#of course please more turtle content i will eat it up

[rallentando1011]

hi! Saw the inbox was open, and wondering if I could slide in with a rise donnie boy x readerone-shot..

So essentially- donnie is STEM smart right? What if- what if reader was the opposite, like lit/history smart? Like, reads a lot, and almost never puts there book down, even when people talk to them (puts it down for donnie and gives him their full attention tho-) knows a lot about almost any point in history and adores archeology. (The only thing they understand when donnie goes science mode is biology.)

And so what if- what if reader, who's oblivious to almost everything and is a huge hopeless romantic bc of ✨️books✨️, decides to try and come up with ideas to ask donnie out in a more STEM way? But like, before they can donnie sees the list and is just like "smh ur math is atrocious/aff" and then fluffy stuff yaknow??

Lol sorry, went on a tangent. Anywhizzle, love ur writing! Don't forget to take a break, stretch and get some food and water if you need to!Have a good morning/evening/night!!! :))

U + Me = Date?

(this took a minute, but it’s such a fun and sweet request that I had a wonderful time with! Tysm, and please make sure that you’re taking care of yourself as well! Enjoy! Request guidelines are located here btw) Word Count: 2371

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

Everything on earth has a niche, a designated function it gets to act out, a role it gets to fill. The Cape May Warbler, Bay-Breasted Warbler, and Yellow-Rumped Warbler have the top middle and bottom of a spruce tree to eat in, respectively. Humanity has its niche of expansion, whether it be out through the globe or up in towering metropolises.

If you had to specify your niche, it would just about have to be reading. Now, of course your life is filled with numerous aspirations, but your multifarious interests can all be classified under your affinity for books.

Any form of literature, thrillers, epics, romance novels, they all did it for you, enveloped the entirety of your attention in an immersive world.

That was without a doubt: they entertained you. 

At least, they made you feel inspired to do things, take action in your personal life, possibly commit to confessing certain feelings to a certain softshell turtle. Actually committing to the bit, though, was a completely different story.

In the extensive library you had under your belt, there were many a meet cute and innovative confession. However, just because it worked out in literature, it didn’t mean that you could actually do it. What if it ended up weird or cringe or downright friendship shattering?

The status quo was comfortable, subsisting off of shared time in your turtle-in-question’s lab, the two of you simultaneously performing your own tasks. You would sit and enrich yourself with a book, Donnie would tinker until he had something that piqued his interest, which happened rather frequently, and your attention would suddenly be on him. It was simple. It worked. Taking action could complicate things.

So, your inspiration remained squandered by doubt, an inkling of hope staying concealed internally.

At least, inspiration wouldn’t make anything occur unprompted, and, luckily, that nudge came swiftly.

Earlier, as you were straight chilling in a cozy bean bag chair in the lair’s living room, you saw Donnie enter the room out of your peripheral vision. However, he only seemed like a purple blur because your attention was on the thick, dense book sitting on your lap. The cover was of a similar slickness and feel to that of a textbook, the size was as well, but this read was solely for entertainment. The content could practically be summed up as history of the entire world, i guess but fleshed out with more anecdotes and primary sources.

You had been soaking in a finely written excerpt entailing early hominid tool use, accompanied by an image of a related artifact, when you felt a presence leaning over your shoulder. You opted to continue your train of thought through the lines until you heard a familiar timbre clear its throat behind you. With a sigh, you placed a finger on your spot and faced one Donatello.

“Something the matter?” You blinked slowly.

“Oh, nothing,” he shrugged, expression seeming intentionally cool, “just checking out the book choice for today.”

You lifted the book from your lap to display the contents to him.

His eyes skimmed over the page before he grinned slightly. “Ah, prehistoric archaeology? I could dig it.”

You pursed your lips, trying to keep your thought from spilling out of your mouth before ultimately giving in to your amusing whims. “Leo ahh humor.”

Donnie gaped. “Gasp, you wound me. I rescind my statement and shall not be partaking in any archaeological reading-slash-discussion with you.”

“I’m just messing around, ‘Tello. I can dabble in some crude wordplay.”

“Crude?”

“Crude. Heck, I’d bargain to say that was more archaic than the sector of human history I’m in right now, and they don’t even have wheels.”

He raised a curious brow, visibly less offended. You could work with that.

“Rather intriguing. Care to join me?” You patted the ample space on the bean bag next to you.

Curiously, he stared at you, then the space you were offering, and back, before slipping beside you.

“Care to enlighten me on this subject?” he parried, and with a grin, you were off, describing the main theme of the page, the early development of primates and humans, as well as outside archaeological examples that you knew of, the whole nine yards.

As you rambled on, you locked eyes with him occasionally, and his eyes were intrigued saucers every time you did. It made something in your brain click.

He played along with your banter. He was sitting right beside you, absorbing your words so vehemently and genuinely and ohmigosh this guy of all people wouldn’t judge you for trying something that could be weird. Heck, he’s a fanatic of oddities, anything mystic or scientific, so if he didn’t like you asking him out, at the very least he’d admire the effort. So, you were inspired to try something, finally take some action.

You were going for it.

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

You set to work on your asking-out endeavor as soon as you arrived home.

At first you tried looking at STEM-related pickup lines.

Sardonically, of course. You wanted something that got your point across without seeming too vulnerable, something you could play off in the scenario you got completely and irrevocably rejected.

“I less than three you… That’s not that bad,” you scrolled through the results of your search, perched at your kitchen table.

You only made it down the list to ‘the square root of all my fantasies is you’ until you actually needed to call it quits on that route. There was a fine line between being intentionally corny and the monstrosity that was that line.

So you took the next completely logical leap: concocting a page full of intricate mathematical and scientific questions, the answers of which spelled out an encrypted message.

It was the sane thing to do. 

4  1  20 5          20 15 13  15  18  18 15 23 ?

D  A  T  E          T   O   M   O   R   R  O  W ?

You scribbled the message on a scrap piece of paper. You entertained the idea of writing a whole sentence, but just these two words covered the gist clearly and concisely. Plus, coming up with questions for only two words was enough to melt your brain.

“Limit as x approaches sixteen of the square root of x… equals… yeah, four. That works,” you mumbled. “One down,” you sucked in a deep breath, “eleven to go. Crud.”

The next few hours blended together aimlessly, riddled with just about every mathematical scenario you could conjure up. Sure, derivatives and Planck’s Constant and the unit circle (the bane of your existence) were all ambitious topics to have on the totally inconspicuous worksheet, but, to quote a phrase, go big or go home. When in Rome also works.

By the time you reached ungodly hours in the night, you had curated a functional way to surprise and ask out your best friend. With your brain oozing out of your ears, you put the paper somewhere safe and collapsed face down on your bed.

You would have mentally prepared yourself to give him the paper tomorrow if not for the calculus-derived headache already splitting your mind.

Instead, you immediately dozed off.

You could deal with the minutiae of tomorrow… tomorrow.

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

The next day when you waltzed into the lair, he was conveniently seated at the desk in his lab.

“Heya D! I come bearing gifts.” You presented him with the paper as coolly as you could, keeping all the panic and nerves internal, and took up the chair beside him.

“A calculus sheet?” He grinned. “You shouldn’t have.”

After a moment of looking at it, however, his eyes dimmed and smile lessened. “...You shouldn’t have.”

You faltered. “Oh, gosh, is it that bad?”

“Which letter corresponds with negative one?”

“What?” you exclaimed. “Oh nononono no, I checked my math like five times, it’s not even possible-”

“The derivative of cosine theta is negative sine theta. Not positive. Simple mistake, really. It was a valiant effort of- whatever you were trying to do.”

You blinked, smacked your lips. Well, that was the end of that. You would just take your leave and move out of the city and change your name and never feel anything again. Easy.

“Just forget I did anything, forget this paper exists- like, what paper even?” You reached for the sheet of paper only for him to use the mechanical extensions on his battle shell to hold it out of your reach.

“No, my interest is piqued,” he smirked. You could almost feel the mischievousness emanating from him. “I will gladly continue, if you do not mind.”

You complied and sat stiffly, anxiously glancing about the lab, until you saw him pick up a utensil and start marking on the paper.

“Are you correcting it with a pen? Are you seriously grading this right now?” you muttered. You weren’t mad, just thoroughly panicked.

He stopped writing momentarily. “What? No, not grading, per say. This is just how I’m deciphering this.”

You knew that tone and you knew that was a lie. 

“I- ugh,” you flopped your head down on his desk and closed your eyes. “Just tell me when you’re done fixing it. I spent a needlessly long amount of time on this just for it to be terrible.”

He didn’t deny that it was terrible, though you excused that to him being busy and hopefully not him agreeing.

Although, with how quickly his pen was scratching marks on the page, the latter seemed more feasible.

You focused on taking deep, steadying breaths, relaxing to the sounds of the busy pen until it suddenly stopped.

Lifting your head from its place, you saw he had completely stilled, staring at the paper with wide eyes and upturned lips.

“What? Did you spot another comically egregious mistake?” you mumbled, halfway intrigued.

He took another few seconds to answer you. “Something like that.” And with that nothingness of an answer, he started writing again, much more fervently.

“Okay then.” You went to put your head down again before he slammed the paper down before you.

“Boom! Here is the revised and finalized version of the worksheet,” he grinned.

You narrowed your eyes at the comments about your inability to include units, corrections on when something was supposed to be negative, but the markings at the bottom of the page were what caught your attention the most.

When you looked at the corner of the page, you saw an odd combination of zeros and ones. 

01101111 01101000 00100000 01111001 01100101 01110011 00100000 01110000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 

“Actually, what is this?” You gestured to the code.

“It’s my response.”

“And you had to put it in binary?”

“You’re the one who wanted to talk in codes.” He sounded frustratingly nonchalant.

“Yeah, but-” you considered asking him to directly tell you, but maybe this was slightly less nerve wracking. Ripping off the bandaid be darned, you took the coward’s way out and pulled out your phone. “Man, I let you get away with way too much stuff. Has this interaction not dragged on painstakingly enough?”

“The greater the hardship, the greater the reward,” he commented with a shrug.

That pleasant surprise of a response made you copy the ones and zeros faster into the binary decoding website you’d searched up.

Just as you had everything in and your finger steadied over the button that would tell you what he was saying, you hesitated, steadied yourself with a deep breath, and hit it.

Nothing could have prepared you for the rush of adrenaline and euphoria that washed over you at seeing his answer.

“Ohmigosh, you’re serious?! Because you cannot be joking like this, Donatello.”

“As the plague.” One of his hands rested on his chest, the other was in the air as if taking an oath.

“Haha, yes!” you cheered, spinning the desk chair you were in. The late night and headache had paid off, and it felt great!

“So, where am I accompanying you tomorrow?” He mused.

Immediately, you paused. You’d only spent time thinking about the part where you ask him out, not the actual going out part.

“Where? Uhh, I hadn’t really gotten to that point of the planning stage.”

“You were too focused on biffing a math paper to actually plan out its intended purpose?”

“Yeah, not my brightest decision, nor my best work. It was a rather dumb decision on my behalf.”

“You are a dum-dum, but just because of how needlessly complex you made this, not because of your mathematical errors.”

“I genuinely don’t know if I should take offense to that or not.”

“Maybe you should be thinking about where we’re going tomorrow? Just a thought.”

You clicked your tongue. “Fine, uhh coffee?”

“A little trite for a first date, no?” Donnie propped his elbow up on the desk and rested his chin on his hand, smiling widely.

“Okay then, coffee and we go to the library?”

“Don’t we normally do that anyway? What about it makes it a ‘da-”

“Donnie, I am running on fumes from making the erroneous atrocity that is that worksheet last night. If you don’t have any suggestions, coffee at the library works. If you have a contribution, go right ahead.” You put your hands up in surrender.

Donnie’s smugness faded slightly and he lightly nudged your elbow. “Coffee at the library sounds great. And for what it’s worth, I appreciate that you tried to do something innovative. It was truly a highly admirable effort.”

“Thanks, D.”

“Of course.  But from now on, let’s leave the math to the professionals.”

There it was again: the sass.

“Oh, that’s a low blow.” You shook your head, still smiling.

“A low blow would be mentioning how you confused the natural logarithm for a standard logarithm. You see, when you have e to the power of…”

The corrections and banter flourished on from there, the both of you giggling and getting mockingly, lightheartedly angry with each other.

Despite your interests in different subjects, the two of you understood each other. It was wonderful to have a partner that you could be niche with wherever and whenever.

It was almost worth all the math and science it took to get there.

(I actually made inconspicuous math worksheet that reader made for Donnie, and it is linked HERE!)

[sockhopbuns]

The krang had better stay FAR AWAY from that after credits scene in Mutant Mayhem... or better yet no foreshadowing I want to believe the children will be happy and safe post-movie forever

[noodlefluid]

Sick day | Leo×Sick!Reader

▪︎Sumary

You've been sick for a couple of days, Leo takes care of your sassy ass

❥Type: Fanfic

 ❥Characters: Leo Reader

 ❥Reader's pronouns: no mention

 ❥Relationship: Neutral (can be read as platonic or romantic

 ❥Autor notes: This is the request I lost because I'm an idiot who doesn't know how to use tumblr. Anyways the request was about Leo taking care of a sick reader, cause asker was sick (by the way, I hope you're better, if you're not...oof lmao/j), I hope this satisfied you. Also sorry for the wait and more because is really short, this is based on my own experiences of being sick, and I vave just been really sick like 2 or 3 times

Besides from that, english is not my first language, if you find any mistake in grammar, translation or sentences that don't make sense, please let me know, I would be grateful.

Warning: Mention of death (playfully), swearing, kinda short, things that come with being sick (pills, coughing, fever) mention of soup (soup haters dni/hj), fluff, online translator help

─────────────── »◦❀◦« ───────────────

It was a really bad day, you were glued to the bed due to a cold, you swear it wasn’t a big deal, but the thermometer says otherwise, you have been sick for a few days now, getting better, yes, but feeling like shit either way. You decided to check your social media to kill boredom before it killed you. A notification popped up while you were looking at some posts

Leo: How ya doin?

You: Still sick  :(

My head’s gonna explode

Leo: Lmao

Want me to come over?

You: WHY U LAUGHING??

Oh sure

Leo: omw :D

You put your phone aside for a moment, closing your eyes thinking that a little nap while waiting for Leo wouldn’t be bad. Before you could fully relax a sudden noise make you jump, sitting in your bed due to the panic, a green figure was standing in the door, dressing all black with what looked like a science book with a cross draw with sharpie in the cover in his right hand and a plastic bag in the other, it was Leo, who decide opening your bedroom door in the normal way just wasn’t for him and instead almost destroyed it.  You quickly change from a scared expression to an annoyed one, your forgot that this turtle can teleport

“Today we are here to say farewell to our beloved y/n, who was a- ugh" The red-eared slider couldn’t finish his speech when a pillow land on his face

“...Get the hell out of my house” Just as you said that, you turned your back, pulling the blanket over your face you were happy in the turtle presence, that’s just how your dynamic was

Leo then made an outrageous expression, putting his hand against his plastron and gasping so loud and dramatically that you wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbor had heard him “first of all, rude. Second of all”  he throw the book somewhere in your room while he walked up to your bed “I was gonna give you something but since little y/n here doesn't like ky presence, I would keep it” he make the plastic bag sound

You uncover your face to see “what is it?” you said as you sat on your bed, he gives you the bag and you looked inside

“I assumed that you haven’t eat yet, so I bring you some treats” He was right, you haven’t eat all day, not because you weren’t hungry but because you couldn’t bring yourself to get up the bed and make something

"Thanks, Leon”, you thanked him while looking a little closer to the plastic bag content, inside there were a few of your favorite snacks along with some drinks, you take a water bottle, it was starting to feel like you were dying from dehydration, cold water was just what you needed at the moment

“How's your fever?” The turtle touched your forehead trying to take your temperature 

“mmh…it did get a little better yesterday, but I think it got worse today” You sounded resigned, you took a big sip from the drink, leaving almost half in the bottle

“There’s ice cream there too” Leo took the bag from your hands, pulling an ice cream cup that was at the bottom, your favorite of course “We should really try to lower your temperature, or else I'll have to plan your funeral for real” both laughed at the comment

“Please throw the bouquet at the end, I wanna see who’s next” your laughs got increased, but you had to stop after starting coughing, making your head hurt

Leo looked worried "Don't you have some pills or something that you can take?"

It did takes you a few second and a deep breath to talk "I think there's some paracetamol in the bathroom's mirror"

"I'll go get them, don't die"

"I'll try" you felt like the world was spinning, being sick was the worst, you heard Leo making sound in the bathroom, you weren't a quiet person and small noises weren't a problem for you, but now just the sound of the cabinet makes your ears hurts

Leo once again enter the room, in a more normal way now "here found them" he was speaking in his usual tone, but for some reason you feel it so loud

You grumbled as you take the pills and put them in your mouth, the taste of pills wasn't really your favorite, so you take a big sip of water before you could feel the bitter in your tongue

Leo looked worried for a moment “Sleep a little, you have to rest” Leo’s voice sounded softer, making you think of a purring cat. He took the things from your hands leaving them on the nightstand next to your bed so you could get a little more comfortable

“Thanks Lee, love ya” You made a heart with your hands, smiling softly

“me too, y/n” He mirrored your gesture, smiling at you while leaving the room, closing the door behind him.  

_____________________________

You woke up, you didn’t know how long you slept, the sky in your window began to darken, you felt better, your headache almost gone. You sat to try and find your phone and check the time, but by doing so a wet towel fell on your lap, it seems that it was placed on your forehead, you took it, trying to figure out how it get there. Your head didn't hurt anymore, and your body felt a little more cooler

While you were thinking, the door opened up, it was Leo once again.

The mutant turtle had a tray with a bowl of soup in his hands, noticing you were awake, he smiled at you “I was just gonna wake you up, do you feel better?”

You nodded “What’s that?” you pointed to the bowl of soup

“Soup”

“Where did ya get that?”

“I made it myself for you” the turtle made an arrogance expression, he was proud of himself

“You know how to cook?” Your face was full of disbelief

“...I’m not gonna take care of you never again” You couldn’t help but chuckled at the answer while he pretend to tleave just to walked towards you immediately “Eat it, I have to go already, it’s getting late and I don’t want your parents to find me”

“oh…”You sounded a little bit too disapointed

“I can stay if you beg me” Leo smiled mockingly

“No, thanks.” your response was curt, once again making you both laugh “Message me when you get home and…if it’s okay…could you take care of me tomorrow again?”

