#the boys were so sweet as infants but once they reached 4-6 I bet they went wild

[turtleblogatlast]

Tackled it partially here, but I love the idea of Draxum knowing little extra details about the boys from before they were mutated. Things like “you liked strawberries”, “you were four times faster than others of your species”, “you tried to eat Huginn and Muninn”, “you were way too sentient for a regular turtle it was actually kind of freaky in retrospect did the proximity to Empyrean have something to do with it-“

Little details that pop up over the years, and while sometimes the boys (mainly Mikey) will ask for more information out of curiosity, most of the time the info just sort of comes out randomly. It’s not like Draxum had them all too long, but he still finds himself remembering their pre mutated turtle selves vividly, even after all these years.

The boys ask Splinter if he too has baby stories of them to share and he’s just like “I love you boys but you were hellions.”

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking with the Schuylers (34)

(Thank you for waiting so patiently for this-I had a long week that kept trying to knock me down, but luckily I pulled through thanks to optimism and ‘Times are Hard for Dreamers’ on a constant loop. Thank the lord for Amelie).

I love John Laurens, and I love his family, and I know this fic is long but I have like 16 pages of headcanon/development so do with that what you will, I love my fic baby.

(Tagging: @ellzabethschuyler also shoutout to @oosnavi for giving me lots of really good ideas on this one and also killing me with all of the Pippa + children pictures every day.)

This is a Laurens Christmas Eve. 

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   1112   I  13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C  I   19   20   21   22   23   24   25  26   27  28   29   I  30  31  32  33

There is a clear wall of sound coming from the fifth floor apartment, one they can hear from the moment they reach the stairwell. Alexander chuckles as Eliza’s grip on his hand changes. It's a slight movement, but he's attentive-he turns his head to face her while slowing their pace.

“That's us,” he gestures down the hall, to a row of identical doors. Eliza nods, eyes unchanging and feigning complete comfort. That being said she is good at this-excellent, even. If he hadn't known any better, he would have kept going along. But her breathing has slowed, visibly deep in her chest. The hand he holds in his has begun to pick up a moisture bred by nerves. He's more familiar with the disguised symptoms of anxiety. She is much better at this façade than he is.

“What's wrong?”

“This is a really big deal.”

“It is, it is and if you're uncomfortable-I didn't mean to push this. I  know it's a big step and I know it's only been three months and Christmas Eve is kind of huge,”

“-Alex,”

“- but it would have just felt wrong spending it without you, and,”

“-Alexander.” Her hands find his shoulders and she takes a deep breath, a silent instruction for him to do the same. She watches the rise and fall of his chest, his closed eyes, as he comes back down from his ranting. His lips have stopped moving but his mind will not silence itself, flittering back and forth between thoughts of her backing out of this and the warm beauty of her eyes on his. Her lips turn up into a gentle smile and he's instantly relaxed, taking her in from their place at the end of the hall.

“I want to be here-so badly-I’m just a little nervous.”

There was a word she hadn't associated herself with in a while. Especially not around him. Typically, Eliza prided herself in being near professional at social interaction. It was in her blood, her upbringing. Most of her childhood had been spent entertaining crowds of politicians, spinning in brand new Mary Janes and singing sweet Ella Fitzgerald in a birdsong voice while Angelica herded Peggy away from the dessert table. It is what earned her the nicknames  of Political America’s Sweetheart or The senate’s daughter. It is what made her Elizabeth Schuyler.

To say she hadn't been nervous a day in her life would be a lie; there were plenty of times-at big events, or when some small brunches-where she'd felt her heart squeeze and convulse, unable to be settled. Each of those times, it was painful. Each of those times, her hand was encased in the cold, tight hold of James Reynold’s grip. There was a suffocation, a death-sentence race of her pulse that lasted well after the event was over.

This nerve…placing a word on it, Eliza stops on butterflies. Although it's incredibly cliché, and she has to internally curse at herself for the immediate and consuming thought of the creatures floating around in her stomach. There is a striking difference, however, in the way they feel. There is no stabbing, or suffocating. The television-static fuzz that accompanies her holds a slight comfort-she knows shes supposed to be here-to be with him. And the way he holds her hands, still on his shoulders, with such a light reassurance…she can pull this type of nerve back. She can breathe with it, let it reside in the home of her body for a bit.

