time Warp” is by Patricia Quinn, Richard O'Brien, and Little Nell, from “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” “Feed My Frankenstein” is by Alice Cooper, (AKA, the king of bizarre music) from album “Hey, Stoopid.” Lastly, “Ballroom Blitz” is by the band Sweet, best known for this song, “Fox on the Run” and “Love Is Like Oxygen.”

** The tune is Coldplay’s “Fix You;’ two guesses as to who’s humming it, and you really should only need ONE. It’s pretty obvious.

*** The book Amber reads here really exists. "Dark of the Moon” is a poetry anthology compiled by August Derleth, and includes “poems of fantasy and the macabre.” It’s highly uncommon—there were only a couple rather limited printings and most copies are found in libraries—but it’s very much worth the read. “The Eye” was written by Donald Wandrei and is found on pages 381 and 382 with several other of his sonnets. It appears exactly as it’s typed in my copy of the book and it makes my inner grammar nazi twitch; the correct phrase would be “Why is my arm so strongly STAID,” not “STAYED.” RRRG! Pretty sure its copyright is expired, as the volume was published in 1947.

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