“sure” 

[marrys-dream-world]

Quick Rockeater Translations

Feel free to ask any questions or request secene translations.

I think it’s so cute that Gloob does this little challenges throughout the episode. Today’s was: how many times does Nino’s phone show up?

Nino: do you think t-rexes eat a lot?

The lady literally brought the dinosaurs back to life and Bot Roth wants to buy them to build a park (references, anyone?)

Nino was upset Rena Rouge wasn’t there and LB said it was because they only needed Carapace.

Alya’s new look is camouflage.

Marinette asks if she told Nino she’s never going to be Rena again and Alya doesn’t want to tell him. She wants to tell him the turth because they don’t have secrets and if Nino finds out, he’ll never trust her again. Marinette says it’s necessary and says she hasn’t played with her father in months and has to lie to her family all the time.

Alya comes all “we need to talk” to Nino and says everything between them will change and Nino immediately assumes she doesn’t love him anymore. She tells him she will never be Rena again and he says that’s a pity, but it’s for her safety and she shouldn’t be so scared to tell him. 

Marinette: soon our nightly stroll will begin and they start to talk in code. Alya really wants everyone to know she’s “Sneaky Rena” (that’s how she calls herself now) and wants to post Sneaky Rena selfies on the Ladyblog. Marinette says she can’t and she says she’ll post about Chat then. 

Nino is really upset with Rena x Noir and Alya says it’s just a movie. Movie! Ladybug: “Rena is right, Chat Noir, you and Rena will be much better together”.

He heard her talking about content for the Ladyblog with Marinette and wants to see. It was the Sneaky Rena selfies so she doesn’t show him and he’s suspicious of it. 

The children are arguing about who Chat Noir likes, LB or Rena. The boy says “Well, I’m Chat Noir and all girls like me.” 

Nino tells Adrien Alya likes Chat Noir and he’s like “what’s next? She likes Jagged’s crocodile too?” and after Nino says he’ll find proof and hang up, Plagg says maybe Adrien is catching his bad luck. So he will go talk to her to see if maybe she’s into him to set things straight.

Nino, narrating in black and white: “who would want a turtle? Nobody can resist a cat”

Chat Noir asks her if she feels anything for him and she laughs and says he’s crazy and she has a boyfriend. They hug and he says “sorry”. Alya says Nino is much more irresistible than Chat and that she would never fall in love with someone whose identity is a secret. 

Nino shows Adrien the pictures and he says it’s a misunderstanding for sure, Alya is just a fan and that she would never fall in love with someone she doesn’t know, because. Nino tells Adrien that Alya is Rena and he’s Carapace. 

Adrien: “you and Alya know each other’s identity? I thought secret identity should be hidden all the time, Ladybug would never approve.” Nino: “Ladybug gave us the miraculous at the same time.” Adrien is really shocked and doesn’t believe it. He’s really upset they know each other’s identity and Ladybug let them know. He thought secret identities were sacred. 

Nino told Adrien that Ladybug thinks Chat is annoying, that’s why she rejects him. That’s why he’s all charming to Rena and trying to steal her away. 

Ladybug to Rena; you said that if he heard you guy’s conversation he wouldn’t think you were dating? Can you make an audio illusion?

Chat Noir asks Nino to talk to him, please, and let him explain. Of course Rockeater does not care. 

Ladybug says she has a projector to show what happened that night with her Lucky Charm and Rockeater pauses to hear. 

Nino: “Shadow Moth, you can keep your lame powers.”

Nino says he doesn’t need the anti-akuma charm (because he’ll never doubt Alya again), but takes it.

Nino: sorry to doubt you, man. Chat Noir: “everyone has doubts sometimes, even me.”

Adrien: “I can’t believe she gave them that miraculous. They know each other’s identities and are a couple. Why does that rule even exist?” Plagg; “she’s the guardian, we’re just the cheeses and she decides the menu.”

Alya tells Nino she’s still Rena Rouge and that she can’t hide it from him bc she loves him.

[lily-drake]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE-WAYNE, THE BEST BAT BOY OF THEM ALL!!! YOU CAN’T CHANGE MY MIND!!!!!!

Happy Birthday Tim

Tim never really cared for his birthday, afterall nobody ever remembered it, and he doubted that Bruce would care.  He had never shown much of an interest in him, which was fine since he wasn’t supposed to get close to him.  His entire job as Robin was to make sure Batman didn’t go crazy, he wasn’t supposed to get attached.  So he didn’t, at least that’s what he told himself.  It was around 10:45 PM when Tim went upstairs at Alfred’s request.  Timidly the 14 year old walked into the kitchen only to be met with a small white cake.  Upon closer inspection the cake had red and green letting that spelled out in neat scroll, “Happy Birthday Timothy” with perfectly cut strawberries decorating the sides.  Tim stared at the cake in awe, he’d never been given a birthday cake before, except at galas; but that didn’t count as he wasn’t really aloud to eat any.

“Good to see you up here Master Timothy.  Happy birthday young sir.  I apologize for the others absence, but I’m afraid that they are ‘busy’.”

Tim swiftlet lifted up his arms in a placating manner,

“Oh no, it’s fine.  Don’t worry about it, I wouldn’t want to bother anyone.”

Alfred gave him a small smile and nodded.

“Well, I believe that it is time for a bit of cake.”

Alfred walked around the counter and pulled out a plate, for, and knife before he cut a large piece and plated it.  Tim held back tears as he took his first bite of the cake.  This was the best cake he had ever had, and this was definitely his favorite birthday.

*******

Tim stared at the computer screen in front of him trying to figure out what he was missing.  He was tired, he hadn’t slept in a few days, and he was on his 8th cup of coffee from that hour alone.

“Tim, come with me!”

Dick said, suddenly on his right side.  Out of habit he turned and threw a punch at him.  Dick quickly ducked and laughed.

“Your getting faster baby bird.”

Tim sighed and rolled his eyes turning back to the computer.

“What do you need, Dick?”

He asked typing something onto the screen and scrunching his brow in frustration at the facts in front of him.  Dick rolled his eyes and sighed before he grabbed Tim and pulled him from the computer chair and onto his feet.  Tim groaned and tried to pull away in protest, but Dick overpowered him and he was dragged up the stairs.  Tim looked around to see where he was so he could make a quick escape if necessary.  When he looked forward again he saw he was being dragged to one of the main room doors.  He was thinking and going through all of the things he could have missed or forgotten, but nothing came to mind.  When the door opened the lights were off until they suddenly turned on and loud voices screamed,

“Happy birthday!”

From all around the room.  Tim blinked a few times everything catching up to him as he looked around and saw his family; Bruce, Alfred, Barbara, Stephanie, Cass, and Dick all around him.  The room was covered in decorations and on the table sat a decent sized 3 tier cake, just like the one he had had when turned fourteen, but bigger.  Tim ran through his memory and tried to recall what the date was and froze.  Oh, it was his 16th birthday, he had forgotten all about it.  He was pulled out of his stooped by Steph grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the table were 16 candles lined the rim of the cake and in the center it said, “Happy 16th Birthday Tim!” in the neatest cursive with a robin made of frosting right below it.  There was also neatly plated and perfectly made sushi on another table near them.  Tim smiled as everyone began to sing happy birthday to him and when he was done he blew out the candles happy and content with his day.  There was so much warmth that spread through his chest as he talked and ate cake with his family.  So much joy that surrounded the manor, he even saw Bruce smile.  Tim didn’t need to wish for anything, he was happy, and that’s all he could ever wish for.

*******

Tim looked at his watch and frowned.  He was now officially 19, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered much now.  He was alone in Paris training with Lady Shiva, and his family didn’t care.  They were the ones who kicked him out afterall, he wasn’t wanted.  He sat under a shady tree bench in the park and watched as people talked and interacted with eachother.  It was peaceful, but that didn’t fill the hollowness he felt in his chest.  As he stood and began to walk away he felt someone crash into him and fell foreword, someone landing on his back.  Quickly the person got up and began to call out apologies obviously embarrassed.  Tim got up and turned around and came face to face with a girl about his age with dark black hair that tinted blue in the light and show startlingly bright bluebell eyes.  The girl was still talking and he wasn’t sure if she had even breathed yet.

“Hey, it’s ok.  Don’t worry about it.”

The girl immediately bit her lip and bowed her head as she tried to hide her face.  Tim smiled at the girl who was slightly shorter than him.

“I’m Tim.”

He said casually as he held out his hand.  The girl gave an awkward smile before excepting his hand and giving it a firm shake.

“Marinette.  Sorry again.”

“It’s nice to meet you Marinette.  Do you know where any good coffee shops are, I haven’t slept in a while and I really need a pick me up to finish my things.”

Marinette lit up and nodded.

“I totally understand.  I design and commissions keep me up all night half the time.  I live in a bakery and have concocted the best wake up coffee.  My friends say it’s very dangerous and I’m going to kill myself with it one day, but all well.  Why sleep when you can get things done?!”

Tim smiled at the girl as she began to walk and talk.  She was cute and was very dramatic in the way she spoke and expressed herself.  They walked across the street to a small bakery, the one Marinette must live in, and walked to the front where a short Asian woman stood near the register.  When the woman saw Marinette her smile grew as she welcomed them.

“I’m gonna make one of my specials for him!”

Marinette called out as she went to the back and started making some kind of coffee concoction.  The woman rolled her eyes, but she still held an amused smile.

“Hello, I’m Sabine.  Please choose a sweet, you’ll need it if you’re going to drink her “Miracle Cure”, as the college students like to call it.”

“Thank miss.  Please, call me Tim.”

He said giving her a small smile back as he browsed the selection.  In the display he noticed lots of animal themed treats and smiled.  There were many ladybug and cat themed ones as well as an orange fox, a turtle, a bee, a blue snake, a monkey, and a red dragon.  It was an interesting choice of animals and he wondered if they were important in some way here.  He found a small tarte aux fruits with an assortment of fruits that formed the red dragon.  When he looked up he saw the woman waiting for him still wearing her friendly smile.

“Could I please have the Tarte aux fruits du dragon please?”

“Of course dear.”

Carefully she opened the door to the refrigerated case and grabbed one of the fruit tarts and carefully put it in a small box.  Tim went to the register right as Marinette had finished and placed the large drink in front of him.  He pulled out his wallet but was stopped by Marinette’s hand.

“Nope, on the house.  An apology for earlier.”

She said with a bright smile.  Tim was shocked and felt a warmth he hadn’t felt in years begin to bloom once again.  He gently took the coffee from her hands and carefully picked up the small box with a plastic fork atop it.

“Thank you, Marinette.  That’s very kind of you.”

Her smile brightened and before Tim could stop or even think of what he was saying the words had already left his mouth,

“If you’re free, do you want to walk around Paris with me?”

Marinette blinked for a moment shocked, but then smiled again and nodded.

“Sure, that sounds nice!”

She took off the apron she had been wearing while making the coffee and hung it up on a wrack before walking out from behind the counter snd grabbing his arm and almost dragging him out the door.  When she realized what she was doing she quickly dropped it slightly blushing and scratched the back of her neck in embarrassment.

“S-sorry.  I should have asked first.”

Tim snickered a little, she was adorable.

“No it’s fine, so where to first?”

Tim asked as he gently placed the tart in his satchel and sipped the coffee.  When he did he felt his mind begin to clear and he felt more awake than he had in a long time.  He understood why it was called Miracle Cure now, this stuff was amazing!

“Well, where were you thinking of?”

“I was thinking of going to the Arc de Triomphe then head towards the Effiel Tower.”

Marinette beamed and nodded and began to walk towards the Arc de Triomphe.  She knew the path by heart as she often went there for inspiration.  The two talked the whole way there and bonded over their love of coffee and insomniac tendencies.  As they arrived at their first destination the sat on the steps and watched people pass them.  Tim pulled out the small tart and began to slowly eat it and smiled.  It tasted like Alfred’s cooking, though he didn’t want to admit that this might just be a bit better.  He glanced over at Marinette and noticed that she now had a sketchbook out and was drawing something.  He didn’t want to disturb her as he didn’t like being interrupted when he was really into something and let her draw as he watched the people.  Suddenly there was a loud crash.  He looked up and was shocked to see a giant child walking around smashing and destroying buildings.  He looked over and saw that Marinette had disappeared and he began to panic.

He stood up and began to move so he could get a better place to watch and analyze what was happening so that he could see if he needed to interfere.  He watched silently from a roof and saw a bunch of people begin to surround the child all with the same theme.  His mind flashed to the animals in the bakery and connected the dots as he glanced at all of the different people in animal costumes.  He watched as the Ladybug ordered everyone on the plan and on what to do which lead him to believe that she was the leader of this group.  It only took a few minutes and he watched the cat hero completely destroy a toy car from the giant child’s hand and a purple feather and butterfly flew out.  The ladybug hero quickly caught them and released them into the air.  She threw the object she had summoned into the air and he watched in amazement as thousands, maybe millions, of small ladybugs flew around the damage done and repaired all of it, including the bodies that had not been moving moments ago.

Tim ran back to the Arc de Triomphe and waited there to see if Marinette would come back.  It took a few minutes and then he saw her figure running towards him with panic and worry.

“Tim, I’m so sorry!  Are you ok?  I shouldn’t have left like that, I’m so sorry.”

Tim gave her an awkward smile and nodded.

“It’s fine, you came back afterall.”

She smiled at him and he lifted his arm out for her to take,

“Shall we continue our walk Mademoiselle?”

Tim asked with a slight bow.  Marinette giggled and gave a small curtsy before she placed her hand atop of his.

“Why of course Monsieur.”

They both laughed as they walked.  They enjoyed the silence for a bit before Tim asked what had happened.

Marinette gave him a sad sigh and explained the situation that had been happening in Paris for about 4 years now.  Tim was shocked that this hadn’t made it to the Justuce League, especially if it had been happening for four entire years.  Tim asked a few more questions that Marinette happily answered and they felt happy and content in the warm companionable silence.  Tim thought of all of his past birthdays, and he knew that this one was on the top 5 best list of his favorite birthdays.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Picture Perfect

AYO! its me back with more content for the second time this week while i ignore my other wips again. this is a lil gift for @queen-o-leen who i promised wholesome content for! I hope you like it!

Timinette/Timari Oneshot 1.9K words (not related to my other timari oneshots)

Summary:

“Tim spends a nice day in a park in Paris and takes a picture of a pretty girl.

He somehow gets an almost date out of it.”

no warnings this time. completely family-friendly. I know i surprise myself with this one too.

without further ado

He would be the last to admit that Jason was right and that time away was what he needed at this point in life but it can’t be ignored that, for the first time in possibly three years, Tim was having a wonderful day. He was having a wonderful week actually. After one too many unsuccessful cold cases and the simmering anxiety of off-world missions, his family, primarily Jason, for some reason, demanded that he take some time off and away from his unusual brand of normal. How that meant being sent across the Atlantic Ocean to Paris of all places, he wasn’t entirely sure. Alfred probably had a hand in that decision given that, as part of his forced vacation, Tim was not allowed to actually plan any of it. Him. Timothy Jackson Drake. The guy who stalked and manoeuvred his way into Batman’s house and team. The guy who tracked and found said man when the universe thought he was dead but was actually drifting through time. Yeah, Tim was not pleased about being led blind on his vacation. 

At least Paris was a nice city. And he brought his camera. He figured he could use this time to get back into old hobbies and what better hobby to start up again in the city of love than photography? He’s taken pictures of every tourist attraction worth visiting by his second day and began to take candid shots of people and animals. Would Damian like the animal pictures? Maybe, if they came from someone who wasn’t Tim. Is he going to try and give them to him anyways? Absolutely not. He liked his liver where it is, thank you very much. They would serve as great bribing material however. But that’s a thought for another day. 

Right now he was working on capturing what could possibly be described as the stereotypical outing with friends. He’s sitting along some bushes near the entrance of a park and staring at a group of teens his own age hanging around. He spots a brunette with thick curls of hair animatedly speaking with a guy in a vibrant cap. She’s waving a camera herself, and he appreciates her taste in equipment. Her eyes spark with fox-like mischief while the cap guy has a peaceful aura about him; like an old turtle. Next he sees a blonde, her hair is in a ridiculously high ponytail and she’s in a deep conversation with a red head off to the side of the whole group; her words are rushing out of her and she’s a buzzing bee with excitement. Another blond is in the area, but he sits in a broad patch of sun possibly napping with an open book on his chest. Very cat-like Tim supposes. He barely pays them more than a second of thought however. No. 

His focus is on the quaint beauty directly in his line of sight. She’s poised up against the giant tree trunk with a sketchbook in her lap and pencils surrounding her. Her hair hangs by her shoulders in twintails and it’s a colour so dark it seems to absorb the shade of the tree. She’s scribbling furiously on the page before her and her tongue is slightly peaking out to the side. Her forehead is creased with stress lines and her shoulders hunch slightly over her frame. She’s the vision of deep concentration and dedication and Tim would be a fool not to capture her. He’s gotten wide shots of her companions but now he wants to focus on her. 

Looking through the lens of his camera he zooms in on her profile. When his camera focuses, he spots a constellation of freckles across her cheeks, barely there, almost blending in with her complexion but Tim is nothing if not hypervigilant. He goes to take another photo when a bug flies into view. It’s a ladybug. It lands precariously on the tip of her nose and it’s just the thing that breaks her out of her work-induced trance. Tim is watching her now, long forgetting to click the shutter. Her eyes cross as she stares intently at the black-spotted creature and its presence seems to amuse her. She’s giggling to herself, as if sharing an inside joke with the bug and reaches a slim finger to swipe the insect gently from her nose. She inspects it and smiles a smile so soft that not even a feather could compare. He feels like an intruder. More so than one who takes pictures of cute strangers in public. 

Coming back to his senses, he takes another picture, the final picture, and lowers the camera from his face. He looks back at his temporary muse and finds that she is already looking at him. Her head tilts in confusion. Apprehension. Possibly a bit of fear. Which is valid given that Tim was pointing a camera at her from across the public park. What should he do though to quell her fears? 

He felt his face lift into a grin; he didn’t need to look at himself to know it was awkward and forced. A shrug of his shoulders and a flimsy wave of the camera in his hand was the only thing he did. Before he could begin to stumble over himself in apology, however, she surprised him. With a cautious hunch, her shoulders brought up to her ears, and an embarrassed smile to match his own, she slowly flips her sketchbook around and he comes face to face with, well, his face. It was a portrait of him. She had drawn a portrait of him. And she was showing him. Feeling embolden, he flips his camera to show her the screen but she’s too far away. He gets up on unsteady legs, cramped from his uncomfortable position, and begins a slow stride towards her. She meets him in the middle.