“We can stay here for a minute, if you need to.”

“No, it's alright. Let's go meet your family.”

The wall of sound opens up with the apartment door, and Eliza is immediately wrapped in multiple suffocating hugs. There are exclamations-in lighthearted Spanish, as she's held at arms length by a grouping of gracefully aged older women. And then there's John, who comes barreling over from the other side of the room. He has to weave his way through what seems to be wall-to-wall people, and Alexander breathes out a feigned sour expression as John moves to hug her first.

“Everyone, this is my beautiful best friend Eliza. Oh, and Alex is here too.”

Her name echoes across the room and lights up her smile-she's greeting all kinds of people; aunts, cousins, third relatives…all with a boundless poise and upbeat charisma that blows Alexander away. One of the cousins hands him a drink and before he knows it Eliza has disappeared completely, whisked into the throng of people with her own cup of liquor and arms linked with John’s all-too-eager sisters. John stays with Alexander, taking a pull from his cup before clapping a hand on his back.

“She already fits in better than you did your entire first year.”

“Shut up and get drunk, John.”

“Gladly.” His best friend smirks over the rim of his cup, freckle-dusted cheeks lifting with the expression. He implores Alexander to do the same. He shakes his head.

“Probably shouldn't drink too much-just in case, y’know?” He gestures to the space of the crowd Eliza had disappeared into, worry weaved into a laid-back voice so gently that John barely picks up on it. He rolls his eyes in response, shaking his head and taking another sip. There's a tap on Alexander’s shoulder, and when he turns around he's engulfed in a noogie-accessorized hug.

“Hey man, where's your girl?” Luis is built like a body-builder, much unlike Alexander’s scrawny legs and John’s lean figure. Standing beside the two he towers, with no resemblance between him and his younger and ‘adopted’ brother besides the bountiful crop of freckles that decorate his richly toned skin. Alexander pulls out of his hold, pressing the fabric of his casual knit sweater back into place.

“Not sure-we came in together, but Amaia and Emily stole her.”

“She’s your girl? The one from the magazines?” Alex nods, grinning, before the oldest Laurens let's out a chuckle. “Man, I would've never guessed. How did you manage that one, Hamilton?”

“Only with the charm and brains you failed to inherit, Luis.” John earns a punch in the shoulder for that one, touching the place his brother’s fist had made contact with a wince. It hadn't hurt immensely-or at all-Alex can judge by the way John’s wince barely makes his eyes shut. But he prolongs the contact, long enough for a voice to join their conversation.

“Luis Andreas what did you do to your brother? Do I need to punch you back?”

“No, Mami.”

“I don't know, it really hurts. I think he might've hit an artery or something.”

“Don't be a baby, John. Nobody likes an infant-man.” She turns her attention to Alexander, who's watching the exchange with bemused eyes. Valeria Laurens looks at him with an electric expression-slightly frantic, but always with a mother’s glowing guardianship. He relishes the way that she's begun patching the hole in his heart; the way this crazy, eclectic woman had opened her heart to him. Valeria draws him into a warm embrace, smoothing down his hair.

“And where is this girlfriend of yours? Honestly you talk so much about her to me I thought she'd be sewn to your side!”

“Oh trust me, that's not too far from the truth.” John teases Alex with an intoxication-laden flair, already tipsy. Alex and Valeria wear matching narrowed eyes.

“Knock it off, John. Alex is happy and we should all be happy for him.”  

“Like I'm not? He's dating my best friend-Hell, I  like her better than him most of the time!”

“I thought I was your best friend!”

“No, Eliza definitely is my best friend now. Sorry Alex, you've been replaced. Actually, I'll go find her. Hang here for a second.” John disappears into the throng of family, leaving Alexander and Valeria hanging by the front door. The moment they're alone she begins chatting-asking questions in such a rapid-fire pace that he can't answer them all in one go. Then, during a string of chatter involving school, her mouth snaps open in a wide ‘o’ shape, her eyes widening to a spot behind him.