“Hi.” He barely speaks those words. They’re more like an exhale or a sigh of relief that he hadn’t scared her off. 

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind the drawing.” Her voice is high and light. Like a spring breeze. She’s daintily waving at him and he sees that her fingers are rough, and calloused. Unexpected but he finds it rather charming. Before he could get another word in, she’s off like an engine. “I just saw you there, and you had your camera so I figured you were taking pictures of us and thought that if you were then you wouldn’t mind me sketching you in kind but I should have asked and I’m sorry for breaching your privacy—” 

“Wait, slow down.” He fears that if he hadn’t interrupted her when he did she would run out of oxygen. Did she even breathe during her spiel? A voice in his head, that sounds like Cass, utters a soft ‘pot, kettle’ and okay, he sees a lot of himself in her mile-a-minute style of speaking. 

“No need to apologize. I’m flattered, truly. You were right, I was taking pictures of you. And your friends!” he hastily adds that last part. He turns his camera so the display screen faces her and he feels himself hold his breath in anticipation. 

A blush rises to her cheeks, red like the ladybug that interrupted her. He quite likes that colour on her. His eyes drift to the sketch and he’s further impressed by her skill. She has an eye for detail. He notices a bird in the background. It’s a robin. That piques his interest and lights a flicker of fear within him. 

“May I ask,” he begins slowly, unsure of what that little addition could mean. Did she know? How could she? Was his identity compromised?

“Why did you draw a robin in the background? It’s lovely but I’m curious,” he finishes. He’s going to play dumb until he has more information. She seems taken off guard by the question and raises her shoulders to her ears again in an embarrassed hunch.

“Well,” she starts, but she seems unsure and the words die on her tongue. She tries again.

“I just saw it fly by and then it landed behind you. So I thought ‘why not?’ and drew it. It seemed fitting.” She wasn’t looking him in the eye and now he felt kind of felt like a jerk for baselessly accusing some random girl. Of course it was just a coincidence. This bat-paranoia was going to be the end of him one day. It’s by sheer miracles and luck why it hasn’t already. 

“Oh, no worries. It just surprised me because it’s my favourite bird.” Right. Lie to the pretty French girl. But what else could he do? Tell her the truth?

“Then it’s a cool coincidence, huh?” She seems encouraged by that tidbit of information.

“Yeah, pure luck on your part.”

“What?” She seems more startled at that than Tim thinks she should be but before he can think deeper into it she speaks again and he would be a fool to not give her his undivided attention.

“Why did you take a picture of me with the ladybug? If you don’t mind me asking.” That stumps him because, to be honest, he does not know why himself. It just felt right. So he tells her as such.

“Well that would be another coincidence because ladybugs are my favourite insects.” She gives him a full smile alongside that statement and the brilliance of it almost blinds him. He wants to capture that smile for eternity. 

The thought strikes him. He doesn’t want this moment to end. He knows by the Friday of next week he’ll be flying back to Gotham where it’s business as usual and Red Robin won’t have time for commitments and puppy love. But right now? Right now Tim Drake is on vacation with a week and half left and all the time in the world to entertain the idea of a spring romance. Making the decision, he goes for it and takes the chance.

“I was getting a bit hungry. Do you know anywhere that’s good to eat at?” It’s an offer, open to interpretation. If she just lists some place, he knows where her interests lay. If she offers to escort him somewhere, then she’s taken the bait for exactly what it is, an invitation for more; whatever more is. He hopes she takes the bait. 

“Yes I do actually! My parents own a bakery just outside the park.” Her enthusiasm is uplifting and the offer of a place so personal is a good sign in Tim’s book. “Let me show the way, and I could join you if you would like.”

“Perfect. That’s wonderful. It will be my treat since you’re going out of your way on my account.”

“Nonsense. Like I said, it’s my parents’ bakery. They’ll be more than happy to give some complimentary snacks.” She loops her arm around his and begins to drag him to the park gate. She’s strong and her grip is firm and Tim feels lightheaded at the ease with which she pulls him. He can’t help but be swept up in the tides that is this girl. 

“I’m Tim, by the way. Tim Drake.” He offers his name, something he should have done at the beginning.

She looks back at him over her shoulder and he’s caught up in the oceans of her eyes. They’re alight with joy. 

“Nice to meet you, Tim. I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

“Nice to meet you too.”

They’re almost by the bakery now, he can smell the fresh baked goods from here, and he can’t wait to sit down and get to know this girl better. Maybe get her number by the end of their lunch.

Yeah. Tim was having a wonderful day.

[milkytheholy1]

What’s up, Doc?

Request: Hey! I have an idea for a gender neutral rottmnt one shot, and this one gives you a lot of freedom, here's the prompt: *

*laughs* "Its not funny! I'm supposed to be mad at you!" *

Because this always happens to me lol Yn has a crush on Mikey or Leo, if you please, also I dont know if its dumb but you dont have to do it :) but if you do, please take your time I really love your stories ❤

A/N: Howdy, sorry it took me so long to get to your request, I've been busy with Apocalyptic love. Anywho, I've been watching a lot of Looney Tunes recently and couldn't help but mention it...or base a fic around it....but I just wanna point out how much Rise Leo reminds me of Bugs Bunny. I also may have made a small adjustment to the prompt just so it fit the story a little better. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

TMNT masterlist

Ultimate masterlist

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

It was driving you crazy. He was driving you crazy. All week Leo had been quoting Bugs Bunny to you, his favourite lines being: "what's up, Doc?" and "ain't I a stinker."

It drove you mad, not because he was quoting said rabbit but because he was doing it at times which often led to a fight, whether that be with his brothers or the criminals of New York. It had all started after you watched The Looney Tune show with Mikey in the lair, you had claimed that you had grown up with the brand and thought the brothers would like it. You said that Donnie would like the smart humour, Raph would like the cartoon violence, Mikey would like the slapstick humour and Leo...

Well, you weren't entirely certain what specific thing he would enjoy, possibly the characters? It didn't really matter anyway, Leo was sat in his room sulking because you begged him to watch it and when he said 'no' Mikey took his place. Of course, you would love Leo unconditionally and no one had your heart quite like he did, but it was fun to hang out with his brothers once in a while.

You cheered away at the screen with Mikey laughing beside you, content in the child-like laughter that echoed around the lair. You had moved on from The Looney Tune Show, considering it had a limited run, and opted to show Mikey some of your favourite skits from the brand. You were both currently watching the duck hunting sketch, Elmar and Daffy are in an all-out war while Bugs watches from the side with a smirk. Leo had grumbled at the sound of your laughter from his room, folded in on himself as he mumbled away "I should be making (Y/N) laugh like that, not some dumb rabbit."

He grew annoyed that a cartoon could make you happier than he could, instead of voicing his concern, he decided to do his research. Leo spent a full hour searching up things about the bunny boy, in a sense, wanting to know what made him tick and why you liked the character so much. Thus, this led to the constant quoting of the character whenever you were with each other. After a few days, Leo saw that his plan wasn't working, the quotes just weren't enough. He grew so far as to start chomping down on a carrot whenever he could, embodying the spirit of Bugs.

You applauded him you really do, but you wanted your boyfriend back, not a turtle mimicking a rabbit. You were stood in the kitchen just browsing through the Hamato fridge for anything to cook, the rumbling of your stomach making it very apparent how hungry you were. With your head in the fridge, you couldn't necessarily see what was happening behind you, but you didn't need to. You could feel his presence from a mile away, the slight clang of his hand banging onto the fridge as he leant against it. Pulling away from the racks of refrigerated delights, you met his eyes.

"What's up, Doc?" he mused, his teeth gazing the carrot. It amused you more when Raph revealed to you how much Leo despised eating carrots, used to have toddler tantrums all the time when Splinter said he needed to eat them; held a grudge against them because he couldn't see in the dark. You held back a smirk, taking in his cocky form, Leo's palm was laying flat against the fridge, feet crossed over one another and he continued to timidly bite the carrot.

You were meant to be mad at him, wanting to tell him to quit this act and just be himself again, but you couldn't. The way he presented himself made you want to cry with laughter, it warmed your heart in a way to see him try so hard to please you. "As much as I'm enjoying this, I would like my boyfriend back, please," you begged with a grin.

“I bet you say that to all the wabbits.” He tried his hardest to keep the accent, but even Leo couldn't control the grin breaking out across his face. You pulled your face into a frown, brows furrowed as he continued to nibble the carrot. His face contorted when he bit too much, trying his best not to gag at the taste. You couldn't keep the laughter from tumbling out of you, clutching the depths of your stomach as you rolled laughing, "Stop being funny! I'm supposed to be mad at you!" you cried.

Seeing you in tears finally made Leo break, his laugher soon indistinguishable from your own. Throwing the carrot in the trash, he stuck his head under the tap and guzzled as much water as he could, turning back to face you, he shook his tongue like a dog "You don't know how hard it was to eat that monstrosity." he joked. You stepped closer to the red-eared slider, wrapping your arms around his neck, "My poor wittle turtle," you cooed.

Leo's face bloomed a bright shade of pink, wrapping his arms around your waist, he brought his cheek against your head. "So you don't want to date Bugs Bunny?" he asked, his tone full of insecurities. You pulled back from him with force, staring at him in the eyes with a bemused look, "What? No, ew, of course not! He's just a character I like, dummy." Leo's mouth formed an 'O' as realisation kicked in, he began to nervously chuckle.

"Besides, you're waaaay funnier, Doc." you teased, trailing a finger up his plastron. You smacked your lips against his, Leo huffed at the impact but happily obliged. Pulling away, he smirked at you, eyes half-lidded, "Gee, ain't I a stinker?" he mused back, tugging on your hand as he led you to his room.

[goggles-mcgee]

Hello. I love the prompt " the commission " can we have the full story please ? How will the avengers react of the news about Hawkmoth?

The full story will come later I promise! I unleashed so many things onto myself but I have no regrets XD Though I shall share some headcanons with you guys about the AU in the mean time!

* Pepper has been a fan of MDC since she saw the designs for Penny and Jagged’s wedding attire. Her and Penny are friends and when she asked who made Penny’s dress and Jagged’s suit, Penny was all too happy to tell her and brag about Marinette and show her everything else Mari had designed for her and Jagged and others. 

* When Tony officially proposed, Pepper already knew who she wanted to make her dress. She could tell Tony was hesitant to ask MDC since she wasn’t that well known yet, but they both knew he couldn’t say no to her, so it was no surprise when she caught him looking at her website and commission prices. Later she pretended not to notice him calling Penny and asking for MDC’s email. Pepper liked to let him believe he could keep anything from her, it was the thought that counted. 

* Peter, Harley, MJ, and Ned are all excited for the wedding. Peter gets to be the flower boy which he is super happy about and Harley is the ring bearer. 

* MJ is also a fan of MDC

* The whole “Minion” squad are Jagged Stone fans. Peter’s favorite album may or may not be Rock Giant.  👀

*The Minion Squad are all off school for summer already, Marinette just started summer since it’s the beginning days of July. While the Minion Squad plans to help plan the wedding, invent, prank the Avengers, and just have some good summer fun, Marinette plans to work on her MDC commissions since she knew she would be getting a lot. Penny had given her a heads up. Besides, there wasn’t much friends she could hang out with since Luka had told her that him, his sister, and his mom planned to sail around for the summer. Anarka wantedd to get the kids out of Paris for a while. Chloe and Sabrina would be going on vacation with Chloe’s mom to Milan for two weeks and then to New York for a month so Chloe could see her mother’s business and get a feel of it and see if it is something she would want to take over. Kagami and her mother would also be leaving Paris to visit family in Japan. The only ones she would be able to hang out with would be Alix, Nathaniel, and Marc. 

* Then she gets the email from Tony. Freaking. Stark! She nearly faints! Okay. She faints. He actually wants Marinette to design and make his and Pepper Potts wedding attire!!! His email said that he would house her and her team for however long she needed for the consulting period and the beginning work of the outfits. Okay actually it said till the outfits were done but she would discuss that with him and Pepper when she got there because wedding dresses typically took 6-9 months to make. She figured she had time as he did specify they were planning a December wedding of next year, something about it being a Christmas present. 

* After she talks it over with her parents, she responds to Tony that she would love to design and make his and Pepper’s wedding attire but before the discuss anything further she would like for them to video chat. Tony agrees later that day, which is more than enough time for Marinette to set up at Jagged and Penny’s house, they officially bought a house in Paris yes, along with her mother and father so they could talk everything over with Mr. Stark. When the camera connects, Tony swears he must be rebooting because he did not think that MDC was a 16 year old girl, but he adapts quickly and understands now why she wanted to discuss the arrangement more.

* Tom and Sabine are even more delighted and on board on sending Marinette to New York when Tony offers to let her stay in Stark Tower/Avengers Tower with the heroes and his Minions. Marinette of course asks if she can bring some friends, they’re not officially her team but she would feel better having them there with her. Of course Tony agrees because he could practically hear Pepper scold him if he said no and they continue to set everything up while Marinette calls up Alix, Marc and Nathaniel and ask if they want to go with her to New York to go to the Avengers Tower. It takes too long in her opinion to convince them that no. she’s not joking, and yes she is serious. 

* Once they get their parents permission they plan to leave on Saturday which would be in two days. It’s a little hectic, especially because Marinette didn’t know if she should take the Miracle Box or not but in the end she decides to leave it with her mom and dad, aka the new Turtle and Fox heroes of Paris. They had found out she was Ladybug a little after she had become the Guardian because she had broken down. Everything had become too much for her and Tikki couldn’t stand to see her chosen like that so she told Tom and Sabine that their daughter was Ladybug. 

* Marinette was going to take the Horse, Mouse, and of course, Ladybug Miraculous, to New York though. Her mom promised that she would text her or call her as soon as she could if they spotted or heard an akuma, and that they would fight it off until she got there. 

* When Marinette and her friends get to New York and meet Tony, he can tell they’ve fought in a fight children shouldn’t have to, but he doesn’t know how to ask about it so he pushes it back till he can think of a way to approach the subject. He immediately takes a liking to Marinette, he can tell she’s smart for her age, and he just likes her energy. 

* Then Tony introduces them to his Minions and Peter, Ned, and Harley all have a collective freakout because they are meeting THE MDC. MJ is, of course, happy too but she can at least keep her cool when meeting the designer who made Jagged Stone’s iconic Eiffel Tower sunglasses, the one who designed his Rock Giant album art, and the one who made his Roaring Dragon Jacket! Peter asks Marinette if she can sign his copy of the album and Tony thinks it’s all down hill from there. He can see the kid’s blush from across the room. 

* The consultation happens and Pepper is just as surprised as Tony was when she learns MDC is only 16 but she hides it fairly well. Both are pleasantly surprised by Marinette’s professionalism and are pleased with the overall talk about what they want out of the design. Tony even manages to squeeze in another suit for Peter because he knows the kid and he is not letting him wear a rented tux to his wedding. 

* Tony and Pepper have dinner with the kids and the Minions and it’s decided that they can stay for the summer, and no Pepper don’t look at Tony like that it’s not because he’s trying to help Peter get a date for the wedding.

* Then Marinette meets the Avengers. Thor loves her, but like who doesn’t Thor love? And who doesn’t love Thor? She is super interested in learning about Asgard, especially its fashion and she even talks Thor into giving her some fabric samples to work with. He just loves her enthusiasm and he appreciates her letting him talk about his home and his people. Marc and Nathaniel get a great picture of the two of them sitting on Thor’s flexed arms. Marc also loves to hear about Thor’s home and people and Nathaniel loves to draw him and those he talks about. 

Natasha accidentally sneaks up on Marinette, she never means to do it, it is just how she is, so when this little girl turns around in a flash with a pencil held in her fist as a weapon her eyes narrowed looking for the danger, she is suprised and has to stop her own reflexes from sweeping the girls legs from under her. She respects Marinette’s reflexes and the two spar and Marinette tells her she used to do ballet when Natasha asks her why her turns and spins almost seem like she’s doing a dance and Natasha’s eyes light up. The two bond over ballet 

Bucky, Clint, and Steve meet her one morning when they go to the kitchen and find so many goodies to eat and see this tiny little girl singing to herself as she pulls muffins out of the oven. She turns to them and smiles and says good morning before introducing herself so they do as well. When Steve introduces himself her eyes narrow and she hisses out, “YOU.” He’s so confused until she starts tearing into him about him hero suit. Bucky and Clint of course love this moment and will cherish it forever. 

She meets Bruce and he’s heard of this little terror from Steve and he’s thinking she’s going to tear into Hulk about wearing only shorts but then she’s shaking his hand and saying it’s an honor to meet you Dr. Banner, apparently she’s read some of his papers. And Bruce can’t help but smile for the rest of the day. 

When Wanda meets her she just hugs the little girl for a while because she hadn’t meant to see how her ex friends had treated her back in Paris but she did and this child needed a hug. Marinette had just been asking what material her jacket was made out of so they had touched briefly, then she was being hugged, but she didn’t mind, she figured maybe Wanda was having an off day and needed a hug.

Vision had just looked at Marinette and said, “Miraculous.” nobody knew what he meant but Marinette did and she just put a finger to her lips with her eyes wide with panic. Thankfully he got what she was trying to say and gave her a nod and small smile. 

Tony said there was more people for her to meet but she would have the whole summer to do that so she was content. 

* Then the first akuma alert went off when they were there in New York. Marinette thought everyone was sleeping when she created the portal and leapt through...she didn’t know how wrong she was. 

[d0llpie]

Lavender

Yachi x reader, Tanaka x reader

Prompt: “tell me you love me” 

a/n: thank you for everyone for giving me ideas in my asks, i hope you enjoy ! ! i don’t know how to title things

wc: 1.7k

part 1

After you left, Yachi offered you to stay at her place until you figured out what you were going to do. She went back the next day and talked with Tanaka, grabbing your clothes and toiletries until she could get the rest. Once you settled into Yachis spare room you broke down into tears. Sobs racked your body as you curled up into the blankets, the soft linen was cold against your body, the pillows firm and untouched. You inhaled deeply into the pillow case, smelling fresh fabric softener and lavender, reminding you of the pink hoodie you wore-Yachis hoodie. You brought the collar up to your nose and breathed in, smelling her perfume, lavender, fabric softener and her. Eventually your cries died down and you fell asleep.