A warm hand finds its way onto his shoulder, running down it in gentle motion as her lips meet his cheek. Valeria’s smile widens-Alex hadn't thought it possible.

“You’re Eliza-you're here-god, look at you, you're gorgeous!” She blushes at the compliment, cheeks lifting in an infectious expression as she reaches out her hand.

“It's really nice to meet you, Mrs. Laurens.”

“Oh please don’t call me that, it makes me feel like my mother.” She takes Eliza’s outstretched hand and pulls her into a hug, rubbing her back in the same tender way that she had Alex’s. “Valeria.”

“You have a wonderful home-it’s so full, and you’ve all been so nice. I really appreciate you inviting me, thank you so much.” John looks between his mother and Eliza and shakes his head-in an instant his mother has turned to putty by Eliza’s soft-spoken words. Although he knows that she’s being genuine he nudges Alex’s shoulder, laughing.

“Once again, she charms her way through a room of people in less than twenty seconds. Meanwhile, Kevin still won’t talk to me after what happened with beer pong last year.” A drop of hot sauce, a flipped table…John cringes at the memory. And apparently, Kevin still is, too. The aforementioned second-cousin has refused his company so far, straying away from each part of the room he’d been in. Instead he’d moved to the balcony, where he and Luis had gathered enough people to start some freewheeling card-game the older boys had invented when they were John’s age just to bet their extra cash. It’s stupid, and unnecessary, he thinks as he watches them from the other side of the room. But being invited to their circle wouldn’t hurt.

               Valeria Laurens had been blessed with six mouths to feed; three boys and three girls. While the balance was aesthetically perfect, the hurdles continually presented themselves in the form of food fights, the three bedroom apartment feeling over-capacity, and a boy stuck between her girls who hadn’t been happy about it for a long time. John had been a trooper, for the most part. He got along well enough with the girls, who often put ribbons in his short curls and dressed him like their doll. Amaia, a year and a half older than him, was more level about these games. She did, however, egg on Emily. Sweet Emily loved her Irish twin of a brother more than anything; would follow him around, dote on him, and speak the world about him to her friends. As children, John often found her to be annoying or childish. It was, after all, what his brothers would say. But Emily was his confidant-she listened to him more than Amaia ever had time for, never teased him like Luis or Kevin would. She was his favorite sibling-still is, he considers from time to time. While the others were often busy in their own lives (even Mari, who is still in high school and with a bigger social life than all of them combined) John and Emily found favor in each other’s company. She was never too busy to talk to him. She was always there-just as she always had been.

               When the door to their apartment swings open, and Emily Laurens is able to catch a glimpse of the newcomers over the tops of everyone’s heads, she’s the first to make her way to the door. There is a scowl painted on her full lips and she grabs for her older sister’s arm as she flies by her, pressing hard with the tips of her fingers to pull her along. Amaia  yelps, running along and crashing into shoulders and backs as apologies fly from her mouth rapid-fire.

               “What are you doing?” She hisses at her younger sister. Emily huffs, stopping in her tracks to pull her aside, hands waving wildly as she speaks.

               “Did you not see who’s here?”

               “Yeah, and?” She glances over at the door, where their ‘adopted’ brother and his girlfriend are being smothered with hugs. The interaction is long, and busy-but Eliza seems to handle it well, eyes moving from person to person with an unfaltering smile upon her face. Amaia feels her own lips turn up, a subconscious mirror of the expression. Emily scowls.

               “Don’t you think we should go and say something to her?”

               “Are you trying to steal her from Alex or something? I mean I know she’s pretty, but,”

               “-no! I mean yeah she’s pretty, of course she’s pretty, but,” The younger sister’s face is immediately covered in a light scarlet blush, one that consumes her features before leaving with the shake of her head. “That’s not the point. The point is that she kind of stole Alex from John.”

               “But Alex isn’t gay”

               “-in a way. In a way, she replaced John. So there’s that. Also she’s dating our brother. She needs the third degree just like we gave Sarah when she started dating Luis. Or like we’ll give to any of Henry’s girlfriends if he can ever get a date.”

               “Emily!”

               “I’m just being honest. Anyway, we have more important things to deal with.” She grabs hold of Amaia’s hand, who hesitantly follows her to the front of the crowd. The older sister watches a switch flip in Emily, where her intimidating scowl is turned into a bright and chipper grin accompanied with raised posture.

               “Eliza! It’s really nice to meet you. I’m Emily and this is Amaia, we’re two of the three sisters. Come get a drink with us, I won’t take no for an answer.” Eliza allows a sister on either side, linking their arms with hers and pulling her through the crowd. She throws a delighted expression Alexander’s way, wondering why his face has fallen into a thin line of anxiety.

               They seem nice enough-Eliza is touched by the immediate sense of belonging, the connection that comes with having two sisters of her own. They pour her a drink that stings her throat on the way down but she gulps it anyway, enjoying the heat and the comradery of the other two peeking over their own cups. The kitchen has grown to a raucous level of volume; cousins lined up at the island taking shots, aunts standing over the stove with grandmothers. Eliza takes a breath-a moment to let it all sink in. This is nothing like brunch, or a gala, or the way her Christmas would be tomorrow. No, this is fun. This is family. Emily takes note of her expression, leaning against the wall with a teasing sort of smirk.

               “Not your average Christmas eve, right?”

               “No,” Eliza chuckles, coming out of her observation to reply. There is so much noise that she feels like she’s shouting, competing over the voices melding between Spanish and English around her. “It’s a lot better. Trust me.”

               “So, how long have you and Alex been together?”

               “Three months last week.”

“Really? So, not long at all then.” Amaia glares at Emily’s comment, looking between the half-smirk painted on her younger sister’s full lips and the scarlet that flushes the delicate color from Eliza’s cheeks.

“No, I guess not…it feels longer, though.”

“And what about John? Did you know about his situation before or after Alex chose you?”

“Emily!” Hands on her hips, the older Laurens shoots a tight-lipped scowl toward Emily who, just a year or so older than Eliza, stands significantly taller. Her volleyball-player stature and high ponytail are just accessories to winged eyeliner and a full-lipped smirk. Amaia, more composed in nature, smacks her younger sister’s arm.

Eliza stares between the two for a moment, taken back by the blunt nature of Emily’s comment. She takes it in stride, however. Having two sisters helps-Angelica had acted the same way toward Alex for the first few weeks of their relationship-although a bit more filtered, and less harsh-natured. There is a similarity there, in the way that Emily scowls in defense of her brother, which actually warms Eliza to the situation. And in her soft-spoken nature she simply smiles back at the middle Laurens sister, shaking her head.

“John didn’t tell me until a few weeks ago-I would have never known, and I felt terrible about it. But we had a long talk and I think that helped both of us. I wouldn’t intentionally hurt John, especially if he had been my friend before Alexander and I started dating.”

Both sisters seem appeased by her answer, although Amaia’s matured grin and touch of a hand to Eliza’s shoulder is much more comforting than the slow-to-warm shrug of her younger sister. Eliza accepts it, however, thankful that her words hadn’t tripped out from underneath her. Soon, both sisters are pulled away into the crowd, and Eliza is left standing in the kitchen, nursing the burning drink and watching the clamor around her.

Alexander has thrown himself into the chaos.

He and John find themselves in the middle of the living room, packed between a group of cousins who have turned on an upbeat rhythm laden with layers of acoustic guitars and bright-toned trumpets. John is a much better dancer than him-his hips move with the practice of both genetics and natural talent, and he spins a lithe preteen cousin around, her hip-length hair whipping along with her. Alex sways alone, practiced albeit a bit awkward-the continual sips of his drink have helped loosen him up, yet not enough to bring him to John’s gusto. But there’s music, and family, and so he bounces along to the beat in the throng of people.