Yachi returned with some food, calling out to you “y/n?” she reached the spare room door and knocked lightly, awaiting a response that didn’t come. She opened the door and softly approached the bed, careful not to wake you. She saw your tear-stained cheeks and slid under the covers behind you, wrapping an arm around your middle, brushing your hair out of your face.

You woke up at around 9, stirring awake to see the sun had long set, you tried to move but felt a pressure on you, looking down to see Yachi draped half over your body, curled against your side. You lightly shook her shoulder “Yachi, hey, what time is it?” she sat up slowly “uh 9 i think, i got dinner earlier...are you feeling okay?” she started to get up and stood in front of the bed “uh, i’m kinda sore” you placed a hand over your stomach, a sharp lang in your chest when you recalled losing the life inside of you, a life you created with someone who never loved you the same way you loved them. Your chest grew tight and you felt your eyes well up with tears, stinging at how they were already puffy. “Oh, of course, wait right here” the blonde gave you a sympathetic, pitiful smile before scrambling out of the room. She returned a few minutes later with some medicine and two bowls of pasta, “Here take these, there’s some water on the side table, i bought pasta since i know this is your favourite..” you smiled tearily before wrapped your arms around her neck, catching her off guard as she half fell onto the bed. You inhaled deeply as you nuzzled into the crook of her neck, calming yourself with the familiar lavender scent as she rubbed soothing circles on your back. “C’mon, you need to eat” she ran her fingers through your hair and handed you a bowl, you smiled at her again “thank you yachi- so much”. she placed a hand over yours resting on your knee, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles softly. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” you nodded, not wanting to be alone wrapped up in cold sheets.

After dinner Yachi ran you a bubble bath and sat behind you, brushing your hair. You were crying again but she was sympathetic, understanding how intense the last few days must have been for you. She hummed as she ran the brush through your hair softly. Once she had gotten all the knots out she began to part it, preparing to braid it. You sighed out as a few stray tears rolled down your cheeks again, relaxing into the water and leaning into Yachis hands. “Your hair is so pretty y/n, remember when i used to braid it during lunchtime?” she laughed softly at the memory and you closed your eyes “yeah, you’re really amazing at braiding Hitoka” you hummed, relaxing further as she continued braiding your hair.

Once you both settled into bed you almost instantly fell asleep, getting lost in the feeling of the soft mattress below you, the smell of lavender invading your senses and feeling refreshed. You sighed softly, closing your eyes, subconsciously reaching out across the bed, your arm finding purchase across Yachi’s waist. “Goodnight y/n...” she whispered, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

Over the next few months Yachi helped you heal, both physically and mentally. You were back at work and felt comfortable and safe. You never fought with her, if you had arguments they were solved within one conversation, never leaving things to be dwelled upon in the future. You appreciated her patience so much, even more how she made you feel. It took you a while to come to terms with your feelings, not realizing the feelings you harbored were more than platonic. When you did, nothing changed, you were still just as comfortable and content around her as you’d always been. 

You woke up to the smell of coffee and went downstairs to find Yachi in one of your oversized tee-shirts by the stove. You looked down at your own attire, a pair of cotton shorts and a large hoodie of hers. You walked over, hugging her from behind, burying your face in the back of her neck and breathing in. She smelled like-was, your home. Yachi was an open book, never wanting to or being able to hide how she really felt. You knew she felt the same, you could tell by the way she braided your hair each night, the way she knew exactly what you needed to hear, the way she always looked at you a little too intensely for a friend, the way she fit perfectly against you at night, she loved you and you loved her. “Good morning Yachi” you felt her giggle softly, smiling “good morning, i think we’re out of eggs.” your mornings had become so domestic it’d look like you were dating to anyone who witnessed the way you acted around each other. However, you enjoyed the tranquility of being alone with her, your own little world. “I can go get some now, want to come for a drive?” she nodded, humming before pouring you a cup of coffee, “let me go get some pants on” she began walking to her bedroom, “okay, i love you.” it slipped out and you both froze, there was no awkward tension as your statement sat in the air, instead, it felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, both of you. “I love you too...” she turned back and ran into your arms, you smiled into her hair, moving her back to cup her cheeks. You looked into her eyes, they were filled with nothing but adoration. You leant in slowly, pressing your lips together softly, her lips were soft as she melted against you. Breaking apart you smiled at each other, “lets go get those eggs hmm?” you rested your hands on her waist and she nodded. 

Walking through the aisles you felt like someone was watching you, you turned around to see Tanaka staring at you. Your eyes widened and you cleared your throat “Um, hey Tanaka...” he breathed out heavily coming towards you and wrapping you tightly in a hug. You patted his shoulder and chuckled slightly “Um” he squeezed you tighter and you patted his shoulder again, trying to get him to release his hold on you. “Oh, shit, sorry..” he put you down gently and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly “You look beautiful, i mean, you always were but you look amazing and, um, i miss-” “Hey baby, you got everything?” Yachi came up behind you and intertwined her fingers with yours, “baby?” Tanaka’s face dropped and he could feel his heart breaking all over again. He looked a mess, he felt like one too, letting you leave was one of the biggest mistakes he had ever made. “Oh right, Yachi is my girlfriend” you squeezed her hand and smiled down at her as Tanaka watched with tears in his eyes “you don’t love me anymore?...” you stared at him and felt pity for him. You had long lost feelings for him, occasionally you would still cry, mostly over losing your baby, but you’d ran out of tears for Tanaka. “I’m sorry Tanaka, i love Yachi now, you need to respect that.” he wasn’t used to seeing you look at him that way, with no emotion behind your eyes. He watched as you, instead, looked at Yachi with love in your eyes, the same way you used to look at him. A few tears rolled down his cheeks as the weight of losing you kicked in again, he realized the finality of your love for him. “Tell me you love me, please...” he was quiet but you both heard him, you wrapped an arm around Yachi, “We’re going to go now, i wish you the best Tanaka.” you moved past him as he watched your figure in the distance. “I had the best...” he whispered lowly, wiping his tears. 

Once you returned home, you changed the sheets in the spare room, moving the last of your items into Yachi and your’s now shared bedroom. “Are you alright?” Yachi asked, rubbing your back softly, you turned to smile at her “I am, more than alright, i love you” she hugged you, resting her head against your chest to listen to your heartbeat. You hummed contently, feeling surrounded by warmth, the scent of lavender and Yachi’s gentle hold. 

When Tanaka arrived back home, he texted Noya and Kiyoko about the encounter he had with you. They offered their support, knowing how guilty he felt since it was his fault after all. Maybe in another life he will have you to himself, will cherish you the way you deserve to be cherished, he won’t let you go and he’ll appreciate you the way you appreciated and loved him. For now, in this life, you finally had that, only it wasn’t with him. He cried softly in the loungeroom, looking over at the framed picture of you both during your first anniversary. You hair was blown across you slightly due to the wind and you had the biggest smile on your face, looking up at Tanaka. He walked over and held the photo in his hand, breathing in shakily before placing it face down on the table. Moving on was harder than he thought it would be. 

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

tags

@stingykei @aoi-turtle @em0racc00n

[glowinggator]

Da Vinky?? - Leonardo

Pairing: Leonardo 

Content Warnings: Swearing? Mention of a knife for cutting apples? Honestly, it’s just straight up fluff. Wrote this in the middle of my Spanish class because I kept thinking about it <3 

Word Count: 941

The small knife glides through the apple effortlessly as you slice it into small, wedge-shaped pieces. You place each sliver on a plate to your right, wiping the juice off on a spare paper towel. No sense in getting apple juice on your blankets, especially not this early in the week. You grab an extra piece from the plate to snack on as you cut up the rest of the apple. It’s perfectly sweet, just as you like it. You smile at the tranquility of the moment as you whittle away at the apple. Silence, save for the methodical ripping of apple cells. 

What are the ethics of owning a turtle when your best friends are giant, anthropomorphic versions of them? Would it be the same as owning a monkey with human friends? Or is the genetic link too far apart for relation? Is the latter even ethical? Whatever. You suppose it doesn’t matter all too much, considering the former is only a temporary foster. You make a mental note to return to the monkey debate later, though. You glance at the large tank that rests on your dresser, peering in at its inhabitant. On a rock a small turtle lies, basking in the heat of the lamp. You drop a cut piece of apple into the tiny turtle’s tank and watch as he slowly crawls the foreign object. Ironic, isn’t it? Out of all the turtles the universe could have given you to foster, it had to have been a red eared slider. You chuckle to yourself. Maybe Leo would get a kick out of his name. No, he absolutely will. He’s sent you that meme far too many times. 

A dull tap on your window pulls you out of your thoughts and you smile to yourself. The universe really does have a sense of humor, no? You stand up from your spot on the bed, turning around to flash a smile to the turtle outside the window. You find yourself entranced as you walk towards him, breathing a gentle sigh at the way his perfect, cobalt eyes shine in the moonlight. Of course, you push the thought away as quickly as it comes, scolding yourself internally. This isn’t the time to deal with your feelings: that’s an issue for a later time. He shoots you a smile and a two-finger salute, swords bouncing gently as he moves. And thus, your heart swells once again. You delicately place the kitchen blade on the window sill to push the window open and it glides open effortlessly, loosened from hundreds of nights like tonight. The cold, autumn air rushes in instantaneously, and you’re suddenly very thankful that you made enough money to pay for heating. He clambers in quickly, eager to get out of the cold. A practiced song and dance at this point. 

“So, who is it this time?” you grin, picking up the knife and tossing it onto your nightstand. 

“You know me so well,” he smiles. “It’s Donnie, because of course it is! He read some big science paper, and now he’s trying to disprove whatever it said. Something about 4-D black holes, whatever that means. And of course his headphones are broken, because why wouldn’t they be? And now he’s playing his awful music way too loud, and honestly?” He flops onto your bed, bouncing gently: “I’m not dealing with that mess again. You couldn’t pay me. Anyways, what’re you up to?” He reaches over to grab a slice of apple, prompting a smile from you. “What?” He asks. 

Despite the mutagen, there’s still some similarities. Or maybe Hamato’s just like apples. You’ll have to ask Splinter about that later. “Well,” you start, “I’m fostering a turtle, for one.” 

He bolts up from the bed, and you laugh. “Dude, what? You should have led with that, my Donnie story can totally wait. Dude, introduce me.” 

“You’re gonna make friends with my foster turtle?” 

“Duh?” 

You laugh, gesturing to the tank. “You can’t pick him up or anything, but you can feed him some apples. He loves ‘em.” 

He rolls off the bed, squatting next to the large tank. He smiles softly when he spots the little guy, resting his head on his hand. He grabs a piece of apple and lowers it into the tank, smile growing brighter as he watches him eat. He’s cute. “So,” he starts, “what’s its name?” 

“Guess.” 

“Leo?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Blue?” 

“No.” 

“Theodore Seville, Copyright Alvin and The Chipmunks, Parenthesis 2007, Directed by Tim Hill?” 

How the fuck does he have that memorized? You laugh, “No, but close.” 

He chuckles with you, pulling his attention away from the mini-him and unto you, “Damn, thought I got it that time. I give. What’s the lil’ dude’s name?” 

You smile, pausing for a moment. He leans forward, and your smile grows. “His name is Da Vinky.” 

He pulls his hands up to his face, laughing into them softly. You smile and lean on the dresser to look at him fully, heart melting at his reaction. Yeah, you definitely made the right choice by going with the meme name. “Alright,” he breathes, reluctantly pulling his hands away from his face to beam at you, “Before we get to how cute it is that you technically named him after me, please tell me you seriously named this fucking baby after a meme. I’m actually gonna lose it if you’re messing with me.”

“Duh?” you mimic. “For real though, it was between Da Vinky or Tintoretto. I figured you’d appreciate Da Vinky more.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was blushing. But he’s cold-blooded, right?

[fanfic-inator795]

RotTMNT Oneshot: Sweet Sixteen

((This scene just popped into my head, aaaaand I don’t feel like writing anything else atm so- hope you all enjoy))

It wasn’t often that the lair was bustling early in the morning; the Hamato-Jitsu family stayed up late, and often slept in even later. But on certain days such as these, only one person was allowed to sleep in...

At about 7 a.m., all activity was quickly shushed as silent shadows crept towards a specific room - a bedroom with red-tinted walls thanks to the small lamp that was still lit. They could hear quiet snores, and grinned to themselves as they snuck inside.

Still somewhat asleep but awake enough that his ninja senses were reacting to certain noises and scents, Raph snorted a bit and turned over as he began to stir from his slumber. He instinctively hugged his teddy - he had chosen Dr. Huggenstein the night before - close and tried to bury his face in the back of its head, hoping for just a bit more sleep.

And yet, his mind was slowly starting to wake. He could smell something fruity and buttery near. He could hear quiet giggles and quiet steps padding across the floor of his room. And, despite his eyes being closed, he could still somewhat ‘see’ figures coming closer and closer, until they were standing right in front of him...

With his curiosity now too much for even his sleepy mind to ignore, Raph opened one eye, and-

“SURPRISE!”

The snapper flinched, startled as he sat up and nearly throwing a punch at his ‘surprise’ - although this was anything but a surprise attack, and due to expecting it, his family easily stepped back, avoiding the hit expertly as they laughed. 

Donnie and Mikey threw bundles of red and green confetti at him, and as Splinter held up the stack of strawberry and chocolate waffles, Leo leaned over and placed a plastic “Sweet Sixteen” tiara right on his big brother’s head. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you~!”

Although he groaned a bit at being surprised by one of their family’s longest running traditions (again. You’d think expecting it would be enough to STOP him from freaking out), Raph still smiled as his family sang and clapped. 

When they finished, Raph naturally invited them all in for a group hug. “D’awww, thanks guys.”

“No probles, Big Brother.” “Happy birthday, Raphie!” “Heh, seems like we got you pretty good this year, huh?”

“Ugh, only ‘cause I was in a deep sleep!” Raph argued, pouting only a little, “I’ll be ready next year.”

Splinter just chuckled at his boys, shaking his head. He hadn’t expected this Birthday Morning tradition to last sixteen years when he started doing it when they were all tots (albeit with less screaming involved, at first) but he was sure glad that it had. “Here,” he said, handing the snapper his breakfast, “Best to eat them before they get too cold and soggy.”

“Right, don’t wanna lose that crunch,” Raph agreed, quickly digging in. Although they still had their own breakfasts to prepare, his brothers and father kept him company as he ate. Honestly, Raph appreciated that just as much as he appreciated the breakfast itself.

Naturally, they discussed Raph’s ‘birthday wish’ plans for that day first - another family tradition, the birthday boy (or girl, in April’s case) gets to decide what they all did as a group that day. For his Sweet 16, Raph had decided on some sparring with Frankenfoot, go-karting at Albeartoland, a small shopping spree at Teddy Bear Town (gotta spend that bday money somehow) and capping off the night with a three-hour wrestling special that was premiering on TV (after presents and cake, of course). 

His bros approved of all these ideas, and after texting the schedule to April and CJ, they gave her approval too.

Afterwards, the brothers moved on onto talking about past birthdays, followed by Leo, Mikey and Donnie all talking about the plans that they had for their upcoming birthdays. But as fun as this conversation was, Raph couldn’t help but notice his father growing quieter the longer it went on.

Eventually, his brothers excused themselves to both grab their own breakfasts and give Raph some space to get ready for the day. (The guy didn’t even have his bandana on yet! How embarrassing - or at least it would’ve been if there was anyone but family there). The only one who stayed was his pop, sitting there as content as ever with a soft, slightly bittersweet smile on his face.

“...Everything alright, Pops?” Raph finally asked, once he had polished off his waffles.

“Hm? Oh yes yes, I’m fine... So, how are you feeling, my son?” Splinter asked, “Sixteen is a pretty big milestone, after all.”

“Heh, I’m good. ...Honestly, it doesn’t feel all that different from fifteen” Raph replied. Thinking about it, he added, “Maybe ‘cause a bunch of stuff has already happened in the past year?” He was now officially a year older, yeah, but it felt like he had already done plenty of changing and growing before then.

Who would’ve thought that he would be given mystic weapons (and later mystic powers), learn about his dad’s past, take down several city-ending threats, meet the spirits of his family, and become a hero alongside his family and friends all before his next birthday? That whole situation was... pretty crazy to think about. Amazing, yeah, but definitely still crazy. In that sense, maybe a more normal and lowkey birthday was just what he needed.

Raph was brought back to the present when he felt his father patting his shell. “Yes, you make a fair point... Still, this birthday is just as much an accomplishment as anything else, and certainly worth celebrating properly.”

The old rat sighed a bit, closing his eyes for just a moment. “You boys are growing up so fast... Before I know it, you will be all grown up. You and your brothers...”

“Aw, come on, Dad...” Setting his plate to the side, Raph pulled Splinter in for a one-armed hug. “We’re always gonna need ya, no matter how old or grown up we get.”

“Heh, I know...” But it was still admittedly nice to hear. “Still, you cannot blame me for being a bit... well, a bit shell-shocked as it were whenever I think about how far you have come, Red. I remember when you were all small enough for me to hold in my arms, and now-”

Splinter stopped, his eyes widening as if he realized (or maybe remembered) something - something apparently funny enough to make him laugh. “Did I tell you- ah, no, I wouldn’t have... Well, no time than the present. Want to know something about the day you were born?”

Raph’s eyes widened at the suggestion, more than a little surprised at his dad’s sudden openness about that day, which Splinter supposed he should have expected, considering previous reactions to anything (or anyone) relating to it.

“I know I do not always-” or ever- “talk about the day I was mutated, but it was not a completely bad day.” He smirked. “I got you boys that day, didn’t I? Heh, you were all so tiny and cute! And you-” Splinter laughed again, and while he was still a bit surprised, now Raph was curious about what was so funny, and how did it involve him?

“Okay, so- this was before your boys were- yourselves. Back when you were norm- ah, average turtles. I was picking you all up, looking at how cute you all were and, well, at one point I decided to give you a kiss on your little head - and you know what you did in return? You bit me!”

“Pffft-!” Raph brought a hand to his mouth, hiding his laughs. “I did not!”

“Oh yes you did!” Splinter shot back, grinning now, “Bit me right on the lip! And I am pretty sure I still have the scar to prove it, somewhere under all this fur. Oh, I was so mad! Heh, but only for a few seconds. It is cruel to be mad at a baby, after all...”

His expression softened a bit as he thought about what happened next. Although Splinter was sure that he would always have mixed feelings about what happened that day and the transformation he received, he would always see the creation of his sons as a blessing that he would always be grateful for.