Soon the living area is cramped with people-family, friends, and even a few of those who’d had nowhere else to go for the night. Valeria Laurens is in her glory amongst them, in the middle of a more complex set of moves as she’s spun around by her husband. They relish in the chaos of it all-the music, the laughter. Each year, their growing family adds a new layer of brightness to the holiday. Each year, hosting this party becomes more of a reward than anything else. And then, there’s the newest member of their family. Valeria watches as Eliza holds pudgy toddler hands in her own, bending down to shake a second cousin’s youngest daughter in her own version of a salsa. Then, there are two of them in a circle-three, four, until a gaggle of the younger children have gathered around her. She takes the commotion-twelve clamoring children reaching out for her hand, arguing over who gets to be closer-in stride. Then, they end up in a conga line down the split of cheering relatives, who look on, bemused, at how easily the newcomer has fit herself in.

               Eliza is so enthralled with the entertainment of the children that she doesn’t even notice Alexander until he’s pulled her waist, tearing her away from the children who now run freely among the crowd, spinning in colorful Christmas dresses and spiked-up hair.

               “Is it my turn?” One hand finds her back and the other Eliza’s hand, and before she can nod he’s started leading her, in a combination of movement that causes an eruption of laughter as she attempts to keep up with him.

               “I thought you said you were a dancer,” he teases as she trips over his foot again. Her movements are trying and a bit stiff, stumbling over her own feet as he leads her.

               “Ballet, jazz...not this.”

               “Well then, I guess I’ll have to teach you.” Alexander’s hold adjusts from her back to her hip, holding her visibly closer than the dance suggests. Through her laughter she follows him, loosening up as he mutters terrible jokes in her ear.

               “You’re pretty good at this.

               “Pretty good?” He brushes his lips against hers. “I’d like to think I’m better than pretty good.”

               Eliza can’t tell if it’s the drink she’s been given or the way he holds her, but the air of Alexander’s confidence makes her heart race, the composition of her body growing warmer in anticipation of another brush of his lips against her-along any part of her. He just barely composes himself, taking in the compliment of the change in her eyes, knowing full-well that his awkward, fumbling dancing is still somehow managing to turn her on.

Through the motion of pulling Eliza even closer Alexander feels a tugging on the leg of his pants, looking down to find a set of wide, shining eyes staring up at him. The two year-old girl, with hair in bobbed ringlet curls, raises her hands to him with a dimpled smile. He takes in a long breath of air as Eliza backs up, just enough to give the girl room to stand between them, covering the blush that’s crept along her cheeks with a warmhearted smile. Alex pulls the girl up, resting her on his side and letting her join in the dancing as well. He holds one of her tiny hands in his, the other wrapped tight around his neck, and spins her. He laughs at the way she giggles, boisterous and light, as she reaches for Eliza. His girlfriend dips her, a hand holding her back while she shouts in delight. The girl is torn, hands outstretched between the two, shouting playfully for more. It has Alex nearly doubled over in laughter, the way she jumps between their arms, until finally she settles with him, her hands holding Eliza’s.

She would be stupid not to notice how easy it all seemed-the way Alexander’s smile reached his eyes, which remain settled on the girl between them. And she fit so nicely there, giggling and chattering over the hum of the music. It only intensified things, this sight-especially since she hadn’t yet seen Alexander with children before.

There had been plenty of times that Eliza had been witness to James with children. Although his Thanksgiving had been nothing like this Christmas Eve, there had been plenty of kids. And she’d played with them, rallying them in a game on the carpet in a separate room while the adults conversed. He’d only come in once, to bring her around on his arm after shooing the children away. He spoke to them in the same tone as to the adults-nothing spectacular. He’d even gotten harsh with a distant cousin who’d wanted to chat. His cold tones and disinterested mannerisms had made her feel downcast, disheartened. At the time, before she realized just how he was treating her, she’d lingered on the moment with careful consideration. He clearly had no interest in children-the reality surged within her the fact that no children would be a deal-breaker.

At least Alexander seemed to take interest in them. To this girl he was tender, and sweet, letting her pudgy hands ‘braid’ his hair after she’d let go of Eliza. And he spoke to her with a tone that was lighter than his own, changed to match her persistent questioning without skipping a beat. And he even seemed to enjoy her company, too, even though it had taken away from their private moment. These thoughts became observations Eliza tucked into a piece of her mind, a recording she would play over and over if allowed. It’s transfixing, so much so that it takes her more than a few minutes to realize that John is by her side, lingering with a hand on her shoulder.