“Once you were all yourselves, I did all I could to get you boys to safety. And when I held you and your brothers in my arms and saw you all looking up at me... I knew that I would never be able to let you go.” 

Even before he began calling them his sons, even when he still only saw them as ‘innocent creatures’ and had no idea what they would eventually become, they were still his. And they always would be. 

“You have all grown so much that day... And I am not just talking about size, although you especially have certainly gotten bigger.” Splinter looked up and smiled at his eldest. “You are strong, and brave, and so kind... You are more of an honorable man at sixteen than I ever was, and I am so, SO very proud of you, Raphael.”

By this point, Raph’s tears were already beginning to fall, but the snapper could hardly care about that. He just brought his rat dad in for another hug - one that Splinter happily returned. When he eventually felt his son’s grip begin to loosen, Splinter moved to stand on his tip-toes and moved his tail towards his son’s head.

Understanding what he was getting at, Raph lowered his head, allowing Splinter’s tail to lift up the silly tiara as his dad planted a kiss right on the center of his head. “Heh... Happy birthday, my son.”

Wiping his eyes, Raph nodded back. “Thanks, Pops.”

“Oh please, thank YOU for not biting me again.” 

The two shared another laugh, staying beside each other a bit longer. When Splinter did finally decide to leave, he made sure to grab his son’s plate to take back to the kitchen. “Try not to come home too late, I’ll be sure to have supper waiting for you all when you get back. But make sure to enjoy yourself today too, okay?”

Raph chuckled, nodding again. “I will,” he promised - easy enough to do, considering it already felt like a great day. Splinter gave him one last smile before walking away.

As he put on his bandana and his wraps, Raph continued to smile to himself. Maybe he didn’t feel any different than he did at fifteen, and maybe in comparison the days where he escaped a Battle Nexus or fought a dark armor, a birthday wasn’t THAT big of a deal.

But maybe his dad was also right. Maybe it was still an accomplishment that he was a year older - that he was still there, still living and still right beside his family, even after a less-than-normal ‘birth’ and everything that came after. 

Maybe that really was worth celebrating, especially when that celebrating was done with the people that actually made his life worth living.

Speaking of which- “Hey, Raph! You still in there?” “Come on! We’ve already got the dojo set up, and we’re pretty sure Buddy’s just gonna start punchin’ stuff if you don’t get in here!”

“Yeah yeah, I’m coming - and you guys better be ready!” Raph shouted back, grinning. 

With his wraps, belts and bandana all now on, he grabbed his sai, spinning them a few times before sliding them into their holsters. Once that was done, he happily raced out of his room and ran towards the dojo, more than ready to seize the day - seize his birthday - for all it was worth.

THE END

[remmushound]

Animal crackers part 2!! @errorfreak88 @digitl-art-monstr

Content warning!! Blood, childhood trama, physical injury

Donatello didn't move from the spot where Raphael had left him, staring off into the tunnel with nothing but the occasional pacing to keep him occupied. Raphael had been gone for hours— that was several hours too long, and it wasn’t like Raphael to miss lunch. Splinter had woken up almost thirty minutes ago to start preparing it. Donatello wondered how long it would take before Splinter noticed that Raphael wasn’t there at his side trying to taste everything and gobble up his share before it was even completely prepared. Splinter only ever got four hours of sleep a day—five if he was lucky—so maybe he wouldn’t notice the absence. Maybe not unless someone brought it up…?

Donatello made up his mind. He joined his father in the kitchen and, before his mind could try and force him to chicken out, he called to his father.

“Yes Purple? Splinter yawned, glancing back at Donatello with the heavy eyes he often had.

“I have something to tell you…”

Even in his deprived state, Splinter could tell something was wrong. He left the food he was preparing on the counter and hurried to kneel beside Donatello. He cupped the four year old's head in his hands to have Donatello look up at him.

“Whatever is the matter, Purple?”

Donatello’s eyes swam with tears, and he finally broke down crying, charging forward to hug Splinter in attempts to gain forgiveness while he explained himself. He quickly told Splinter everything that happened, from Raphael leaving to Raphael knocking him down to how long Raphael had been gone. He tried his best to explain that he tried to stop Raphael and he thought Raphael would come back on his own.

Splinter, despite the anxious knot twisting around in his stomach, only hugged Donatello and gave soft, shushing noises. He pet his paw carefully across the leathery shell and nosed his whiskers against Donatello’s cheek.

“It is alright Donatello…” He soothed. He planted a kiss on the large forehead. “We will just have to push lunch back a little later while I go to find your brother, that’s all. Can you be a big boy and watch the kitchen to make sure Blue and Orange don’t try to sneak a snack?”

Donatello sniffled and wiped his eyes, sitting up a little straighter as he tried to be strong like his dad. “Yes sir!”

“There’s my strong, brave softshell.” Splinter pinched Donatello’s cheeks before heading off.

***

Raphael was scared. At first, he had thought that the human was letting free when he had been dragged out of the net by the base of his tail. In actuality, it had only been to be tossed into another cage, this one smaller and metal and cold. The bars that worked as the floor hurt his feet immensely and, no matter how he shifted his weight, it would hurt all the same.

“I wanna go home…” Raphael whimpered. “Please let me out. My feet hurt…”

“Oh, don’t worry. You'll go home soon enough.” The human said.

Raphael watched the human wash and sharpened something shiny and silver— something metal. He didn't know what to call it, but he didn't want it anywhere near him…

“Why can’t I go home now?” He held his stomach and whined. “It’s almost lunch time. I hungry…”

“Hungry for what?” The man snarled, spinning quickly to face Raphael, holding the metal tool just inches from Raphael’s mouth. “Human?”

“What?” Raphael squeaked and wiped his eyes, “I don’t eat human. I eat peaches. And animal crackers…”

“Sure you do.” The doctor growled, “If there’s one of you, there’s bound to be more of you. Am I right?”

Raphael didn't answer.

“Your silence is deafening, young turtle. You say you eat ‘peaches’ but those fangs of yours say otherwise.”

Raphael brought a hand to his mouth and to his snag tooth. “Is my snaggle toothy. Daddy says its cute.”

“I suppose so. I need to have proof of your existence, but I don’t wanna kill you just yet.”

“What’s kill…?” Raphael asked softly. He flinched and covered his eyes as a bright camera flash blinded him.

“It means you go to a forever sleep like the animal you are. But a live specimen would be worth a lot more to me.”

The human swung the door open. Raphael tried to run, but he was snagged by the leg and lifted painfully and carried over to the table struggling and kicking.

“No! No no no!” He grabbed a chair, but only managed to yank it down as he was still pulled along. “No kill, no kill!”

“Didn't you just hear me? I said I wasn’t— gonna—kill you!”

Raphael was shoved onto a table, still struggling, and was strapped down with a leather restraint around his chest and legs. He reached down and tried to bite the strap, only for the human to grab him by the throat and force his head down.

“They called me crazy, but I knew there was a cryptid hiding in this sewer. I knew of the rat, but not of you. They’ll see, they’ll all see! But I, of course, have to make sure you’re no longer a threat before I show you off. And we can start…”

He forced Raphael’s mouth open and jammed the metal tool inside, locking onto Raphael’s snaggle tooth.

“With that tooth of yours.”

***

Splinter was tracking Raphael by his scent when he heard a scream. A scream far too deep to belong to his son, but a scream that concerned him nonetheless. It wasn’t one of fear-/ it was one of pain. Deep, agonizing pain that Splinter knew all too well.

“Red!” Splinter dropped to all fours to race after the sound, skidding unsteadily into what looked like a makeshift office, with chairs and a desk and tools that made Splinter flashback to his time with Baron Draxum. For a moment, his eyes glossed over, and he was lost in his own memory. Then the yells brought him back to reality and he searched up until he found a man he recognized all too well, and attached at the hunter’s hand was Raphael.

The snapper looked almost terrifying— if Splinter didn't recognize the creature as his own son, he would have been petrified beyond all sense. Raphael’s eyes were glossed over white, a look that Splinter had seen on his sons many times before, but never had it seemed so intimidating. Even though Raphael was taller than Splinter, the turtle wasn’t very large, especially compared to the above-average sized hunter, but at that moment Raphael seemed the biggest in the room.

Raphael’s mouth had locked around the doctor’s wrist and hung on, even as he was struck repeatedly on the head with every blunt object within the doctor's reach. Each hit only seemed to make him angrier, making him thrash his head even harder and dig his teeth even deeper. Blood was seeping out— so much blood. Splinter could never get over just how much blood was in a human body, even after witnessing his own blood pooling out of him time and time again. The blood stained Raphael red and flooded both into his mouth and onto the floor in a puddle that pooled around Splinter and the hunter’s feet, but Raphael held strong.

Splinter gave a furious cry as he launched himself at the hunter, striking his claws against the man’s face and aiming for the eyes, though he just barely missed. The hunter stumbled, trying to strike Splinter with the same hand that Raphael was locked onto, but only succeeded in falling into his cart. His own equipment rained down on him, scalpels and needles piercing into him and other tools crashing down around him. Raphael let go when a hammer hit his head, giving a furious yowl that was almost gator-like as he pulled back to Splinter’s side.

Splinter couldn’t move when he saw the state of Raphael. The turtle was painted red, his mouth hanging open and spilling fresh blood, but from where Splinter couldn’t tell. Not until he saw the absence of the snag tooth and the hole that was left in its place as it had been forcefully extracted. Raphael gave another yell and tried to lunge at the human, but Splinter caught him around the shell and held him firm. Raphael made no attempt to attack his father but made every attempt to try to escape and return to his brutal mauling.

Splinter whipped his tail hard against the hunter's head, stopping the screaming and making the human slump to the floor unconscious. Splinter fell to his knees, cradling his son against his chest and stomach while wrapping his arms tight around the snapper to hold him still. Raphael thrashed and squirmed like a furious beast trying to get free, but Splinter stayed still. He held Raphael there for thirty minutes on his count before the fighting stopped and Raphael went limp in his father's arms, anger turning to pain and fear as his growling turned to tears. He wrapped his arms around Splinter’s to cry into the rat’s fur.

“It is alright…” Splinter closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at son nor the state of the hunter. He wasn’t so sure he could hear the hunter breathing anymore but he tried not to think of it. “I’m here…”

“You weren’t…” Raphael’s voice was slurred with the extraction of his snag tooth, his eyes still white.

“I’m here, my son, I’m…”

Raphael gave a final, curdling cry down the tunnels before he was still, his head hanging. “Raph… alone…”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 12: The Mirror]

A/N: Hi y’all!! Please enjoy, this is a long one. We’re getting into the exciting stuff now, so I’ll be putting all my creative energy into BYCNL and will hopefully finish up the series within the next month. Thank you so much for your love and support! Each and every reblog/message/comment makes me smile and means the absolute world to me! 💜

Chapter summary: John gets a rap sheet, Roger gets defensive, Y/N gets suspicious, News Of The World gets a headline.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, drugs, babies, drama, angst.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

You’re not late. You’re never late.

And at first that’s okay, it’s more than okay, it’s a relief; because it was too soon to have a baby anyway, less than a year into a supposedly meaningless marriage, a marriage you and Roger never even speak of, a marriage that might have never happened at all—might only exist as a particularly vivid and pleasant dream—if it wasn’t for your freshly-minted British citizenship. At first you greeted each dark, fruitless stain of blood with a casual ruefulness—oh well, one more month of freedom, you would think, smiling a little, worrying not very much at all—content to let that milestone trophy of womanhood, of life, lay undusted and unclaimed in the cluttered pit of your mental oak trunk with a tarnished gold latch shaped like a lion’s jaw.

After four months, you start to notice things. You notice the way Chrissie’s twins have small willow-green eyes that turn down in the corners, just like Brian does; you notice how John’s children have his downy hair and that innate sort of reticence that some people mistake for banality; you notice all those pretty, anonymous young women pushing strollers through the blossoming summer foliage of Hyde Park. You notice the way Roger grins and waves at babies when you see them in airports or hotel lobbies, dazzles them like he dazzles very nearly everybody, like he still dazzles you. You notice a longing buried in your bones that you hadn’t known existed.

After six months, you are no longer casually rueful. You start ignoring the calendar, as if not noticing you’re due could stop the bleeding from coming at all, like how you’re not supposed to stare at the clock if you want time to pass faster. You start watching what you’re eating, trying to get more sleep, opening all the windows when Roger smokes as he flips through fashion and music magazines with crafty little snickers, flashing those pointy canine teeth you once assumed your children would have.

And now, after nine months—as the world hurtles towards the conclusion of the brisk October of 1977—you have begun to worry; because maybe this thing, this thing that everyone accepts as a guaranteed feature of the all-inclusive package of the human experience, isn’t something you get to have at all. Roger doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask you about it. He is as he always is: sunlight and joy and heat and raw kinetic energy. But sometimes Roger’s huge blue eyes—those eyes you fell in love with, those eyes that convinced you to follow Queen to London, to stardom, to thunderous stadiums all over the world—go vacant as he gazes out into the horizon, as the sun sets over the garden of the Surrey house, as his face is lit up in gold and amber and celestial fury like the wildfire his soul is made of.

And you’ve begun to worry about him, too.

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings from the nightstand. The shrill clanging, like hail on glass, makes you wince beneath the tangle of blankets. Your hand fumbles out into cool night air, which pours in from the open bedroom window.

Where’s Roger?

Then you remember his hushed voice, his bleached hair tickling your cheek, his lips pressed to your temple: Hey baby. I gotta go jam with some people. Grab a drink or two. You sleep, I’ll be back by morning.

Sure, okay, fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. One of those infinite casualties of fame.

You haul the phone to your ear. “Hello...?”

“Hello darling, are you busy?”

“Well, it’s 2:39 a.m., Fred. So not very.”

“Perfect. I need you to go post bail for John.”

You wrench yourself upright, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. “What?!”

“He was drunk driving and backed into a cop car, pure genius. I’m rather indisposed myself at the moment, and of course Veronica can’t know. And you’re so good with him, dear.”

Your feet have already swung off the bed and onto the plush white carpet. You wonder what Freddie is ‘indisposed’ with; there are so many possibilities these days. “And you know about this...because...?”

“He used his phone call on me, darling. I don’t think he wanted to bother you. I suspect he’s a bit mortified.”

“Yeah, well, he should be.” You sigh and start pawing through the safe in the bedroom closet, the spiraled phone cord pulled taunt. Hundred-pound notes shuffle weightlessly between your fingers. You remember when Queen had no money at all, when you and Roger shared a pitiful—dodgy, you amend—one-bedroom flat, when you had to assemble each bouquet and tie each ribbon for John’s wedding by hand; and you’re shocked by the nostalgia that hits you in the gut like brass knuckles. “Sure, I’ll go get him. Just tell me where he is and how much he’ll owe me.”

John is slumped on the floor of the jail cell, alone and sweated and miserable. His hair is in complete disarray. He peers up at you through the iron bars with red, swollen, unfocused eyes.

“Hey,” you say quietly, smiling although you know you shouldn’t be.

He covers his face with both hands and moans. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Too late. Freddie asked me to come get you, he was drunk or high or in the middle of an orgy or something. You are the worst drunk driver in the world, just so you’re aware. You are obviously not cut out for a life of crime.”

“So I’ve gathered.” He swipes at the strands of hair stuck to his forehead with the back of his hand, bites his lower lip, shakes his head with that thousand-yard stare that says: How the fuck did I get here?

You drop down to your knees to meet him at his level. The concrete floor is filthy, spotted with grime and dust and crushed insects and smears of what might be blood. “What’s going on, John?” you ask gently.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he murmurs. “It’s okay when we’re on tour. When we’re on tour I’m preoccupied and exhausted and too high on the rush to think about it too much. I’m numb. Mostly. But then I come home and it’s...” He glowers, balls his hands into fists, beats them clumsily against his thighs. “It’s this relentless fucking cycle of feeling dissatisfied and guilty and inadequate. A disappointment of a husband. A failure of a father. And it’s inescapable.”

“Well, the constant pregnancy situation probably doesn’t help.” Veronica is expecting their third child in February.

He waves a hand dismissively, rolls his eyes. “It’s part of the thing. The ‘being a good husband’ thing. I can’t fix that. Birth control is a sin or whatever. Jesus is too busy pissing himself over that to care about starving kids in the Soviet Union, I guess.”

“That’s a cheerful prospect.”

“Sorry.”

“No, please, by all means. Throw off all your baggage, I can take it.”

Now he smirks, just faintly. “That’s what we’ve always done for each other, right?”

“We’ll be back on tour in a few weeks, John.” And that was true; the News Of The World Tour was scheduled to begin on November 11th in Portland, Maine. The band would spend the 12th in Boston and join your parents for dinner at the Queen Anne-style house at the intersection of Apple and Arcadia that you grew up in.

He whispers forlornly: “I can’t run from this forever.”

“You might have to. I’d love to know what Slavic Jesus has to say about divorce.”

John coughs out a surprised laugh. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Come on. I posted your bail. I won’t tell Roger if you won’t. You can put the extra five thousand pounds in your ‘fake my own death and go live on a tropical island’ fund instead of paying us back.” You’re not serious, and John knows that; he would never abandon his children, even if they weren’t old enough to really remember him yet. But it has the desired effect, which of course is lifting the mood, making John divulge that rare and beautiful smile.

“I’m a wreck. I can’t go home like this. It’d be worse than not coming home at all.”

“I’m happy to offer you one of our five superfluous bedrooms.”

“Okay,” John sighs, clutching the bars of his jail cell and dragging himself to his feet. “I’m so sorry. I owe you for this, I really do.”

“No,” you reply, grinning. “Just find a way to send me the coordinates so I can visit you on your secret tropical island once in a while.”

You drive John home to the Surrey house, get him set up in the spare bedroom with the blue-grey wallpaper and blankets patterned with seahorses, give him a stack of Roger’s clean clothes, lay out fresh towels and a tray of water and cookies—biscuits, you reprimand yourself—for him. He’s mostly sober now, which makes you feel somewhat better; still, you are aware that you hate the thought of leaving him alone, even if he’s only a few walls away.

“Thank you,” he says as you stand in the doorway, his face meditative, his hands in the pockets of his leather coat.

“Of course.”

“You’re a good friend. The best, actually.”

“You’re a good man. You don’t always know it, but you are.”

John just stares at you with an expression you can’t read. Like the ocean: always mysterious, always profound. “Goodnight,” he says after a while.

“Goodnight, John.”

As you pull the bedroom door shut, you hear erratic thumps coming up the staircase. Roger stumbles into the upstairs hallway, singing under his breath and drumming the air with invisible drumsticks, and holds out his arms when he sees you. He’s wearing his dark green suit, an unraveling tie, one sparkling pink Converse, his prescription sunglasses tangled in his hair and forgotten. His eyes are effervescent, flighty, almost manic.

“Hey, love of my life!” he cries, comically loud. “What are you doing up?!”

“Shhhhh! Your bassist partied a little too hard and needed a place to crash that wasn’t overrun with kids. He’s in the blue room.”

“Deaks? Deaks is sleeping over?!” Roger exclaims, beaming. “All my favorite people are here!”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t bother him. He’s pretty messed up, he needs the rest. I’ll make everyone pancakes in the morning or something. Come over here, let’s get you—” But the words die in your throat as you try to tug off Roger’s suit jacket. Fine white powder sheds off the emerald velvet fabric and onto your palm. You blink at it, at the residue like crushed aspirin, like the salt they scatter on Boston roads the night before a snowfall. “What is this?”

He rips his sleeve away, conjures up a smile to throw you off the trail. To dazzle his way out of this. “Nothing.” But he knows. And he knows you know too.

“You were...snorting coke...?”

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that...” He tries to embrace you; you shove him back.

“Roger, no, this is...this is...” You shake your head, shrugging off the shock, searching for the words. You’re confused, you’re exhausted, your mind is whirling. “We’re home, Roger,” you plead, like it means something.

Has he done this before? When? How often? With who?

You should know the answers. It’s not a good sign that you don’t.

“So?” Now he’s indignant.

“So it’s not like being on tour, you’re supposed to take it easy at home, you’re supposed to be, I don’t know, relaxed and recovering and, and, and content...”

You’re not supposed to have an excuse to do all those things that destroy people.

He laughs bitterly. “What, ‘happy at home’?! When has that ever been me?”

“Rog, please, I’m not saying you can’t work all the time or drink or smoke, I’m not even saying you can’t get wasted, I’m just drawing the line at cocaine and I don’t think that’s a terribly despotic place to draw a line.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I must have missed it, when did you become too moralistic for drugs?”

“Acid is different than coke and you know it. Acid doesn’t kill people.”

He glares at you, savage, almost hateful. “You don’t get to put me in a cage.”

“I’m not being controlling or self-righteous, I’m being concerned—”

“You’re being a fucking cop, that’s what you’re being,” Roger snaps.

“What do you want me to say?! I’m a registered nurse, Roger, I’m a medical professional, it’s literally my job to keep you alive—”

“No, it’s your job to make sure we can record and tour and I need it, I can’t play without it, don’t you get that?! I fucking need it!”

Instantly, John is between you, still fully dressed and sweating Manhattans out of his pores and seething. He’s taller than Roger; surely you must have noticed that before. But if you had, you’ve since forgotten. “Roger,” he threatens in a low, unyielding voice. “Go to bed.”

Roger recoils, disoriented, then opens his mouth to protest.

“Go!” John roars, pointing towards the main bedroom. He wants to say more, you can tell, he has rage burning in him like dragonfire; and if it had been Brian or even Freddie, John would have said it. But this is Roger. And you can’t remember a time John has ever raised his voice to Roger before now.

Roger can’t wrap his brain around it either, particularly in his present condition. His eyelids flutter a few times, then he scoffs—a dismissive, derisive sound, a sound that says I don’t know what to do with this information—and staggers away. He slams the bedroom door behind him as he disappears inside.

You collapse against the nearest wall and hiss in ragged breaths through your teeth, your eyes wet and stinging, your hands trembling as you press your knuckles to your lips.

“I-I-I’m so sorry about that,” you whisper, avoiding John’s eyes.

He’s going to say something, something harsh and terrible but true. He’s finally going to tell me how stupid I was for ever thinking this could work, just like Chrissie and Freddie and Brian. He’s going to tell me I deserve it.

Instead, John offers only this, his words flat and hollow: “Yeah. I’m sorry everyone is disappointing you tonight.”

And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning—early afternoon, really—Roger doesn’t remember; or at least he feigns convincingly that he doesn’t. He props his feet up on the kitchen table and shovels down six pancakes and theatrically relays to you all the scandalous celebrity gossip in the News Of The World magazine with his prescription sunglasses perched bookishly on his nose. He asks you three times if you’re alright, trying to read the hesitance in your eyes, to unearth all those questions that are taking up a permanent residence there. You smile and nod, sip your tea, watch the sharp autumn sunshine as it streams in through the windows and bathes Roger in luminescence that seems so benignly interminable in the light of day. And when you peer into the bedroom with seahorse-patterned blankets and walls the color of cold rain, John has vanished; but the air is heavy with the scent of a litany of cigarettes and there’s a handwritten note left on one pillow.

Thanks for everything. Hang tough, as the Yanks say. An island getaway awaits you.

~ World’s Worst Drunk Driver

At 3 p.m., John calls and asks if the Taylors would be interested in an outing to the park while he gives Veronica a few hours alone to catch up on housework without the kids. His tone is light, casual, harmless; but you suspect he’s checking in on you.

“Of course we’re interested!” Roger says, snatching his ostentatious fur coat off the back of his chair. “Baby, love of my life, go get some cash from the safe so we can buy the kids ice cream.”

Incidentally, there’s not much cash left in the safe; but you find a ten-pound note in your wallet for the ice cream man and make a mental note to run to the bank on Monday.

Hyde Park in October isn’t so different than Boston. The leaves above are a kaleidoscope of sunstone and rubies and jasper and jade, crisping and curling around their serrated edges, drifting listlessly onto pavement paths to be crushed beneath rushing feet; the roots of the trees are centuries deep. Chrissie is walking laps around the pond as she pushes the twins’ stroller; Evelyn is a fairly good sleeper, but Theodore—Teddy to his closest confidants, of which you are one—is an anxious baby and prone to whining. He’s definitely Brian’s son, you often find yourself thinking with an affectionate smirk. John’s ten-month-old daughter Anna is nestled in your arms in a semi-conscious state, having thoroughly exhausted herself by painting her face with chocolate ice cream and thereafter enduring an impromptu bath and wardrobe change in a public restroom.

Laszlo, two years old and with a mop of auburn curls, trots by the edge of the pond as Roger grips his tiny hand, periodically crouches down beside him, grins hugely and points out swans and fish darting through the dark rippling water. Laszlo shrieks with laughter and tries to steal Roger’s sunglasses, which glint in the sunlight like black mirrors.

“So your kid’s a convict too,” you say to John.

“Gotta train them when they’re still small and good for shimmying through dog doors and such.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Extremely hungover, but I’m trying not to show it.”

“You’re doing a good job, I wouldn’t have known.”

“Excellent. I don’t think Veronica noticed. She was very curious about how I ended up in a pair of Roger’s skintight leopard-print pants, though.”

You chuckle, glimpsing down at Anna, rocking her a little as her eyes flitter open and then close again. You and John are on opposite ends of a wooden park bench, your ankles crossed and resting in his lap, your hair rustling in the breeze. John peers over at you periodically, studies you like an ancient statue of Aphrodite or Perseus under a spotlight in an echoing museum, then resumes his sketching. Your smile dies as you watch Roger giggle with Laszlo, lift him high into the cool autumn air, trumpet mock airplane noises in that high, raspy voice.

“Come on,” John prompts, nudging your boots. “I’ll take the baggage if you’ll let me.”

No, I think I’ll keep this one to myself. But you don’t. “It’s my fault,” you say softly. It’s my fault we can’t have children.

John lifts his pencil from the page, his greyish eyes gentle. “You don’t know that.”

“Statistically, it is most likely my fault.”

“It hasn’t been that long, has it? Definitely less than a year. Sometimes these things take time.”

“They didn’t for you and Veronica.”

“Yes, well...” John frowns uneasily. “That’s not always such a blessing.”

“How helpful. You should write newspaper columns for depressed housewives. ‘Don’t worry about that infertility dear, you could have it worse, you could have a life sentence with someone you can’t fucking stand.’”

That was unkind, you think, immediately regretting it. That might have been too far.

But John doesn’t seem offended. His pencil flies over the paper as he glances over at you again. “Is that all? Please continue. I’m riveted to learn more about my alternative career path.”

“No, I think I’m done.”

“Okay. What’s your favorite flower?”

You consider that. “Roger always gets me carnations or roses...and I like them, don’t get me wrong...but I don’t know if I’d call either of those my favorite.”

“It’s not that deep a question, Miss Nightingale.”

“I’ll defer to the artist’s expertise. Surprise me.”

“I’m no artist,” John warns, but he returns to his sketching nonetheless. “I’m really sorry about last night, by the way. I was being stupid and dramatic and immature and self-pitying. ‘Midway on our life's journey, I found myself in dark woods, the right road lost,’ etcetera etcetera.”

You’re no great connoisseur of Italian literature, but you recognize those famous opening lines of the Inferno. “Can I ask you something?”

“Please do.”

“What is this fascination you have with Dante?”

“Truly?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles pensively with his eyes cast out over the pond. “I like that his story has a happy ending. That someone can start in hell and sweat out all their sins in purgatory and end up among the stars.”

You raise your eyebrows, taken back, impressed. “That’s awfully poetic.”

“It’s strange, probably,” John says, scrutinizing his drawing.

“No, really. I love it.”

“Yeah?” He’s doubtful, but he’ll allow himself to believe you if you insist.

“Yeah. And no more drunk driving or other acts of self-destruction, okay? Queen would crumble without you, John. And so would I.”

In reply, he rips the page out of his notebook and hands it over. The image is of you: so infinitely more lovely and at peace than you feel, eyes wise and contented and reflecting halos of sunlight, John’s daughter dozing in your arms.

Tucked behind your ear, etched in graphite shadows, is a calla lily.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Darling, what do I look like?” Freddie bats his eyelashes flirtatiously.

“A raccoon.”

His face screws into a grimace. “I’m supposed to be a cat.”

“Yes, I’m cognizant of that. But you look like a raccoon. Which is why people keep assuming you’re a raccoon, which is why you’re asking me now if you look like one.”

“Bloody hell,” he groans, puffs on a cigarette, fluffs his hair irritably, slurps a drink that is fizzy and sapphire blue.

“The problem is that you went with black and white. You should have dressed as a calico or something. Or a grey cat, oh, I love the chubby grey ones!”

“I’m a musician, darling, not a fucking zoologist.” He exhales a ring of smoke and meanders away.

Queen, the band’s associates, and various music industry figures are all milling around the night-draped mansion. It’s half a Halloween celebration and half a launch party for News Of The World, an album named for the tabloid that Roger both loathes and yet refuses to stop having delivered to the Surrey house. He can’t stand the thought of not being clued into the latest gossip, trends, fashion, awards, of missing any piece of what stardom has to offer. In the spirit of Halloween, Roger is dressed as a tiger, his sleeveless sequined shirt striped with orange and black. You are a veterinarian (not so far a cry from a nurse that you can’t repurpose your old uniform), John a shark (he’s taped a cardboard triangle to his back like a fin), Veronica a sea turtle in a teal dress and with a shell painted over her sizable baby bump, Brian and Chrissie both bright green aliens with antennae bobbing from their headbands. Mary is here as well—outfitted (quite appropriately) like an Enlightenment-era queen—but so is Freddie’s new boyfriend, a shy man named Anthony who is young and handsome and compliant and dressed as a mouse. Mary beams dutifully whenever Freddie is speaking to her, but her expression clouds over when he turns away. She no longer has a gold ring gleaming on her wedding finger, although she did gain an athletic blond date whom she seems largely indifferent to.

As Roger wanders through the crowd shaking hands and howling at jokes, you sip champagne by the snack table and devour an obscene amount of crab puffs. John and Veronica are chatting—unenthusiastically, from what you can tell—nearby with lamb kabobs in their grasps. John passes you a smirk every once in a while, an I’m so over this party and I know you are too smirk of commiseration, and nurses a Manhattan. Chrissie nibbles on disks of cucumber and baby carrots and not much else, which is very unlike her.

“You alright?” you ask worriedly. “You aren’t sick, are you? These crab puff things are incredible, I can’t stop eating them. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve had three dinners so far tonight, I’ve become a monster.”

Chrissie’s lips are a tight, humorless line. “I’m perfectly healthy, I’m just a cow.”

“Chris, honey, don’t!” You pat her shoulder reassuringly with one hand, pop another crab puff into your mouth with the other. “You’re gorgeous, and most women’s bodies change once they have babies, it’s natural!”

“Yeah, well most women aren’t married to men with infinite opportunities to upgrade.”

“Chrissie, no,” you murmur, pained; but you aren’t sure what else to say. She’s not wrong. I wish she was, but she isn’t. And she already knows that.

Dreams by Fleetwood Mac is playing from the reverberating stereo, Stevie Nicks’ sensuous, nasally voice climbing through air choked with strangers and cigarette smoke.

“Now here you go again

You say you want your freedom

Well, who am I to keep you down?”

Brian bids farewell to some record company executive he was talking to across the room and slips out onto the back porch of the house, and after a moment Chrissie follows him. You resist the temptation to eavesdrop until you can clearly hear their voices, raised and combative, through the sliding glass door. You glance to John, apprehensive.

You better go out there, he mouths, and so you do.

“Thunder only happens when it's rainin'

Players only love you when they're playin'

Say women, they will come and they will go

When the rain washes you clean, you'll know...”

Under cold October stars, Chrissie has trapped her horrified-looking husband, backed him into a fountain of a dolphin spewing an endless stream of water from its snout. “Did you think I wouldn’t listen to your own fucking album, Brian?!” She shrieks. “Who is she, huh? Who the fuck is she?!”

You grip her arm and try to lead her away. “Chrissie, babe, not here—”

“It’s Late, Brian? Yeah, it’s real fucking late in your life to still be chasing whores over in America while I’m building your family here, isn’t it?!”

“Love, please, it’s not true,” Brian attempts anemically, reaching for her.

“It is!” Chrissie rages. “It is and it always has been and I was too busy being some blind stupid idiot who loved you to see it!”

She breaks down in tears and you shove Brian away, shoo him back inside. You pitch him a fierce glare as he leaves, retreating like a kicked dog. There’s nothing you can do to fix this, you coward. Because everything she’s saying is true. Chrissie clings to you like a life raft, sobbing into your shoulder, asking what she did wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her, over and over again; because that’s all there is to say.

Eventually Chrissie quiets, goes still and resigned and numb, and you help her fix her makeup and lead her back inside. You stand with her beside the snack table and swear not to leave her side until the party’s over, until the men are done celebrating yet another triumph that will take them further and further from home. Brian is nowhere to be found.

“That goddamn broodmare,” Chrissie hisses, gulping straight vodka, staring venomously at Veronica.

“Why do you hate her so much? I mean she can be dull, yeah. She’s sanctimonious and naïve and dresses like a freaking Mennonite. But she’s not horrible or anything.” And her life isn’t so perfect either.

“It’s not obvious?” Chrissie asks, her voice like a blade.

“No...?”

Chrissie’s eyes are scorching, although you’re not the person she’s furious with. You just happen to be standing in the path of the storm. “Because she’s the only one of us who’s never going to have to find out what this feels like.”

Oh, I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all.

You try to spot Roger in the teeming room. He’s over by a crackling fireplace, telling stories with dramatic sweeps of his hands, bleeding charisma like sweat, and none of that is unusual at all. One of the people he’s talking to is Dominique Beyrand, and that’s not so unusual either; Richard Branson ends up at a lot of industry events, and Dom trails him around like a shadow, nodding politely and contributing little chirps of conversation in that posh French accent.

But here’s the strange part; here’s the part you’ve never seen before.

When Roger flashes that dazzling smile of his, Dominique smiles back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, you’re steeping in a sweltering bubble bath as the phone rings downstairs. You ignore it at first, because the hot water is unraveling all the tension in your muscles and the lurking shadows in your mind, and also because the calendar is hanging right beside the phone in the kitchen and you’re quite committed to ignoring it this morning. But the phone rings again, and again, and you’re aware that it could be something serious; Roger is working on some non-Queen collaboration at a studio in downtown London, and something could have happened to him.

Especially considering his recreational preferences lately.

You scramble out of the tub, pull on a robe that sticks uncomfortably to your dripping skin, leave a path of bathwater footprints down the hallway and steps—slipping twice and clinging to the banister for dear life—before finally careening into the kitchen to snatch the phone off the wall.

“Hello?” you gasp, winded.

It’s not Roger, nor someone calling to inform you that Roger has overdosed or disappeared or vaulted down a staircase or been hit by a bus. It’s Chrissie.

“Have you seen the News Of The World yet?” she demands.

“Ummm, the album...?” Of course I’ve listened to the album. About a million times. You have a particular affinity for Spread Your Wings.

“No, not the album,” she snaps impatiently, although she kindly leaves out the you idiot addition that her tone implicates. “The magazine. Have you seen it today?”

“I was mid-bubble bath and almost broke my neck sprinting for the phone. So no.”

“Good. Don’t read a word. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m coming over. I’m gonna grab John and come right over.”

“Chris, what—?”

“Do not touch that fucking magazine!” she screams, and hangs up.

Naturally, you don’t listen.

You go to the main door of the Surrey mansion and open it. Sure enough, the new issue of News Of The World is waiting on the porch for you. You pluck it up with damp hands; the whirlpools of your fingerprints stick to the parchment.

On the front page is a photo of Roger, but he’s not alone. He’s scowling at the paparazzo snapping the picture, his face lit up by the flash, painfully and unmistakably stunning. He’s in some sort of alley or side entrance to a restaurant or club. He’s somewhere he’s trying not to be seen, which anyone could tell you is remarkable for Roger Taylor. Beside him is a woman you recognize; and although she’s looking down and trying to hide behind her shock of lustrous black hair, you can see her lips are smiling.

The headline reads: “Queen Drummer Spends Royally on London Love Nest for French Mistress.”

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: this body yet survives, ch. 4

Relationship: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Qǐrén, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín, Jiāng Yànlí

Additional Tags: No War AU, Recovery, Trauma, Dissociation, Courtship, Courting Rituals

Summary: A conversation is had with Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen, and Wei Wuxian's trauma is an issue.

Notes: See end

Parts 1 & 2

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 

AO3 link

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

Wei Ying flagged on the path back up the mountain, his previous bright energy replaced by a sort of trudge. He didn’t flit around, made no mention of catching a new rabbit as he had on the way down. He seemed wrung out, exhausted, simply letting Wangji lead him.