“You know, I’m learning a lot about you tonight, E.” Eliza doesn’t take her eyes from Alexander and the child, too enraptured by the interaction to care. All she can muster is a hum in response, one that barely reaches an audible level of voice. “But the best thing I’ve learned is how terrible you are at hiding things.”

“Oh,” She still hasn’t looked away, her cheeks lifting in response to the girl, who has now placed both hands on her boyfriend’s cheeks, squishing his lips into a fish face that sends them both into a fit of laughter.

“As in your clearly estrogen-filled response to this scene, or better yet that giant red welt on your collarbone.”

Her hand shoots to the spot, horror taking over the bliss that had once consumed her. John laughs, smirking as she leads him from the crowd of the makeshift dance floor.

“Is it really that noticeable? I tried to tell him not to, but it was too late, and then it just happened and I don’t want your family to think anything of me because of it, and,”

“Relax, E, it’s fine. It’s not even that bad. We’re all so drunk at this point I’m sure nobody has even noticed.”

She sits between Alexander and Amaia at dinner, in the middle of a long row of mismatched, pushed-together tables and folding chairs. There are almost too many people to fit- one end pushed up against the wall and the other too close to the stove. But it is cozy-and loud-and Eliza enjoys the comfort of being surrounded by so many people. The chatter is sincere-not just an exchange of pleasantries but of inside jokes and the trade of old family stories. There is so much going on that she can’t decide which piece to hold on to until Amaia begins weaving a tale from her cardiology residency that has her-and most of their part of the table-on the edge of their seats. Alex holds her hand between their chairs, a muted show of affection that warms her nearly as much as the second-or was it third-drink.

A shout breaks through the chatter and the room falls silent to an older man-that’s Abuelito-who stands at the head of the table with an expression that envelops the room in a sense of togetherness. It seems as though everybody is related to this man, who leads a dynamic prayer that hinges each member of the family to his words. Then he’s going around the table, stopping in front of each person with one hand on their shoulder and the other clasping his drink.

“And here’s Luis-never the bright one, let’s all share in a prayer that he and Sarah’s first child doesn’t get his brains. Or his…eh…beauty.” The crowd is alight in a raucous laughter, some clapping Luis on the back while other eyes dart in half-apologetic smiles to a round-bellied blonde. At first Eliza is horrified-why would he have prolonged his time entertaining the party just to insult his grandson? But soon, she realizes this is part of the tradition. John nudges her from across the table with the backside of his fork, grinning wildly as Abuelito stops in front of Amaia.

“Oh, Amaia. How you chose to work with hearts is beyond me-how can you know so much about them if yours is so cold?” The oldest Laurens daughter turns to Eliza, rolling her eyes good-naturedly before tossing her napkin behind her, hitting Abuelito in his square-rimmed glasses. He knocks her in the back of the head-gently, Eliza notes-before sliding over behind Alex, both arms on his shoulders.

“And there’s Alex, who god brought to us even though I said Valeria couldn’t possibly feed anyone else. But he did bring our family an ear-full and a wonderful girl. Alex, I would ask you to keep her around but we can all see that love bite so I’m not too worried.”

Eliza has never felt so much heat rush to her cheeks in such a rapid manner. There is no point now in covering up the painfully obvious, pointed-out mark on her body so she merely shrugs, tossing her silky hair over her shoulder. Amaia rubs a circle on her back, whispering a string of words that widen Eliza’s smile even more.

She sits back, then, watching the jovial interaction between the large group of people with a bubbling laughter that feels natural rolling from her stomach. There is something so different about these people-his family, with their raucous noise level, salsa dancing, and long mismatched tables. They speak in rapid voices, joke freely, and keep the drinks going throughout the night in a continuous party. And when she and Alex return to the dance floor, Amaia’s words linger in her mind, repeating themselves over and over as if she’s too grateful to believe them.

“Now that you’ve been blessed, welcome to the family.”