When they arrived back in Cloud Recesses, Wangji brought Wei Ying straight to the jingshi, where they released the turtle into the front pond. It was named, Wei Ying insisted, Tang, for the soup it would never become, and the glimpse of his sharp wit was relieving. Wangji found himself more focused on Wei Ying’s peaceful expression, rather than the turtle that sank into the depths of the pond to hide after its ordeal.

After, Wangji wrapped him in a blanket and played ‘Rest’ and ‘Clarity’ to help Wei Ying relax after the unexpected stress of the morning, then watched him nap.

They had a couple of hours before Uncle and xiongzhang expected Wei Ying, before his formal invitation to the sect, and before Wangji would approach the Jiang siblings for permission to court him. The music helped him, as well, nervousness bubbling in him, though logically he knew there was nothing to justify it—Jiang Yanli had made it clear, in her gestures and facial expressions, that she approved, and though he was uncertain how Jiang Wanyin might feel about it, he knew the young man cared about his brother’s happiness.

Wei Ying had consented to the courtship; that was what mattered, and it added a new layer to the anxiety, a lightheaded sort of happiness that he might have assumed in any other situation was the beginning of illness, it was so strong.

But perhaps love was a sort of illness.

Wangji was relieved Wei Ying seemed to be sleeping better, was eating and putting back on the weight he had lost in the year since his near death. He still looked fragile, curled on the bed, his body gaunt and skin pale. But his brow was unfurrowed as he slept, and good sleep was paramount to healing. 

He kept playing his guqin, different songs but always returning to one. 

Wei Ying woke after a shichen while he was playing WangXian. Wangji glanced up by chance to find him smiling softly, watching him. Wangji finished the song and stilled the strings before rising to go to him. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Wei Ying said with a smile, sitting up. “The nap helped.”

Wangji offered a hand, and was gratified when it was taken. He helped Wei Ying up, and then helped him adjust his robes, smoothing any wrinkles.

As it was nearly time to meet with shufu and xiongzhang, they made their way to the hanshi after checking on Tang. The turtle seemed at home, sunning itself on a rock on the far side of the pond. Though it was odd to assign human emotions to a non-human creature, Wangji thought perhaps it looked content. 

Xiongzhang answered their knock, opening the hanshi to show shufu waiting at the table with a steaming teapot. 

He led them in, smiling and gesturing for them to sit. 

Wangji tried not to be nervous, though he clenched Bichen’s textured sheath almost convulsively, a habit he had not quite overcome. 

Wei Ying, too, seemed nervous, only barely managing not to drop the teacup shufu handed him. He knew only that their courtship would be discussed, not his status as a disciple of Gusu Lan; Wangji wondered if he should have informed him.

“Wei Ying has consented to a courtship,” he said, deciding to open with that.

“You gifted Mother’s guan as a love token, then,” xiongzhang said, sounding approving. 

“My—my guan broke this morning,” Wei Ying admitted. “We- we’re going to get a new one in Caiyi, but Lan Zhan asked if I would wear it always.”

Wangji was delighted to notice the blush on Wei Ying’s cheeks, fetching on his still-too-pale skin. 

“We approve, of course,” shufu said. “We also were made aware recently that we were not clear enough about your role in Gusu Lan.”

Xiongzhang pulled a simple box made of rosewood from his sleeve and offered it to Wei Ying, who took it, looking confused. 

Inside was a pure white disciple’s ribbon with a light blue embroidered cloud in the center. It was a step above the peripheral disciple’s unadorned ribbon; that he was being given an adorned ribbon was a surprise even to Wangji. He had known Wei Ying would be given a ribbon, but that his denoted his status as higher than peripheral disciples was a clear statement of his acceptance on the part of Gusu Lan. 

Wei Ying set the box on the table with shaking hands, glancing up at shufu and xiongzhang speechlessly. 

“We should have made it clear from the beginning, and offered this when you arrived in Cloud Recesses,” XiChen told him gently. “Should you wish it, this is your home.”

Wei Ying looked like a startled rabbit, as though he might bolt, his mouth working soundlessly. Wangji reached forward slowly and took his hand, hoping to offer comfort, and was relieved when Wei Ying blinked at him, his eyes clearing.

“But… I’m so bad at following the rules. And you really hated me, xiansheng.”

“You have been following the rules for a year,” Wangji pointed out, not caring to address the latter.

Shufu sighed softly. 

“Wei Wuxian, you are brilliant and undisciplined, and during your studies you were quite a bit more exuberant than is thought proper.”

It sounds almost like a rebuke, and Wangji squeezes Wei Ying’s hand.

“You were curious about forbidden topics, and I made judgments based on that curiosity,” Lan Qiren finished. “I was wrong to dismiss you so quickly.”

Even xiongzhang seemed surprised by shufu’s admission. 

“Perhaps your exuberance was in part from being out from under the abusive thumb of that woman,” he finished. “Which is completely understandable.”

There was a sheen to Wei Ying’s eyes, and he looked down at his lap, trembling. He seemed beyond speech for a moment.

“No. It just… I was always punished no matter what I did,” he whispered. “I figured if I might as well earn it.”

Wangji ran his thumb against the back of Wei Ying’s hand, hoping to comfort him. Wei Ying looked almost haunted, and he wondered if Madam Yu had whipped him on other occasions, only less severely. He wasn’t  certain he wanted to know. Wangji had learned more about abuse in the last year than he ever expected, knew that it likely escalated slowly, starting emotional and slowly normalizing until it was physical. 

More realistically, he wondered how often Madam Yu had whipped Wei Ying, how many times he had endured until the last. 

Shufu frowned, clearly taking in the new information. 

“We intended to offer you a place as a Gusu Lan disciple at the beginning,” xiongzhang said, filling the silence. “I’m afraid we did not make that clear to you.”

A tear broke free and made  its way down Wei Ying’s face. He managed a smile, though, one that was so filled with relief it broke Wangji’s heart.

“I guess I’ve followed the rules this long.”

His tone was almost cheeky, and xiongzhang laughed softly.

“You are a boon to Gusu Lan,” shufu said, though he shook his head at Wei Ying’s cheek. “As I said, any sect would be foolish to let go of such a talented young cultivator.”

A distant look passed over Wei Ying’s face.

“You did say that,” he murmured. “You said I would be welcome here. I… It’s hard to remember.”

Xiongzhang looked concerned.

“Do not push yourself to,” he advised. 

Wei Ying nodded.

“The healers say my mind is repressing the trauma, that it’s protecting me, but that it can affect me. The memories can pop up, can be triggered.”

He crooks a smile, but it’s tremulous. 

“But xiansheng told her off, so that’s a good memory.”

His voice was as tremulous as his smile, and Wangji knew these memories were painful regardless of what he said. Even shufu looked concerned and cleared his throat.

“When you are wed, you will receive a ribbon like Wangji’s, signifying you are a part of the inner Lan clan,” he said, clearly an attempt to distract Wei Ying, one Wangji appreciated. 

He was even more pleased when it worked, the tremulous expression disappearing under open-mouthed surprise and elation.

“I’ll… I’ll be inner family?”

Wei Ying’s voice is rough. Wangji remembers suddenly that he was never formally adopted into the Jiang clan, referred to as a ward, often berated as the mere son of a servant by various members of the cultivation world, as though the circumstances of his birth lessened his talent and value. That, combined with constant punishment, had to have tainted his sense of self-worth. 

“And you will be my husband,” Wangji added.

The way Wei Ying looked at him then, a tiny, almost dreamy smile gracing his lips, had Wangji clutching Bichen for a different reason—it would be inappropriate to push him against the hanshi wall and kiss him senseless, particularly as they were just beginning their courtship and in front of shufu and xiongzhang. 

“That’s the best part,” Wei Ying said softly, and raised their joined hands to his lips to kiss the back of Wangji’s.

His eyes were like hot smoke. Wangji thought he was on fire or might melt, his mind going to the book Wei Ying had slipped in the sleeve of the Tao Te Ching...

Shufu cleared his throat, startling both of them. Xiongzhang, on the other hand, was watching with a little smile. Wangji appreciated that his brother was happy for him, but it was nonetheless embarrassing to have lost himself in front of family. 

“Gusu Lan has prepared a betrothal gift for Wangji to present to your siblings,” shufu said, blessedly not commenting otherwise. 

“I wish to present it to them today, to formally ask for their blessing,” Wangji added.

A gentle pink blush spread across Wei Ying’s cheeks.

“Am I to be the bride, Lan Zhan?” he asked. “I’m afraid I don’t have a dowry.”

Another wave of heat spread through Wangji’s body, imagining Wei Ying draped in red and gold, lifting a red veil. 

“You’ve provided your own dowry,” Xichen replied. “All of those talismans you created, and the ones you will undoubtedly invent in the future.”

“Neither of you are brides,” shufu said. “It will be a wedding of a different sort, but the betrothal gifts in this case are to honor you and make it clear you are valued. Rumors in the cultivation world are often vicious, and it’s best to nip them in the bud by preventing them.”

Wei Ying grimaced at that, and Wangji distracted him by returning the gesture from earlier, bringing their joined hands to his lips to kiss gently. He was pleased when Wei Ying relaxed, smiling at him softly, but he couldn’t help but notice that shufu’s ears had gone red.

“I believe I will accompany the two of you,” xiongzhang said, not bothering to hide his amusement. “It’s fairly clear you will need a chaperone.”

Wei Ying blushed, disentangling their hands, and Wangji could feel his ears were red as well. 

“Would you like to put on your forehead ribbon before you go?” shufu asked.

He looked at the box with the ribbon, biting his lip. 

“I don’t know the right way to put it on,” Wei Ying confessed softly. “If… I mean, since Lan Zhan’s courting me, can he help?”

Wangji knew without looking, in part from how Wei Ying frowned, that his uncle would not approve until they were officially married. If he knew that just this morning Wangji had combed and styled his hair, he might even be scandalized. 

“I would be happy to teach Jiang Yanli,” he said.

It was the right thing to say; Wei Ying lit up.

“Shijie taught me how to… how to do the proper style when I was young.”

His smile turned a little strained. 

He was speaking of the Yunmeng Jiang style, Wangji knew, but he had never seen Wei Ying wear it. He suspected this was a delicate topic, one related to the cause of so many of his traumas. 

Wangji often disagreed with Jiang Wanyin, but in this case he was of the opinion that lingchi would let Madam Yu off too lightly. 

He could tell by the way shufu’s mouth tightened, the way Xichen smiled too widely, that they also understood the implications.

“I see you are wearing your hair in a Gusu Lan style today,” xiongzhang commented, clearly hoping to move the topic lighter. 

Wei Ying nodded. 

“Lan Zhan helped me, after my guan broke. All… all the rest of mine have… They have lotuses,” he finished in a whisper, looking down at the table.

Xiongzhang closed his eyes, clearly overwhelmed, and shufu stroked his beard, a nervous tic of his. They had been there when Wei Ying was found, had seen the lotuses in the water where he had been weighted down and left to die. 

The silence that followed was almost oppressive, and Wangji busied himself topping off their tea just to have a reason to move. 

“Perhaps your siblings would be willing to go through your qiankun bags to remove the clothing and other things that have that design,” shufu finally said.

“It would make them sad,” Wei Ying said, his voice small. 

That it would upset his siblings made sense; large parts of their childhood had happened among the lotuses, swimming and harvesting them. Wei Ying’s favorite soup was made of them, and Wangji wondered if eating it was difficult for him now, if he showed Jiang Yanli a brave face when she made it while hurting inside, or if he could handle the pods but not the flowers. But they would be more hurt that he felt he had to hide his pain. 

“They would prefer to help you,” Wangji pointed out gently. “Knowing would allow them to.”

“They would be more focused on helping you, Wei-gongzi, as they are now,” Xichen added. “It would be prudent to discuss this with them.”

Wei Ying grimaced, but said nothing, instead sipping his tea. 

“I can help you speak to them,” Wangji offered. 

He was troubled when Wei Ying didn’t cheer up, instead tracing a finger around the lip of the teacup in a pensive manner. 

“Wei Ying?” he asked softly.

“You already do so much for me, Lan Zhan.”

Wangji could hear shame in his voice, and he took his hand again. He hated that Wei Ying felt like a burden, hated that he constantly put himself last, that he’d been taught to do so. He had been self-sufficient, trying not to bother others with his pain, until he had nearly died. 

If he had been able to hide his near-death, Wangji was certain he would have. That the entire cultivation world knew of it almost certainly weighed on him. 

“I will do as much as you need, as long as you need it,” he said. “And I will always want to.”

Wangji didn’t know how to convince him he wasn’t a burden, that his continued existence was a blessing. He could only keep trying to show him. 

Wei Ying squeezed his hand, ducking his head and blushing.He could see tears in the corners of Wei Ying’s eyes, and thought perhaps he believed after all. 

“Aiya, Lan Zhan, my heart can’t take your sincerity! Warn me next time.”

He knew this was Wei Ying’s way of deflecting in a moment of high emotion, injecting levity to try to avoid getting overwhelmed. 

“Mn. This is your ongoing warning,” he replied. 

A thrill ran through him when Wei Ying gaped at him, looking delighted. He wanted him to have that happiness always. 

“Not fair! You have to warn me every time.”

“Not possible. Wei Ying always deserves sincerity.”

“Lan Zhan!”

A fetching blush spread across Wei Ying’s face, and Wangji caught himself leaning closer unconsciously. 

Shufu cleared his throat, and Wangji realized he’d forgotten they were not alone for a moment, so focused he had been on reassuring Wei Ying. 

But it seemed since he’d met him, his attention was always on Wei Ying. It belonged on Wei Ying. 

“Perhaps we should go speak to the Jiang siblings now, to make your courtship official,” xiongzhang said diplomatically. 

Xichen seemed amused, a little smile playing at the edges of his mouth. 

“Though we will of course need to arrange for consistent chaperones, as well.”

Wei Ying blushed even brighter than before, and Wangji mentally recited relevant rules. He wanted to kiss those plush lips and the mole under them.  

“I would not disrespect Wei Ying,” he said, though truly he could see himself tempted in moments. “But a chaperone would show his worth to the world.”

Shufu made a noise of agreement, stroking his beard.

“Now, more than ever, it is necessary to make that clear.”

It occurred to Wangji then to inform them of the encounter with Madam Jin and Jin Zixuan in the marketplace of Caiyi. 

“She wished to keep the purpose of the talismans quiet,” Wei Ying murmured when he was done explaining. 

“You accepted her commission, then?” shufu asked, looking surprised. 

Wei Ying simply nodded, not offering any other details. He had shrunk in on himself, his posture defensive. Wangji could see that shufu and xiongzhang were concerned. 

“Madam Jin mentioned she has dissolved her sworn sisterhood,” Wangji said carefully. “She commissioned talismans to help find Jin Zixuan’s half siblings so she may offer protection and a place in the cultivation world, should they wish it.”

A tremor ran through Wei Ying. 

“She said she dissolved it because of what… what happened to me. That she didn’t want…”

Wei Ying choked on his words, and Wangji impulsively pulled him close, holding him as he did when he had finally reached him through “WangXian.”

“She’s going to blame me,” he said weakly. “She will.”

Wangji pulled him tighter against him, almost convulsively. Madam Yu had nearly killed him over something minor comparatively. He could only imagine what was running through Wei Ying’s mind, what memories were being dredged up.

“She will not be permitted in the Cloud Recesses,” xiongzhang said, his voice forceful, angrier than Wangji had ever heard his brother. “You are safe. You will be protected.”

Wei Ying said nothing, only trembled, and Wangji could supply what he was thinking with little effort—he had thought himself safe and protected at Lotus Cove, and it had not been so. How could he possibly feel safe anywhere when his last home turned out not to be?

Seeing him like this was difficult, watching him joke one minute and shake helplessly the next, but some days were like this for Wei Ying. Regardless, it was an improvement over his days of fugue. 

“Madam Jin wants the world to know that behavior is unacceptable,” Wangji said hollowly, rubbing his thumb against the nape of Wei Ying’s neck in a way he hoped might comfort him, petting the soft baby hair at his hairline. “She said there needed to be an alternate example.”

Shufu looked intrigued by that, but Wangji kept his focus on Wei Ying. He was surprised to have not been scolded for this transgression, but perhaps his uncle and brother were taking Wei Ying’s mental well-being into account. 

“We will speak to her. I assume she and Jin-gongzi will be visiting Cloud Recesses shortly if they are in Caiyi,” shufu said after a moment. “Though gossip is forbidden here, it can be weaponized in the cultivation world.”

Wangji frowned at shufu as Wei Ying’s grip tightened in his robes; he needed no reminder of that. The gossip of the cultivation world had stoked Madam Yu’s bitterness. Wei Ying had lived much of his life under its shadow, and the scars it had left pained him daily. 

“Rumors can be turned,” xiongzhang said thoughtfully. “The talisman you will invent for Madam Jin would demonstrate the falseness of prior rumors.”

Such a demonstration would make it clear Wei Ying shared no blood with the Jiangs. 

Wei Ying shook his head, still hidden against Wangji’s chest.

“I don’t want to.”

Even his voice trembled, and Wangji’s heart ached. So long ago, they had watched their lantern rise into the evening sky, and he had been awed by Wei Ying’s simple but profound wish, to stand with justice and live with no regrets. What was being proposed skirted the line between justice and revenge. Of course he would be opposed. 

“‘Do not sow discord,’” Wangji said softly, ignoring how both his uncle and brother flinched at the reminder they were violating a tenet of Gusu Lan. “Nothing good would come of such a course of action.”

He turned his focus more completely to Wei Ying then, running a hand gently through his hair, humming “WangXian” again softly. Wangji was relieved when he started to relax against him. 

“Please accept my apologies, Wei Wuxian,” shufu said eventually. 

Though Wangji didn’t know how long it had been since he had spoken, Wei Ying had relaxed almost fully.

“Rumors, whether true or not, have done far too much damage,” xiongzhang acknowledged. “We are humbled by your reminder, Wangji.”

Wei Ying’s grip loosened on Wangji, and he sat back up, still leaning close. He didn’t say anything, but there was a sort of misery in his expression that made Wangji want to pull him back into his arms and protect him. 

“I don’t wish her ill,” he whispered finally, his voice hoarse. “Even after everything, I don’t.”

“Wei Ying is righteous,” Wangji murmured, earning a tiny smile from Wei Ying. 

So much of his attention was on Wei Ying that until Wei Ying gasped he didn’t realize that both shufu and xiongzhang had kowtowed. 

“Our idle words have caused you unnecessary pain,” shufu said, still bowed forward. “I truly misjudged you when you came to the lectures before; you embody the virtues of Gusu Lan.”

“I don’t,” Wei Ying immediately denied. “I break the rules all the time.”

Wangji frowned at him; shufu was not speaking of rules but virtues, and he knew Wei Ying was aware of the difference. He was discounting his own virtue, his inherent goodness, that light in him that had nearly been snuffed out. 

“Not the most essential teachings,” xiongzhang said before he could correct him, rising out of his kowtow. “You have the sort of integrity and moral compass that all our disciples should have.”

Wei Ying shrugged slightly, dismissive. Shufu righted himself, frowning. 

“Wei Wuxian, perhaps one virtue you must work on is ‘Love and respect yourself.’”

Wei Ying flinched, looking down.

“I will try, xiansheng.”

“See that you do,” shufu replied easily. “I would prefer not to insist you study the virtues, though I will if necessary.”

Wangji wondered if such an exercise would help, if perhaps conversation about the virtues and their history and meaning would help Wei Ying understand what shufu meant, or if he would always doubt his own worth. 

“As I am certain Madam Jin and Jin-gongzi will come to visit your sister shortly, we should speak to your siblings now,” xiongzhang said. “They will undoubtedly greet shufu first, so we have some time.”

Nervousness fluttered in Wangji’s stomach, but he helped Wei Ying stand when xiongzhang rose. Wei Ying picked up the box with his forehead ribbon with a sort of reverence. 

Before they could move to properly bow to shufu and leave, there was a knock on the hanshi door.

“Enter,” shufu called.

One of the peripheral disciples, from his unadorned ribbon, came in and bowed.

“Jin-furen and Jin-gongzi have arrived at the Cloud Recesses and seek audience, xiansheng. They are being escorted here now.”

Shufu nodded.

“I will prepare tea. Please accompany Xichen, Wangji, and Wei Wuxian. There are several baskets to carry.”

He gestured toward a screen, behind which presumably were the betrothal gifts. The disciple bowed.

“Yes, xiansheng.”

Wei Ying shifted nervously as the baskets were brought out, all decorated in red ribbon and draped in red veil-like material to hide the contents from prying eyes. Wangji squeezed his hand. They would be together for this, and for all things to follow. 

---------

This chapter was difficult and went places I didn’t entirely expect. Initially I thought it would get through the betrothal meeting, but Wei Wuxian’s trauma reared up and was important to explore. In the novel canon, Madam Yu has whipped him before the incident with Wang Lingjiao, but she whips no other Yunmeng Jiang disciples. Meanwhile, in CQL canon it seems to be an act that is completely shocking to Jiang Cheng, while Wei Wuxian accepts it as necessary for political reasons.

The Gusu Lan forehead ribbons here are kind of a meld of CQL and novel canon. Inner clan in the novel wear the embroidered ribbon, but in CQL there seems to be three levels, as Lan Wangji is shown wearing the metal cloud ribbon as a child and both Jingyi and Sizhui wear ones with an embroidered cloud, while some other disciples have unadorned ribbons. Technically, Wei Wuxian should probably have a plain ribbon, but here Lan Qiren and Lan Xichen are making a statement.

Yes, frankencanon. The rule about sowing discord is from CQL according to Unforth’s “A Compiled List of Known Lan Clan Rules.”

[julieandthefandoms]

Together

A Suzukka Royalty/Canon Divergence/Nothing really changes except for the fact that It is more modern, and Suki, Sokka, and Zuko have never met each other until this moment AU! It can also be found here on Ao3 :)

Reference: The time zones I used were based off of the IRL time difference between where Inuit live (Canada), and Japan. In addition, Bocchan Dongo is a popular Japanese dessert, so that's what Sokka, and Suki were eating in that one flashback of the kitchens. Both of these facts were found through brief google searches, so please correct me if I got anything wrong. Thank you!

Tagging @sukisbxtch @thomaslightwood @emiikas @zafirafoxx @older-brother-kit @ronan-lynch-deserves-the-world @sterllast @potter-redheads (I didn’t know whether the people who simply liked this wanted to be tagged, so I tagged them anyway, and I’m sorry if you didn’t want that)!

Sokka had never expected to fall in love. He certainly did not expect to fall for someone during a business trip, nor did he expect it to happen as quickly as it did.

It had all started out perfectly normal, Sokka packing to stay at the Fire Nation Royal Palace for a few months to discuss the economic, and political affairs between the Fire Nation and the Water Tribe after nearly a century of war. He had become the Ambassador of the Water Tribe not too long ago at the ripe age of 19, and this meeting seemed like a good opportunity to gain hands on experience. It was, of course, but Sokka hadn’t expected to fall for the nation, never mind meeting two people who would bury themselves into his heart in that fateful trip. 

~*^*~

The day Sokka met Suki happened to be the day he’d arrived at the palace. He was shaking with nervous energy, though it was underlaid with an odd thrill at the sight of the extravagant palace, and the opportunity held before him. He was practically bouncing on his feet, swinging a suitcase containing important documents for the meeting the next day. His other belongings had been shipped to the palace prior to his arrival, a custom extended to all traveling business people. The day was new, and he was ready to fix the relations between the two nations. Unfortunately, Sokka seemed to have forgotten the shift in time zones, and, since the Fire Nation was 13 hours ahead of the Water Tribe, had arrived at 3 in the morning.

Sokka had approached the palace with a thrumming energy, an energy that could brighten almost every room. The streets, however, were empty, aside from Sokka. The soft flames of the street lights bathing the pavement and surrounding shrubbery in a warm, sunset orange. He grew more suspicious the closer he got to the palace, the eerie quiet of the place finally registering. Hot, dry winds rustled the leaves, the feeling of eyes on him made his back crawl. He chalked up the concern to the wind, bouncing animatedly towards the large wood door that greeted him.

The palace was lavish, lined with portraits of the past Fire Lords, each adorning colors of fire and gold and ash. Sokka once again noted the lack of people, though the portraits felt like they were watching his every move, anyway. 

It’s a bit odd that there aren’t any guards-

Fans flashed across his vision. A blur danced before him, spinning the fans in wide arcs, until they were caught in his torso. In an instant, Sokka was pinned on the floor, his back flat against the cold tile. A girl around his age, two fans placed at her hips, was on top of him, holding his arms, and feet to the ground.

“You’re awfully obvious for an assassin.”

She was fierce in her words, a tone of judgement laced within thinly veiled fury piercing through her voice. Sokka couldn't help but notice how personal that fury seemed, as though he had killed her baby sea turtle. The warrior’s tunic fluttered in the breeze brought in through the entrance Sokka hadn’t gotten the opportunity to close yet. Even though his life was probably in danger at the moment, he couldn’t help but feel mildly attracted to the girl who'd just kicked his ass. Yeah, his survival instincts may not have been the best.

Sokka shook himself out of his daze, finally registering the situation he was currently in. “Assassin? I’m not trying to assasinate anybody! The war is over, there is a Firelord who is not trying to cause mass genocide, things are great! No murder for me, thank you, I am only a humble representative of the Water Tribe-”

The warrior muffled him before he could finish his ramblings. Cautiously, she stood up, though she didn’t let go of Sokka’s arms, holding them behind his back.

“Alright, Firelord Zuko did tell us to expect the Ambassador of the Water Tribe to arrive soon, so I suppose I can let you go” she released his hands, a smirk lighting her face. “Besides, I doubt any assassin would be so bad at their job.”

“Hey,” Sokka raised a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’d be a great assassin!”

The warrior laughed, the pale beams of the moon brushing her features in a soft light, almost as if they were glowing. Her dark hair, a difficult color to see in the dimness of the palace, shone auburn from where sconces held precious flames. She composed herself before stretching out a hand.

“Suki, head guard of the Fire Lord Zuko.”

Sokka clasped the warrior’s -Suki’s- hand in his own.

“Sokka, Ambassador of the Water Tribe.”

~*^*~

It would have all been alright if it had stopped there, if he had only fallen for Suki. Unfortunately, life didn’t seem to work like that. In the beginning, it seemed to be going pretty well, Sokka and Suki talking to each other before and after every meeting, even sneaking to the kitchens after everyone but the guards had fallen asleep. They’d laugh together, and steal dessert from each other’s plates, simply enjoying one another’s presence.

“Okay, so, tell me more about your life on Kyoshi Island. I want to learn more about you badass warrior ways.”

“Alright, but only if you give me your Bocchan Dango.”

Sokka pouted. In his time at the Fire Nation Royal Palace, he’d gotten quite attached to the dessert, but complied nonetheless, because a. he wanted to know more about the Kyoshi Warriors, and b. there was more dessert in the freezer.

Sokka smiled at the memory. It had been so simple when he’d thought he’d only fell for Suki.

But, of course, things could never be that simple.

During the weeks in which he’d stayed at the palace, Sokka had not only grown close to the guard, but had also managed to become friends (acquaintances? He wasn’t completely sure what it was called, but they definitely had held enthusiastic conversations in the hall multiple times) with the Fire Lord himself. Zuko was a better Fire Lord than Sokka could have ever imagined, and he enjoyed his company as a friendly face in the palace. 

~*^*~

Sokka and Zuko’s budding friendship had begun during Sokka’s first meeting with the Fire Lord and the rest of the Council, the time passing in a discussion of rewriting the biased history, and attempting to establish plans in order to properly assist the nations affected due to the war. Sokka respected that about Zuko, the extent at which he was willing to go to right his wrongs, and he had left the meeting content with the plans discussed.

“So, I hear you attempted to assassinate me last night.”

A voice brought Sokka out of his thoughts, causing him to lift his head from its usual thinking pose (head turned down, and hand on his chin) to face Lord Zuko himself. It was a playful tone, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“I tried, but alas, your head guard is too good for my lowly assassin ways,”  Sokka sent back a smile of his own.

“Suki told me you were horrible at it, though I don’t think ambassadors are trained in that sort of thing, so I guess it’ll pass.” He paused for a moment, continuing once more. “Your policies in that meeting seem to be really promising; I’ll be looking forward to working with you in the future, Ambassador Sokka.”

“As will I, Fire Lord Zuko.”

Eventually, their conversations moved to a more friendly tone, the two exchanging topics on the policies they were passionate about exploring, though Sokka’s problem hadn’t started then either. No, no, no, no, no, they had started the moment Zuko had showed up one night on Suki and Sokka’s kitchen story time sessions.

The night fell as it usually did, the two rushing to the kitchens an hour later then they usually did (Sokka may or may not have overslept). Suki pushed open the wooden doors, revealing the familiar room. A shadowy figure jumped, as Suki raised her hands in alarm, setting her feet in a fighting stance. Sokka, unwilling to let her fight alone, grabbed the nearest object next to him- which turned out to be a fork- and brandished the utensil as though it were a mighty sword.

“Wait, guys, it’s me.”

The figure moved out of the shadows, revealing the face of the Fire Lord himself. Suki immediately relaxed, arms falling to her side, as she leaned against the table beside her, a light smile on her face. Sokka dropped his fork and shot him a smile as well.

Zuko returned their greetings with an awkward wave. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep,” he gestured vaguely. “I can leave if you-”

“No please, join us. We’d love to keep you company.”

To Sokka’s surprise, Suki was the first to answer. He had always assumed that neither Zuko, nor Suki knew each other well enough to be comfortable with this, but the casualness in her tone said otherwise. Huh. That explained why she was so protective towards Zuko when they’d first met, much deeper than simply a protector-protectee type way.

The three sat at a table, exchanging stories about each other, more personal than it had ever been with just Zuko or just Suki. They fell into a steady rhythm of sorts under the light of the comforting fire. Sokka told tales of how he’d always felt inferior to his talented friend group. Suki detailed her life in Kyoshi Island, and the members she’d lost during battle. Zuko kept the topic vague though, telling them about his banished mother, cruel father, and his sister, but never specifying much of anything. They didn’t push him to either, Sokka and Suki, and instead waited for him to come to them on his own.

The three continued meeting for the next few months, all of them opening up a bit more with each day, until they all found strength in their nights together. It was on one of those nights that Sokka had noticed the fire from the hearth lighting Zuko’s hair a burgundy, only a shade darker than Suki’s, noticed the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled, noticed the-sPIRITS ABOVE, HE LIKED THE FIRE LORD.

~*^*~

Sokka spent the next week partially panicking, and partially planning how to disclose this to the closest companions he’d had in years.

He’d already known he had liked Suki for a while, loved her fiery protectiveness, but he hadn’t thought to think that he’d like Zuko’s steady flame as well. He’d once heard the phrase, ‘A house divided could not stand,’ but this was different than that. This wasn’t a house divided, it was a heart having enough love that it could love two without lessening it for either. And he was absolutely, completely in love with them both. They may have only known each other for five months, but he still could feel a hole in his heart when he thought of leaving them. Sokka had fallen fast, and hard, that much was certain.

The day of his departure came closer by the day, and he couldn’t put this off any further. Worst case scenario, Sokka has to change his name to Wang Fire, get plastic surgery (or grow a beard, one of those two), adopt a child, erase all records of said adoption, and move to the Earth Kingdoms (one couldn’t be the ambassador of their country without having amazing plans).

Needless to say, he really hoped he didn’t have to resort to his backup plan.

Sokka had sent the letters out that morning, telling the messenger boy-Lee- to not send them until after the weekly palace break in debriefings. And so he waited by the duck pond, watching the water swirl with every paddle to drown out his thoughts.

“Hey, Sokka,” Suki had her arm around Zuko, the two approaching the pond to join him. “What did you want to talk about?”

Sokka took a deep breath, before speaking again. The whole story came out, his friendship with Suki, and how it evolved to romantic feelings. How Zuko had become close to them as well, and the day in the kitchen when Sokka realized his feelings for him as well. How he loved them both, unwaveringly, even though they’d known each other for five months.

“-and I get if you hate me now because of this, so it’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me any longer.”

Sokka had his eyes squeezed shut, preparing for the worst, but all he felt were two hands intertwining with his own.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re not going to leave you for this.”

It was Suki, her reassuring voice causing him to open his eyes.

Zuko, who had gently placed a hand on his shoulder, spoke next.

“We’re not going to leave you, not ever.”

There was a pause, a sense of relief spreading through Sokka. They didn’t hate him! Well, that plan went way better than he thought it would. He should have known, they were both so compassionate, and understanding, it would’ve been hard to see them not let him down gently. 

Suki was the first to break the silence. “And for what it’s worth, I like you too. Both of you.”

Zuko gave a nod to them both before speaking as well. “I care about the two of you more than I thought I’d ever be able to care for a person.”

“So,” Sokka’s voice almost broke from emotion, “how are we supposed to do this?”

“I’m not sure,” Zuko said hesitantly, “but we’ll figure it out together.”

Suki reached over to grasp Zuko’s hand as well. “Together.”

And they sat there, enjoying each other’s presence, hand in hand. It was positively perfect… that is, until the ducks began getting annoyed over the lack of attention they were getting, and splashed the three of them as an act revenge.

[encyclopika]

Animal Crossing Fish - Explained #49

Brought to you by a marine biologist who is starting Shark Week off right!

Fish I’ve Covered: CLICK HERE

So, we all know I have favorite animals, just like everyone does. Ever since I was little, there was just something about sharks that fascinated me and drove me to becoming a marine biologist in the first place. These days, I have a wider understanding and appreciation for everything in the oceans, but I know my roots. It all started with this guy right here, the Great White Shark!

Starting in June, for us in the Northern Hemisphere, all the fish with a fin on their shadow came out and most of them are sharks. The Great White in particular comes out from dusk until dawn, which lines up perfectly with their habits irl - they typically will hunt during those twilight hours when visibility is lowest and they can launch a sneak attack on their prey. 

Yes, this giant fish, some females growing to almost 20 ft (6.1 m) can sneak up on its prey. It does this through a number of means, including its special camouflage it shares with lots of other oceanic predators (best example being the orca). These animals have dark-colored backs with light undersides, making them virtually invisible to prey above them (looking down into dark depths) or below them (looking up into the brighter sky). This is called “counter-shading”. 

Great White Sharks need all the skills they can get because, as apex predators, they themselves hunt predators. Fully grown White Sharks are known to hunt marine mammals, including the intelligent dolphins and ferocious pinnepeds (seals and sea lions). None of those animals is f*ckin’ around, so the Great White Shark has evolved to compete with them, and it does it spectacularly. 

I mean, is there any shark more iconic than the Great White Shark (Carcharodon carcharias)? (Hint: The answer is no.)

Look at those teeth! Perfectly triangular, sharp, and serrated to cut and tear into large prey items like mammals, turtles, and big fish. Those are powerful teeth that can handle a lot of pressure, unlike the needle-like teeth of its fish-eating cousins that are mistaken for it (looking at all ya that call a sand tiger shark in the aquarium a great white...smh). Just like I said with the Tuna, this is another fish that exemplifies the absolute BEST of the fish world. This is what peak performance looks like.

And just like the Tuna, the Great White Shark is a functional endotherm, capable of keeping its body temperature raised above the water temperature around it. This is through the rete mirable, a special network of blood vessels that keep body heat in by exchanging heat between blood flowing in from and out to the gills. Now, I see that ACNH has this thing only available during the warm, summer months, and that’s fair. HOWEVER, Great Whites have been found to cross ocean basins and dive as deep as 3,000 ft (900 m), well into the Mesopelagic zone, a depth at which only 1% of light penetrates, during these trips.  

So, yeah. Great White Sharks are incredible animals. 

But, of course, people are afraid of them, no thanks to the media blowing shark encounters out of proportion and horribly inaccurate “shark thrillers”. Like, let’s give these movies a rest, can we? Great white sharks, and all other species, for that matter, DO NOT WANT TO EAT YOU. EVER. You don’t have the blubber content they need to survive. Most “shark attacks” are exploratory actions taken by the animal to figure out what you are, are a case of mistaken identity, or are provoked. The best thing you can do to avoid a shark attack is to avoid beaches that are known to have sharks (there will be signs!), don’t swim at dusk and dawn, and please don’t go in if you are bleeding! But even still...sharks account for maybe 6 deaths per year worldwide; you have more of a chance of getting struck by lightning! Meanwhile, humans kill upwards of 100 million sharks in the same time frame. Put that in your skillet, and let it simmer.

And there you have it. Fascinating stuff, no?